#Rhys fic

[readychilledwine]

Pieces of You pt 3

Summary - After losing Feyre to childbirth, Rhysand finds himself leaning on one of her friends much more than he'd ever expected.

Warnings - self doubt, slight manipulation, discussion of moving forward after the death of a spouse, hurt people hurting people, HOFAS spoilers *slightly* (a lot of us had this theory to begin with and I just played with it to fit this)

A/n - It can only be uphill from here, right?.. Special thank you to @honeybeefae and @thehighladywrites for helping me think through how quickly I should let reader and Rhys move on, and for convincing me that I should continue writing this. (Ps friends - sorry I can't tag you. I evidently hit the max tag amount with my taglists.)

✨️ Pieces of You Masterlist ✨️

The 3 month milestone had changed your and Morwenna's lives forever. Rhys had finally convinced you to move into one of his homes. He was insistently whispering to you over and over that the small cabin wasn't going to work anymore, that Cassian and Azriel barely fit inside it, that once his Little Mor and sweet Nyx began to move you four would need more space.

It had been also heartbreaking, entering the home Feyre had crafted, each room so individually thought of for who it was intended to belong to. Above all else, though, it had been lonely.

It wasn't your home. It wasn't the finely crafted wooden arches your mate had assembled by hand. It wasn't the rooms you had spent hours picking colors for. It wasn't cozy. That lack of security and warmth was why you were once again up at 3am. Despite the babies now sleeping for longer chunks of time, you never did. Regardless of if it was a night Rhysand spent at your side or one he spent tucked into the room he had shared with Feyre.

You leaned your head back against the exterior of the home, looking up at the glittering sky, and it finally happened.

3 months of mourning in silence. 3 months of screaming into your pillow. 3 months of stress, of anger, of overflowing love, 3 months of feeling like a shell of the female you were, of feeling as though your body was no longer yours, it crashed into you like a tidal wave. And it swept and destroyed everything in its path.

Rhysand shot awake in bed, feeling something was off. His chest ached, begging him to get up, to move, to search. He pulled on pants, glancing at Nyx and Morwenna sleeping peacefully, but you, once again, had not come to the room. He waited for the wraith to appear, feeling her just moments after he called. “Is it y/n,” Nuala nodded to the question, moving to admire the sleeping babes. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong. She is mourning. That is her right.”

Rhys sighed, moving to your room without hesitation. He had hoped getting you out of that house would help. He had hoped the luxury he could offer you would have helped. He knocked on the door, listening for the broken come in that followed. “Why haven't you come to bed?” You were taken back by the question, taken back by him holding that perfectly tanned hand out. “Come to bed. Let me hold you until those sorrows melt away for the night.”

He knew you didn't feel it. That soft string that had made him scream, made him question all he knew about love and life. Part of him hoped you never did. Part of him hoped he would never have to explain to his family how it had taken him a miniscule 3 month period to fall in love with you and for a Mother given mating bond to snap. Part of him hoped he would never have to experience losing you, to add you to his list of things he would bury too deeply to properly mourn.

“I was unsure if I was wanted there.” That hand reached for yours, clasping it. He was so warm. Always so warm. You could bask in his warmth like he was the sun if given the chance. You shook the feeling mentally, though. “It is-”

“Our room,” he finished softly. “It is our room. Where our children are sleeping. Come to bed.”

Morning came much too soon for Rhysand. It had come much too soon for you as well. You took both of the babes, laughing as they spoke to each other in a language only they knew. They had begun taking more interest in each other, in toys, in the world. They were making life the greatest adventure, even if a lingering pain came from both of you seeing them smile so brightly.

It happened at the worst possible time. You were holding Nyx, forearm under his little tummy and letting “fly” as he worked so very hard to stretch his growing wings. Rhysand was watching you from the doorway, Morwenna on his hip as she looked up at him. Her thoughts were jumbled baby speak, all so happy. Nyx's were elated and fast. When you looked to the doorway, your wide smile fell as that string finished itself and settled deep into your chest.

Rhysand had never watched someone's mental walls fall as quickly as yours did. The silence in the room almost made the giggles of the two unknowing parties fade to background noise. “I was shocked too, darling. It's okay.”

Rhysand had dinner without you that night. He flew to the House of Wind with Nyx to eat with the Inner Circle. He wanted to give you time. He remembered the moment Azriel and Nesta came home, questioning their bonds after exploring those damned caves with the Quinlan girl and learning how the Cauldron had been corrupted. He knew you needed to process. He had too after all.

He took his seat trying to ignore the one that sat empty next to him. Everynight a plate was still sitting there. Even when you came, that chair sat empty, plate untouched. It was a screaming sign that the Inner Circle had not moved in. That they may never move on.

“It just makes the two mates theory make more sense,” Cassian and Amren were deep in a debate again. “If the Daglan, asteri, whatever the fuck we want to call them, did something to the Cauldron to ensure the mating bonds were taken over by it's creation for breeding purposes, then the existence of a Mother Blessed Bond must also be there.”

Amren sighed, “So which do you two have then?” Nesta stiffened at the question. “A Mother Blessed Bond is meant to be true love. It's who we are technically meant to find as a soul mate. A Cauldron made Bond is evidently strictly for breeding. Which do you two share?”

The table hushed. It was a valid question and point. “To continue,” Amren took a drink from her glass before setting it down with a gentle click. “If we come out and tell other courts about this, how many other fae will begin to question their bonds? Kallias and Vivienne? Tamlin and Briar? Helion and Saraya? Lucien and Elain? How do we even begin to prove which bond is which? Does it mean they love that mate less? Rhysand would not have loved Feyre less regardless of the bond type. He will never remarry. Never move on.”

Azriel flicked his eyes to Rhysand. He knew about the bond Rhysand shared with you. He had given Rhysand his blessing to move on and pursue. He had asked his brother to find happiness again. He watched the words land on Rhysand's features, watched his eyes dull.

“If Rhysand did find a new mate,” Azriel spoke softly. “We would all support him moving forward with the bond.”

Nesta scoffed from next to Cassian. “Imagine being that poor female. Living in the shoes of Feyre Cursebreaker. No one could compare.”

But you did, didn't you? Rhysand's grip on his thigh tightened before relaxing. You were just as special, as kind, as loving. You were beautiful. Gods knew you were absolutely beautiful. You were selfless.

“I wouldn't want to try to sit in her place. I would reject the bond,” Mor sipped her wine, leaned back with one arm across her stomach.

Cassian and Azriel both looked to where Rhysand was dead silent. “I need to take Nyx home. He's getting hungry. I'll be right back.”

When Rhysand came back to the House of Wind without his son, he had no intentions of coming back to you that night. So, he never did.

3 awkward weeks passed between you and Rhysand. 3 absolutely strange weeks of either heated kisses and touches or nothing. Not even a good morning. You sighed as you laid Morwenna and Nyx down in the nursery before taking the few strides to Rhysand's office.

He was avoiding you, and it hurt. It hurt knowing your mate, this beautiful unasked for second chance was avoiding you. He was hunched over his desk, reading over some papers and signing a few. “Are we going to talk about why you are avoiding me?”

“I am not avoiding you. I am busy.”

“Yes, busy avoiding me.” You sat across from him, feeling so cold and informal. It was as if you were nothing more than his employee. “Our children are asleep. We should talk about this while we can. I deserve to know if I did something wrong.”

He didn't even look up at you as he replied. “You didn't do anything wrong. As I said, I am busy.” This wasn't the voice of the male who coaxed you to sleep. The one who whispered his dreams to you. “You can go.”

The dismissal made the bond go taunt, and when he felt the first wave of your confusion and hurt, he locked it down more. “Rhys-”

“I think we should sleep in separate rooms again. Our relationship has crossed some lines.”

You blinked at him. Stunned and almost dead silent. “I don't understand where this is coming from?”

“It's the truth. I am your High Lord. You are my subject.” It killed him to say it. His own heart was screaming to stop, but that first brick wall now stood, waiting for the other 3 sides. “We cannot continue blurring that line.”

“You're my mate,” your broken whisper almost made him stop, but he dug in.

“Something we will need to discuss at a later date and time. Surely there will be away for us to reject the bond without causing a downfall and hurting your ability to nanny Nyx.” A second wall stood in place of you and his heart. He knew it was a low blow, and he watched your brows knit and mouth slightly open.

“Rhysand.”

“High Lord,” he corrected.

“Why are you doing this?”

“The bedroom you were in previously is fine.”

“Why are you acting like this?”

“I am establishing a boundary, y/n.” He watched as you began to cry, holding in his own tears as he did. “Our relationship needs to remain appropriate.”

"Do you not want me? We are blessed with this second chance, and you are just turning your back on it. Please, is it me? I know I am not the beauty she was, I know I am not as special as she was. But I'd fight to make you happy, for our children-”

"Nyx isn't yours. Stop acting like he is.”

He watched as you crumbled inside of yourself, that last wall forming around his heart by destroying yours. He didn't mean a single word, but how else was he supposed to save you? All the Mother had ever done to Rhysand was take and take.

You recovered from the blow quickly, nodding as you aggressively wiped the tears from your face. "You have the weekend to find someone else to do what I am. Wen and I are leaving.”

"You can't just take her from me.”

"Yes I can," he knew what was coming, that new bond screaming for him to stop this all. "You aren't her father. Stop acting like it.”

You wanted to slam the door as you walked away before his act fell, before he gripped his chest and warded the room to sob. Little Mor had quickly become his everything. That dark hair, that button nose, those deep blue eyes. She looked like his sister, but you didn't know that when you threatened to take her away. Hadn't known why all three winged males so quickly became attached to her.

And now he was losing her. He was losing you. He was losing everything.

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria

Pieces of You Taglist:

@dr4g0ngirl @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @blueeclipsepaperstudent @thisblogisaboutabook @mybestfriendmademe @novalovi @rachelnicolee @sleepylunarwolf @sidthedollface2 @acourtofbatboydreams @bunnyredgirl @fandomrejects @bookishbroadwaybish @littlestw01f @la-petite-lapin @juniperberriesaries @anuttellaa @luvmoo @mirandasidefics @soph1644 @hungryforbatboys @awkardnerd @bruxa0007 @eerievixen @youvereachedthenearest-lovergirl @ghostlyrose2 @amygdtjhddzvb @marvelouslovely-barnes @batii-skies @emma-andrea1 @buckystevelove @slut4acotar @cauldronboilmetakemetovelaris @throneofshadows @sevikas-whore @thebeautifulmysteriesoflife @why4anne @miadialila @12358 @blushingfawnsposts

✨️If you are not tagged but your name is listed, Tumblr will not allow me to tag you for some reason!✨️

[shadowdaddies]

Close to You

Rhysand x Reader

A/N: I am exhausted and need Rhys to... comfort me

Warnings: this is mostly fluff but def smut too, cockwarming, somnophilia-ish (that's where this would head if there was a part 2)

The soft rug dragged against your feet as you trudged into your mate’s office, Rhys looking up at you through his reading glasses while you shuffled closer.

A slow smile appeared on his lips, tongue flicking out as he took in the sight of you in your nightgown and bed-ruffled hair. “You are up late, darling,” he purred, violet eyes twinkling like starlight.

A soft, silent yawn left you, limbs stretching as your legs carried you around the desk to where your mate sat. “I missed you,” you admitted, leaning against the desk as one foot crossed over to slide along his thigh. 

Rhys swallowed thickly, his power flickering throughout the room as he struggled to control himself. “What do you need from me, my love?”

Suppressing the wicked smirk you felt within, you allowed your eyes to rove over his body. Rhys’s unbuttoned shirt displayed his tattooed, toned chest, his tightening slacks leaving nothing to the imagination. 

“I just want to be near you.” The admission left you in a breathless whisper, eyes growing hazy as you straddled his lap, settling over the hardened length beneath you.

Settling against his warm chest, you relished in the feeling of your synchronized heartbeats as your muscles relaxed in his hold. Everything in you felt at peace, except for the ache in your core at his arousal pressing against your own, his scent growing stronger and darker in the air.

Rhys’s arms enveloped you, your arms wrapping around his neck as he continued to attempt to work on the papers laid out before him. Leaning forward to gather ink on his quill, your mate’s crotch brushed against yours in a way that evoked a high pitched mewl from you.

Sharp teeth bit into the skin of your neck, tongue flicking out to soothe the sore skin as Rhys’s voice invaded your mind. 

It is very... challenging... to keep my composure, when you make sounds like that.

“Then don’t,” you whispered aloud, leaning back to look in his lust-filled eyes, hands dipping to the waistband of his pants. 

Rhys groaned, hips rolling up against your own, head tilting back against his chair. Your face flushed at the sight of his cock as it sprang free, pussy clenching around nothing at the mere thought of him being inside of you, stretching your walls in painful pleasure as he hit the deepest parts of you.

“I have work to do, though,” he gritted out, voice pained as Rhys looked to you for mercy. “I need to feel you, darling, please.”

Hands cupped his sharp jaw, tilting his face towards your own as fingers slid through onyx locks to tug him impossibly close. The tip of his cock rubbed your folds, making it difficult to focus as your own head fell from his lips, collapsing against his shoulder. 

One hand guiding Rhys’s lips to your neck, the other slid down his toned chest to his cock, lining him up with your entrance. Sliding down, your hand gripped his neck, his teeth digging into yours at the sensation.

“That’s so good,” you murmured. “So deep.”

Another small yawn escaped you, your desire for Rhys at odds with your own exhaustion. 

“Sleep, my love,” he murmured, chest pressed against your own as he picked up his quill to return to his work. “I’ll take care of you soon enough.”

“Mm,” you moaned, half-asleep and warm in his arms, the safest place in the world for you. You felt a kiss press to the top of your hair, love flowing through the bond as you fell asleep with Rhys deep inside of you.

Part 2

[lidiasloca]

meeting the high lord and high lady

nyx x reader - cassian x reader - azriel x reader

PART TWO

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄☆

“i’m azriel. nice to meet you.”

nyx groaned at your lack of response. “she is y/n. let’s go to the table now, please.”

rhys chuckled as he escorted feyre to the table, followed by azriel, who gave you a quick, curious glance. since you seemed unable to walk yourself, nyx grabbed your arm, dragging you to the living room. “behave,” he whispered.

yeah—that was your plan.

but fate wasn’t on your side. but do you know who was? azriel. “yeah, sit over there,” feyre told you, pointing to the empty chair next to the shadowsinger.

“great,” nyx breathed. but you could barely listen to him; your ears only cared about azriel’s words directed your way.

“so... how long have you and nyx been friends?”

the way his eyes watched you, expecting an answer... you could barely breathe at the sight. barely function, knowing you had his full attention.

“uhm—”

“hello! hello!” a stranger said, taking a seat at the table. you instantly moved your eyes to him, abandoning the sight that was azriel. but oh gods—

“cassian. you’re late,” the high lord told him sternly.

cassian didn’t pay him any attention. “and you are beautiful,” he said, staring at you shamelessly, as if in awe.

breathe, y/n. breathe.

“thank you,” you said, trying to hold his devouring gaze. but quickly, your eyes moved to azriel’s hand, which was gripping his glass so tightly it looked like it might shatter.

“cassian,” he said sharply, jaw clenched. “why don’t you sit already?”

but the enormous male just chuckled, not caring that azriel seemed close to throwing the glass.

you were far too lost in the beauty of rhysand, who watched the two males in front of him with an amused look on his face, to care about the strange scene.

“it looks like she’s already taken,” cassian laughed, making azriel’s grip harden and rhys’s smile grow wider.

“yes, she is,” rhys said, glancing at azriel as cassian took a seat.

feyre elbowed him, giggling. “can you not talk about her this way? a female is no one’s property.”

“no matter how beautiful?” cassian asked, still looking at you.

you felt like you were about to faint.

the three of them laughed at his words—all but nyx and azriel, who looked at cassian as if they were about to strangle him.

“y/n, we were talking about you,” azriel said, facing you, almost whispering—like he was done with the others’ conversation.

“mmmm,” you quickly replied, trying to swallow the food in your mouth. “yes, well... uh... what was the question?”

“hey, don’t keep the conversation to yourself,” rhys said, his lips grazing his wine-filled glass.

“yes, we want to get to know y/n too,” the high lady added, smiling toward her son, who was clearly bored.

“i,” azriel cut in abruptly, “was just asking about her and nyx.”

“her and nyx as in... dating?” cassian asked, his eyes moving to the boy, who merely responded with a disgusted gag.

“no, no. we’re just friends. very good friends,” you added, trying to cheer up nyx.

“but are you?” cassian asked, eyebrows raised. your confused face urged him to continue: “are you dating someone?”

you thanked the gods you were sitting down—had you been standing, your legs would’ve trembled until you hit the floor.

before you could mumble an answer, you saw azriel shaking his head before replying harshly: “why do you ask that, brother?”

“yeah, cass,” rhys added, though he was holding back laughter. “why would you ask that?”

“exactly,” nyx finally spoke, but his furious tone set you on edge. “why are you two flirting with my friend?”

oh gods.

as cassian chuckled at nyx’s words, azriel regarded your friend in disbelief. “we’re not flirting, kid,” azriel replied.

“yet you just took it personally—and i didn’t mention any names,” nyx retorted, earning another chuckle from cassian.

“well, i don’t expect your mated father would flirt with anyone.”

“you’d be surprised,” feyre responded, eyes filled with delight as she watched her smirking husband.

“ugh, mom, stop. gods, i’m getting out of here,” nyx muttered.

you definitely didn’t want to go. and not just because of how beautiful they all were—but because you were rather enjoying being flirted with by them; it felt like a dream.

“i don’t think she wants to go with you, pal,” cassian told him.

“yeah—y/n,” azriel started, facing you. “why don’t i show you the city? would you like that?”

“no, she will not,” cassian cut in.

“yeah, she will not,” nyx echoed, looking at you as if expecting you to agree.

but you had no time to answer before cassian stood up and offered you his hand. “come on, y/n. let me take you flying. you’ll love it.”

“i...” but looking around, seeing every set of eyes awaiting your call, you didn’t know what to say.

nyx was your friend, yes. but you had every right to choose with whom to spend your time. you really liked cassian—he was straightforward, flirtatious, and clearly interested in you. and azriel... you were very curious about him, about who he was—and maybe he was interested in you, too.

what should you do?

azriel, cassian, and nyx awaited your answer, while feyre and rhys watched, intrigued by how the scene would unfold. it was both terrible and exciting that you were the one writing the the next scene.

-Characters by Sarah J Maas

a/n: emm you can all tell me who you'd rather reader ending up with. i clearly know who i want, but - i will listen to you. and! please loves, send requests, cause ive anwsered them all! (if yours isn’t published yet, it is programmed to be during the following days). i really need fic ideas from you cause i ain't got the time to sit down and imagine haha. so yeah. thankuu :))

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Heavy

Summary: Reader's having a depressive episode and needs some comfort from her mate

Content Warnings: Depression

Author's Note: I should be finishing my Vamp!Rhys fic but I got sad and wrote this instead

------------------------------------------------------

Velaris is beautiful at night, from the glittering stars overhead, to the soft gurgle of the Sidra rushing over time worn stones beneath the city’s many intricate bridges. The music makes the whole city feel full of light and laughter, couples often dancing and humming in the streets. It’s one of your favorite places to be.

Usually.

Tonight it’s just… there. Though you stand in the heart of it, everything moves around you, never quite touching you. It’s as if you’re suddenly a stranger in the place you love the most, the emotional distance between you palpable.

You jam your hands in your pockets and keep walking, though you’re not really sure where you’re going, your body moving on autopilot. It’s been like that for a couple weeks now, if you’re honest, you’ll be half way through the day sometimes before you realize you’re not sure how or when you even got out of bed, or gotten dressed. Did you even eat? Kiss your mate good morning? Rhys has been working long hours in Illyria lately, most nights you’re already asleep before he’s even tumbling into bed, but, now that you’re thinking about it, that could also be because you’ve been going to sleep earlier too.

You frown at your boots as you walk, trying to remember when this happened. It’s not new, you’ve had bouts of this since you were a teenager, but they’ve been better thanks to regular sessions with Madja and some other healers. Art therapy in the Rainbow has helped too. Usually you can tell when you’re starting to slip into the darker places in your head, but it crept up on you this time.

By the time your mindless wanderings bring you back to the Townhouse, the light from your upstairs bedroom is already on, meaning Rhys somehow finished his business and beat you home. You’d only planned to grab some takeout so you wouldn’t have to cook, and yet, here you stand, hands as empty as your stomach.

The door opens before you can even reach for your key, soft light spilling out into the entryway. “There you are!” Rhys says by way of greeting, as if he’d been waiting by the door for you. Your mate leans in to place a quick peck on your lips as he guides you inside.

“Did you go to Rita’s with Mor?”

He should be able to tell you hadn’t, since you’re wearing the same sweatpants you had been for a week, but then again, he also hasn’t been home enough to know you haven’t changed out of them. 

“No I…” you hate talking about this stuff, hate feeling like you’re burdening anybody with the weight you feel pressing down on your chest. “Uh, went to get dinner.”

Rhys stares down at your empty hands, eyebrows raised teasingly. “Did you forget to bring it back?”

You run a hand over your eyes. Cauldron they’re so heavy! Why is everything always so heavy? Your whole body feels like it’s made of bricks, just the effort to kick off your boots feels like it takes every single drop of energy you have left. “Sorry.” Even speaking feels like too much.

Rhys frowns, “Darling, are you ok?”

“Just tired,” you say, avoiding his eyes now. 

He steps forward, placing a knuckle under your chin and tilting your face towards him. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m tired,” you repeat, but your eyes are watering now. 

He stills, violet eyes roaming over you, assessing for the first time tonight how you look, the dark circles under your eyes. He knows you haven’t had trouble sleeping, he’s barely been able to wake you when he comes home at night. “It’s getting bad again, isn’t it?”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, tears falling in earnest now.

Rhys’s features soften as he lifts you into his arms, the bond flooding with warmth and understanding as he says, “It’s not your fault. You can’t help it.”

You rest your head on his shoulder as he carries you upstairs. “I thought I was doing better… but everything just feels heavy again.”

He kisses your forehead gently as he climbs into bed and settles you down against his chest. Twisting, his wings unfurl so he can curl one around you, cocooning you in the warmth of his body. “What can I do to help?”

You wrap an arm around his waist as you settle your face against his chest, his heartbeat steady and even beneath you. Madja had said once that this was helpful if you got overly anxious, the steadiness of his breathing helping yours level out, and it helps now too, gives you something to focus on. It’s grounding and you let your breathing sync up, your chest rising and falling against his own. Madja hadn’t been able to stress enough how important it was to find something to ground you in the present when you got like this, lest your thoughts start to spiral deeper and deeper into the dark.

“Just need you to hold me for a little while,” you say.

Rhys pulls your favorite blanket up over the two of you before wrapping an arm around your waist. “I love you,” and the bond floods with more warmth than you think you deserve, but it doesn’t let up when those thoughts sneak in. “I’ll do anything you need me to.”

You place a gentle kiss to his chest. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he replies, fingers tracing shapes in your back. “No one has all good days.”

“But nothing even happened,” you protest. “I just woke up one morning and it was just so heavy to be awake.”

He kisses your temple. “We can see Madja in the morning, if you need, but you can’t beat yourself up. You have no control over it.”

You press your temple into his chest and breath in the jasmine and citrus scent of him. “I hate it.”

He places another kiss to the top of your head. You know he hates it too, hates that it’s a battle he can’t fight for you, no matter how much he wants to. “It will pass.”

Rhys is warm, his presence soothing, the darkness that seeps from his skin on the days he hasn’t had the time to expel enough of it, drifting over your body in soothing motions. This is safe and quite and peaceful. Your body starts to settle more and more as time goes on.

“Do you really believe that?” You whisper. “That it’ll pass?”

“Yes,” he says. “It has before, and it will again.” Knowing he’s had the experience himself, you’re inclined to believe he’s right.

“I’m glad you’re with me,” you admit. 

Rhys holds you a little tighter, “Till all the stars fall from the sky, my love.” He holds you all night, whispering all the things he loves about you as you start to fall asleep.

You let yourself fall into it, hoping tomorrow will be better.

[rowaelinsdaughter]

MIDNIGHT CRAVINGS

a/n;; i have to say that i love writing couples x reader with the pregnant trope :"). also im going to upload three more fics with 1st person and that would be the last one's, my next fics would be written in 3rd.

WARNINGS;; none just fluff

a sigh falls from your lips as you rub your eyes. 

you had woken up at 1 am because your daughter had decided to move on your belly, waking you up. and now at 3 am, you couldn’t fall asleep again and even worse. you were craving toasts with tomato and ham, and maybe some juice. 

but you didn’t want to wake up your mates, tired from running the night court, they had fallen asleep the moment they lay down. 

as if they were feeling you, two pairs of arms circle your belly, carefully not to hurt it.

“what’s wrong darling?” rhys voice is raspy from waking up. 

you feel guilty the moment you hear him. “nothing.”

feyre takes your face, turning it so you can look at her. “you know you can talk to us. we are here for you and the baby”

your eyes move from her and you look at their hands intertwine on your belly. protecting her, your daughter, her daughter, his daughter. 

“it’s stupid.”

“please, don’t start again, we have talked about it, darling. nothing about you is stupid. come on, tell us”

“im craving toasts with tomato and ham, and maybe orange juice, which i think we don't have but im craving it so much” you ramble.

a low laugh from rhys and feyre kiss your cheek. “okay, let’s go make some toasts” rhys is the first to leave the bed and you hear his steps, feyre helps you stand and once you are on your feet, she kisses you softly, her lips are soft like a feather and you think you are never getting over it. the love they have for you it’s something you have never felt, and you are grateful for having them in your life. 

taking your hand, feyre leads you to the kitchen where a shirtless rhys is making the toasts.

“you know, im going to ban you rhys”

his eyes get bigger when he hears you. “wait. what? what have i done?

feyre is trying to hold her laugh. 

“for being so hot, and walking shirtless around the house, you can’t do that” a smile on your face. rhys starts to laugh, making you and feyre laugh too. still laughing, he leaves the plate in front of you, and before moving away, he leaves a kiss on your lips. “you still love it, darling.”

“what i’m going to love are these toasts, so, if you forgive me.”

all rights reserved to ©rowaelinsdaughter. no tranlations allowed. no copy theme. don not copy my work.

tagging;; @thehighladywrites @danikamariewrites @shadowdaddies @throneofsapphics @hellwantfuckme @callmeblaire

[theostrophywife]

can we please get some rhys fluff?

daylight.

i don't wanna look at anything else now that I saw you i don't wanna think of anything else now that I thought of you i've been sleeping so long in a 20-year dark night and now I see daylight

author's note: i'm such a simp for rhys it's not even funny. just think about cuddling a soft, sleepy rhys after a night out and tell me you don't want to scream into the void. song inspiration: daylight by taylor swift.

The moon’s glow kissed your mate’s sleeping form with its silver light and enveloped Rhysand in glorious night.

You paused in the doorway, heels in your hand as you admired the High Lord with a small smile. It was nearly dawn when you finally stumbled out of Rita’s from your monthly girl’s night out. You thanked the Mother for giving you the ability to winnow because you sure as hell wouldn’t have been able to survive the ten minute walk home. Especially not in the tiny little dress and ridiculously high heels that Mor had talked you into wearing. 

Regardless, it had been a fun outing. But as the bruised violet skies made way for spears of sunlight, you were more than glad to be home. 

You padded softly across the wooden floor and slipped into bed as quietly as you could, trying your best not to wake your sleeping mate. Rhys was all but dead to the world, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Propping your head up on one arm, you took the opportunity to admire him in all his glory. 

When he was awake, Rhysand was all seductive smiles and sultry gazes and while you certainly appreciated the sensuality that seemed to pour out of him with effortless grace, you’d come to love this softer side of him even more. There was something about these unguarded moments when he was sprawled across the bed, his large body nearly taking up half the mattress as he laid on his stomach, those dark lashes fluttering against his cheekbones, his soft lips slightly parted, raven hair sticking up in different directions as he cuddled against the pillow, his body half-turned to where you usually lay as if he'd sought you out even in his sleep, that made your heart absolutely ache. 

It had taken a long time for Rhys to allow himself to be vulnerable like this. When you were first mated, he was often plagued by nightmares, so much so that he rarely slept and spent the night staring at the ceiling. You’d woken up countless times to find him observing you, his fingers tracing mindless patterns on your skin, to remind himself that he was here, he survived, and he had fought for this life with you. You remembered taking him into your arms and holding him, whispering that this was real. That it was safe to sleep because you’d still be there in the morning. 

Night after night, you chased away those dark memories together. The nightmares came fewer and farther in between and now Rhysand could sleep through the night without even waking. Tears welled in your eyes as you reached out to caress his cheek. You were so proud of him. 

This brilliant, selfless, resilient male that you were lucky enough to call your mate. Your heart squeezed in your chest and the emotions poured out of you in waves. You loved him so much that it was impossible to contain. That devotion rippled through your bond and made that connection sparkle in your soul. 

Rhysand’s lashes fluttered, skimming the tops of his cheeks as he sleepily blinked up at you. Those violet eyes greeted you like the starkissed night and a slow grin crept across his handsome face. Wordlessly, he tugged you towards him. 

You chuckled as Rhys cuddled against you, burying his face in the crook of your neck and inhaling deeply. 

“Did you have fun?” he murmured sleepily. His body was warm as he pressed you against him, his arm snaking possessively around your waist.

“I did,” you confirmed, twining your fingers through his silky locks. “But I think I owe Rita a new chandelier.” Rhys raised a brow in response, waiting for an explanation. “It’s a long story.”

Your mate only chuckled. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself, but I might be willing to risk Mor’s wrath and steal you from your friends the next time they try to take my mate away from me.” 

“I was only gone for a few hours.”

Rhys pouted, his lips brushing against your neck. “It was a few hours too many,” he said as he tangled your legs together. “I missed you, darling.”

“My needy, clingy mate,” you teased, poking his nose. Rhys responded by digging his fingers into your side, causing you to giggle uncontrollably. You swatted his hand away and stuck out your tongue. “I missed you too, Rhys.”

Just as daylight streamed in through the windows, Rhysand smiled. A full, bright smile that put the rising sun to shame. 

“I’m here,” you whispered. You hadn’t said the words in a long time. Not since the nightmares stopped. But with the dawn of a new day, you felt like it was important to remind Rhys how far he’d come. 

How far you've both come.

You weren't just mates. Rhys was your friend, your lover, your anchor to reality when the world fell into chaos. He was the other half of your soul. Your love for each other was a story written in the stars.

Violet eyes filled with emotion as you held him against you. “You’re here,” he repeated. 

“This is real.” 

Rhys caressed your cheek, anchoring himself to the present. “This is real.”

“And we made it, against all odds." You fought and clawed and bled your way to this moment. Just so you could find each other. You would've done it all over again for your mate. "We made it.”

“We made it, darling.”

Your mate kissed your forehead, the gesture soft and intimate. He opened up the bond and let his emotions spill out over the connection. Rhysand felt cared for and loved. That warm light grew in your heart, twining your very existence with his. All of that love and devotion washed over you like a flood as Rhys let you in. In your arms, your mate knew that he was safe and sound. You held back the tears as you pressed a gentle kiss against his lips.

“I love you, Rhys.”

“I love you, darling.”

[divinemare]

Legend of a Mortal Love

┊ ➶ rhys x oc

┊ ➶ part eight

part seven

Rhysand walked into his father’s office with his back so tightly straight his muscles ached. He rarely stepped a foot on there if it wasn’t ordered by his father, for anything, ever.

Maybe because he always feared he would be unfortunate enough to encounter a deeply uncomfortable scene that involved his father and a slave, or slaves. Or maybe because every time Rhysand looked at his father’s eyes, the ones that resembled so much like his own, he saw nothing but disappointment in them.

Or both, really, he just liked to think the first one was the most accurate because it felt way much better than admitting to himself the throat-closing feeling of failure faced by his progenitor.

“I don’t think we had anything scheduled, son,” Rhett did not looked up from the documents he was looking at when his son entered.

Rhysand sent a silent grateful prayer to the Mother that he didn’t encounter any traumatic scene.

“We didn’t,” he answered, keeping his voice even and calm.

“Then you came to visit your father willingly? What a surprise,” the male laughed so coldly Rhysand’s back shivered, but he didn’t make a move to show that.

“I want to take a slave with me to Illyria, if that’s ok with you,” the word tasted bitter in his tongue, something that made him irk every time he even heard it. But now, referring to Ariadne as a slave…

Because she was one. He reminded himself. Ariadne was a slave. And if his father so much as suspected that Rhys considered her anything but…

The thought alone was enough to send a cold tug at his heart.

The High Lord finally turned around to look at him, his thick black eyebrows raised with amusement, while Rhysand did everything to keep his expression completely unbothered.

“A slave, huh? I did not know you fancied human girls, son,” the wicked grin his father gave him made Rhysand’s entire body shiver with disgust, but he did not let the sentiment slip into his expression as much as it was beating in his heart.

He forced himself to return the smile, lowering his head if only for a moment to nod to his father, and to not look at him for a second in order to gain back his calm.

“Then do as you please, my boy, she’s your slave, after all, there isn’t much she can say or do in protest,” Rhett walked to his son and put a big, calloused hand in his shoulder, giving small pats that made Rhysand’s skin burn and his disgust only to increase.

“Thank you, father, I’ll be leaving to Illyria first thing in the morning.”

The High Lord dismissed him with a shrug of his hand and a mumble of something like a goodbye, while not even looking back at him as he went back to the documents he had been staring at before Rhys arrived.

Rhysand didn’t waste another second in getting out of that room, his entire body felt dirty, he felt dirty, wrong.

All while Ariadne’s eyes never stoped burning feelings of shame in his mind.

Just how easy that human girl could alter him, that without even her present, with only the mere mention of her, his heart and mind both reacted against all of Rhysand’s protest.

༺ ♡ ༻

Both Ariadne and Tara were picking up their things as they finished the day with a successful work. They hadn’t spoken in all day, not even Ariadne had said a word yet, and had even focused entirely on the job without drifting away in her own thoughts.

But that was only because both knew what was coming, what inevitably would happen tomorrow, because earlier on that day, Rhysand had come to tell her first thing in the morning that they’ll be leaving the Moonstone Palace by tomorrow morning.

The reality of it all only settled in now, for both of them.

But the silence was killing her, her thoughts were consuming her, and not in the way they usually did, but rather intrusively

“Say something, please,” Ariadne said with a heavy sigh to her friend as soon as they both were entering the slaves quarters of the palace.

Tara stoped walking and so did she, for a moment, neither said anything, and Ariadne was growing nervous of all the silence.

Then, so unexpectedly that it took her a moment to register what was going on, Tara threw her arms around her, bringing her close. Ariadne didn’t move an inch at first, Tara had never hugged her before, they had never shared a moment like this before, a moment that felt so intimate, so close, so meaningful.

Neither said anything, they only kept each other close for as long as they could, because what they were to each other, what they had meant to each other over the last years, it meant more than anything, they had kept each other alive in more than one way.

They had become the closest thing both had of a family, and the worst thing is that they only really realized it when they were being pulled apart.

After some time holding onto each other, it was Tara who let go first, her eyes were glazed with tears but none of them ever reached the outside, she tried to smile softly to Ariadne, and took her hand to continue walking before a guard came.

“Come on, let this be your last awful meal here.”

༺ ♡ ༻

Ariadne couldn’t even blink an eye the whole night. Anxiety creeping up and replacing any tiredness she might have felt.

So exhaustion naturally followed the next morning when she had to wake up for the day. As if all the events that were to take place weren’t enough already.

Her hands were abnormally shaky as she walked through the halls of the Moonstone Palace being escorted by two guards. She had no idea where they were taking her, they hadn’t said a thing besides “come with us” when they had come to get her at the slaves quarter that morning.

She already knew, though, what would be waiting for her at the end of that hall, who would be waiting for her.

“Gentlemen,” Rhysand’s graceful voice made her entire body freeze suddenly, every hair in her body stood on end, and her heart started beating so fast her cheeks turned red at the embarrassment of knowing the High Fae around her could probably hear it. “Thank you, you may go,” he finally dispatched the guards after a long, agonizing moment of him just staring at her.

Ariadne couldn’t still raise her eyes to him.

She only heard the guards leaving, didn’t take her eyes off the floor. After some seconds that seemed like whole minutes, when the steps of the guard faded in the distance, she heard Rhysand clear his throat, and a slight tug of curiosity made her raise her head even just a little, enough for her to catch a glance of his completely black outfit, and those gorgeous, hypnotizing wings.

“Are you…uhm…” Ariadne didn’t need to look up at him to know he was failing to find his words, which, in truth, did amused her ever so slightly.

The male that always seemed to have a sneaky comment, a witty remark for everything.

“Are you ready?” He finally asked with a sigh.

Ariadne lifted her head, then, showing her troubling, untrusting eyes to the male for the first time. She saw him take a deep breath the moment they met eyes, saw his shoulders roll back and his wings tend behind his back. His eyes roamed her face in a way that made her feel exposed, almost as if he could read her mind, her thoughts.

But wait, he could read her mind.

That only increased her nervousness, Rhysand was the last person she wanted roaming in her mind, especially since most of her thoughts had been lately consumed by this confusing male. He seemed to have read her concerns, for he broke the eye contact, lowering his head for a moment, and smiling in a way Ariadne could see a side of him that did not stopped surprising her; that kindness, that understanding and compassion, not pity, but seemingly genuine compassion.

“You’re gonna be ok, Ariadne, I gave you my word, trust me.”

His word. But what did that really meant? Ariadne’s first principal ever taught by her family, in fact, every human’s first principal, was to never trust a High Fae, ever. But then here she was, putting whatever trust meant in not only a High Fae male, but the Heir of the Night Court.

If her mother were alive, Ariadne would’ve killed her of a heart attack by now.

“I don’t know what trust is supposed to mean,” she admitted with a sigh, fidgeting with the hem of her dirty clothes, but when she looked up again, she found the sweet, understanding smile of Rhysand looking back at her.

“Then let me show you,” he extended a big, tanned hand towards her.

A final offering, a final choice, as he liked to call it.

She could turn around right now, forget all of this, go back to her normal life only daydreaming about a future without chains. Or, she could take her chances with him, let him take her somewhere far away from this haunted place, where she lost everything she once ever loved, including herself.

Her hand was already raising before she even realized it, and once she felt the soft skin of Rhysand’s hand compared with her calloused one, she lifted once again his gaze at him, finding two starstruck violet eyes shining right back at her.

[acourtofmishapandmistakes]

What if Fedra and Rhys lost the baby and Nyx did not exist? I want the angstttt

(Also I know this is a sensitive topic, you don’t have to even consider it if it makes you uncomfortable)

Hey there! Thanks for being my first fic request - even if it is a dark one.

To be honest, I've never written angst before so this is new for me and may be very.... not great... but I tried my best at dipping my toes in. I did keep it on the shorter side just because I am learning how to best write angst/despair so feel free to give notes.

That being said, here is my interpretation of if Feyre and Rhys lost their baby and little Nyx hadn't become part of their lives.

Please keep in mind that everyone processes grief differently and this topic is incredibly heavy. Take what you can while taking care of yourself. Be kind and gentle with your mind and body.

Content Warning: Miscarriage/loss of a child

For more fanfics and writings check out my fic blog @a-court-of-fics-and-errors

Feyre sat in the armchair of the sitting room, her chin resting on her knees, curled to her chest. She leaned her head against the back of the chair, her gaze fixed on two raindrops racing down the window. The world outside was still cold as March melted into April, the days blurring together in a relentless, gray march forward. She felt as if time had ceased to hold any meaning.

She watched the smaller raindrop hit a long slide, racing quickly downward. The slightly larger raindrop followed, colliding with the smaller one, absorbing it, and continuing its path until it pooled on the windowsill.

The sitting room was dark, shadows creeping in from every corner, with only the cold, gray light from outside seeping in. Feyre closed her eyes, taking a deep breath in and out, allowing the world to close in around her.

Rhys stood in the entryway to the room, his forearm propped against the doorway as he looked at his mate. She was without color, the soft pinks of her cheeks reduced to a muted gray, her eyes sunken and faded, and her hair lay loosely around her shoulders. Nuala and Cerridwen had bathed her a day or so ago after she’d been sitting in the chair, unmoving. They told him she hadn’t spoken during her bath, only stared ahead, lost in her own mind. He had no doubt she knew he was standing there, but she lacked the strength to turn and look at him.

Rhysand considered breaking the silence, walking in, sitting down, and holding her. But instead, he turned and walked back down the hallway. That's how it seemed they were now, ghosts of each other, passing in the halls and never quite touching.

Rhys turned into his office, papers strewn about everywhere, untidied and listless. He sighed to himself and began gathering papers from the floor, snatching and balling them up, throwing them into the basket. After the first few, the balling and throwing became more intense. He started ripping pages, then stacks of pages, until he was breathing heavily, throwing them across the room, tearing books off shelves in rage, and ripping their spines. He continued until almost every book had been pulled from the shelves, standing in the middle of the room, panting, holding back a sob as he pressed his mouth and chin into his palm.

Azriel cleared his throat, and Rhys whipped around, suddenly aware of his outburst.

Rhys looked around the room and then back to Azriel, who looked nowhere but at him. “Now not a good time?” Azriel finally asked.

Rhys coughed, running his hand through his hair. “No, no, it’s-” he started, “it’s fine.” A pause. “Now is fine.”

Azriel gazed around the room. “You’re sure?”

Rhys moved towards him. “Yes, yes, please, come in.”

Rhys tossed a ripped book off the sitting chair, motioning for Azriel to sit down, which he did. Rhys took his usual spot in the chair across from him, sitting down and leaning forward, his forearms on his knees. Azriel just stared at him. Rhys pulled his lips into his teeth, rubbing his hands together, fidgeting as he waited for his brother to break the silence.

“How are you doing?” Azriel finally asked.

Rhys sniffled slightly before leaning back, running his hands up and down the lengths of his thighs. “I’m fine.”

Azriel looked at him as Rhys continued to fidget. “Are you?”

Rhys sniffled again, his left leg bouncing rapidly as he pressed his hands into his thighs, looking up towards the window where the rain ran down in droves, considering his answer.

Without words, Rhys pulled his lips into his teeth again, looking towards the floor and shaking his head no. Azriel looked at him knowingly. “I know.”

Rhys continued to shake his leg, feeling his eyes burn as tears filled them. He rubbed his nose with the back of his hand as he tilted his head to the sky, willing the tears back in and clearing his throat to avoid the sob. “Rhys-” Azriel started, “I can’t imagine what you’re going through.” Azriel leaned forward, bracing himself on his thighs.

Rhysand didn’t respond, still looking towards the sky, pressing his eyes shut as he shook his head back and forth and wiped his eyes.

Azriel continued, “None of us can,” a silent pause, “Losing a child, I-” he paused again, searching Rhys’s face for a response as he continued to bounce his leg and squeeze his eyes shut, “losing a child has to be the biggest heartbreak anyone can feel.”

Rhys, unable to speak, finally opened his eyes to Azriel, who looked at him with such sadness that it caught him off guard. Rhysand sniffled again, trying to find anything to say back. He finally got out, “I just don’t know what to do.”

Another pause, as the world shifted around them and time seemed to stop. “I don’t-” Rhys continued, “I can’t fix this.” He shook his head, casting his eyes to the floor. “I can’t fix this for anyone. I can’t fix it for her. I can’t-” He started to spiral, a sob stopping him as he let his head fall into his hands.

Azriel remained seated across from him, watching the High Lord sob and sob until his cries were merely silent. How could he respond to this? After months of waiting, expecting, and anticipating, of daydreaming and wishing, there had been no babe. Instead, there was a lifeless body, pulled from Feyre too early, and Nesta arriving just slightly too late, only being able to bring back one. No one blamed Nesta. If Feyre had died, Rhysand would have died too. But it seemed as though it was harder to live now than to die then, and Nesta felt responsibility for that, regardless of how much the rest of them had reassured her she had made the right decision.

“There’s nothing to fix,” Azriel finally said.

Rhysand shouted, “There’s everything to fix!” He stared up at his brother, his eyes bloodshot, hands out, almost pleading. “There’s- there’s so many moments I should have done something, said something. I just- it’s my fault it’s like this. I should have said something.”

Azriel never broke eye contact with Rhys as he wailed out the words of blame. “Rhys, you can’t do this to yourself.”

“What else can I do, Azriel? Tell me. What else can I do for her?” Rhysand pointed towards the sitting room where Feyre still sat, hearing the destruction in the office but not having the energy to move and check.

Azriel looked towards the room. “She is grieving. She needs time,” he reassured him.

“She can never forgive me. She will never forgive me,” Rhysand stammered out, dropping his head to his hands once more. “I failed her. I failed both of them.”

Azriel looked at his brother, a father whose child was stolen from him, and would never get to see the world. Rhysand, who had spent every waking moment for the last nine months thinking about this unborn babe, his hands constantly searching for his mate's pregnant stomach, smiling at kicks and praying to whoever was listening at night that both the babe and Feyre be safe. But it seemed the gods had left them.

Rhysand’s frantic eyes looked to his brother for any form of reassurance and Azriel stared back, unsure of what to say.

Suddenly Rhys stood, pushing his palms into his eyes as he sniffled through another sob, releasing a deep exhale. “Azriel,” He finally said, looking down towards him, “How do I move forward? How do I-” he paused, “How do I live like this when it feels like my body is burning alive, and like-” a sob, “like my heart was ripped out of my chest.” He looked towards the sitting room, “I can feel her dying in there, every day. I feel her, her whole body is screaming and tearing itself apart, her mind, it’s-” he brought his hands up, shaking them around his head, “it’s so loud and it’s so hateful, and she blames herself. She’s constantly screaming and she’s shattering and I can’t do anything about it.” He stared at his brother, who remained in the chair. “She hasn’t spoken, she hasn’t said anything since that day and yet inside she’s just screaming.” Rhys pulled back another sob.

“Have you talked to her?” Azriel finally asked.

Rhys looked at him, intensely, “What would I say?” he shook his hands and head in almost disbelief, “What would I say to her?”

Azriel waited, looking around the room before finding his brother's face again, “Anything.”

Rhys shook his head, stifling out another sob and walking to the window to stare out at the rain. From behind him Azriel said, “The world is very bleak for her. And she’s lost, Rhys. And you might not be able to tell her the way back, but you can at least find her in the woods.”

A few tears escaped Rhys’s eyes, sliding down his cheeks. He didn’t wipe them away. Azriel stood, walking towards Rhysand who didn’t turn until Azriel was next to him. Without saying a word, Azriel pulled Rhys into a tight embrace, rubbing his hand up and down his back as his brother sank into him,

letting heavy sobs escape his lips as he choked out wail after wail. Azriel held him, feeling his body rise and fall as he heaved out the incredible sadness kept in the deepest recesses of his body. Azriel held him until Rhys had found exhaustion and had lost all of the tears he could muster. Azriel held him.

Rhys pressed his forehead into Azriel’s shoulder as Azriel pressed a kiss into the side of his head. “I know,” he whispered. “I know.”

What felt like hours passed in a few minutes before Rhys finally pulled out of the embrace. Azriel took his brother's face in his hands, looking him deeply in his eyes before simply saying, “You have to find her.” Rhys nodded, his eyes shutting as Azriel dropped his hands to his sides, turning and silently leaving.

When Rhys opened them, he was alone in the room, surrounded by the destruction. He wiped his face clean, stifling another few sobs before exiting the office and making his way down towards the sitting room where Feyre sat in the same position he had left her. Mustering up courage, he stepped through the entryway, walking up to her and dropping to his knees in front of her. He reached out to touch her, to take her hand, and when he did she did not grip back.

He ran a gentle thumb down the length of her now bony hand. “I don’t know what to say. And I don’t know what to do.” Rhys finally started after silently searching for the words. Feyre didn’t turn to him, her eyes slowly blinking shut and back open as she continued to watch the rain outside. “I have so many things I wish I could do- I have-” he paused, trying to pull back the tears again, “I have so many things I want to do for you. To help you.” He shook his head, squeezing her hand, “But I can’t. I can’t fix this my darling.” He looked at her, as tears filled her eyes, but she still did not face him. “If I could take away this pain for you I would. If I could do anything, if I could meet with the Mother herself I would fall to my knees and beg her to bring him back to us. I would trade my soul to her just to make this different than it is now.” A single tear fell down Feyre’s cheek as he continued, “I would burn the world for you, my darling, I would-” He paused. “I can feel how you’re breaking, and I know that it hurts. I know that this is unbearable, and I don’t know what to do- I just- I don’t know what to do.” He shook his head, pressing his lips to her hand while he squeezed his eyes shut, tears flowing down them. “I should have done so many things, I should have said something, I should have-” He stopped, “I can’t take it back. I can’t fix it. But my darling, if I could, I would do anything just to bring him back to us. Just to have him here, even for a second.” He let out a sob, which was followed by another and another until he completely let go, “I’m so sorry,” he let out between cries, “I want him back.” Rhys let himself fall back as he pulled his legs to his chest, sobbing into his own hands. Feyre’s hand fell to the chair as tears fell in heavy succession from her own eyes.

“I wish he was here too.” Feyre finally said, her voice cracked and broken. “I want my little baby boy.” And with that she had finally broken. Her body heaved in sobs as she brought her hands to her face. Rhys, eyes wide at her response, finally realized what had happened and rushed to her side, pulling her close as he knelt by her. Her sobs mixing with his as he held her. She continued to repeat, “I want my baby back.”

Rhys pressed his face to her hair as she curled into his chest. “I know, Feyre Darling,” he cried into her quietly, “I want him back too.”

[starstruckunknown-princess]

I’m Such A Fool For You - Black Rose Part 4

Summary: The Confrontation! Confessions! 

Pairings: Rhysand x OC

Warnings: Angst, talk of therapy, emotions, boundary setting

Word Count: 2758

A/N: So this is the beginning of an arc that may make people uncomfortable. I have thoughts about mates as SJM has defined them (too limiting, restrictive, I don’t think mates are the end-all be-all of love) so I’m going to play with the concept a bit for probably the rest of the story. Don’t like it? Don’t read it. It starts here. Title for this chapter comes from “Linger” by The Cranberries.

Likes/Reblogs/Comments are so so appreciated! I’m looking for feedback on this new direction I’m taking, so please let me know what y’all think!

Banner by me, dividers by firefly-graphics

Part 2 | Part 3

Exiting Hypatia’s office later that week, Niamh had to raise a hand to shield her eyes from the bright sun. Across the street she spotted Azriel casually leaning against the railing overlooking the Sidre. He noticed her and approached, falling into step beside her as they walked down the street. 

It had become a bit of a tradition between them — Azriel would fly her to her appointment, wait for her to be done, and then they’d go get lunch together at a cafe on the corner that was not too busy and served good food. 

They slid into their usual booth and Azriel asked how her session was that day. She gripped her hands together on the table in front of her. 

“I think I’m ready, Az.” 

“Ready for?” he asked, hazel eyes gliding over the menu even though he would order the same thing he did every time they came. 

“For seeing Rhys again. To have the conversation. Put this all behind us.” 

His menu hit the table and he regarded her blankly. Noticing a tremble in his eyebrow, Niamh tried to see behind his blank mask. While his face didn’t give anything away, his shadows twitched and swirled uncomfortably. His wings tensed slightly, then relaxed. 

He was hiding something. 

Niamh’s head tilted to the side, “What are you not telling me, Az?”

He opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it as the server approached their table. They placed their order with him and he dashed away. 

Az sipped from his water glass in order to avoid her gaze. “His mate is here this week.”

“Oh. Have you met her?” she asked since it was what she thought her response should be, not that she particularly cared about the answer.

He shook his head, “Not yet. He hasn’t brought her to Velaris.” 

“Because once he does, Tamlin will find out, and then the whole world will know.” 

“Right. He’s hosting her at the Moonstone Palace until he’s sure she can be trusted.” Niamh hummed in agreement, and Azriel continued, “Are you sure you want to talk to him now?” 

Niamh shrugged, “Hypatia thinks I’ve made good progress and I want to get this behind me, especially when tensions with Hybern are increasing. Although I’ve decided I’m not going back to my apartment; I quite enjoy having a yard.” 

Azriel chuckled, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “Right. Speaking of, any luck finding the Queens in the dreamscape?” 

“No, not yet. I found a few of the palace servants but that’s as far as I’ve gotten.” 

Their food arrived, set in front of them by the server. They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes before Niamh broke the quiet. 

“Will you bring him to the house? Once his mate goes back, that is. I…I don’t want to interrupt their time together.” 

“Yeah, I can bring him to you. I think she’s going back tomorrow, I’ll try to get him there on Saturday,” he assured her, “If you’re positive that you’re ready for this.”

She nodded. “I’m sure, Az. Thank you for double checking.” 

A flash of something despairing flickered in his eyes that betrayed the half-smile on his lips. “Anytime, Niamh.” 

The next few days Niamh spent tidying up her small house and finishing the numerous small projects she’d started but somehow never finished. Replacing the trim around the front door, sweeping up the dirt she’d tracked in from her garden, clearing all the papers and books off her kitchen table. She made sure all her indoor plants were happy, then spent the rest of the day in her garden tending to the flowers and vegetables and herbs she’d planted.

She loved her little house, and she wanted to show Rhysand that she was thriving on her own. Her evening was spent getting her person in order — face and hair masks, a manicure, and the best-smelling body lotions she could find. 

Saturday morning came and, as promised, Azriel knocked on her door with the High Lord in tow. Niamh glanced out the window and had some of the wisteria vines open the door for her. Azriel let Rhys enter first. The High Lord she’d been avoiding brought with him a wave of nerves and she clasped her hands together in front of herself. 

She braced herself for a tongue-lashing, but it never came. Azriel closed the door and Rhys took a few more steps inside. He was looking around at her vine- and art-covered walls, her stacks of papers and books. Everywhere, it seemed, but at Niamh herself. 

Making eye contact with Azriel she shot him a look that asked, ‘the fuck?’ The shadowsinger only shrugged. 

Niamh rolled her eyes impatiently, then broke the silence with, “It’s good to see you, Rhys. Welcome to my home.”

Rhys, having bent to read the titles of some of her books in a stack in the far corner of the room, straightened. 

“You live here? I never would’ve guessed.” Some of the tension in the room evaporated as they both smiled. From the corner of her eye she saw Az slip into the shadows to give them privacy.

“Do you want some tea?” she asked, gesturing toward the kitchen door. “It usually helps in these situations, makes it so there are things to hold and stir…” 

“Tea sounds lovely,” Rhys said, smoothly opening the door and holding it for her. She swept over to the stove and filled the teapot with the pre-boiled water she’d prepared. Using her powers she had some of the vines grab two teacups and set them on the table before pulling out Rhysand’s chair. He chuckled and sat down. 

The vines poured the tea into the teacups and Niamh took a dainty sip. Rhys’s hands hovered around his cup, his violet eyes fixated on them. She took the opportunity to scrutinize his appearance. 

Still gorgeous as ever, his skin having regained its natural golden brown tone in the months since he returned. His hair was a little grown out and his features were drawn, like he hadn’t been sleeping well, but he was still unfairly good-looking. 

“Azriel tells me you’ve been seeing a therapist,” Rhys interrupted the quiet moment and Niamh quickly looked away so he didn’t catch her staring. His long fingers danced with the steam rising from his cup.

“Yeah, Hypatia. Her office is right on the Sidre, she’s really helped me. Put things in perspective, figure out why I’m so…” Niamh could only gesture to her temple. She didn’t want to apply words like ‘crazy’ or ‘broken’ or ‘fucked up’ because of the negative connotations. 

“That’s great,” Rhys said, “I’m...impressed.” 

“Impressed?” 

“It takes a lot of guts to hide from a High Lord in his own court and get his closest friends to lie about it.” 

There it was. Rhys played offense right from the start, like she knew he would. Her sins laid bare at her feet. Yet there was no malice in his tone, no gathering storm behind his words. He actually seemed amused, maybe even a little impressed as he claimed.

Niamh bit back the sarcastic answer that nearly leapt off her tongue, knowing that she needed to have an actual conversation with Rhys instead of joking all her problems away. She stared at her hands, the delicate tea cup, the warm brown liquid inside it while she formulated her answer.  

“I was scared. Ashamed of myself. All I wanted to do was hide away from you so that maybe I could pretend…” she trailed off, the confession stuck at the back of her throat like a dry cracker. 

“Pretend what?” Rhys asked softly, his right hand moving towards her left one but stopping midway. She could feel his eyes on her face as hers didn’t move from her tea. The inside of her bottom lip grew raw from her nibbling. 

Just say it. Say it. He won’t know unless you say it.

She forced out in a barely-audible whisper, “That you still loved me.”

The space between her eyes prickled and she blinked rapidly, willing away the impending tears. Rhys’s right hand lifted and cradled the back of her head, drawing her toward him. She let him settle her face on his shoulder. His other arm encircled her in a hug and she hated how much he felt like home. How much she had missed him. 

So she let the tears form and fall onto his black shirt, his citrus and ocean warmth emanating from underneath it. He pulled her closer and held her tight. His lips graced her brow with quick, affectionate pecks while he stroked her hair. It wasn’t until she felt her temple growing wet did she realize he was crying too. 

Pulling back, she looked up at him. Her ex-lover, ex-fiance, ex-ex-ex. His eyes bloodshot, tear tracks marring his cheeks, he met her eyes and captured her chin in one hand so she couldn’t look away. 

“I do,” he said, voice raw with emotion, “I do love you, Niamh. I need you. I need you. Come back to me, just come back, please.” 

Echoes of his time Under the Mountain rang in her ears. Her visits to him while he slept, providing him relief from the horrors he witnessed on a daily basis, he’d said the same thing. She’d interrupt his nightmares of Amarantha writhing above him, of the torture she made him commit on others. He would beg her to stay, beg the world to stop turning so he wouldn’t have to wake up. His dreams became his only means of escape, the only place he could see the sun. She had been the one who gave that to him.

“I’m here, Rhys,” she cupped his face in her hands, letting her thumbs clean up his mess of tears while her heart launched out of her chest. “I’m right here.” 

He pulled her into his lap, deftly flinging one of her thighs over his so she was straddling him before crushing her against his broad chest. She’d missed how he could manhandle her so easily. Memories bubbled up that she pushed back down — now was not the time.

“This is torture,” he mumbled into her hair. 

“What is?” she asked, pulling back to see his expression. Her mid-back rested on the edge of the table. Rhys’s grip loosened and he rested his hands on her waist, gaze downcast between them. 

“Loving,” he finally said, letting his fingers trace random patterns along her sides. “How can I love you and Feyre at the same time? How can I want you both so badly it hurts?” 

His violet eyes looked up at her from under his lashes. From this angle and the earnestness in his voice, he almost looked childlike. The look was begging for guidance, advice, answers. She brushed some of his hair off his forehead and he leaned into her touch. 

“Because love isn’t pie, Rhys. There isn’t a finite amount of it in the world, it’s endless, infinite, and can’t be contained or willed away.” 

“When did you get so wise?” he half-chuckled, fingers toying with the ends of her hair behind her back. 

“Fuck you, I’ve always been wise.” She tapped the tip of his nose with her finger and earned a surprised look from him. Gratifying. “Remember when you wanted to dye your hair candy-apple red?” 

He laughed then, a real laugh that split his face open and crinkled his eyes. When he stopped, his eyes settled on hers and she watched as he seemed to review all their memories together. She’d long since built up her mental shields against his demati powers, but the fondness written on his face told her everything she needed to know. 

He would always love her. 

And she couldn’t deny him that. 

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, voice low and seductive.

That’s when a tidal wave of reality crashed down on Niamh’s head, dousing the fire that was burning through her veins. He still had a mate.

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” she admitted, pushing herself off of his lap and backing a few steps away. Grimacing at the feel of slickness between her legs, she also noticed how Rhys’s black pants were slightly tented at the front. How easily she could’ve slipped him free and taken him—

Focus, Niamh.

Rhys dragged a hand down his face. “Right. Feyre.” He leaned back, draping himself over the kitchen chair, his whole body open to her in case she wanted to come back.

“I just don’t want it to jeopardize anything, if she found out that you and I were sleeping together when she hadn’t accepted the bond—”

“She doesn’t know.” He interrupted the beginning of her babbling.

“What?”

“Feyre doesn’t know she’s my mate. She’s still in love with Tamlin and…if he makes her happy, I swore to myself that I wouldn’t interfere.” 

Niamh gaped at him, utterly lost for words. “She’s in love? With my brother!?!? And you haven’t tried to talk her out of it? Haven’t even told her she’s your…fucking shit, Rhys, are you actually stupid?” 

His hands turned into tight fists and his jaw hardened. “Everything she did Under the Mountain, she did so she could be with him. What kind of complete and utter asshole would I be if I ruined that for her? It would only reinforce what she already thinks of me and I would risk losing her forever.” 

Living in Velaris for so long, Niamh had forgotten all about the Night Court’s terrifying reputation and the mask that Rhysand was forced to wear in order to maintain it. That was another reason he relished in their dream visits — it was the only place it was safe for him to be his true self while he was imprisoned. 

“I suppose that makes sense, but Rhys, what are you going to do if they get married?”

“I made a deal with her Under the Mountain. One week a month, she lives here.”

“At the Moonstone Palace, right. Azriel told me.” 

“I’m hoping these visits will show her...show her I’m not the monster she thinks I am,” he rasped, voice thick with more tears. He closed in on himself, crumbling in front of her. 

Before she could stop herself, she pressed him against her chest, her arms wrapping around his shoulders. His arms wrapped around her waist, hands resting on her upper back.

“I can talk to her, if you’d like,” she offered gently. Rhys looked up at her from her chest and quirked an eyebrow at her. “I’m serious! I spent my formative years in the Spring Court and I know how manipulative Tamlin can be. Maybe I can talk some sense into her.” 

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea. My ex-fiance being my wing-woman might make me seem desperate.”

“And you’re certainly not that,” Niamh teased, tugging at the hair on the back of his head. He growled at her. 

“Careful, Niamh,” his tone was low again, “Don’t start something you can’t finish.” 

She kept her rough grip on his hair and lowered herself to look him directly in the eye, leaving mere breaths between their mouths.

“You and I both know that I can finish spectacularly,” he growled again and lunged at her but she held him in place by his hair, continuing, “But I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to jump back into bed together yet.” 

She released his head and backed away again, resting her hip against her kitchen counter out of reach of him. 

Rhys dropped his head in dejection, then ran a hand through his hair. He nodded at her, accepting her decision but sending her a gently questioning look, as if he was worried he had done something wrong. 

“I’m not ready. This is the first we’ve spoken since you got back, and things are…complicated. I would prefer if we postponed our, uh, pelvic reunion until things are more settled.” 

 “Of course, Sweetrose. We can wait for the pelvic reunion,” he teased, rising from his chair and pressing a kiss to her hairline while he ran his hands down her arms. “Now why don’t you give me the official tour of your house?”

“Not much to see but if you insist,” she said, taking his hand and relishing at the feeling of his fingers entwined with hers. At that moment she finally felt that Rhys was back. 

He’d come home, at last.

Part 5

[elegistnox]

Hi Han! You seem tired of Aries questions lol so coming here to ask a random one! How many people do you think Rhys has had sex with by the time of ACOTAR? Hit me with an estimate over his 550 years and throw in some names from HoN if you have any! Let's stir up some drams!

Plz say Helion.

this actually made me snort reading it, never tired of the questions! however i do love this question...

ok hear me out hear me out

i dont think rhys has had sex with that many people. sure he was crazy when he was younger but let's be real he slowed down after the war soooooooo

i'm going to say

more than 40 but less than 50. somewhere around 16 or 18 people after the war and the first 30 are before the war when he's young and horny...because i love an even number

to be fair that is not a lot for being 550 years old which is like 1 partner every 13.5 years

math

my reasoning is that i think he's a secret relationship guy. he stays with his partners for a significant enough portion of time where like azriel might be knee deep in a few girlies at a time (horrible reference)

as for who...i don't want to ruin some stuff but i'll throw a juicy bit in bc i like this ask...lilah (obvi), suniva (juicy juicy), cressida (cmon there was too much tension), amarantha (sad)

ok here's my thing about helion. i just truly think rhys's worst quality is that he's too straight

cassian however...cassian would hit

[readychilledwine]

Pieces of You pt 4

Summary - After losing Feyre to childbirth, Rhysand finds himself leaning on one of her friends much more than he'd ever expected.

Warnings- Mourning, loss of a partner, loss of a friend, loss of parent, babies and the complications that come with raising them, slight neglect, slight angst to wrap it up before Fluff and smut begin, same editing warning (friend is arc reading, Liz will catch any other mistakes when she rereads this with fresh eyes)

A/n - I promised they wouldn't be a part long. What you're all waiting for will happen in the next part. 🫣

✨️ Series Masterlist ✨️ Rhysand Masterlist ✨️ Master Masterlist ✨️

This nanny was not you.

You had the left house, as promised, Monday morning. You hadn't taken a single dress Rhys had bought his Little Mor, a single one of her toys, you didn't even take the blanket he had paid for with her name stitched into soft buttery fabric.

He watched as Nyx fought the female he had hired. He would only latch to her for a few moments before wailing, piercing the now all too quiet home with his confusion and frustration. This nanny was not you, and Nyx clearly was not going to accept her.

He had hoped by the afternoon Nyx would have been hungry enough to just latch, to cave, but that was not the case. The young heir was crying again, frustrated and hungry as he slowly wore himself out into another unscheduled nap. Rhysand zoned out the noise, his mind now on you, on the second chance of love, devotion, happiness he allowed to walk out the door.

Nyx had taken to you. He was a momma’s boy the second he was about to show preference. But Morwenna, Morwenna was Rhysand's. His own breathing filled the void of silence that had fall over the house, and as he stared at his paperwork, tears began to fall, he just hoped your mind was on him, or at least Nyx, as well.

His mind went to his Little Mor, his sweet girl. Her eyes always lit up for him, shrieks of joy and excitement were common in Rhysand's office.

You sighed and sunk into the couch, Azriel beside you as you did. “Come home,” he had been begging for the past two hours for you to see reason, to forgive Rhysand. He had explained what happened at dinner, watching as you slowly fell apart all over again. “He didn't mean a single word. I can tell.”

Azriel swallowed before standing, “I will be back. Kiss my niece for me when she wakes up. I'll come back to sing her to sleep tonight.”

You shook your head, leaning back into the couch as you did. “It felt like he did, Azriel. It felt like he just-” you stopped yourself from crying, not willing to hurt over some male who so easily threw you away. “He said I needed to stop acting like Nyx's mom.” You watched Azriel's face fall. Watched as his sun-kissed tan skin paled. “Then tried to tell me I could not take Morwenna with me.”

Screaming. Screaming was all Azriel heard as he walked into the new Riverhouse. Rhys was pacing the floor, bouncing Nyx as the sun fell and Cassian stood there, eyes watering and wide in panic. He took a spot next to Cassian, sharing a look of concern with his brother. “He refuses to latch on to his nanny,” Cassian's voice cracked. “And Madja keeps trying to tell Rhysand it's just going to be an adjustment period, but Nyx is hungry.”

Azriel nodded, mind flashing back to the subtle looks of pain on your face as you so much as moved or held his Little Mor. “And he won't just suck up his pride and take him to y/n?”

Cassian sighed. “He said he can't do that after what he has done. That there is no fixing the hurt he caused.” Anger had leaked into Cassian's soft voice. “I do not get how she can do this to Nyx.”

“You would do it to if you mate ignored your bond.” The weight of those words hit Cassian's chest, screaming in his like an alarm. “What.”

“Y/n and Rhysand are mates,” Azriel went to Rhys, stroking Nyx's back. “Let me take him to her?”

Rhys shook his head, ignoring the tears falling at his son's frustration. “I just need him to adjust.”

“Starving is not adjusting, Rhysand. It is neglect.” The High Lord turned to Azriel, glaring hard. “I know what you said to her. Go there, apologize, and have her feed him at the very least. She loves him.”

As if it was a spell place to curse Rhysand, Nyx must have caught the faint scent of you lingering to Azriel's soft t shirt. The heir calmed significantly, reaching for the material. “Give me your shirt so I can lay him down and we can discuss this.”

Azriel obeyed, hoping just the scent of you would be enough to give him a small nap while Azriel convinced Rhysand to let him take Nyx to you. Just for the night.

Rhysand sighed, laying Nyx down with Azriel's shirt underneath him. He would have been lying if anyone asked him if he had savored that soft scent clinging to the shirt. He walked out of the room and hardly made it 5 steps before the wailing began again. Rhys pulled the bottle filled with the mixture Madja had made from his pocket world before going back in.

Nyx was inconsolable. He had spent the better portion of the morning crying, screaming, refusing to sleep.

Rhysand picked him up, praying to anyone who would listen and wishing on every star that Nyx would just take this bottle. As soon as he latched, Rhysand watched his flawless little face make a deeper scowl before pushing the bottle away. You were Nyx's sole thought. Your smell, your skin under his, your voice. The piercing wail had Azriel and Cassian running up the stairs as soon as they heard.

Rhysand knew Nyx didn't fully understand the noise about to come from his mouth. Nyx didn't know it expressed exactly what he wanted, nor what the sound would mean. He didn't know that it would make his father crawl back to you less than 12 hours after you had left. The heir released a strangled cry over and over again of one of the only sounds he knew to make, "Ma. Ma. Ma!”

"No," Rhysand choked down the tears that were getting ready to fall. "He's crying for y/n. He's crying for his mama.” Rhys didn't wait for them, he didn't even say goodbye, he winnowed into your living room. You were curled up on the couch, instantly awake by the sounds of Nyx's crying.

"Is he crying for Feyre?" Cassian went to take a tentative step forward, just for Rhysand to stand and move quickly out of the room.

Rhysand didn't even have to ask. He didn't have to beg. You took the heir instantly and pulled him to you, placing him in his favorite spot to eat.

His tears had triggered Morwenna, though, and soon her soft cries filled the air. Rhysand ran to her. He ran to his daughter and cradled her tight to his chest. Her bright eyes instantly looked up at him, a smile taking place of where a deep frown was. “Hi baby girl,” her giggle instantly changed his mood. He walked her to the living room, watching as she instantly because to smile and shriek at the sight of Nyx.

“Give him a little bit, baby,” you didn't even look up from the tiny illyrian, stroking his brow as he ate. “He is very hungry and mama needs him to eat.” Rhys sat across from you, holding Little Mor tight to him. “She's been making d noises all day. To me, to Azriel, to no one. Just “dah duh deh” all day.”

“She missed her daddy,” Rhys held her up, rocking her gently side to side, “didn't you Morwenna. You missed daddy? 13 hours apart is much too long, isn't it, my little darling.” You shook your head, fighting the smile as Wen giggled at Rhysand.

You felt your heart skip a best as he kissed her cheeks and then her tummy. Rhysand was a wonderful father, and watching him in this element, this area of self-doubt, he had made all feelings of anger melt away. He looked to you instantly, claws gently tapping on the fortress of your mind before you allowed him in. “Let me take us home?” Home, the word replayed in your mind before you nodded, holding a hand to him. Home sounded so good.

He winnowed you two back to the Riverhouse, making Wen giggle even more at the starlight that surrounded you four. You walked in and stopped dead in your tracks, eyes Azriel up and down. “Where are your clothes?”

Azriel looked shameless, muscled torso on display as he held Cassian in a headlock. “I'm choking out Cassian and your concern is my lack of a shirt?”

Cassian raised a hand to you, face slightly red. His eyes had a hint of guilt in them as he tapped Azriel's abs. “Y/n,” Cassian moved to guide you to the couch, smiling at a still latched Nyx and then moved Rhysand to be next you. “I want to apologize.” You knit your brows at him as he sat and Azriel glared.

“I made some unfair statements without consideration for you and Rhysand. I did not think about how my words would affect your relationship with each other, or how I cheapend the new mating bond you two share.”

Cassian looked raw. Like months of build up and emotion hit him. “We prepared you know? We knew she was going to die, we begged and prayed for a solution, and just when hope came it crashed like a tidal wave. Nesta and I won't even touch each other. The guilt-”

“You have nothing to be guilty for, Cass,” Rhys interrupted him. “I'm the one who had sex with her. I'm the one who-”

“It was an accident,” you spoke softly, pulling the focus to you. “Feyre's death was a tragic mistake and accident. You all did not know the extent of her shifting magic. You didn't know it temporarily changed her that deeply.”

Rhys seemed love drunk as he handed you Little Mor, kissing both babes before you walked away. He was silent until you left, eyes trailing your body. “Cassian, I love her.”

Rhys sobbed softly, hearing words from you many had whispered before felt so different. Like a soothing balm over a wound, slowly healing it. “Cassian, Nesta did not know that the outcome of her bargaining with a God would be a cruel trick. There's no guilt to be had. She gave everything back, made herself the Cauldron’s servant. She was too young to read those unspoken lines.” Nyx finally let go, deep asleep in your arms. “I'm going to go lay him down. There is nothing for me to forgive because you did not intentionally harm me, Cassian, but maybe you three should speak.”

“I know.”

“That doesn't mean I never loved Feyre. Nor that I've forgotten her.”

A second “I know” broke through Cassian's lips, his shoulders falling as it did. “I miss her.”

Rhys felt the tears welling, felt them falling before he could will them away. “I do too. Every fucking day I miss her. I miss her hair, her laugh, her voice. I miss her correcting me.” He watched Cassian fall more, mourning the sister he had lost openly for the first time.

“But when I'm with y/n, it hurts less. When I see y/n smile, I feel more whole again. When I hear her laugh, I feel like I'm alive again. When I see her with Nyx, when I see his smile when she's holding him or playing with them, I feel like Feyre is here, nudging me towards y/n.”

Azriel's voice came, soft and slow. “Feyre would want you to move on, Rhysand. She would have wanted you to find happiness. She would probably fight all of us for being this sad.”

The thought of that made Cassian genuinely smile. His eyes sparkling with fond memories of Feyre Cursebreaker stomping her feet when he'd beat her during a sparring match. “Her and Feyre both do this thing, maybe it's an artistic thing, where they look at things really close and back away slowly.”

Rhys started laughing immediately knowing what his brother meant. “Y/n did it with one of my outfits. She said I looked great as long as she stayed 5 feet away.”

Azriel put a hand on Cassian's shoulder. “This is a roundabout way of us telling you we support you, Rhysand. We support you and y/n.”

“Two mates,” Cassian said slowly. “Imagine having two mates, Az. Two females that you get to love unconditionally and annoy whenever you'd like.”

Rhys and Azriel shared a silent look, a soft, "Not yet” coming through to Rhysand's mind. “We will leave you and y/n alone to talk.”

“There won't be much talking,” Rhysand stood slowly. “I've always been better at expressing my emotions physically.”

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria @fandomrejects @sleepybesson @tayswhp @chxosangxl @dreamlandreader

Pieces of You Taglist:

@dr4g0ngirl @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @blueeclipsepaperstudent @thisblogisaboutabook @mybestfriendmademe @novalovi @rachelnicolee @sleepylunarwolf @sidthedollface2 @acourtofbatboydreams @bunnyredgirl @cheshire-salvatore-mikaelson @demonicbusiness @blushingfawnsposts @bookishbroadwaybish @littlestw01f @miadialila @golden-canyon @fxckmiup

@batii-skies @emma-andrea1 @buckystevelove @slut4acotar @cauldronboilmetakemetovelaris @awkardnerd @throneofshadows @sevikas-whore @thebeautifulmysteriesoflife @why4anne @brieflyclassymortal @aspenger @nayaniasworld @nyxbranwenn

[thehighladywrites]

acotar men + twitter nsfw links.

“uh-huh, come play with my pussy!”

pairing: acotar men x f!reader

summary: visual links of how the acotar men fuck 😉

warnings: nsfw, porn links, squirting, handjobs, blowjobs, rough sex, teasing, spitting, slapping, public sex, messy makeout session

amara’s note: yum and if you can’t see the links, remove safe search on web reader then go back to twitter

azriel

when everyone’s out

spitting before eating you out

backshots pov

breeding aftermath

head game goes crazy!

put it in and let’s watch tv!

fingering turns you into a squirting mess

jerking off inside

hungry!

rhysand

can i suck your tits while you ride?

squirting all over his cock while he fucks you

rubbing your clit every morning

slow strokes hit so deep!

arching just the way he likes it

i’ll stroke you if you finger me, deal?

can’t keep my hands off your cock, sorry

take it off, i want it raw

cassian

i miss you, let’s facetime later

sloppy, sloppy makeout session

drooling for a taste

size difference? yes!

let’s make a movie but you gotta be quiet!

you said you were stressed? let me take care of you

creampie compilation

giddy up cowgirl!

throat grab

eris

gotta tease before entering

couch fun

be my personal fucktoy

think you can take it all?

post argument sex

i really, really wanna suck you off

69 double pleasure

deepthroat training

lucien

cumming on his cock

the size difference is crazy

he fucks roughly when he’s mad

no one loves titty fucking more than him

slow handjobs is the quickest way to get bent

lucien found your toy and uses it on you

facial

late night quickie

[lidiasloca]

rhysand is a gentleman

rhys x reader

fluff

a/n: the lovely idea is from @tresislidia

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄☆

You were hurrying through the reading room, trying to get a pile of books to your boss’ desk. Your work was usually calm, but since the renewing and modernizing of all the Night Court’s libraries, you were daily suffocated by the amount of work upon your shoulders. 

Step after step, you got closer to your destination, but mixing running with a dozen books in your arms had to let you know it didn’t pair together. 

Books and papers fell in front of you as your body dropped to the wooden floor. 

“Shit,” you mutter between your teeth, quickly sitting up to collect your books. But you don’t recall having three hands. You quickly slide your gaze from the stranger's hand to his black-clothed arm, to his face.  

“You don’t need to do that,” you are quick to tell him. But he keeps picking up your books, only to leave the pile on a shelf. 

“It’s nothing,” he replies, offering you his hand. You are still on the ground, you realize. Mortified, you take it and let his strength set you back on your feet. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, reaching for the books on the shelf. 

“Let me help you with that,” he says, taking the books before you can. 

So not only was the stranger handsome, but also kind. 

“Oh, no, no. Don’t bother, you keep browsing around. Let me know if you need anything,” you reply, hiding your embarrassment with your well-practiced client voice. 

But he won’t hand you the books. He only watches you intently, as if thinking about what to say next. 

“Where do you want them?” Unfortunately, you can’t say no to his dazzling smile. 

“Em—follow me.” And so he does. 

“You work here,” he says as you walk. You can’t decide if it’s a question or a statement, so you just nod. 

“And do you like it?” You nod again. 

“You don’t talk?” he laughs. 

You suddenly realize how rude you might seem, ignoring him. You were truly not yourself this morning, that, and work was making you dumb down. 

“Sorry, it’s just… I’m a bit stressed with work, you know?” you explain, turning left into another room full of books. 

“Oh, I always thought working in a library was rather calm. No offense, of course.” You momentarily glance back at him—how could someone be so charming? It’s like every single word that slipped through his lips had been deliberately chosen to enchant someone—a true hunter. 

“None taken,” you reply, trying to keep up with the conversation. “And you are right, it’s usually not like this. But since the High Lord decided to reform all libraries, I have been drowning in work.”

You could rant about how pissed you were at the High Lord for hours. That is if the one listening didn’t chuckle at your words. 

“What?” you ask, stopping to turn to the laughing stranger. 

“Nothing. I just think the High Lord maybe had good intentions with that,” he answers, not quite succeeding in extinguishing the playfulness in his smile. 

“I don’t doubt that. But he should be working himself if he truly has good intentions with this—help us librarians, for example.” 

And then again, he chuckles. 

“What’s so funny?” you ask, growing irritated. 

“This,” he says, watching your sharp eyes with careless joy. “This is funny.” 

“I don’t understand.” 

“What if the High Lord was actually helping librarians?” he questions then. 

It’s your turn to laugh. “I would like to see that.” 

He has no words for you, only contained laughter paired with the movement of his chin, pointing to the both of you. 

“What?” This male truly was a mystery. 

“Watch carefully,” is his only explanation. You eye him from head to toe, still not understanding. 

“I’m Rhysand,” he finally says, trying not to burst out laughing. 

You, however, feel nothing close to laughter. 

He must have seen your pale face, for he leaves the books aside and takes a step toward you. “Am I that horrendous?” 

“I’m so, so sorry,” you blurt nervously. The High Lord watches you, still grinning. 

“Don’t be. You took no offense—I take none either.” 

He is so nonchalant in contrast to your thundering heartbeat. The High Lord—in front of you—and you had insulted him. 

“I’m sorry,” you say again. 

He chortled. “I am sorry. I didn’t know I had put so much work on librarians.” 

You shake your head, dismissing his words—dismissing your previous words. “It’s really nothing. It’s much worse that I insulted you to your face.” 

“I think we’re even.” Your heart steadies at his joke, enough for you to smile at him, just a bit. It’s shy and gentle, but it makes him smile back. 

“So… where should I put the books?” 

You eye him thoughtfully, admiring the oddness of the situation. The Lord of Night was helping you order some books in a little library of Velaris. You couldn’t help but giggle at the scene unfolding. 

He watches you curiously as he takes the books back, opening his mouth, probably to ask you what had you giggling. You don’t let him. 

“Follow me,” you order the High Lord of the Night Court. 

He dutifully follows.

-Characters by Sarah J Maas

pls send requests. hope you liked this one. it was initially going to be azriel x reader, but just as i started to create the scene, i knew rhys was a better fit. have a great day :))

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

In Love and War (6)

Author's Note: This came out angstyyyyyyyyyy, I'm sorry idk what happened. It's gotta get worse before it gets better, I guess.

Content Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Azriel using Truth-Teller, Mentions of Abuse/Death

Chapter 5/ Masterlist

-------------------------------

I can’t breathe. The walls of the tent close in, the dark leather pressing in closer and closer. If the ground were to open up and swallow me right now, I wouldn’t even have the presence of mind to scream. The fall would be a welcome reprieve from the roaring of my heart in my own ears.

What does he mean our fathers killed each other?  

It’s wrong. He’s wrong! He’s lying. He has to be lying!

I roll over so I can face him, so close on this small mat that our noses brush. His violet eyes glow in the darkness of the tent. “What do you mean?” The panic that edges my voice makes me sound shrill, even in my own ears.

I don’t want him to answer, but I desperately need him to tell me everything all at once. The wine threatens to come back up in a rush as his hand skims up my side to cup my cheek, “Tamlin didn’t tell you?”

How dare him touch me while we have this conversation; what is so broken and wrong inside of me that I let him? I know that I am shaking in his grip and when he starts rubbing calming circles into my cheek with his thumb I lean into that touch like it might give me one last life line to cling to.

“He said you killed my father.”

He stills, wings fluttering; I feel it pass through him like its own little draft, skittering across his wings. A dark mist follows, seeping from his skin. 

I know we’re not supposed to be talking about this, but the words are already out, whether from the wine or by the sheer desperation I feel crawling beneath my skin. I need to know! I need to know that everything I had believed was true. That all that I was doing this for was not based on a lie. 

He brushes his nose over mine, lips ghosting over my forehead. “When I see what they have done to you, I wish I had killed them both.”

My stomach twists. No. No. This can’t be happening!

“But no, it was my father, in retribution for what they had done.”

But I saw him holding the sword! I saw him leave the tent! I never saw his father’s body and Tamlin had always said he arrived too late to save any of them, that all he could do was fend Rhys off to keep him from slaughtering what was left of us. 

The confusion must be evident on my face, because he asks, “You really don’t know, do you?”

It’s more than a little patronizing but I don’t even have the energy to be angry about it, because my whole life is a lie! I’ve spent decades hating him. I just offered up my body and possibly my future to destroy him for nothing? For something his father, who’s long dead, did?

“Maybe we should talk about this in the morning,” he suggests and it’s definitely because I’m crying now and not because he’s trying to avoid it. 

My throat feels like it;s closing. “No!” And it’s then that I feel the faintest prick of fangs growing behind my lips. “Please just tell me.”

His thumb soothes over my cheek again, like he can feel the sudden shift in my being. I don’t know where that rush of power comes from. Maybe it is some sort of effect of being so close to him while he repairs the wards. 

“Rhys!” It’s always Azriel that interrupts us somehow, the shadowy male hurtling into the tent with that wicked looking dagger in hand. “We’ve got movement in the hills.”

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me! Now? Of all the Cauldron damned times for Amarantha to show herself, it has to be right now?!

Rhysand is on his feet in an instant, reaching for my discarded chest piece and ushering me into it, our conversation forgotten. “How many?”

I wish I could say I possess his ability to compartmentalize tasks, but despite the worst possible danger knocking on our unguarded and unwarded doors, all I can think about is how desperately we need to finish this conversation. 

“Five, a scout and four chargers. I’ve got Nox and Avos on their trail, but I don’t see any marks yet.” Azriel continues, oblivious to my inner turmoil.

Rhysand slings my quiver and bow over my shoulders again, checking all the straps to ensure they’re in place. He’d never taken his own armor off, only the belt for his sword, he uses a tendril of shadowy darkness to strap it into place while he finishes with me. “Stay with her.”

Azriel eyes me like I’m a pile of shit he accidentally stepped in, but I’m too busy trying to wipe my eyes on my sleeves to care. “You might need me out there,” he protests.

“Might,” Rhysand counters, stalking out of the tent in search of his horse. “But I definitely need you here more.” He grabs the reins on his horse, the mount still saddled, just in case we’d needed to leave in a hurry. Dinner threatens to come back up as I watch him slide into his cloak. I’ve spent my life hating that triple star pattern that will sit over his eyes, cursing his existence, wishing him every pain and misery imaginable for ruining my life and it wasn’t even his fault?

The ground is unsteady beneath my feet, I feel myself stumble and sway and I can’t tell if it’s the wine or the reality of the situation that makes my legs feel like jelly. 

I want to go home! I want this to be a bad dream. 

For a moment, I think he might simply toss the cowl over his head and mount up, leaving me to sit here in the misery of our half finished conversation, but he comes back a moment later, hand sliding into my hair as he tilts my head back and kisses me swiftly.

He should taste as bitter as the wine we’d shared. I should feel nothing but misery when he slips his tongue behind my teeth, but when he has me like this, nothing else matters. There doesn’t have to be anything between us. I do not feel like some broken, wretched thing.

“Don’t leave Azriel’s side,” he says as he pulls away. “We’ll finish our conversation when I return, I promise.” Then he mounts up, calling for half of the men as he goes. The thundering sound of the horses hooves as they race down into the grassy hills beneath us makes it feel like we’re standing in the center of an earthquake.

There’s enough moonlight to watch them go, their mounts and flowing capes in the wind making them appear like wraiths racing towards the enemy. 

With half of the men gone, and two scouting, that leaves Azriel and four other men to guard camp. None of them look too happy about it, least of all Azriel, who keeps watching me out of the corner of his eye like he thinks I might disappear at a moment’s notice. I remain next to him, anxiously shifting my weight from foot to foot, hoping the chill on the wind might wake my dull senses up.

Shadows drift off Azriel’s shoulders, but unlike Rhysand’s that always stay curled around his body, Azriel’s drift off like inky tendrils, testing the wind around him. Some slither along the ground like snakes, searching through patches of grass for an unwanted scent, others drift away, testing the wind for him. One remains perched over his ear, and I hear the faint sound of whispering like the shadows are reporting what they find. 

We can no longer see the others, and I spin slowly around in a circle, taking stock of my surroundings. We’re a little higher than the base of the mountain, perched on a cleft in the rock for a better vantage point. The ward remains behind us, I think, without the trail of Rhysand’s magic, I still can’t see or feel this one. To the left and right, the rocky base of the mountain is dotted with ancient trees, some thicker than a house, but the coming winter has stolen their leaves, no vantage point for archers to be had there without being sitting ducks. Beneath us, the rolling hills of grass stretch far out of sight. If Amarantha brought an army behind those first five riders, she’s hidden it well. Still, the thought makes a chill run up my spine and I keep a hand around the hilt of my dagger, just in case.

Azriel does nothing to quell my nerves, just stands there, still as a statue, listening to his shadows, eyes glued to the horizon. I can’t help but wonder if his shadows show him things as much as they tell him. Can he see Rhysand right now?

My stomach twists at the thought. I can’t see him. I can’t hear if he’s ok. There’s nothing in my arsenal to tell me that he’s coming back. And Cauldron boil me, I want him to come back. If he dies without finishing our conversation, I might never learn what happened. Whether it’s the truth or not is yet to be seen, but Tamlin’s account and his account are different, and I will be damned if I don’t get some answers from someone. 

The hand not holding my dagger reaches up to rub at the scar above my ear, hidden under my hair. Tam and I had been fighting that day, he’d been on edge about something and when I’d pushed too hard he’d shoved me right into the corner of a table. I’d been in the healer’s tent getting stitches; all these years I’d thought it was the Mother looking out for me, that little accident might have just saved my life. But looking at it now, I can’t help but wonder if it kept me from seeing the truth. 

I shift my weight again and Azriel’s gaze flicks back to me once more, irritated, like I’m somehow distracting him. 

“Sorry,” I mutter, locking my knees.

I can stand still, it’s fine. I force myself to focus on my breathing, but in the silence there’s one nagging thought that eats at me: Do I really believe Rhysand is telling the truth? I take him to bed one time, accept a couple gifts from him, and what? Believe everything he says as truth? Are claims of a mating bond really enough to make me believe he’d be open and honest with me? A mating bond certainly hadn’t saved my mother.

I close my eyes at the thought of her, chest aching. Did I believe Rhysand was right about that too? That my father had used her powers to try and breed powerful sons, not because he’d loved her? I’d certainly never seen my parents be affectionate towards each other, not even in the way Rhysand was with me. They’d never held hands, never ridden out together. He’d kept her clothed and fed, sure, and entertained her obsession with fairytales when it suited him. My mother told me, on one of her days of clarity, that he’d carved her rocking chair for her when he’d found out she was pregnant with Tam. But I never saw him be warm with her. I’m not even sure I ever saw them kiss, even on the cheek. But a lack of affection in public didn’t mean he cared so little about her he let her, supposed, powers drive her insane, did it?

“A scout’s coming back,” Azriel says, breaking me out of my thoughts. 

My eyes snap open as the rider crests the hillside and comes into view. Illyrian mounts really are beautiful, all sleek muscle and rippling midnight black manes. Together they make a lot of noise, but alone, they’re pretty damn quiet until their hooves hit rock.

Azriel motions me to follow him as he goes to the edge of the cleft in the rocks and waits as the scout approaches. “Well?”

“Not Amarantha,” the scout says and I let out a breath of relief. 

“Who the fuck would come out here then?” Someone behind me challenges. 

“Spring,” the scout says and all the blood drains from my face.

Azriel glances at me, but there’s pity in his hazel gaze this time. 

I swallow the lump in my throat. Not now, I’m not ready to see them yet! 

“What do they want?” I’m having a hard time processing that Tam would waste resources looking for me, especially when we’ve barely had horses to spare to move camp, let alone ride all the way out here.

“Proof you’re alive,” the scout says, holding out his hand.

It’s Azriel that smacks his hand away. “She only rides with me or Rhys.”

The mount shifts beneath the scout, his hood falling even lower down his face. Something feels off about it and I glance at Azriel for confirmation I’m not alone. He nods at me as he steps closer, hand on the small of my back as he leads me to where his own mount chews on a dying patch of grass. 

“Be ready,” he says in my ear.

The scout fidgets in his seat like he’s not used to riding in one and it’s that more than anything that has Azriel’s shadows flying off his shoulders to grab the rider by the wrist and yank him out of the saddle. He slams into the ground with a scream, the sound of bones crunching against rock so loud I wince as Azriel hoists me up into his saddle. 

I grab the reins to keep the horse steady, trying desperately to remember where Rhysand had held his hands when I rode with him. 

Azriel stalks over to the male, wings flaring as he knocks the back of the hood back with the tip of his dagger. Even in the moonlight, I know what swatch of dark hair and golden eyes. One of Tamlin’s Wolves, Andras. Of course he wouldn’t know how to ride, we’d survived a lot of skirmishes over the years because Tam had used his shapeshifting powers to change the men into beasts to fight. 

Azriel crouches in front of him as Andras grips his clearly broken shoulder. “Let’s try this again, shall we?”

Andras’ gaze flicks to me first. Thankfully, Azriel’s horse is a lot more patient than the others and my own nervous energy hasn’t caused it to run off. If anything, I think the animal cares less about my presence than its usual rider, because it goes back to eating.

“Your whore of a warlord-” that’s as far as Andras gets before Azriel slams the hilt of his dagger into the other male’s throat.

“Start like that again and I’ll make sure you never use that shoulder,” Azriel threatens with so much venom, I shiver. 

Andras coughs, good hand reaching for his throat and Azriel slams the blade clean through his forearm, pinning him in place.

I look away as Andras screams. He is not my friend, I can do nothing. I have always done nothing. The males have their fights and their quarrels and I have always stood on the sidelines waiting for the violence to pass like a good girl. 

“Ok! Ok!” Andras rasps. “I had orders to get into the camp and get Y/N, that’s it!”

But wasn’t being tired of standing on the sidelines that prompted me to stay here in the first place? Wasn’t I trying to make things better for my people? How was sitting here helping them?

“What about the others?” Azriel questions. 

“I don’t know! Lucien was supposed to handle that.” Andras replies through gritted teeth.

Do I even want to help them? If Rhysand was telling the truth, whose side am I even on? My head hurts from the questions, my stomach still churning end over end. I don’t know what to do.

“Where’s Tamlin?” Azriel asks as he rips the dagger out. 

Andras screams, the sound echoing off the rocks. “There’s only five of us! Tamlin never left camp.”

Of course he would send Lucien and not risk coming out here himself. That would put him face to face with Rhysand and he’d lose. And looking at it now, I realize that he knows it. He’s always known it. I rub a hand over the scar on my hand. Did he know about the bond too? Had that been why he was always so sure that I knew Rhysand was the enemy?

Azriel raises the dagger to make another cut and Andras screams, “I swear I’m telling the truth!”

“Azriel,” my voice is steadier than I feel and all eyes suddenly turn to me. I need to get answers. I need to do something. “Take me out there please.” 

“No.”

I tighten my grip on the reins. I’ll go out there myself if I have to. “If it’s Lucien, then it’s not a fight they’re having. Let me diffuse this.” I’m not sure I mean those words; I’m not sure I have the power to do anything but watch horror after horror unfold around me, but I know that I have to try. I have to attempt to put my life back together. I have to find some bit of order or I’ll go insane. Besides, this is Lucien we’re talking about! Surely he could see reason, right?

Andras is looking at me like I’ve grown a second head. 

“Tie him up,” Azriel says to one of the others as he stands and wipes his blade on a cloth that hangs from his belt. “I’m not done with him.”

“But I don’t know anything!” Andras protests as two men haul him to his feet, wrenching his broken shoulder in the process. Blood drips from his forearm, down his fingers. Regardless of the confusion I feel swirling around inside me, he’s still a part of my people. Lucien is still family. If I can keep any more bloodshed from happening between our two people I will. 

“I can work this out. Not everything has to be a bloodbath.”

Azriel swings himself into the saddle behind me and steals the reins. “If I so much as hear an arrow being fired, we’re turning back around.” He snarls.

“Fine,” I concede, because at least it meant I tried. 

“Rhys is gonna kill me for this.”

----

I’m not convinced Azriel’s horse isn’t a wraith. It’s almost completely silent, save for the softest hint of breathing imaginable. When it breathes, little wisps of shadows escape out its nose. I wish I had time to ask him about it, but there’s none, not as we race over the hills, fast as the wind. 

No arrows rise up to meet us, so at least I’ve been, so far, correct about Lucien not leading an ambush. Their scout must have taken down one of Rhysand’s and stolen his mount and cloak to look presentable. At least, I tell myself it was just that and not that Lucien ordered a man killed to try and get to me. Lucien, who would sneak me snacks and who secretly taught me how to fish; Lucien who used to braid my hair for me while we sat on the creek bed, making jokes. Lucien who had always been a spot of sunlight in my world, who looked after me like a brother, and promised to scare away any suitors who made me uncomfortable. Lucien was a good male; the best of us, even, the thought that he might be capable of such violence makes me nauseous. I have had too many life changing questions hurled my way tonight, I cannot bear another one, especially not about him.

We crest a particularly large hill and finally get a glimpse of the Illyrian riders. They’re not fighting. In fact, they’re just standing there, in formation behind Rhysand’s horse. The warlord himself stands in front of it, shrouded in that heavy cloak, facing off against Lucien and his three dismounted riders. They’re all armed, but no one is actively fighting each other, I take that as a good sign.

Though Lucien doesn’t look particularly pleased to see me riding with Azriel, nothing but unbridled horror crossing his scarred face as we approach. 

When we get to the bottom of the hill, I jump off the horse, much to Azriel’s dismay. 

Lucien takes a step towards me, but growling, Rhysand steps in front of him. “Touch her and you’re dead, Vanserra.”

The men move to let me pass through and I focus all my energy on breathing evenly as I walk towards them. Does Lucien know? Did he hide this from me too? Or was he just as blind as I was?

“Y/N, are you all right?” Lucien asks, his metal eye whirring as he looks me over. 

My chest feels like it’s gonna rip right down the middle and spill my heart right out onto the floor. I don’t know who to believe. I don’t know who I want to believe. This is Lucien we’re talking about, he would never willingly hurt me. He comforted me when my entire world fell apart, he helped Tam and I bury them. I want so desperately for all these onlookers to leave, so it’s just the three of us and the truth, but the way they all stand there, armed and ready tells me that’s not happening. There hasn’t already been bloodshed here, because Lucien was waiting for Andras to give him some sort of signal that it wasn’t necessary. Because he was expecting to be able to just kidnap me.

Why do all these males constantly treat me like I’m just an object to be snatched up on their whims?

Rhysand’s hooded head is angled in my direction, watching my approach through the stars in his cowl. I don’t like that I can’t see his eyes. He doesn’t look like the Rhysand who’d just been holding me. He looks like the male I remember from my nightmares.

And Lucien looks like someone I don’t recognize at all.

How am I supposed to make sense out of any of this? Seeing them doesn’t make it easier. 

The Illyrians shift behind me, horses snuffing in agitation, kicking up loose strands of grass. I feel their unease as easily as I can see it in the males behind Lucien. Maybe this isn’t the time for answers, maybe all I can do right now is keep them from killing each other. Regardless of who’s right here, I don’t want to see either males hurt.

“I’m fine,” I lie as I come to a stop at Rhysand’s side. His gloved fingers brush mine like he might take my hand, but he doesn’t. 

Lucien stares back and forth between us. “I wouldn’t call being kidnapped fine.”

Rhys growls again, the sound skittering over my spine, “But you’d call letting her starve to death on a solo hunt fine?”

Lucien’s mouth pulls back in a grimace. “Tam made a mistake, he admits it-”

“He admits it?” His wings shake behind him, darkness drifting in waves from beneath them until it shrouds him more than the cloak. There’s so much of it Lucien retreats a step. “How brave of him to admit he fucked up and yet he still let it go on this long before someone came looking.”

Lucien keeps his gaze on me. “It won’t happen again. We’ve talked about it. Trust me, next time-”

“There is no next time,” Rhysand snarls. “She’s not going back with you!”

Lucien’s hand falls to his sword hilt, but his gaze remains on me. “Let her come home. Let this be settled and done. Tamlin sent money-”

A whip made of starlight appears in Rhysand’s hand, knocking the bag of coins Lucien pulls off his belt from his hand and scattering it across the grass. All of the men with Lucien draw their swords, even as the redhead tightly grips his own. Rhysand can easily kill him here and he will if Lucien keeps talking. I need to diffuse this, I need them all to leave each other alone. I’m not done here, and even if Lucien won’t understand it, I can’t bear to see him get hurt.

“He’s my mate,” I say and the words taste like a betrayal.

Lucien’s face twists in a mixture of horror and disgust.

“No one is keeping me here against my will.” Well, mostly. It’s not like I’ve put that to the test, but he doesn’t need to know that. 

“That can’t be true,” it comes out like a whisper, as if he doesn’t want to believe it. I suppose, if our places were switched, I wouldn’t want to either. “You did something to her.”

Rhysand huffs, “I didn’t and I wouldn’t.”

“Like you didn’t slaughter thousands for Amarantha?” Lucien snarls.

Rhysand freezes, still as death beside me.

Azriel, silent in the grass, has come up behind me, his presence a steadying energy amidst the chaos I feel swirling around us. What does he mean he killed for Amarantha? Isn’t he trying to kill her?

“That’s enough,” Azriel hisses. “The lady told you she doesn’t want to go back with you. Respect that and go.”

Lucien doesn’t move. “He didn’t tell you that, did he, Y/N?”

“Leave!” Azriel snarls.

“I’m sure he didn’t tell you how he whored himself out to her either. Why do you think the Illyrians have so much land?”

Azriel steps around me, shadows swirling, dagger in hand, but it’s Rhysand, who’s now almost wholly surrounded by a dark mist, that puts out a hand to stop him. “Everything I did, I did for my people,” he says in a voice that’s so low I almost can’t hear it over the wind. “Everything Tamlin is doing now is for himself.”

“How noble,” Lucien snarls. “If your intentions are so pure, let her go.”

Rhysand turns to look at me, pushing the cowl off his head so I can see his face. The moonlight doesn’t hide the shadows under his eyes, or the weight I see crushing down on his shoulders. It’s impossible to miss the way his wings droop behind him. My chest aches at the sight of him, something clawing in desperation beneath my skin begging me to find a way to take that burden from him. 

“Do you want to go back with him?” He asks.

I don’t know if what he’s said tonight is true or a lie, but I know here and now that if I said yes he’d let me walk away. No strings attached, if I took Lucien’s hand and got on that horse, he wouldn’t fight me.

I don’t know what I want any more. I don’t know who I am anymore. Everything I have built my life on feels like it's crumbling beneath my feet. And everyone is just standing there watching it happen. 

No one has ever offered me a choice like this before. My whole life I have been told where to go and who to be and given one taste of freedom I had still followed exactly what was expected of me, hoping that it would finally make me feel at peace. But I haven’t felt a moment of peace in all of it, except when I was in Rhysand’s arms. It’s impossible that he of all people could make me feel like that. It shouldn’t be this way. 

And Lucien, who I always considered another brother, who shared food at my table and always made me feel like I wasn’t a waste of space, was now someone I didn’t recognize. There is no sign of Rhysand’s missing rider among them. I don’t know if he’s dead or not, probably, judging by the way Lucien keeps looking at Rhys like he’s an animal. 

It’s a startling sight, not because I would have looked at him like that myself a couple days ago, but because that’s how Tam always looked at me. Like I was some thing that was so inherently wrong; some creature that needed to be tamed and bridled. Those pointed tips of the fangs I felt try to make an appearance earlier have come back, poking into my lower lip. I feel something shifting beneath my skin, a beast awakening from some deep slumber. My hands open and close reflexively at my side. The stirring feeling is strongest in my chest, right where I sometimes feel that weird pressure that’s somehow tied to Rhys.

“No, I don’t want to go back with him,” the words are steadier than I feel, my chin raised. I do not cower from them, or the fact that I mean them. Even though Lucien looks like I’ve punched him in the gut. I can’t go back. Not until I have the truth. Not until I can make sense of all this mess I feel in my head and in my heart. 

“Tamlin won’t take me back anyway,” I pull the gaps in the arms of my sweater down, so he can see the stars inked across my skin. “Nor do I feel like being tossed out again.”

“Y/N…” Lucien shakes his head, auburn hair flying around his tan face. “It was a misunderstanding.”

Rhysand won’t stop staring at me. I think he’s waiting for me to change my mind. 

“Please leave, Lucien,” I say, only looking at Rhys. I’m a terrible person, because there is so much unbridled hope in his eyes, like he’s been holding his breath this whole time, waiting for me to take my chance and run; I’d been playing games this whole time, he hadn’t.

He hadn’t been playing games. 

I’d used him, taken what I needed, and had planned to throw him out when I was done. Even if he had killed me father, I was still… I was still just like my own father. The realization nearly knocks me off my feet. What have I done?

“This isn’t the end of this,” Lucien hisses as he backs up, never leaving himself exposed, even as he reaches for his mount. The horse is old, it’s mane patchy and unkept, I’m not sure how it carried Lucien here, let alone how he expected it to carry the both of us. “Tamlin will consider this a breach of your agreement.”

“We agreed not to kill each other,” Rhysand returns. “If he comes at me now, then he’s the one that broke that agreement, not me.” 

Lucien swings into the saddle with ease, mount shifting slightly beneath him. “What of my scout?”

“What of mine?” Azriel returns.

“Food for the vultures,” Lucien snarls and my heart sinks even further. What if I’ve been wrong about everybody, not just Rhys?

“Then so is yours,” Azriel returns.

Lucien leaves with the remainder of his men, no further fight for Andras life to be had. Rhysand watches them go, wings still drooped behind them like they are impossibly heavy. I should try and comfort him, as that thing in my chest demands, but I can’t. My limbs refuse to move, feet rooted in the grass. What have I done? Where did I go wrong in all of this? I was just trying to do what I thought was right, but I’m not sure I know what that looks like anymore.

“Are you all right?” Rhysand asks once they’re gone. On instinct, he’s throwing his cloak around my shoulders again, cocooning me in that blissful pocket of warmth that smells like him. I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve any of his kindness. 

“I don’t know,” the words slip out of me. I can’t think past the roaring in my ears. What have I done?

His hand falls to my back, gently leading me back to his horse. 

“For the record-” Azriel starts, but Rhysand cuts him off, “I know, Az. Thank you for staying with her.”

I think, even as we mount back up to return to camp, we would have all been better off tonight if this had been a fight with Amarantha.

------------------------------

Tag List:

@judig92, @randomperson1234sblog, @nyxbranwenn, @lilah-asteria, @barb00235, @landofpetrichor, @hjgdhghoe, @buttermilktea11, @yourforeveryoungblog, @sassyn, @zoeisdreaming6, @minnieoo, @girl-math-aint-mathing, @raisam, @inloveallthetime, @blessthepizzaman

[rowaelinsdaughter]

thinking about feyre and reader stealing rhys clothes.

smut below the cut, mostly f!oral receiving, squirting (i wasnt planning writing this but i couldnt contain myself)

feyre would love to steal rhys shirt's. she would leave them open while only wearing her underwear when they are at home. rhys would make sure nobody enters, its only the three of them, so feyre uses his shirts as dresses, but she loves them open. maybe sometimes she would wear a top and short bottoms, but most of the time its just only the underwear.

this makes it easier for reader and rhys to leave marks or just eat her out. she would just set aside her panties while rhys is behind her pinching her nipples and kissing her neck. all this while the breakfast is forgotten on the table at their living room.

and for reader, she would love rhys t-shirt's. long dresses that cover her body. she would look tiny in them, and both her mates would mock her about it but they ABSOLUTE love her in his t-shirts. she would woke up earlier than them, leaving them in the bed sleeping after a fun night. she opened the closet and took her favorite t-shirt. a soft lilac one, one she bought him and now his scent was all over it. like every weekend, they were alone at home, nualla and cerridwen resting on their home.

she was making breakfast when she felt a pair of hands on her waist, big hands. rhys. "good morning, sweetheart" his voice was raspy from sleep and by the buldge on his pants and how she could feel it, she knew he was only wearing some pants. she turned around, both her hands found a place on his muscular chest, drawing the ink with her fingertips. he gave her a lazy smile while his hands gripped her waist and lifted her on the kitchen island. "now youre going to be a good girl for me and youre going to let me eat my breakfast" her hands gripped his shoulders when he felt his hands under the t-shirt. a low moan falling from her parted lips. his lips were on her neck, biting and kissing, swapping the intensity, making her dizzy. "fuck doll, i love when youre wearing my clothes"

his hands lifted the t-shirt exposing her dripping cunt. no underwear, like she was expecting this to happen. "youre a little slut, wearing only my t-shirt with no underwear" he bite her bottom lip "i love it" he fell to his knees, kissing her legs all the way up to her cunt, leaving bites and when he licked her, she let a moan. he was devouring her, eating her like it was his breakfast. she was so high from the pleasure she didnt sensed feyre enter the kitchen, but feyre was behind her. her knees on either side of her body while her hands went directly to her breasts. "having fun without me?" she purred to her ear. feyre pinched her nipples through the t-shirt, a louder moan falling from her as her head fell back, resting on feyre's shoulder.

"i wanna cum, i wanna cum please" she said like a mantra. rhys stopped eating her. "you wanna cum, doll?." she nodded and added "please i wanna cum so bad, please, please" rhys caressed her legs and looked at feyre, lust and mischief shinning in his violet eyes. "what do you think feyre darling, we should let our doll cum?" he was still caressing her legs. feyre took her face with a hand, she looked her glossy eyes, her swollen lips and smiled. but she didnt gave rhys an answer, all she did was kiss her. hard and passionate. just as they always did. rhys smiled and went on to devour her.

feyre swallowed her moans and her hands gripped his hair. like an invitation to go faster, rhys started to eat her more vividly. she was at her breaking point, she felt the knot, she needed to cum badly. as rhys inserted three fingers inside her cunt while treating her clit, she felt her orgasm ripping her apart. a wave of pleasure made her back arc on feyre's chest. she didn't know she was shouting, moaning, all she know is she hadn't feel that type of frenzy ever. feyre pulled apart, a trail of spit connected their swollen lips. she was breathing fast and heavy. feyre caressed her cheek "good job doll". she looked down at rhys and saw the mess she had made. she had squirt. something she didn't knew it would happen. "fuck doll, that was hot" he murmured. rhys stood up, a finger under her chin so she could look at him. "ready for round two, doll?"

yeah, they both love to steal rhys clothes.

tags;; @amara-moonlight @throneofsapphics @thehighladywrites @vanserrasswife @loneliestluvr @vanserrasswife

all rights reserved to ©rowaelinsdaughter. no tranlations allowed. no copy theme. don not copy my work.

[beautifulsweetschaos]

They got him 😔 they got Pookie 😫 I’m gonna kms