#;high lord of the night court {rhysand}

[rainingriversofyou]

The Bat Boys - A Court Of Thorns And Roses

Artist: gracerstudios

[l14099l]

✨️THIS FEYSAND ART✨️

by lamonyo

[mischiefmanagers]

Rhysand Fic Rec Library 🦇💜

"Rhysand is the most handsome High Lord. Rhysand is the most delightful High Lord. Rhysand is the most cunning High Lord."

here's a list of one hundred Rhysand x Reader and Rhysand x OC fics to celebrate the most handsome High Lord ✨

🌼 personal favorite 🥀 angst 💞 fluff 🔥 smut

by @sarawritestories

The Most Beautiful High Lady 🥀💞

You Looked Like You Could Use a Partner 💞

by @lalacliffthorne

starshine (series) 🥀💞

by @marvelsmylife

Not As It Seems 🥀💞

Protecting his high lady 🥀💞

I think I wanna marry you 💞

by @swansworth

The Handsome Stranger 🥀💞

My High Lady 🔥

by @writingsbychlo

how we survive 🥀 platonic Rhysand x Reader but it's AMAZING

Home To Us 💞🌼

How to Save a Life 💞

by @azrielsdove

The High Lords 🥀🔥

Til Death Do Us Part 🥀🔥

Money, Power, Glory 🥀

Beautiful Girl 🥀💞

by @historiaxvanserra

What Our Souls Are Made Of 🥀💞

by @honeybeefae

Pretty Little Tears 🔥

by @wishfulwithwine

The Great War 🥀

by @leafsandstarlight

Against Your Brother's Wishes 🥀💞

Easy Like Sunday Morning 💞🔥

Welcome Distraction 🔥

Little Reminders 💞

by @cherhys

Anything, Always 🥀💞

Colliding Visions 💞

by @k-daydreams

Touch in the Dark 🥀

by @azsazz

Dioxazine 💞

Lavender Haze

Hung Up 🔥

by @jeannineee

Pining 🥀

Daddy Kink 🔥

by @ughthatimagineblog

love and loathing 💞🔥

forever and a day 💞

by @fieldofdaisiies

I Never Mean to Hurt You 🥀

by @daydreaming-nerd

The Bonds That Break Us 💞🥀🔥

by @hellcat8908

Returning Home 🥀💞

by @thehighladywrites

This Isn't Goodbye, This Is Simply See You Later 💞🥀🔥

Just One More, I Know You Can Do It 💞🔥

by @lure-of-writing

Where my soul can rest 🥀

by @saphirered

The Ice Queen and the High Lord 🔥

May We Meet Again

by @bookish-whore

'Til Death 💞

Never Made A Difference 🥀

by @tadpolesonalgae

mine 🔥

Knocked up 🔥

by @itsphoenix0724

Promises 🥀

by @fanttasttica

I hate you more.. 🥀

Shy priestess 💞

Finding you 🔥

Your love healed me 🥀💞

Just love me 🥀

One plus one makes three 💞

by @illyrian-dreamer

Dance with the devil

Make a bargain with me 💞🥀

by @azrielbrainrot

My Body Keeps Saying it's Yours 🔥

by @b00kdiary

Dreamer

by @solbaby7

Lose Control 💞

Put On A Show 🔥

Testing the Waters 💞🔥🌼

by @luxsky

Kicking out 💞

by @themusingsofacurlyhairednerd

Warm Me Up 💞🔥

Datura

by @starstruckunknown-princess

Black Rose 🥀

by @acourtofwhatthefuck

Needs Must 🔥

With Me, Always 🥀💞

Shrinking Violet 🔥

Forget Me Not 💞

by @lanitalay

At sea 💞🥀

by @redheadspark

Truth 💞🥀

Carry 💞🥀

My Pleasure 💞

Title 💞

by @azrielslightintheshadows

Game night disaster 🥀

Between you and danger 🥀

by @danikamariewrites

Take Them All Down 🥀🌼

Only For You 💞

Pointless Meetings 💞

Pranks 💞

by @bloodycassian

winter court runaway

by @thevanserrras

The Stolen Night 🥀💞

by @thelov3lybookworm

Winter Without You 🥀

Love Needs No Voice

by @prythianpages

Wanna Be Yours 💞

by @milswrites

Out of the Mountain 🥀

by @readychilledwine

Requiem for a Dream (series) 🥀💞

Broken 🥀

Flight Patterns 🥀💞🌼

Subtle 💞

Scream 🔥

Plot Measure 🥀

Drumming Song 🔥

Family Matters 🔥

Pieces of You 🥀🌼

by @clairebear08

Questioning Motives 🔥

by @serpentandlily

Falling Apart for You 🥀

by @shadowdaddies

Heavy is the Head 🥀💞🔥

Crawl to Me 🥀🔥

by @throneofsapphics

if you insist 💞

surprise reunions 🔥

by @azriels-shadowsinger

Reunited 💞🥀

by batboylover

secretly mated 🥀💞

[hrizantemy]

It’s genuinely amusing how Tamlin is painted as the ultimate villain in the narrative, yet before the chaos with Feyre, his entire court was ready to lay down their lives for him. Meanwhile, it’s almost comical that two-thirds of Rhysand’s court, the very individuals he relies on for military support, harbor such animosity toward him that they actively want to see him dead.

[feyrescourt]

chapter 48, I will always love you

art by nicki.li_

[solbaby7]

I loved Blurred Lines!! Do you think you’d ever want to do a part 2 for when Rhys shows up? 👀 👀🔥

[ part one ]

Rhysand hears you before he see’s you.

Unhinged shouts and the rhythmic smacking of skin on skin pulling him closer, beckoning him inside. The concealed safe house reeks of sex, clothes scattered around the floor from the moment he walks in; chairs are tipped over, rugs askew and there’s a dent on the hallway wall.

He doesn’t bother calling out for you, certain that you probably wouldn’t hear him anyway through the drug-induced haze. The traces of it lingers in your scent, spiking sweet honey and brown sugar with strong notes of spicy cinnamon that settles thick in his throat. “Swear, I can take it, Az.” Desperate whines and choppy breaths coupled with deep grunts and a husky swear at the sound of your plea. “Just a little harder.”

Rhys knew it shouldn’t have affected him the way it did. The blood that rushed between his legs at the sound of Azriel complying, doing everything you’d asked for and more. Neither of you even notice him, shadows too distracted in squeezing at heaving breasts and gliding up the length of your neck. A soothing cool to combat the overwhelming heat that Azriel had spent hours trying to quench.

It would work for a little while before the need grew again, demanding more tongue and teeth biting into your shoulders. Blazing for the harsh grip of Azriel’s hands on your hips as his cock nudged in as far as your body allowed. “Rhys will be here soon,” He’d mutter into the shell of your ear when you’d clench around him, hips stuttering and tears streaming down your cheeks from the sensitivity of yet another orgasm.

And yet, still your body commanded more.

“It won’t stop,” Sweat beads at your hairline, hair tangled and lips swollen as your body holds onto Azriel like a lifeline. Filthy sounds squelch between where you begin and he ends, arousal dripping like a leaky faucet. “Why won’t it stop?”

“Rhys,” Azriel sighs in relief when the High Lord comes into view, exhaustion evident in tousled inky hair and droopy lids but he’s too lost in the feeling to stop. The spymasters wings are splayed out behind him as your hands wander freely along the leathery texture, hips rocking and tongue dragging along the side of his neck. “You’re here.”

Rhysand nods once, easing you off and into his arms. You find instant relief with his touch, face buried in his neck as he guides you into the bathroom. The water in the tub had long since ran cold and yet it’s perfectly warm when he rests you inside. “Took you long enough,” You whisper weakly, voice raspy from overuse. “I nearly broke him.”

His jaw clenched, unreasonable jealously tickling at the edge of his mind at the sight of Azriel’s marks on you. “I can see that,” Rhys pushes damp hair from your face, cupping at flushed cheeks to stare into your eyes. At the bright specks the shade of lavender dotting the iris, a stark contrast from pupils blown with lust. “Amren said it sounds like you were drugged with a strong mix of herbs; mostly meant to disorient but a natural side-affect is debilitating arousal.”

“She say how long it’ll last?”

Rhys grimaces slightly, hesitating before answering. “Depending on how much you ingested? Roughly a few hours, possibly less.”

Your heart plummets. So much time had already passed. How much more could you possibly endure?

More. More. More.

Every bone in your body screams as you watch the High Lord undress, exposing sun-kissed skin and mouth-watering tattoos. The water trickles when your thighs shift, searching for friction as a fresh wave of need rises. “In that case,” Your hand trails down beneath the water, hyperaware of the violet stare tracking every move. “I hope you brought your stamina.”

He’s quick to join you in the tub—even quicker when he tugs you on top of him, pressing claiming kisses to your mouth and he slides in with ease, hushed curses falling from full lips from the near unbearable heat of your cunt. “It’s not my stamina you should be worried about,” Rhysand’s deliberate in the way he slowly lifts you off him, watching more of his length come into view until only the fat tip of his cock is inside. “I’ll spend all night fucking the smell of him off you if I must.”

[shallyne]

Feyre: it's my wedding day

Rhys: Nuh uh

Feyre: THE FUCK YOU MEAN NUH UH?

[inverted-typo]

Ur telling me this guy has a very serious annual snowball fight w the boys?

[romanticatheartt]

I die for these soft, domestic moments...

I laughed in earnest, and squeezed his face as I pressed a swift kiss to his mouth. “Shameless flirt.” The warmth returned to his eyes at last. ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ I kissed his bare neck, and he reached back to drag a finger down my cheek. ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ Rhys came over and handed me a hairpin. We worked in unison, pinning my hair into place. Rhys pinned a hard-to-reach section of my hair. ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ He leaned down, nuzzling my throat. “Don’t you want to comfort your mate, who has missed you terribly these weeks?” I planted a hand on his face and pushed him back, scowling. “I want my mate to tell me where the hell he was. Then he can get his comfort.” Rhys nipped at my fingers, teeth snapping playfully. “Cruel, beautiful female.” ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ I studied the hand, the ravaged face. Such pain lingered there—and exhaustion. The face he never let anyone see. I pushed up onto my knees and kissed his cheek, his skin warm and soft beneath my mouth. ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ So I wrote back, At least you make up for your shameless flirting by being one hell of a High Lord. He’d returned that evening, smirking like a cat, and had merely said “One hell of a High Lord?” by way of greeting. I’d sent a bucket’s worth of water splashing into his face. Rhys hadn’t bothered to shield against it. And instead shook his wet hair like a dog, spraying me until I yelped and darted away. His laughter had chased me up the stairs. ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ A half smile that had me walking toward him, stopping between his legs. He braced his hands idly on my hips. He rested his brow against my chest, right between my breasts, and wrapped his arms around my waist. For a long minute, he only breathed in the scent of me, as if taking it deep into his lungs. ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ “You look exhausted, that’s why.” He put a dramatic hand over his heart. “Your concern warms me more than any winter fire, my love.” I rolled my eyes and sat up. “Did you at least eat?” He shrugged, his dark shirt straining across his broad shoulders. “I’m fine.” His gaze slid over my bare legs as I pushed back the covers. Heat bloomed in me, but I shoved my feet into slippers. “I’ll get you food.” “I don’t want—” “When did you last eat?” A sullen silence. “I thought so.” I hauled a fleece-lined robe around my shoulders... “You don’t need to—” “I want to, and I’m going to.”... “Did you eat at all today?” “I had an apple this morning.” “Rhys.” He set down his fork, his mouth twitching toward a smile. “Feyre.” I crossed my arms. “No one is too busy to eat.” “You’re fussing.” “It’s my job to fuss. And besides, you fuss plenty. Over far more trivial things.” ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ “You look beautiful tonight.” His words were low, rough. I stroked a hand down the lap of my gown, the fabric shimmering beneath my fingers. “You say that every night.” “And mean it.” ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ His fingers threaded through my hair, tilting my face up. That wicked smile grew, and my toes curled in their boots. “There’s my darling Feyre.”

[xhigh-lords-and-wingleadersx]

Artist: Oliva.rose.james // You can buy prints of the piece here!

[rainingriversofyou]

Feyre x Rhys - ACOTAR 🌕 Artist: diana_shuke

[geniemillies]

i will never be convinced on rhysand the better high lord when tamlin opened his court to refugees during amarantha's reign, began celebrating festivities that didn't belong to spring just so they'd feel at home, played for them too with his silly fiddle omg, refused to send his people beyond the wall until he was desperate, felt them die because their bond as subject and high lord was just too great (sarah's words not mine), even buried a lesser fae in his court after he was brutalized by amarantha, dug the ground with his haaaands, said lesser fae wasn't even his subject but he offered him peace and company during his death anyway. then there's mister change takes time over here, has his people living in harsh conditions in camps, under a mountain where they cannot leave because they're more weapons than people. so if you were born anywhere in his court that's not velaris sucks to suck i guess.

don't even get me started on his family being in charge while he was gone for 50 yrs because their circus troupe didn't do squat either. cassian is a privileged boy who has lost all emotional connection to his own people. idk what azriel does besides do a job he doesn't even want to do and mope around i guess. morrigan hates her people, morrigan 'i'm the exception, everybody evil except for me and i will make no effort to change anything bc im too pretty for that'. amren. amren wtf even is she doing in the night court. not even from the lands and she's already named second in command, that's all i have to know about the high lord. what is she commanding? *in damian's voice* she doesn't even go here!!!

tamlin did more for spring and people from other courts in those fifty years than the ic will ever consider doing for the night court. morrigan couldn't lift a pinkie, if you mention doing anything for hewn city she'd start whining throwing up waa waa waa, grown ass woman. cassian kisses the dirt rhysand steps on, if he says bark he out here 🐕. amren is just there for shits and giggles. azriel.

so if anyone sat on their asses it's rhysand and his ragtag group of powerful people who don't do shit with it. illyrians still suffer in the camps, hewn city still trapped in a mountain where abuse is the norm. and they aaaalll stiiill haaaate youuur aaaasss 💥💥💥💥💥

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Needs Must — Rhysand x Reader

While I put the finishing touches to the next part of Bluebird, enjoy this Rhys x Reader that I got a sudden burst of inspiration to finish this morning!

Summary: War changes everything, and the human-fae war changed the trajectory of your life completely — most pointedly decimating the relations between you and those closest to you. It’s been a long while since you’ve seen your brother, Cassian, and your friends. But that’s all about to change.

Warnings: Suggestions of solicitation/sex work/brothels. Nothing else, really!

Word Count: 1.5k

Enjoy! 💕

It’s all pointless, you think — the red velvet drapes, the burning candles, the sandalwood-scented smoke that clouds the air and creates a thick layer of fog that hovers just above the shag carpet. Pointless, because no amount of pretty décor will change Salt’s Pleasure Hall from the vacuous and miserable place it is.

Not miserable for you, no. There is no misery in the hefty sum of gold you’ll take home on a night. You are a master of pretty smiles and hooded gazes and saying all the right things that desperate, lonely males wish to hear. There is so much coin to be had in feigning interest and attraction. Bringing their fantasy to life for a night. There is talent in making them feel as though you’ve bared yourself to them, without having removed a single item of clothing.

And to think you once begged your older brother to train you, make you like him. Turn me into a weapon like you are, Cassian. We cannot change what filth sired us. But we can stamp it out from our blood and be better, be more.

And oh, he’d trained you, alright. Turned you into a weapon. Into something he was so fucking proud of. You knew the pride it had once brought him to strut around Illyrian lands with you at his side, clad in leathers just as he was, armed to the teeth just as he was. His way of showing off that he had done something good, something useful.

Oh, how things have changed. How the mighty have fallen.

For all you are confident, comfortable, used to the job you have now worked for some time, you are nervous tonight.

Tonight is different. Tonight is territory that has so far been untouched. Tonight, this room of velvet and silk and sensuality is your domain.

The Juniper Suite is part of the most expensive package that Salt’s Pleasure Hall has to offer. The package is similar to your usual night’s work in that you will smile prettily and pour drinks and ply whichever lonely male arrives with mindless conversation.

The difference is that in Juniper, those things lead to sex. And this is the first time since becoming one of Salt’s girls that you’re crossing that boundary.

So, yeah, you’re a little bit nervous. But — needs must, and all that.

With a soft sigh and butterflies dancing around in your belly, you slowly pace the circumference of the room, stopping every now and then to study the weird little trinkets that Salt has picked up over the years. A strange mishmash of things that you suppose he thinks creates a certain ambience. But tiny metal lions and old, fraying maps will be the furthest thing from your client’s thoughts when the two of you sink into the feathered sheets.

They will be here any minute, and for the first time since you started your work here, you allow yourself to wonder what they might be like. You never usually bother, because the other girls warned you on day one what to expect — that this place attracts a certain clientele, and that never wavers.

So, your guest will likely be far older than you. He will likely have dark smudges beneath his eyes and the weight of the world on his shoulders. There will likely be the faint mark of a removed wedding band on his left ring finger. He will likely want to talk to you about why he is a victim of life itself.

And you will coo sympathetically and pour him drinks, drag your hand down his arm and hold his hand. You will let him know how sorry you feel that life is so cruel to him. You will offer him the bliss of touch and feel, and make him think, for a short while, that you genuinely care about his shortcomings.

And then when he hands you the heavy pouch of coins you so desperately covet, you’ll switch it all off.

You swallow down another sigh and cross the room to the small, compact bar in the corner. You need a stiff drink yourself, something to settle your nerves—

But a knock lands on the door, and there’s no time.

For a split second, you doubt whether you can go through with this. Playing hostess for a few hours is one thing, but giving your body to a client is something you’ve never had the courage to do, despite the extra coin it would bring. But — needs must. You repeat it to yourself as you stride to the door. Needs must, needs must, needs must. You can do this.

You brace yourself, feeling suddenly too hot and sticky in the scant clothing that covers you — a pink lingerie set, barely covered by the sheer robe that sits open and threatens to slip down your arms. You are beautiful — and strong and sexy and confident. This is your body to do with whatever you want. And if this is the course you are taking, that is fine. This will be fine.

You lay your palm on the handle and yank the door open before you have to give yourself another pep talk.

But at the sight of who stands on the other side, you freeze. Your lips part in surprise.

A pep talk is not what you need — but rather a huge hole to open in the floor and swallow you down.

“What the fuck?”

It takes you a moment to realise that you’ve uttered those three words at the exact same moment your client did — Rhysand did.

He’s just like when you last saw him, but…older, now. Even though you were adults back then, too, he seems…more mature, somehow. He’s regal and stunning and night itself.

And fuck, he’s High Lord of the Night Court now.

And yet he’s ruffled, as he takes you in, gapes at you. Neither of you know what to do.

His eyes dip down to what you’re wearing, before travelling back up to your face. And he blurts, “Pixie?”

Pixie. You haven’t heard that name in years. The fond nickname that both Rhys and Azriel had coined for you, because you were so much like Cassian and yet so much smaller, a little pixie buzzing around.

But you are not her anymore. You haven’t been her since before the human-fae war. You had changed, just like the others had changed.

And the new you doesn’t need to explain to an old friend what has brought you to a pleasure hall in Sangravah. Nor does that old friend need to explain what’s brought him here, either. You owe him nothing. He owes you nothing.

But the situation is so bizarre that your mind freezes. You don’t know what to do. All you know is that you do not want to be in front of him, almost naked. You do not want to look him in the eye. The mere thought is humiliating.

So you move fast and try to slam the door shut in his face. You don’t care what kind of reprimand Salt will give you because of it.

But, of course, he is Rhysand, and may you never forget that. He’s quick as lightning, something about him always having been wildly feline. He always bested you when you sparred, always had the upper hand.

He has the upper hand now as he wedges his foot in the door and stops it from closing.

You grit your teeth, feeling just like when you used to bicker with him in Illyria as you bite out, “Move your fucking foot.”

“No,” Rhys snaps, shoving it in further. “Open the fucking—” he growls as he shoulders himself forward. “Pixie.”

“Don’t call me that. Go away—”

You’re not exactly sure what happens next. Either he loses his footing, or you do, or perhaps you both do. All you know is that the door is swinging fully open, and your balance is suddenly off, and Rhysand’s hand is gripping onto you as you fall backwards. Your attempts to right yourself are far too late and seem to make it worse. Down you go to that musty shag carpet, and down Rhysand goes with you,

Air whooshes from your lungs as he lands on top of you, far too close than is comfortable when you’re wearing so little clothing. You attempt to sit up, shove him off you.

But he holds you firm and stares at you with wide eyes. His face is inches from yours. He gives what seems to be a baffled shake of his head.

“Pix, what the fuck?” he blurts.

[nightcourtlady17]

I loved this scene. I love that it showed Feyre showing some emotion other than grief and sadness.

[readychilledwine]

A Helping Hand

Rhysand Week Day 4 : Lord of Night

Summary - High Lord, Husband, father. Rhysand's plate is just far too full, leading the Inner Circle to take over some duties.

Warnings - workaholic Rhysand, discussions of classism, new dad Rhys, platonic bond, loose editing so forgive me if I fix things later

A/N - I am so sorry this is late! I think someone *cough baby daddy cough* accidently deleted it when he did a run through for me. But anyways, happy late day 4 and day 5 of @officialrhysandweek! It'll be a double post day 💕

✨️Rhysand Week Masterlist✨️Rhys Masterlist✨️Master Masterlist✨️

“Please just let me handle this for you,” you were firm in the request, hand still on the request of approval to renovate the Opera house in the Rainbow. “We both know this project is completely unneeded. There is no reason for you to waste your time penning the letter.”

Rhysand stared at where your hand met the paper. His eyes were heavy with exhaustion, “I-”

“No. It's time for us to have a serious discussion.” You took the paper from him and then held his hands. “Rhysand, you have spread yourself far too thin. You are not sleeping well with a newborn, you are helping Feyre as she's healing, you are recovering from trauma. Let me help you by organizing the report by who should actually be handling them.”

Rhys seemed to consider your words before nodding, “I want final-”

“Rhysand, we have known each other for 500 years. Do you truly not trust me enough to make a decision based on your preferences?”

He tugged that power exchange bond between the two of you, silently asking for a bit of your energy. You offered it to him without hesitation, without even so much as thinking about your well-being over his. “I do not want the fae in this court knowing I'm not the one running the court.” You couldn't help but sigh and roll your eyes and stare at him, blinking as if to say, “Duh.” His lips twitched into a smile at you, “What are you going to do, sweetheart? Forge my signat..” His eyes went wide as he realized that was exactly what you had planned. “I expect brief rundowns first.”

“And you will have them. Now go take a nap.”

The Inner Circle gathered in the new father's office claiming reports left and right. Cassian took anything involving Illyria and the training camps. Azriel took anything involving newcomers to the City of Starlight, border related issues, and requests for visiting. Mor and Amren split Hewn City. Dividing those reports among issues relating to rumors of uprisings or requests for help and sanctuary from tortured females. It left you with things regarding the inner workings of Velaris. You were curled in your own office, writing the rejection letter for the Opera House Project. The Opera House had been a gift to Velaris after Rhysand's return home. It was barely more than a few years old and every single feature had been planned to perfection by you and Rhysand as a way to heal the odd bind that tied you two together. The wealthy fae of Velaris were asking to redo the seating. Specifically, they wanted the seats to be made larger. 

You knew this wasn't for comfort. You had fallen in love with studying the patterns of consumerism throughout Prythian history. You knew this project was aimed at accessibility. Less sears meant higher prices for shows. Higher prices meant exclusion of the middle and lower classes. Exclusion from the arts was dangerous, though. Something you, Rhysand, and Feyre stood firmly against. 

Hours seemed to pass as you finished one thing and moved to the next, realizing how far behind Rhysand had gotten. He was hardly sleeping, rotating nights with Feyre, or just forcing her to sleep while he handled nights with a newborn alone. He was being the father he never had. One who earned the title of Dad, and you knew the last thing he'd want was the fae he cared so much for to suffer because of it. 

The sunset when Cassian arrived, his work completed. “Rhys has been given the gist of everything. I am to only have to send one thing to the camp leaders,” Cassian slid a letter, one penned by himself over to you. “Rhysie is having them start to direct all issues to me first. Using your whole chain of command idea.” 

Silence. 

Cassian's words were met with silence as you swallowed hard, holding in tears of pride. “He's delegating?!”

The commander nodded, scarred lips twitching to smirk. “He is.”

You'd never faked his signature so fast, quill flying across the parchments, “This is good.”

Azriel was next with Nuala and Cerridwen in tow, “City guard is to report issues to the twins from now on,” he leaned into his chair. “If they deem it serious enough, they will handle it unless I need to get involved.”

“And if you can't handle it,” you questioned as a joke. 

Azriel scoffed before schooling his reaction to your jab, “Then, and only then, is Rhys to get involved. My part of his reports are done and sent. I didn't think anyone would have issues with me answering security related issues.” 

They'd be a fool to, is what you wanted to reply with. Azriel was not the type of male to fuck with unless you had a death wish. He was petty at times and loved to plot. 

Mor came next, throwing herself dramatically into the chair. “I hate how your Office is a dry zone,” she groaned. “I'll be visiting daddy dearest.” 

You gagged at that and the two of you launched into a gossip session. Turns out, her father had taken Rhysand's recent absence in Hewn City as an open invitation to run a few illegal trade rings. Rings Mor was all too happy to be putting an end to. 

“That summarizes what Amren and I will both be dealing with,” she yawned, perfect red nails flying to her lips. “I'm going to bed.”

10.

11. 

Midnight.

2am rolled around and your door opened again, a sleepy Rhysand carrying a sleeping Nyx. “Go to bed,” his tone was commanding but held an air of affection to you. “You're no better than me.”

You only maintained eye contact, smirking as you put his name on a document approving a community vegetable garden and greenhouse, “Yet here we are,” you whispered. “All your reports, acquisitions, and petitions done and handled.”

His face fell, eyes shutting as he nodded, “You all got me caught up?”

With a wave of your hand, all the stacks vanished to their proper locations where they would sit and wait to be opened by their receivers. “We did,” you stood as silently as possible and moved to him and Nyx, “Do you want me to go lay him down?”

Rhysand only responded by pulling you into a tight side hug, his face burying in your hair, “How can I repay you for this? You have no clue what this meant to Feyre and I.”

The hug was payment enough. Contact with your best friend making that power bond hum as you hugged him back, “No repayment is necessary, Rhys. We all need help sometimes.”

“But-”

You whispered again, interrupting him, “We all need help sometimes.”

Understand, gratefulness, and admiration filled his almost violet colored gaze, “How did I get blessed with Feyre as my mate and you as my carranam?”

“Good question,” you shot back. “Maybe it was so we could keep you humble.” You took Nyx slowly, moving to walk the little heir back to his nursery. “Or maybe it was to keep you from dying in your office. Goodnight, Rhysand.”

You could tell he wanted to sass you back, to have the last word. It had been so long since that side of him came out, and you were glad to see a day of rest brought some fire back to him. He seemed to settle with nodding, walking backwards as he watched you take Nyx, “This isn't over. Once I wake up refreshed tomorrow, it's on. Goodnight, Y/n.”

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[solbaby7]

Heat of the Moment

rhysand x reader

warnings: smut, this is pure selfish indulgence, public masturbation 🫣, possible swearing, mildddd voyeurism (this batboy likes to watch, i’ll die on this hill), drunk swimming, nudity, kinda pervy!rhys if we’re being technical here, had to get it out my drafts sry

summary: When summer in Velaris becomes too hot to handle, you take it upon yourself to go swimming; naked—better hope no one’s watching.

—

Rhysand fucking hated the summer.

Sometimes he found beauty in the suns resplendent display during its rise and fall in the sky. Saw hints of the Mother nestled in the flowers proudly broadcasting their colorful beauty around the house’s perimeter—but that was about as far as his admiration ran.

Mostly due to the fact that Rhys absolutely abhorred the pulsing burn of the sun, its rays boiling ten times hotter when adorning the typical black of Night Court attire. He positively loathed the drifting pollen in the air that stuck to fine fabrics of his tailored suits and the humid breeze that forced an uncomfortable sweat to thicken against his skin.

Two fingers tug at the collar of his dress shirt; one, two, three buttons being yanked undone until a healthy amount of chest is exposed, inky tattoos on full display. “Anything?” Rhysand mentally sends Azriel’s way with more than a little bite in his tone but the shadowsinger doesn’t even flinch.

“It would appear a few of the wards are down.”

Even without physically seeing his brother, Rhys can picture the amused tilt of Azriel’s mouth to accompany his sarcastic tone. “No shit! It’s a hundred godsdamned degrees in this house.”

“Pampered High Lord can’t handle a little heat? Open a window. It’ll be fixed soon.”

Rhysand grumbles, eyes rolling when Azriel’s mental shields are rebuilt and fortified in an instant. He takes his advice though, sluggishly dragging across the room to open the double doors to his office balcony with more attitude than intended; the polished wood clanging against the walls.

It’s not the sound that captures the High Lords attention though.

It’s the female with her toes dipped in the water, back stretched out against the smoother parts of rock that surrounds the lake below. A towel is splayed over heat-kissed stone, a bottle of wine used to hold down one edge while a wicker basket full of chopped fruit and cubed cheeses, cured meats and crispy crackers holds down the other.

He knew he should've looked away when he realizes it was you. He should've turned around and put the image of you out of his mind so he could finish up the debilitating pile of paperwork that remained on his desk. There was so much to do—so many responsibilities to tend to and now with the wards out of place, who knew how long it could take to detect them all and fix it.

But Rhysand just can't tear his eyes off of you and that skimpy little bikini you adorned.

It's awfully dainty, with flimsy little straps and cute bows tied tightly against curvy hips in a pretty pastel purple that pops against sun-kissed skin. You've tied your hair up, a messy bun of a thing plopped at the top of your head with a bright scrunchie but a few stray curls fall free, teasing at the back of your neck and sides of your cheeks when the wind graces you with its presence; ruffling the pages of the book tucked between two fingers.

He lingers there longer than he'd care to admit, memorizing the scrunched furrow of your brow and the precious pout of your mouth. One of your hands falls carelessly to the side, occasionally reaching for a snack or a drink of wine until Rhys decides he's definitely been looming in the doorway an obscene amount of time—enough to almost feel embarrassed and maybe a little creepy when you snap your book closed.

His cheeks go red, already preparing himself for the apology you're sure to demand from him for perving on you from the balcony but when Rhysand looks down, you're still none the wiser to his presence. Though, you have carefully put your literature aside to slowly glance at your surroundings.

Rhysand pauses his retreat, now surveilling as you had, searching for the sign of life that you’d detected but no matter how far he pushes his power through the trees and forestry, over the mountains and the village surrounding it —not a single soul is identified.

You seem to come to this same conclusion and Rhys waits with bated breath as your hands curl behind your back to undo the ties of your top. “Holy gods,” The High Lord's knees physically give out when the heaving plush of your breasts are bared, his weight slumping into the outdoor lounge chair and all but whimpers at the sight of you. Absolutely ethereal, you are; a gift granted from the Mother herself--completely unaware of the beauty you behold and the lengths males would go to have such beauty latched on their arms.

The very thought of another seeing you this way has jealousy churning in Rhys' gut.

A completely different kind of heat swarms his skin as your pretty purple bottoms follow where your top is haphazardly tossed and obscene kinds of filth floods his mind; a million fantasies taking root at once until all the blood needed for his braid to exude proper common sense is rushed below his belt.

Fuck, this was so wrong but that very fact makes his cock swell further. Every nerve in his body burns, and for once Rhysand isn’t brooding about the sweltering heat or the sweat dripping down his back or the disgusting little gnats that flock around the perfectly pruned flora. Not when you're there, not quite within arms reach but plenty close enough for Rhys to make out the outline of your body from under the water.

Thick curls cling to you when you break the surface and Rhysand doesn't even think twice before his fingers are hastily undoing the button of his breeches. Teeth bite into his bottom lip as he palms his hardness through the thin material of his boxers; violet eyes darkening into a lusty aubergine.

It’s effortless, the way you cut through the stream, feet kicking against the gentle current as you bask in the feeling of weightlessness—most likely grateful for the cool calm after waking up with clothes drenched in sweat and hair sticking to your shoulders. A complete juxtaposition to the shiver that rakes down your spine from the surprisingly crisp waters, goosebumps loitering your flesh and nipples pebbling.

Rhysand tracks every move, hypnotized by the way light reflected off the high points of your features, casting sensual shadows over the shape of your hips and the ample ass behind it. Drool damn near drips down his chin when you pull yourself out, every inch of you soaking wet and glistening; womanly curves jiggling enticingly as you plop out to lay on your towel fully intending to work up an even tan.

One hand strokes at his erection, thumb collecting pre-cum and spine sinking into the chair as he feasts on the display you’ve provided. So beautiful, so soft and lovely—oh, but not quite so proper, were you?

Because, the way you trace your fingers down the line between your tits lacks anything but decorum. Legs bend at the knee for stability while you tug at a nipple, your free hand sliding down, down, down until your perfect manicure disappears between your thighs. He's completely stuck; hooked, caught like a fish on a line and you just keep reeling in him closer and closer to his demise and yet he still refuses to fight it.

The throb of his cock is nearly painful, balls swollen and grip lethal when pumping up and down the thick length. Even when his eyes go droopy and his breathing grows labored, he forces his view to remain on you and the slow roll of your hips as two fingers slowly circle around the sensitive bud of your clit.

Rhys swears that he tries to stop but he'd already fallen too far, swept up by the unsteady rise and fall of your chest and the eager spread of toned legs as you build up to that sweet release. Huffy hums of pleasure drifts up into his ears like sweet music and while he wouldn't have considered himself a melomaniac; he could see the obsession forming if it was your voice carrying the melodies.

Velvety skin shifts with each desperate pump, thumb applying pressure just under the defined mushroom head of his prick when Rhys realizes the noises have stopped—your pretty moans and the slick sounds of your pussy no longer drifting his way.

"And here I thought a High Lord was supposed to hold himself with some sort of decorum,” Every muscle in Rhysand’s body locks at the sound of your voice, its cadence much closer than before and entirely too smug when you take in the leaking throb of his erection. Hands seize their stroking and Rhysand can't fucking fathom the fact that he'd allowed his imagination to run so wild—to distract him so intensely that he'd been sloppy enough to get caught.

He hadn't even heard you enter the room. Hadn't detected the familiar itch of one winnowing around his territory. You'd utterly blindsided him, a hot flush billowing into his cheeks, "I was just—“

"Watching me," You swiftly intercede, completely confident before him with your body free of periwinkle restrictions. "Instead of finishing that mountain of paperwork you've been ignoring."

"I got a little distracted." Mischief swells in your eye at the rough tone of his voice and it’s no secret your affect on him. Rhysand’s jaw was clenched tightly with barely contained restraint as he forces himself to focus on the lush green grass or the chirp of the birds wrestling in the trees instead of the soft swell of your belly and the supple curve of your thighs that sits right in his line of sight. “And you’re not exactly making it easy to pay attention to anything but you.”

“Good,” You all put preen under the compliment. "The harder the better." A sharp inhale is sucked through his nose when one knee drops to the free space of his chair. You hover over him, perky tits right in his face as you take your sweet ass time getting comfortable in his lap. It's bold; intrusive even—you plopping the weight of your ass against his thighs as you ease his hand aside and replace it with your own. "All the fun is in the challenge."

And what a challenge it would be taking such a massive cock.

It's really fucking pretty though. Hard to the touch and soft as silk. It pulses in your grasp, twitching when you give an experimental squeeze and Rhysand nearly finishes on the spot when you peer at him through thick lashes. Lust swims in your vision, aroused by the scenes from your book read by the lake and the added eroticism that ensued once realizing you weren't alone--that there was another watching you as you'd undressed. "Fucking filthy thing, you are." Rhys grunts as your thoughts consume him, abdomen contracting involunentarily as he submits to the overwhelming high that comes with your touch.

"Says you," Your wet hair drips a puddle by his shoes, liquid bouncing off polished leather as your hips shamelessly roll, grinding down along the muscular ridges of his thigh through his breeches, pussy clenching around nothing at the delicious friction. “Those expensive tutors forget to teach you that’s it’s not polite to spy on a lady?”

"They did," Never once had it taken Rhysand so long to conjure up a witty remark, "—but it's been a while since I’ve attended my lessons." The warmth from between your legs and the hypnotic bounce of your breasts is enough to turn him dumb. All the overstimulated High Lord can offer up is deep grunts and choppy pants through garbled praises and pleas for more as you have your way with him. You don't even have to bother tugging his pants down all the way, plenty satisfied with only unvieling the goods.

"Sounds like you need a refresher on manners." Consent is granted in the way Rhys’ hands grip at your hips, guiding you up, up, up until your dripping sex hovers over his own and when he and you finally connect—every movement turns desperate.

“Oh fuck,” He chokes out, starving hands feasting at your figure, ravishing every curve and devouring every sound you offer. It had to have something to do with the heat; this all-consuming hunger that burns beneath your skin and just engulfs everything in sight until all sense of rationality and logic had melted to mush.

“Better than your hands, huh?” It takes everything in you to keep your words steady, to keep your thighs sturdy and rhythm in tune as you rock your hips; experimenting with the feeling of such fullness. “Was this what you were thinking about when you were perving on me? How I’d feel wrapped around you? How far I could take you?” Fingers bite into your waist, it’s sure to leave bruises and yet you can’t find it in yourself to give a shit when you’re so preoccupied with sucking up every fucking inch Rhys had to offer. The noises that rumbles through the air is guttural, animalistic; stained with desire and a mind numbing need that triggers that possessive Illyrian blood within him and when his hips shift, feet planting more sturdy against the ground—you know you’re screwed.

Truly, undeniably fucked.

Because with each sharp thrust he offers, your cocky demeanor fades away. “Was thinking about how you’d sound and the noises you’d make for me.” The control shift is palpable even in your state, hazy eyes catching the second a flustered Rhys eases into the role of High Lord, weilder of a great power that he clearly knew how to manipulate. “Can’t say, I’m disappointed.”