His to Claim*
Rhysand x obliviousmate!reader
Summary: You grow up believing Rhysand is simply a naturally protective, affectionate friend, not realizing his behavior toward you is different from everyone else, until a confrontation forces the truth of his feelings and your connection to surface.
Warnings: trauma references, protective!Rhysand, smut, p in v, oral (female receiving), praising, mate… kink?
Authors note: I was given a request for this and I hope I achieved it!! I had so much fun writing this especially because I had an idea for one like this!! Hope yall enjoy🫶🏻
Main Masterlist:
Taglist: @booksstarryskies, @spookypersondinosaur
✷☽✦☾✷☽✦☾✷
From the outside, your place in the Night Court had always looked effortless—natural, even. You'd met Mor first, her bright laughter and easy confidence drawing you in before you'd even realized you were being claimed as one of her own. And through her, you'd met him—Rhysand.
At first, he'd just been Mor's cousin. The High Lord of the Night Court, yes, but also the male lounging with a smirk in the corner, violet eyes too knowing, too amused. You had expected distance, formality—something sharp and untouchable.
Instead, he had smiled at you like you already belonged.
It had been easy after that. Conversations that slipped from polite to playful without you noticing. Nights spent in the House with Mor that somehow always ended with Rhys nearby, leaning against a doorway or draped lazily across a chair, listening more than speaking. Then came Cassian, loud and impossible to ignore, dragging you into sparring rings and laughter; Azriel, quieter, shadows curling as if they were just as curious about you as he was; and eventually Amren, who studied you like a puzzle she hadn't decided was worth solving—yet.
You fit.
And Rhysand... Rhysand had simply always been there.
Your friendship with him had grown into something softer than the others, though you'd never quite been able to name why. It wasn't louder like it was with Cassian, or edged with the same quiet understanding you shared with Azriel. It wasn't teasing like Mor's affection, nor sharp like Amren's approval. It was something else entirely—something that felt... constant.
But you never questioned it. Because as far as you knew, this was just who he was.
Kind. Attentive. Warm in a way that didn't quite match the power humming beneath his skin.
There had been a night—one of the earlier ones—when sleep had abandoned you entirely.
The shadows of Velaris had felt too deep, too quiet, your thoughts turning restless and sharp. You hadn't meant to seek him out. Hadn't even realized your feet had carried you there until you were standing outside his door, hand hovering uselessly in the air.
It had opened before you knocked.
Rhys had taken one look at you—really looked—and whatever teasing remark had been on his lips disappeared.
"Come here," he'd said softly.
No questions. No hesitation.
You'd barely made it inside before he guided you toward the bed, pulling you down beside him like it was the most natural thing in the world. His arm had come around you, firm and steady, anchoring you against his chest as if he'd done it a thousand times before.
"Just sleep," he murmured, voice low against your hair.
And you had.
Safe. Completely, undeniably safe.
You hadn't thought twice about it afterward. Hadn't wondered why the High Lord of the Night Court had stayed awake half the night just to keep you grounded, his fingers occasionally brushing your arm as if to reassure himself you were still there.
That was just Rhys.
Another time, the memory surfaced more sharply.
A gathering—crowded, louder than you liked. Too many unfamiliar faces, too many eyes lingering a second too long. You'd tried to brush it off, to stay close to Mor and laugh it away, but at some point you'd drifted just far enough.
Far enough for someone to step in too close.
The male had been charming at first, his smile easy, his words smooth. But then his hand had lingered at your waist. Then your arm. Then just a bit too tight when you tried to pull away.
You hadn't even had time to react.
Rhys was simply... there.
One moment you were trapped in that uncomfortable space, and the next his presence had slid between you like a blade wrapped in silk. His hand settled at the small of your back—warm, grounding, possessive in a way that somehow felt more protective than anything else.
"Is there a problem?" he'd asked, voice pleasant.
Too pleasant.
The male had stiffened, muttered something you didn't catch, and quickly excused himself.
And just like that, it was over.
Rhys had glanced down at you then, his expression softening instantly, the tension draining from his shoulders as if it had never been there at all.
"You alright, darling?"
Darling.
You'd smiled, brushing it off. "I'm fine. Thank you."
His hand hadn't left your back for the rest of the night.
You hadn't questioned that either.
That was the thing about Rhysand.
He always seemed to know where you were. Always seemed to appear when you needed him—sometimes before you even realized you did. A steady presence at your side, a quiet touch guiding you through crowded rooms, a voice at your ear when things became too much.
He called you darling like it meant nothing.
Like it was just another habit.
Like the way his hand would rest at the small of your back, thumb occasionally brushing absentminded circles against your skin. Like the way his gaze would find you in any room, no matter how crowded. Like the way his voice would soften—just slightly—whenever he spoke to you.
It was easy to assume it wasn't special.
Because he was kind to everyone, wasn't he?
A good High Lord. A good friend.
You'd seen him smile at others. Laugh with them. Offer that same effortless charm that made people feel seen, important, safe.
So this—whatever this was between you—it couldn't be anything different.
Couldn't be anything more.
...Right?
You didn't notice the way Cassian sometimes choked on his drink when Rhys's hand lingered too long at your back.
Didn't catch the looks Mor and Azriel shared when you brushed it off so easily, when you laughed and leaned into Rhys without a second thought.
Didn't hear Amren's quiet, exasperated sighs.
And you certainly didn't see the way Rhysand watched you when you turned away—like you were something rare, something his, something he was holding himself back from claiming with every ounce of restraint he had.
Because to you, it was simple.
Rhysand was your friend.
And he was like this with everyone.
Wasn't he?
✷☽✦☾✷☽✦☾✷
The music in Rita's pulsed through your veins, warm and dizzying, the kind that made it easy to forget everything except the moment you were in. Laughter spilled from every corner, bodies moving, lights glinting off polished wood and silk and skin. It was loud—but in a way that felt alive.
And you had been enjoying it.
Dancing had turned into laughing, which had turned into accepting a drink from a male whose name you had caught once... and then promptly forgotten. He was charming in that overly confident sort of way, leaning in just a little too close as he spoke, clearly very pleased with himself.
"...and then I told him, if you want someone who can actually win, you come to me," he was saying now, grin wide as he gestured with his glass.
You smiled politely, nodding along, only half listening—
A hand waved in front of your face.
You blinked, snapping back into the moment.
"Still with me?" he teased.
"Yes—sorry," you said lightly, adjusting your grip on your drink.
But something felt... off.
A prickle at the back of your neck. A sensation you couldn't quite name.
Eyes.
You turned instinctively.
And there—across the room, in the familiar booth tucked slightly away from the chaos—was him.
Rhysand
He was already watching you.
Of course he was.
One arm draped lazily over the back of the booth, posture relaxed, expression composed—but his gaze was fixed. Sharp. Unmoving. Like the rest of the room had faded into nothing.
You softened immediately, a small smile tugging at your lips as you lifted your hand in a subtle wave.
Rhys returned it just as easily.
And then his voice slipped into your mind, smooth as velvet.
You alright, darling?
Warmth bloomed in your chest at the sound of it.
I'm fine, you sent back, easy and unbothered.
You didn't miss the way his gaze lingered a second longer before he leaned back slightly, though he didn't stop watching you.
"—so I was thinking," the male in front of you cut back in, pulling your attention away. "We could—"
You hummed in response, barely registering the question as your eyes drifted back to Rhys again.
It was... hard not to look at him.
Something about the way he was watching you tonight—more focused than usual, maybe. Or maybe you were imagining it.
The male shifted closer.
His fingers came up, tilting your chin back toward him.
Your attention snapped.
And before you could even react—
Rhys's voice, sharper this time, slid through your mind.
Why is he touching you?
You blinked, a little startled at the edge in his tone.
He's funny, you sent back, still trying to keep the moment light. I'm giving him a shot.
There was a pause.
A quiet, heavy pause.
Then—
Come back here, darling. We miss you.
We.
You glanced toward the booth again, catching a glimpse of Cassian's barely contained grin, Azriel's shadows curling just a little tighter, Mor watching with open amusement.
You hesitated.
"I was actually wondering," the male said, leaning in closer, voice lowering, "if you wanted to head back to my place."
That made you pause fully.
"I... don't really do that," you admitted, offering a small, apologetic smile.
His expression shifted immediately—annoyance flickering through.
"That's what they all say," he muttered, rolling his eyes.
Something in your chest tightened.
You leaned back slightly, uncomfortable now, ready to excuse yourself—
But his hand didn't drop.
Instead, his grip on your chin tightened just enough to make your breath hitch.
And then—
He was gone.
Or rather—blocked.
A presence slid between you so seamlessly, so suddenly, it was like he had always been there.
Rhys.
"I've been looking for you," he said smoothly, voice calm, pleasant—too pleasant.
His hand found your back instantly, warm and steady, grounding you as he guided you just slightly behind him.
Shielding.
You didn't even think about it.
Didn't question it.
You just exhaled softly, tension melting from your shoulders as you leaned back into him without hesitation.
Relief flooding through you like it always did when he was close.
The male's attention snapped fully as Rhys stepped in front of you.
He pushed to his feet quickly, circling around as if to reinsert himself into the moment—but the second his eyes landed on who stood between you, all confidence drained from his face.
Recognition hit.
Hard.
Rhys only smiled.
That easy, lazy smile that never quite reached his eyes.
"Thank you for watching her," he said lightly, giving the male a casual wink as if this were nothing more than a polite exchange.
His hand slid up your back, fingers brushing through your hair in a slow, absent motion that felt far too familiar—far too claiming.
The male's jaw tightened. "We were busy."
Rhys's brow arched slightly, amusement flickering across his face as he leaned down toward you.
"Trust me," he murmured softly.
You didn't even question it.
You nodded.
And then—
His lips brushed your neck.
It wasn't overt, not enough to draw attention from anyone else in the crowded room—but it was deliberate. Grounding. A quiet, unmistakable message.
The male scoffed, bitterness lacing his voice. "Gods, you're a whore."
Everything stilled.
For a fraction of a second, nothing happened.
Then Rhys moved.
Fast.
One moment he was beside you—the next his hand had closed around the male's throat, shoving him back with effortless strength. The air seemed to crack with the shift in him, that easy charm evaporating into something cold. Dangerous.
"What the hell did you say?" Rhys murmured, voice low and lethal.
The male choked, fingers clawing at Rhys's wrist, his earlier bravado completely gone as panic set in.
You pushed to your feet, heart racing—not from fear of Rhys, never that, but from the sheer intensity of the moment.
Cassian was there in an instant, stepping in close and gripping Rhys's shoulder.
"Easy," Cassian muttered under his breath.
But Rhys didn't even glance at him.
"Apologize to her," he said, tightening his grip just enough to make the male gasp.
You stepped closer, reaching out and touching Rhys's arm.
"Rhys," you said gently, shaking your head. "Let's just leave."
His jaw flexed.
"Darling," he replied quietly, not looking away from the male, "he needs to apologize."
The male nodded frantically, his eyes darting to you, voice strained and uneven. "I—I'm sorry."
You gave a small nod, wanting it to be over.
"Rhys," Cassian added under his breath, firmer now, "let him go."
But Rhys didn't.
Not immediately.
The tension stretched, thick and suffocating.
So you stepped closer again, your hand sliding more firmly over his arm.
"Rhys," you said softly, meeting his gaze. "I want to leave."
That did it.
Something in his expression shifted—just slightly. The rage didn't disappear, but it pulled back, reined in by your voice.
After a beat, his fingers loosened.
The male dropped back, stumbling as he sucked in air, scrambling away without another word.
Rhys didn't spare him a second glance.
Instead, his hand found yours instantly, gripping it a little tighter than usual.
And before you could say anything else—
Darkness curled around you.
The world vanished.
And then—
Wind.
Silence.
The cool, familiar air of the House of Wind wrapped around you as you reappeared, your hand still firmly in his.
Rhys didn't let go.
You barely registered the cold rush of wind before you were moving—your hand slipping from his as you turned and shoved at his chest.
"What was that?" you whispered, breath uneven, heart still racing.
Rhysand didn't resist the push, but he didn't move far either. He dragged a hand through his hair, the strands falling messily back into place as he exhaled.
"I'm sorry," he said, quieter now.
You shook your head quickly. "It's okay," you insisted, trying to steady yourself. "You were just being a good friend."
The word landed wrong.
You saw it the moment it did.
Rhys stilled—completely stilled—before letting out a short, disbelieving scoff. His hand dragged along the edge of a nearby desk, fingers flexing like he needed something to ground himself.
"A friend," he repeated.
Something in your chest tightened.
You looked up just as his gaze snapped to yours—and whatever you saw there made your breath catch.
He stepped closer.
Slowly.
"Is that all I am, darling?"
You instinctively stepped back.
Once. Twice.
Until your back hit the wall.
And he didn't stop.
Rhys followed, closing the distance with deliberate, measured steps, his gaze locked onto you in a way that made your pulse spike—like he was seeing you differently. Like he had been all along.
You swallowed, trying to hold onto something familiar. "Yes," you said, though your voice wasn't as steady as you wanted it to be. "You're like this with everyone."
Another scoff—softer this time. Sharper.
"Am I?"
You nodded, even as your stomach twisted.
And then—
His hands came up, bracing on either side of your head, trapping you there.
Your breath hitched, eyes fluttering shut for just a second at how close he suddenly was.
"So," he murmured, voice low, dangerously calm, "I always let my friends sleep in my bed?"
Your lips parted, but no words came.
"I always touch my friends to keep others away?" he continued, closer now, his voice brushing against your skin.
Your pulse was racing.
"I always kiss my friends when they don't want male attention?"
Your breath caught—
A soft gasp slipping free as his lips brushed your neck again, slower this time, deliberate.
"And I always choke out a male when he calls my friend a whore?"
The words sent a shiver down your spine.
Your mind scrambled, trying to hold onto the version of things that made sense—the version you had always believed.
So you whispered, barely audible, "Yes..."
Rhys let out a quiet, almost incredulous chuckle.
His hand lifted, fingers tilting your chin up until you had no choice but to meet his gaze.
"No, darling," he said softly. "I don't do that with my friends."
Your breath stuttered.
"I do it just with you."
The world seemed to tilt.
Your voice came out shaky, uncertain. "Why...?"
For a moment, he just looked at you.
Really looked at you.
And then—
Something pulled.
Sharp. Sudden. Unmistakable.
It snapped through your chest like a thread you hadn't even realized was there—tightening, glowing, binding. A warmth flooded through you, deep and undeniable, laced with something ancient and certain and—
Your breath hitched violently.
Your hand flew to your chest.
And your eyes widened as you stared at him.
At him.
"...my mate," you whispered.
Rhys's expression softened instantly, all that tension unraveling into something quieter—something almost reverent.
He nodded.
Slowly.
Then leaned forward, resting his forehead gently against yours.
"Yes," he murmured.
Your breath was still uneven, your heart struggling to catch up with everything that had just... shifted.
You swallowed, your voice barely more than a whisper.
"How long...?"
Rhysand let out the softest, almost pained sound as you pushed at his chest again—not hard, but enough to make space, enough to look at him.
"Since I met you," he admitted.
The words hit like a shockwave.
Your eyes widened, a sharp gasp leaving you. "You've... known for centuries?"
He nodded.
Just like that.
Like it hadn't been tearing him apart this whole time.
You brought your hands up, covering your face as everything crashed in at once—the memories, the touches, the way he'd always been there.
Rhys was there immediately.
"Hey—hey," he murmured softly, gently taking your wrists, pulling your hands away from your face. His thumbs brushed over your knuckles, and then he pressed soft kisses to your hands, one after the other.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I didn't want to force it on you."
You stilled.
Your heart squeezed painfully in your chest as a new thought slipped in—sharp and fragile all at once.
"Did you... want me?" you whispered. "Being your mate... did you want that?"
For a second, he just stared at you.
And then—
Rhys let out a soft, disbelieving chuckle, his expression breaking into something so open, so bright it made your chest ache.
He nodded, a real smile spreading across his face.
"I was so happy," he admitted, voice almost breathless. "The moment I felt the bond... I wanted to tell you immediately. I wanted—" he huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head, "—everything with you. But I didn't want to push you. Not when you deserved the choice."
Your eyes burned.
You nodded slowly, your voice trembling just slightly.
"I'm... so happy it's you."
Something in his expression softened even further, if that was possible.
"You are?" he asked quietly, like he needed to hear it again.
You nodded, stepping closer, your hands finding his shirt and tugging him down toward you.
"I am," you whispered.
And then you kissed him.
Soft at first—uncertain, like you were learning something new.
But it deepened almost instantly.
Because it wasn't new.
It had never been new.
Rhys let out a low, quiet sound against your lips, his hands coming up to cradle your face, holding you there like something precious.
"Gods..." he breathed into the kiss. "I love you."
Your heart soared, the bond between you warm and bright and real now.
"I love you too."
Rhysand smiled against your lips, something softer now threading through the intensity as he tugged you right back into the kiss.
It wasn't hesitant anymore.
Not for either of you.
His hand slid to the back of your neck, holding you there as the kiss deepened, as if he had been waiting centuries for this exact moment—and now that he had it, he wasn't letting go.
A low, quiet sound rumbled from his chest, almost a growl, the bond between you pulsing warm and alive.
"No male," he murmured against your lips, voice rough with emotion, "will ever get to touch you, talk to you—won't even be able to look at you the same way again."
Your breath caught, a soft sound escaping you as your hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer.
"I'm yours," you whispered, the words slipping out without hesitation, without fear—because they felt right. Completely, undeniably right.
Rhys stilled for half a heartbeat.
Then he smiled—really smiled.
"And I'm yours," he said softly.
Not possessive.
Not demanding.
Certain.
His arms slid around you before you could even react, lifting you effortlessly off your feet. A small laugh bubbled out of you, surprised, as you instinctively wrapped your arms around his shoulders.
He didn't stop moving.
Didn't break eye contact.
Every step toward his room felt charged, like the world had narrowed down to just the two of you, the bond humming steadily between your chests.
When he reached the bed, he didn't rush.
Didn't drop you down carelessly.
He laid you back gently, like something precious, like something he had waited far too long to finally have.
And when he leaned over you again, his expression had shifted—still intense, still full of that overwhelming emotion—but softer now, reverent.
His fingers brushed your cheek.
"Are you sure?" he asked quietly.
Even now.
Even after everything.
You didn't hesitate.
Your hand came up to cup his face, pulling him back down to you, your answer spoken in the way your lips met his again—warm, certain, and full of everything you hadn't realized you felt all this time.
Your lips met his with a hunger that matched the fire building between you, the bond thrumming like a live wire as his fingers deftly began untying the laces of your dress. The fabric loosened under his touch, cool air kissing your skin as he exposed you inch by inch, his mouth never leaving yours.
You parted your thighs instinctively, inviting him closer, and Rhysand stepped between them, his body heat radiating against your core. Your hands trembled with need as you worked the buttons of his shirt free, revealing the hard planes of his chest, marked with faint scars that told stories of battles long past.
When you nipped at his lower lip, a deep moan escaped him, vibrating against your mouth. In a surge of possessive desire, he gripped the remnants of your dress and tore it away with a sharp rip, the sound echoing in the quiet room.
He eased you back onto the bed fully now, his lips trailing fire down your neck, over the swell of your breasts, nipping at your collarbone before descending lower.
His teeth grazed your hip, sending shivers racing through you, and then he hooked his fingers into your underwear, shredding the delicate fabric with a growl. Bare and exposed, you arched toward him as his mouth found your clit, kissing it softly at first, then with growing fervor.
"Gods," he whispered against your slick folds, his breath hot, "you taste better than I dreamed."
A moan tore from your throat, your fingers tangling in his dark hair, tugging him closer. Rhysand groaned into your pussy, the vibration making you gasp as he slid one finger inside you, curling it just right to stroke that sensitive spot.
You writhed beneath him, hips bucking, and he chuckled low, the sound dark and teasing. "Such a good girl," he murmured, pumping his finger slowly, "taking my finger so good."
Your moans grew louder, body squirming as pleasure coiled tight. You lifted your hips to his face, chasing more, and he moaned in response, his tongue flicking over your clit. "Come, baby," he urged, voice husky.
The command shattered you. You came hard, waves of ecstasy crashing through you, and he praised you through it, his words a soothing rumble. "That's it, so beautiful for me."
As your tremors faded, he slipped a second finger in, stretching you further, drawing a whine from your lips.
He chuckled again, leaning up to capture your mouth in a deep kiss, tasting of you. "Darling, I need to stretch you out," he said against your lips, eyes locked on yours with that tender intensity.
You nodded, breathless. "Kiss me," you whispered, and he smiled, obliging as he added a third finger, thrusting them in rhythm with his tongue against yours.
The fullness built the pressure again, and soon you were clenching around him, coming undone a second time with a cry muffled into his kiss.
He pulled back slightly, chuckling against your lips. "Oh, look at that—such a good mate."
Still panting, you reached down, palming his cock through his pants, feeling its hard length strain against the fabric. You pumped it firmly, and he moaned, hips jerking into your hand. "So needy for me," he rasped, voice thick with want.
You nodded, eyes pleading, and he cupped your face gently. "I'll take care of you, darling."
With a sigh of relief, you watched as he withdrew his fingers, standing to strip off the rest of his clothes. His shirt fell away, then his pants, revealing his thick cock, veined and throbbing, pre-cum beading at the tip.
You giggled softly at the sight of him, so powerful yet vulnerable in this moment, and scooted to the middle of the bed, the sheets cool against your heated skin.
Rhysand smirked, that wicked curve of his lips making your pulse race, and he crawled over you, caging you in with his arms. Your hand found his cock again, stroking it, and he moaned, kissing you fiercely. "Ready for me?" he asked, voice rough.
You nodded, heart pounding, and he rested his forehead against yours, the bond singing between you. Slowly, he guided himself to your entrance, slipping inside inch by inch, filling you completely.
A moan escaped you, head falling back into the pillows, exposing your neck. Rhysand's face buried there, lips brushing your pulse as he thrust deeper, setting a steady rhythm that made stars burst behind your eyelids.
You moaned louder, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him in until he bottomed out, the angle hitting every nerve. "Faster," you begged, nails digging into his back. "Harder, please."
He groaned, pace quickening. "Don't have to beg me, darling. I'll do anything for you."
You nodded, capturing his lips in a messy kiss. "Fuck me so good—so good for me."
He whined, a raw sound that sent heat pooling low in your belly. "Wanna be such a good mate for you."
"Gods, you're everything," you breathed, holding him tight.
He smiled against your skin, thrusts growing urgent. "Come for me," he begged, voice breaking with emotion.
You did, clenching around him like a vice, your release pulling his own from him. He came with a guttural moan, spilling deep inside you, bodies locked together as the bond flared bright, sealing this moment forever.
You think it's over, his whine vibrating against your neck as your bodies tremble in the aftershocks, but when you glance down, you see his cock still hard, buried deep inside you, twitching with renewed need.
A soft moan slips from your lips at the sight, and Rhysand catches it, his eyes darkening with fresh hunger. In one fluid motion, he flips your positions, rolling so you're straddling him, his hands settling on your hips. You start to grind against him slowly, rolling your pelvis in languid circles, feeling every inch of him slide within your slick heat.
This time, it's unhurried, a tender lovemaking that builds like a gentle wave. His thumbs trace soothing patterns on your skin as you move together, his thrusts meeting yours in a rhythmic harmony, the bond between you pulsing with quiet intimacy.
Your hands brace on his chest, fingers splaying over the firm muscles, and he watches you with reverent eyes, one hand coming up to cup your breast, thumb circling your nipple.
It doesn't take long—the connection too raw, too profound—for the pleasure to crest again. You come first, a soft cry escaping as you clench around him, and he follows with a low groan, spilling into you once more, his grip tightening as waves of release wash over you both.
Gently, he eases you down beside him, pulling out with care, his cock glistening as he shifts to lay you back against the pillows. "You took me so good," he murmurs, voice husky with affection, pressing kisses to your forehead. "Such a good mate for me, darling—perfect, every part of you."
You nod, basking in his words, but a whine builds in your throat when he slips from the bed, the sudden absence of his warmth leaving you chilled. He glances back, concern flickering in his gaze, and returns quickly from the bathroom with a warm cloth.
Seeing you still whining softly, he coos, settling beside you. "Shh, I need to clean you up, love."
You nod, eyes heavy, and let him tend to you, the gentle wipes against your sensitive folds lulling you into drowsiness. As he works, your lids flutter shut, sleep claiming you in the safety of his touch.
When he's finished, he discards the cloth and slides back into bed, drawing you into his arms. "Love you, darling," he whispers, lips brushing your temple.
Instinctively, you snuggle closer, nestling into the crook of his body, and he smiles, kissing the top of your head. Wrapped in each other, you both drift into a deep, contented sleep, the bond humming softly like a lullaby.
















