#rhysandxreader

Azriel’s shadows twisted through the clearing like a storm, latching onto the beast and slowing its attack for a split second—but that split second was enough.

Cassian collided with the creature, his sheer force knocking it off balance as it let out a guttural snarl. The beast recovered quickly, its glowing eyes locking onto him with fury, but Cassian didn’t care.

“Azriel, get her out of here!” he shouted, his voice thunderous as he spread his wings, his sword already drawn.

But Y/N’s voice cut through the chaos. “I’m not leaving!” she yelled, her tone defiant despite the pain lacing her words.

Cassian turned, his hazel eyes blazing with an emotion so raw it felt like fire. “Damn it, Y/N, stop being so stubborn! I’ve got this—go!”

Y/N didn’t move, her knuckles white as she gripped her sword. Blood dripped steadily from her arm, and though her face was pale, her resolve was ironclad.

“No,” she said firmly. “I’m not running away. Not this time.”

The beast lunged again, and Cassian had no time to argue. He blocked its attack, his muscles straining as he pushed back against its immense strength. Beside him, Azriel’s shadows swarmed the creature, trying to pin it down, but the beast was relentless.

“Y/N,” Azriel said sharply, his voice like steel. “This isn’t the time to prove a point. Let us handle this.”

Her gaze flickered to him, conflict warring in her eyes. But before she could respond, the beast turned its focus back to her, as if sensing the rift between them all.

Cassian roared, his wings flaring wide as he slashed at the creature, his blade cutting deep into its side. The beast howled in pain, retreating for a moment, and Cassian seized the opportunity.

“Y/N, now!” he barked, his voice leaving no room for argument.

She hesitated, but Azriel was faster. His shadows wrapped around her waist, pulling her back just as the beast lunged again.

“No!” she shouted, struggling against the shadows, but Azriel didn’t release her.

“Stay out of the way,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “You’ll only make it harder for him to fight.”

Y/N’s chest heaved with frustration, but the truth in Azriel’s words stung more than her pride.

Cassian fought like a demon possessed, his movements a blur of strength and precision. The beast was strong, its claws and teeth deadly, but Cassian was stronger. And this wasn’t just any fight—this was for her.

Minutes felt like hours as the battle raged, until finally, with one last powerful swing, Cassian drove his sword through the creature’s heart.

It let out a final, anguished roar before collapsing to the ground, the light fading from its eyes.

Cassian stood over its body, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. Blood dripped from cuts on his arms and face, but his focus was already shifting to Y/N.

Azriel released her as Cassian approached, his wings drooping with exhaustion but his eyes burning with intensity.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Cassian demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

Y/N opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off. “Do you have any idea what could’ve happened? Do you even care?”

Her jaw tightened, her own anger flaring to life. “Of course, I care! That’s why I—”

“Why you what?” he interrupted, his wings flaring wide. “Why you threw yourself into a situation you couldn’t handle? To prove a point?”

“I was trying to prove that I’m not weak!” she shouted, her voice cracking. “That I’m not some fragile thing you have to protect!”

Cassian stared at her, his expression unreadable for a moment. And then he laughed—a bitter, hollow sound that sent a chill down her spine.

“You think that’s what this is about?” he asked, his tone sharp enough to cut. “You think I treat you like you’re weak because I don’t believe in you?”

She flinched, but he didn’t stop.

“I know exactly how strong you are, Y/N,” he said, his voice dropping to a softer, more dangerous tone. “I’ve seen it. I’ve felt it. But being strong doesn’t mean being reckless. It doesn’t mean risking everything to prove a point to someone who already knows what you’re capable of.”

Her throat tightened, and for a moment, she couldn’t speak.

Cassian stepped closer, his hazel eyes locking onto hers. “Do you know what it felt like, seeing you out there, knowing I might not get to you in time?” His voice cracked, and he looked away, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “It felt like losing everything.”

Her heart clenched, the weight of his words crashing down on her like a tidal wave.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” she said softly, her voice trembling.

He turned back to her, his gaze softening slightly. “I don’t need you to prove yourself to me, Y/N. I already know how incredible you are. But I can’t lose you—I won’t.”

Tears pricked at her eyes, and she looked down, guilt and regret swirling in her chest. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I just… I needed to feel like I was enough.”

Cassian closed the distance between them, his hands cupping her face as he tilted her head up to meet his gaze.

“You’re more than enough,” he said firmly, his thumbs brushing away the tears that slipped down her cheeks. “You always have been.”

For a moment, they stood there, the weight of everything that had been said settling between them.

Behind them, Azriel cleared his throat. “Hate to interrupt, but we should probably get back to camp before something else decides to attack.”

Cassian let out a breathy laugh, his forehead resting against Y/N’s for a brief moment before he pulled back.

“Let’s go,” he said, his hand slipping into hers as they turned to follow Azriel.

But as they left the clearing, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning of something much bigger.

Azriel’s boots crunched on the rocky terrain as he stepped closer, the sound swallowed by the vastness of the landscape. “You were going to make it worse,” he replied evenly.

Cassian finally turned, his hazel eyes burning with frustration. “She’s my mate, Az. I had every right to go after her.”

Azriel crossed his arms, his face an unreadable mask. “And do what? Throw more fuel on the fire? You think shouting at her again would’ve fixed anything?”

Cassian’s wings twitched, and he looked away, his jaw tight. “You don’t understand. She doesn’t get it—what she means to me, what it would do to me if something happened to her.”

Azriel stepped closer, his shadows trailing behind him. “You’re right. She doesn’t get it, because all you’ve done is shout and insult her. Do you even hear yourself, Cass? The way you spoke to her back there?”

Cassian flinched, guilt flashing across his face before it was buried under his stubbornness. “She’s reckless, Az. She throws herself into danger without thinking, and I can’t—” His voice broke, and he looked down, his fists clenching at his sides. “I can’t lose her.”

“And you think tearing her down is the way to keep her safe?” Azriel’s voice was low, cutting. “Do you even realize what you said? What you implied? You’re not protecting her, Cassian. You’re pushing her away.”

Cassian’s wings drooped, the weight of Azriel’s words settling heavily on his shoulders. “I didn’t mean to…” he muttered, his voice barely audible. “I just—damn it, Az, I don’t know what to do.”

Azriel’s gaze softened, but his tone remained firm. “You start by apologizing. Not with excuses or justifications—just an apology. But more importantly, you need to let her prove herself. She’s not some fragile thing, Cassian. She’s your mate. Treat her like one.”

Cassian exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “And what if she gets hurt? What if I lose her because I gave her too much space?”

Azriel stepped closer, his shadows brushing against Cassian’s shoulders like a reassuring hand. “You can’t protect her from everything, no matter how much you want to. The only thing you’ll lose her to is yourself if you keep this up.”

Cassian didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the horizon as if it held the answers he so desperately sought.

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The trees closed in around her as Y/N stalked through the forest, her emotions a whirlwind she couldn’t contain. Cassian’s words echoed in her mind, cutting deeper than any blade.

“Failing miserably.”

The phrase replayed over and over, each time twisting the knife further. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as she fought the tears that threatened to fall.

She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t let him see how much his words had hurt.

But the pain festered, mixing with anger and something darker—something reckless.

She couldn’t just sit around and let his doubts define her. She needed to prove him wrong, to show him that she wasn’t some fragile thing that needed constant protection.

Which was how she found herself standing at the edge of the Illyrian hunting grounds, staring at the dense forest where the beasts prowled.

It was a place even seasoned warriors approached with caution. The creatures here were deadly, their strength and ferocity unmatched. But that was exactly what Y/N needed—something to prove her worth, to silence the doubts Cassian had planted in her mind.

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Cassian was pacing when Azriel’s head snapped up, his shadows suddenly writhing around him like agitated snakes.

“What?” Cassian asked, stopping mid-step.

Azriel’s face darkened, his expression one of grim determination. “She’s gone.”

“What do you mean, she’s gone?” Cassian demanded, his wings flaring in alarm.

“She left the camp,” Azriel said, his voice tight. “And I think I know where she’s headed.”

Cassian’s heart plummeted, a cold dread settling in his chest. “The hunting grounds,” he said, the words barely a whisper.

Azriel nodded, already moving. “We need to move. Now.”

Cassian didn’t wait for further explanation. He took off, his wings slicing through the air as he flew toward the forest. Azriel was right behind him, his shadows keeping pace as they raced against time.

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Y/N’s breath came in sharp gasps as she moved through the dense underbrush, her senses on high alert. The forest was eerily quiet, the usual sounds of birds and small animals replaced by an oppressive silence.

Her grip tightened on the sword she carried, the weight of it grounding her as she pushed forward. She knew the risks of being here alone, but she didn’t care. All that mattered was proving that she could handle herself, that she wasn’t the liability Cassian seemed to think she was.

The first sign of danger came in the form of a low growl, the sound vibrating through the air like a warning.

Y/N froze, her eyes scanning the shadows for the source of the sound.

The creature emerged slowly, its massive form dwarfing her as it stepped into the faint light filtering through the trees. Its fur was dark and matted, its eyes glowing with a predatory hunger that sent a chill down her spine.

For a moment, fear threatened to take hold, but Y/N forced it down. She tightened her grip on the sword, her jaw set as she prepared to face the beast.

This was her chance to prove herself—to prove Cassian wrong.

The creature lunged.

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Cassian’s heart was pounding as he and Azriel landed at the edge of the hunting grounds. He didn’t wait for Azriel’s guidance, his instincts driving him forward as he plunged into the forest.

“Cassian, wait!” Azriel called, but Cassian didn’t slow down.

“She’s in here, Az,” he said, his voice tight with fear. “I can feel it.”

Azriel followed without argument, his shadows fanning out to search the area.

They moved quickly, their senses heightened as they scanned for any sign of Y/N. The silence of the forest was suffocating, each second that passed without finding her only fueling Cassian’s panic.

And then they heard it—the sound of a struggle, the clash of metal and the guttural roar of a beast.

Cassian didn’t think. He surged forward, his wings propelling him faster as he tore through the trees.

When he burst into the clearing, the sight before him made his blood run cold.

Y/N stood in the center, her sword raised as she faced a massive beast. Blood dripped from a wound on her arm, but her stance was steady, her expression one of fierce determination.

But she was outmatched.

The beast lunged, its claws swiping dangerously close, and Y/N barely managed to dodge.

“Y/N!” Cassian roared, his voice shaking with equal parts fear and fury.

She turned toward him, her eyes wide, and in that split second of distraction, the beast struck.

The world seemed to slow as Cassian watched the creature’s claws swipe toward her, its fangs bared in a deadly snarl.

Azriel’s shadows shot forward, but even they weren’t fast enough to stop what was coming.

And then the clearing was filled with the sound of a scream—raw and piercing, echoing through the trees as Cassian’s heart shattered.

The Inner Circle had gathered. Normally, the thought of reuniting with them after days apart would lift her spirits, but something about the atmosphere tonight felt… off.

She stepped inside, her movements quiet, and stopped just outside the doorway to the sitting room.

“—and she just doesn’t get it sometimes,” Rhysand’s voice rang out, slurred and slightly louder than usual. The unmistakable tone of drunkenness coiled in his words.

“She tries,” Mor said defensively, but Y/N could hear the restraint in her tone. “And she succeeds, Rhys. Far more than you give her credit for.”

“She makes everything harder,” Rhys countered, his laugh bitter. “Always asking questions, always needing to insert herself into things she doesn’t understand. Do you know how many times I’ve had to clean up after her?”

Y/N felt the breath leave her lungs. She leaned against the wall for support, her vision blurring as his words sank in.

“That’s not true,” Feyre said sharply. “Y/N has done nothing but prove herself over and over. You’re being unfair.”

“Am I?” Rhys pressed. “She doesn’t belong in this court, not like the rest of you. She’s… reckless. And it’s exhausting.”

“She’s your mate, Rhys,” Amren snapped, her voice cutting through the tension. “She’s part of this family. And you’re making a fool of yourself right now.”

Y/N’s chest ached, each word from Rhys like a dagger to the heart. The bond between them flared painfully, as if sensing her anguish. She wanted to storm in, to defend herself, to demand he explain how he could say such things after everything she’d sacrificed for him, for this court. But her body felt frozen, pinned by the weight of his betrayal.

Her hands trembled as she stepped back into the hallway, her breaths shallow. She couldn’t do this. Not tonight. She needed space, time to think, to process the heartbreak that threatened to consume her.

She turned toward the front door, intent on leaving, when a shadow shifted in the corner of the room. Azriel emerged, his piercing gaze meeting hers. His expression tightened as he took in her tear-filled eyes and trembling hands.

“Y/N,” he murmured, his voice low and careful.

She shook her head, a silent plea for him to let her go. Azriel hesitated, his shadows curling around him like a shield, but he stepped aside. Without another word, Y/N slipped out the door and into the cool night air.

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When the laughter in the sitting room died down, and the conversation shifted, Rhysand finally noticed the absence of a presence he hadn’t realized he’d been craving all night. He frowned, his drunken haze thinning just enough for the bond to nudge at his consciousness. It was too quiet.

“Where’s Y/N?” he asked, glancing around the room.

Silence greeted him.

Feyre’s lips pressed into a thin line. “She came home. She was standing in the hallway while you were… talking.”

The words hit him like a physical blow. His blood ran cold as realization sank in. “She heard me?”

Azriel’s dark gaze bore into him, his voice a quiet blade. “She heard everything.”

Rhysand shot to his feet, his heart pounding. He reached for the bond, but all he felt was a wall of pain and silence.

“Where is she?” he demanded, panic sharpening his tone.

Azriel crossed his arms. “Gone. She didn’t say where. She looked like she wanted to run as far from you as possible.”

Rhysand staggered back, his mind racing. The wine turned to bile in his stomach, his shame and regret coiling tighter with each passing second. He had to find her. Had to fix this.

But as he winnowed into the night, desperation clawing at him, one thought echoed in his mind.

He wasn’t sure if she’d ever let him fix it.

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Rhysand searched the city in a frenzy, the bond stretched taut with Y/N’s pain and his own spiraling guilt. He winnowed to every corner of Velaris, the glow of the stars above mocking his desperation. He tried to reach her through their bond, but her end was firmly shut—a silence louder than any scream.

“Damn it, Y/N,” he hissed under his breath as he scanned the Rainbow District. The cool night air did nothing to temper the heat of panic coursing through him.

Where would she go?

His mind raced, and finally, he stopped fighting the bond. Though she’d shut him out emotionally, he could still trace her faint physical presence, the residual pull that tied them together. When he caught the direction, his heart sank.

The forest.

The place where they’d once picnicked under the stars, where she’d whispered her dreams to him like secrets she trusted him to hold forever. The place she’d deemed her safe haven.

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Winnowing to the clearing, Rhysand stumbled upon her sitting beneath the massive oak at its center. Moonlight danced across her tear-streaked face as she cradled her knees to her chest. She looked so small, so fragile, and it made his heart ache.

“Y/N,” he called softly, stepping closer.

She stiffened but didn’t look at him. “Go away, Rhys.”

Her voice, usually so vibrant, sounded hollow.

“I can’t,” he said, dropping to his knees a few feet from her. “Not like this.”

“Not like what?” she snapped, finally meeting his gaze. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her expression hard. “Not like the mess you made, Rhysand? Or not like the words you spewed about me to the people I consider family?”

He flinched at the venom in her voice. “I was drunk, Y/N. I—”

“Don’t,” she cut him off sharply. “Don’t use that as an excuse. Drunk or not, you said what you meant.”

He reached out as if to touch her, but she leaned away, her walls firmly in place. The bond between them hummed weakly, a pale reflection of what it once was.

“You’re right,” he admitted, his voice raw. “I said those things. But I didn’t mean them—not the way they came out. I was an idiot, and I—”

“Stop,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “You said I make everything harder. That I don’t belong. So, I’ll make it easy for you.”

His heart dropped. “Y/N, please don’t—”

“No,” she said firmly, standing up. She towered over him, her presence fierce despite the anguish etched into her face. “You wanted me to stay out of things I don’t understand? Fine. I won’t ask questions anymore. I won’t ‘insert myself’ into your precious plans. I’ll do exactly what you want, Rhys. I’ll disappear into the background, a perfect little shadow in your court.”

His chest tightened painfully as her words sank in. “That’s not what I want.”

“Isn’t it?” she challenged, her voice rising. “Because it’s exactly what you said, Rhysand. And for once, I’m giving you exactly what you asked for.”

She turned on her heel and began walking away, her shoulders trembling with restrained emotion.

Rhys scrambled to his feet, following her. “You’re twisting this! I don’t want you to disappear, Y/N. I need you. I was a fool to say those things, but you—”

“But nothing,” she snapped, spinning back around to face him. “You don’t get to need me only when it’s convenient, Rhys. You don’t get to humiliate me and then expect me to act like it didn’t happen. I gave you everything—my loyalty, my love, my trust. And you threw it in my face.”

The weight of her words was crushing, and he couldn’t bring himself to argue. She was right.

“I’ll come home,” she said after a long silence, her voice quieter now but no less firm. “Because Velaris is my home, and the Inner Circle is my family. But you…” Her breath hitched, and for a moment, he thought she might cry. Instead, she steadied herself. “You are no longer my priority, Rhysand. If you want my forgiveness, you’re going to have to earn it. Every. Single. Day.”

With that, she winnowed away, leaving him standing in the empty clearing, the bond between them a cold echo of what it used to be.

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Back at the townhouse, Y/N strode in with her head held high, her expression blank. The Inner Circle, still gathered in the sitting room, fell silent as she entered.

“Y/N,” Feyre started, but Y/N held up a hand.

“I’m fine,” she said tightly. “I just need some rest.”

They watched her ascend the stairs, none of them daring to stop her.

Moments later, Rhysand appeared in the doorway, his face pale, his steps heavy as he entered the room.

“She didn’t forgive you, did she?” Mor said quietly, her arms crossed.

He shook his head, his throat tightening. “No.”

“And she shouldn’t,” Amren said coldly, her sharp eyes narrowing. “Not until you prove you deserve it.”

Rhysand said nothing, the truth of her words settling like a stone in his gut.

As he made his way upstairs, he stopped outside their bedroom door. His hand hovered over the handle, but he didn’t go in. He could feel her inside, her grief and anger rippling through their bond.

For the first time in centuries, the High Lord of the Night Court felt powerless.

And he deserved every second of it.

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The days following that fateful night were a study in contrasts for the Night Court. Y/N returned to her duties, carrying herself with a grace and efficiency that made it impossible to find fault in her actions. She was polished, precise, and perfect—exactly what Rhysand had drunkenly claimed she wasn’t.

Rhys felt the weight of her words in everything she did, a pointed reminder of how deeply he had wronged her.

“You wanted me to disappear into the background,” she had said. And she did.

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Y/N began arriving precisely on time to every meeting, her notes already prepared, her insights delivered in a calm, detached manner. She offered no questions, no debates, just the bare necessities required of her position.

“Any thoughts, Y/N?” Rhys asked one afternoon during a strategy meeting with the Inner Circle.

She met his gaze for the briefest of moments, her expression unreadable. “None, my lord. I’ll carry out the plan as outlined.”

The title, usually reserved for formal settings, felt like a slap to his face. Rhys clenched his jaw, watching her retreat into herself. The warmth she used to bring into the room, the way her laughter used to lighten even the heaviest of conversations, was absent.

“I think this plan could use some fine-tuning,” Cassian interjected, attempting to draw Y/N out.

“I trust the High Lord’s judgment,” she replied coolly, gathering her papers. “If that’s all, I’ll begin preparations immediately.”

She left the room without looking back, leaving a heavy silence in her wake.

“She’s killing you,” Mor said after a moment, her tone uncharacteristically sharp.

“She’s killing herself,” Amren corrected, her silver eyes narrowing. “But only because he killed her first.”

Rhys lowered his head, guilt an anchor in his chest. “I deserve this,” he muttered, the words tasting bitter on his tongue.

“And then some,” Feyre added softly, though her voice carried an edge of sympathy.

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At home, Y/N’s silence was even more deafening. She no longer sat beside him on the couch, opting for the farthest seat in the room. She no longer joined him for late-night talks, instead retreating to her private quarters with a book or a report.

Even when they shared the same bed, she was miles away. She would slip under the covers after he’d pretended to fall asleep, her body curled tightly on the far edge of the mattress. The bond between them, once a vibrant tether of love and warmth, was now a fragile thread, stretched so thin it felt ready to snap.

Rhys tried everything he could think of. He filled her favorite garden with fresh blooms, sent her favorite meals to her office, even wrote her letters apologizing for his thoughtless words.

Each attempt was met with polite acknowledgment but no real response.

“I don’t need gifts, Rhysand,” she said one evening when he’d tried to present her with a rare necklace from one of his travels. Her voice was calm but firm. “I need respect. I need trust. And I need time.”

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Weeks passed like this, each day a slow torture. The bond hummed faintly with her sadness, but it was muffled, guarded, as though she was shielding herself from him entirely.

One night, Rhys found her in the library, poring over mission reports. She looked so tired, her usually radiant features shadowed with exhaustion.

“Y/N,” he began hesitantly, leaning against the doorframe.

She didn’t look up. “What do you need, Rhys?”

“I need you to talk to me,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “I need to know how to fix this.”

She finally raised her eyes to meet his, and he wished she hadn’t. The emptiness in her gaze was a knife to his heart.

“You want to fix this?” she asked, her tone devoid of emotion. “Then prove to me that I’m more than just a burden to you. Show me that I’m not some inconvenient addition to your perfect court.”

“I never thought you were—”

“Stop,” she interrupted, her voice rising for the first time in weeks. She stood, the papers in her hands trembling. “You did, Rhysand. You said it yourself. And I believed you. I believed every word.”

Her admission was like a punch to the gut, and Rhys took a shaky step forward. “I didn’t mean it, Y/N. I swear on the Mother, I didn’t mean it.”

“But you said it,” she whispered, tears finally spilling over. “And that’s the part I can’t forget.”

She brushed past him, leaving him standing alone in the library, her tears the only sound echoing in the empty space.

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The next morning, Y/N was back to her unshakable, distant self. She attended meetings, completed her missions with flawless precision, and maintained an icy professionalism that left no room for personal connection.

But Rhys noticed the way she avoided his gaze, the way her laughter no longer filled the halls, the way she barely touched the bond between them.

She was giving him exactly what he’d drunkenly demanded: distance, detachment, and silence.

And it was killing him.

One evening, Feyre found him sitting alone in the dining room, a glass of wine untouched in his hand.

“She’ll come back to you,” Feyre said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Rhys shook his head, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not unless I can prove to her that I’m worth coming back to.”

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It wasn’t until a particularly grueling mission left Y/N injured that the walls finally cracked.

She stumbled into the townhouse late at night, her arm bleeding and her face pale. Rhys was on her in an instant, his heart pounding as he helped her to the couch.

“Why didn’t you call for me?” he demanded, his hands glowing with healing light as he tended to her wounds.

“I didn’t think you’d want to clean up another one of my messes,” she said flatly, her words cutting deeper than any injury.

Rhys froze, his hands trembling. “Y/N, don’t—”

“Don’t what?” she snapped, her exhaustion finally breaking through her calm exterior. “Don’t remind you of the words you threw at me like knives? Don’t make you feel guilty for the way you shattered me?”

Her voice broke on the last word, and Rhys felt his own tears slipping free. “I’ll never forgive myself for hurting you,” he whispered. “But I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make it right if you’ll let me.”

Y/N stared at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Finally, she shook her head, her voice soft but firm.

“I need more than words, Rhysand. I need actions. I need time. And I need to believe that you truly see me as your equal, not as someone you have to clean up after.”

He nodded, his heart aching. “You have my word, Y/N. I’ll prove it to you.”

She said nothing more, retreating to her room and leaving Rhys alone once again.

But this time, he felt the faintest flicker of hope.

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