summary; rhys and nyx are a family of two, but they're both pretty hell-bent on making it into a trio, with you.
word count; 12,151
notes; I have no idea how this got so long? I planned for it to be like 4-5k, and @azsazz can vouch for that. also big shout out to @acourtofwhatthefuck for proofreading this for me when I just had no motivation, but I needed this one to be perfect.
Fate had always seemed to have the worst timing for you.
Whether it be relationships, the sunny skies turned to rain, or simply this; balancing precariously on a stool and getting startled by your own phone, which you could have sworn was on silent mode.
Blaring out across the shop in a sudden burst of cheery notes and tones, you almost dropped the stacks of books in your hands, cursing a little as it vibrated in rhythm in the back pocket of your jeans. When the call persisted after the usual three rings signalling a cold caller or market salesperson, you sighed.
Shifting the books to one arm, you fished the phone out before it could go to voicemail, wondering just who would be calling you so urgently at this time of the day. The question didn’t linger for long, though, as your eyes widened at the caller across the front of the screen.
‘Velaris Young-Education Prepatory School’.
A ridiculously fancy name for an elementary school, you thought it every time you saw the name, and yet right now, your heart skipped a beat as you pressed answer. Bringing it to your ear as you shuffled the books in your arms more, you lowered yourself down from the ladder carefully.
“Hello?”
“Oh, hello! Is this Nyx’s mother, (Y/N)? It’s V-Y-E Prep.”
The woman on the phone sounded somewhere between relieved and panicked, and your heart leapt into your throat a little at her tone. “Well, yes, that’s me, but-”
“Oh, good, we weren’t able to get in touch with dad, I was worried I wouldn't be able to get a hold of either of you.” She cut you off before you had a chance to finish, your lips clamping shut as she let out a sigh of a laugh. “I’m Nyx’s class teacher, but he’s had a little bit of an accident today, do you think you’d be able to come and pick him up from the reception?”
Your heart felt like it stopped in your chest entirely. “An accident, what kind of accident, is he okay?”
“Oh, he’s fine! He had a fall during playtime, and he bumped his head. There’s a mark, and a scratch we’ve cleaned up, but he’s understandably a little shocked and upset. We know dad can get… concerned,”
Understatement of the century, you wanted to butt in, because Rhys was more than just concerned. He was overprotective, in an endearing way, but he tended to freak out over the smallest things. Then again, it didn’t help when teachers said things like ‘accident’ when it’s not so serious. Perhaps it was a good thing that they got you, not him.
“So, we thought we’d give you a ring, and see if you could pick him up?”
Your eyes flickered to the clock on the wall. You still had four hours left of your shift, and you felt terrible just ducking out, even if the store was dead, excluding the few people idling over lukewarm coffees in the connected café. “Sure, yeah, of course. I can be there in twenty minutes.”
“Wonderful, we’ll see you then.”
The line clicked dead, your eyes sliding shut as you let out a slow breath. You could have just said no, that voice in your head taunted, he’s not your child to fret over. And yet, the thought of his sad face lingered in your mind, triggering all those maternal instincts inside of you and sending them into overdrive.
“Sounds urgent.” Somehow, despite walking with a cane and always wearing heeled boots that clicked on the floorboards, Margaret had managed to sneak up on you. When you turned, the seventy-something-year-old was standing with a smile on her face behind you, eyeing the phone in your hand.
“I’m sorry, Margie. It’s Nyx’s school.” You grimaced, lips pressing together into a thin line. She only laughed lightly, waving a frail hand idly in the air as if to bat the moment away.
“Oh, don’t worry, dear. I know what it’s like to have your child’s school call you up in the middle of the day.” Her smile only widened, her eyes glazing over a little. “Our Tommy was a terrible little troublemaker, I had constant calls about his behaviour. And our Jenny, well, she was the clumsiest kid you ever saw. Tripped over thin air.”
A wistful sigh escaped her, and your lips flicked up at the edges. You’d met both Thomas and Jennifer, lovely people, but just as she’d described. Jennifer seemed even more prone to bad timing than you, and Thomas had turned all that troublesome energy into bad flirting and a heated temper.
“You do what you have to for your kids.” She’d finished her recollections, her voice snapping you from your own, and you could only nod.
“I know, but he’s not my kid. Not biologically, or in any way that matters. It’s not the same, and-”
“Hon, if I’ve ever seen a mother, it’s you to that little boy.” Her words made a lump in your throat that was impossible to speak around, a quick flash of emotion swelling up that you were quick to fight against, but the sparkle in her eyes told you she’d seen in. “He may not have your genes, but he’s yours. So, go get your son. The store will still be here when you come back on Monday.”
“Are you sure-”
“Don’t make me force you out of this door.” She tapped her cane at your feet, just close enough that you could feel the floorboards vibrate under the harsh taps, a wordless threat, and a grin broke out on your lips to hide the blush on your cheeks.
“Alright, I’ll see you Monday, then.”
She gave a curt nod, and you were flying through the store. Grabbing your bag and coat from the backroom on the way, you were out of the back door and at your car in less than a full minute. Only when you’d put your bags onto the seat and checked the car seat permanently attached to the back of the car did you get into your own seat.
How you’d gotten to this point, you had no idea. It hadn't been your intention four years ago when you’d first met baby Nyx, to end up with a box of his things in your trunk for emergencies, a child seat of your own in the back of the car and your name registered as a parental contact. Yet, as you stared, twisting to look at it and brushing your fingers over the fabric, you didn’t have a single regret about it.
In fact, only a smile pulled at your lips as you thought about him. Him, and his father. Rhysand had been your best friend for many years, and his baby only seemed to bring you closer. You’d never have wished Nyx’s mother to have abandoned him, you loathed the woman every day for what she did to them both, but it had created a space in their lives that you’d somehow patched a part of up.
When Rhys had needed support and guidance, you’d been there.
Now, you’d be there for Nyx, too.
As you started the car, flicking a glance back to check the mirrors on the seat were still aligned, Margie’s words flickered through your mind.
If I’ve ever seen a mother, it’s you to that little boy.
They lingered on your mind for the entire drive, hanging over you like a cloud on an April day, unsure if it was going to rain, or simply pass by. Until you were parked outside of the school, hands still clenched tightly on the steering wheel as you stared up at the tall glass entryway only a few paces away. You couldn't see Nyx yet, not with the doors on the other side that truly sealed off the building, but you could make out figures and shapes on the other side.
Your eyes moved to the clock, the digit clicking over another number, and your fingers felt numb when you finally released them from the wheel. With another sigh, you released all thoughts about mothers and genes and Rhys.
One day, perhaps, you’d confront them. Today wasn’t going to be it.
Stepping out of the car and swinging the door shut behind you, you didn’t even bother to lock it, as you took a slow jog up the main pathway before the school. The doors hissed open automatically before you, the smell of fresh cotton coming from the air freshener in the corner of the office, and the receptionist behind the desk looked borderline bored as she glanced up.
“Hi, um- Hi. I’m here for Nyx.”
Her eyes widened a little, looking significantly more interested now as she took your name, and called through to the classroom. The thought almost amused you, had you not been so concerned. Rhys had quite the reputation around here, the big checks and hefty donations gained him and Nyx quite the special treatment, one that clearly seemed to pass onto you, too.
The doors to the school buzzed open a second later as the magnetic locks released, and you stepped through. Sitting in one of the large plush chairs lined up along the wall of the office was Nyx, looking utterly swamped as his feet swung in the air, head bowed and hands clutching tightly to his backpack in his lap.
At the scuffing of your shoes, his head snapped up, eyes wide and hopeful, turning to relieved as he saw you. He dropped his bag to the floor, moving to slide out of the chair but you were faster, dropping down to kneel before him. Up close, you could see more, enough to break your heart.
His eyes were red, cheeks pink, tear-marks tracked into the smears of playground dirt and classroom muck on his face. When you brushed the edge of his inky hair back from his forehead, it was to reveal a cut across his forehead to his temple, bumped and bruised, growing into a lump on his head. His bottom lip wobbled, eyes growing shiny again.
“Oh, Nyxie, did you get hurt?”
“Yeah…” His voice trembled as he spoke, sniffling lightly and wiping at his cheeks with his sleeve. Patting his hair down once again, you tried to choke back the emotions clogging in your throat as a tall shadow fell across the both of you. With a glance, you confirmed that it was his teacher, looking more than a little nervous as she watched you take in Nyx for yourself.
“We just have some forms for you to sign, and I can tell you a little more about his injury, and then you’re good to go.” At your nod, she let out a heavy breath, wiping her hands down subtly on her skirt.
“Nyxie, I’m just going to go sign some forms for you, okay? Do you want to wait here?” He shook his head, eyes widening a bit as his little hand clamped down onto your arm, gripping tightly and shuffling across the seat closer to you. “You want to come with us?”
“Can I have cuddles?” His voice was low and shy, your heart swelling a little more.
“C’mere.” Opening your arms up for him, his damp cheek fell to your shoulder, nose tucking sweetly into your neck, and you scooped him up, his legs dangling on either side of your body as he slumped against your chest happily. Standing up with a little more effort than usual, Nyx’s hands patted idly over your knitted jumper, body bouncing with each step you took to follow her inside of the office.
The forms were already laid out, four to be signed, and she pushed the first one over to you. “This one is just to state you acknowledge the injury, the second is a copy for you, because dad requested always having a copy of forms.” Her cheeks flushed with a little colour, the edges of your lips flicking up at Rhys’ quirks. “The third is just an injury form, that you know we’ve given you all the information, and you’re satisfied. The fourth, another copy.”
You quickly signed your name on the first two, pushing one over to her and keeping the other on your side. The pen hovered over the paper of the third, your fingers clenching a little on it, eyes flicking over the page. “What did happen, exactly?”
“Well, uhm…” You rubbed a hand over Nyx’s back, a soft affirmation that you appreciated how patiently he was waiting. Putting on a smile, you tried to put the woman at ease, not having meant to sound quite so… pissed.
“I know kids have accidents, I didn’t mean to sound so… well, let’s just say, be glad I’m the one that picked up the call. Dad can be overprotective.” The boy in your arms giggled a little, and you placed down the pen, using your hand to now cup his head and rub at his hair lightly.
“He was playing on the climbing equipment. I think he went a little too high, because he couldn't climb down. Another child was trying to help him, but before anyone could get over to him once we realised he was stuck, he fell off.” Her voice was a lot more confident now, and you were glad you’d been able to ease just a little of that tension. “I can take you out to the equipment and show you what happened, if you’d like?”
“That won’t be necessary.” You grabbed for the pen again, signing both pages, and she pulled one over towards her files as you gathered the other two.
“Nyx was so brave, weren’t you, huh?” She swiped a finger over his cheek as she passed by to get the door for you again, and he nodded slowly against your body. “And he was so excited when he found out his mommy was coming to get him.”
There was that word again, all of those thoughts coming swarming back in a dizzying rush as you followed her. A hot blush settled on your cheeks, your mouth opening to correct her, before Nyx’s hands were bunching in your jumper as he let out another little giggle, making your lips snap closed again. He hid his face deeper in your shoulder.
Stooping down to pick up his bags, his teacher placed it over your arm, swinging as you gripped paperwork in one hand and Nyx in the other. “I put all of his schoolwork in his bag. We’ll see you again tomorrow, Nyx!”
She held the door open for you, waving her goodbye as she watched you go, the receptionist looking far more alert now than she had earlier, smiling widely as the two of you left, and you could feel their gazes on you all the way to the parking lot.
Putting down the paperwork and his bag on the top of the car, you opened it up, leaning in to settle him was like muscle memory now. No longer an awkward act but a practised one, as he slid from your arms and into the chair. Fastening the belt across his middle, you did the ones over his shoulders.
Eyes that were the same incredible shade of near-violet as his father’s were watching you, a ridiculously adorable smile on his face as you leaned in to press a kiss to the uninjured side of his forehead. Tucking his bags on the other side of him, you checked all his straps, not realising you were frowning yourself until his little fingers pinched at your nose.
“Got a nose!” He whispered excitedly, waving his fingers in a way that was supposed to mock his uncle’s, the way Cassian would always tease that he’d ‘stolen Nyx’s nose’ to cheer him up. When you smiled at him, he pushed his hand back against your face, giggling to himself as he continued to imitate his uncle. “You can have it back!”
“Well, thank goodness for that!” You teased, rubbing over the bridge of your nose and taking him in. Once you were happy with his safety, you closed the door, taking only the paperwork with you and folding them in half, tucking them into the glovebox of the car for safekeeping. When the car turned on, your fingers went to the radio, and a single button pressed had some of Nyx’s favourite songs pouring from the speakers as the kiddie-CD in the player came to life. “We’ll go and see your daddy now, hopefully, he won’t be too upset about your head.”
The boy only hummed to his song, leaning to stare out of the window, breath fogging it up and one hand resting on the windows he watched his school be left behind. “Daddy will be angry with us?”
For all the fresh set of worries now swirling inside of your head at Rhys’ reaction, you’d never considered how Nyx would interpret your words. “Oh, no, of course not, baby. Never us. We make daddy smile, not frown!”
Reaching behind yourself as you came to a stop at the red lights, you squeezed at his knee lightly, retracting it only when the light went yellow. Another few minutes of quiet went past, the roads clear for the middle of the day as you drove, and Nyx was happily taking in all of the Velaris scenery as you passed by.
From the small town outskirts and into the city centre, it was when you were almost there that Nyx stopped singing and decided to speak again.
“I heard daddy tell Uncle Azzy on the phone that you make him smile like nobody else ever has.”
Your eyes widened, your foot nearly slamming onto the brake a little too hard as you turned a corner, and Nyx went back to singing his song. Your heart was picking up speed in your chest, the traitorous organ fuelled on hope reacting in a way you tried to resist. Your head was empty, it took a full minute to form your response, and you gave out a croaky laugh. “Were you being cheeky and listening to your dad’s private phone calls again?”
“No!” His voice sounded indignant, but with a look cast in the mirror onto him, you could see the cheeky smirk on his face. “He answered it at dinnertime! I got to say hi to Uncle Azzy. He’s in a whole different country right now, did you know that?”
You could only smile at the excitement in his voice as he spoke all about Azriel’s current escapades in Spain, or at least, the version that was completely safe and child-friendly. Soon, though, his distraction was over, and he was circling back to a topic you had hoped he’d forgotten.
“Daddy loves you. He told Uncle Azzy. And Uncle Cass, and Auntie Mor.”
“Well, now I know you’re telling me fibs.” Releasing your hand from the gearstick at the next red light, you reached it behind you, tickling at his tummy until he laughed loudly and kicked his legs, slapping at your hands weakly as he wriggled in his chair. “He would never tell Uncle Cass about his feelings, because Uncle Cass would tease him!”
“I’m not telling fibs, I’m not!” He gasped the words between breaths, face growing red, and you almost forgot you were sitting at the lights until a car honked behind you, forcing you to pull away. His laughter died down as the car started again, but he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “He did tell him. He said that he loves you, and he thinks that you’re the prettiest girl in the whole wide world.”
Your lips pursed, your heart betraying you once again, stomach joining as butterflies erupted until you felt lightheaded, and the weight of his stare on the back of your head was obvious without you even needing to turn.
In a far less sure voice now, “Do you love daddy?”
You had no idea how to answer that question. You’d known he’d get curious about your friendship with his father soon, you’d just been foolish and selfish enough to hope it was his father that he asked, and so you wouldn't have to handle it.
Of course you loved Rhysand, but that didn’t make it easy to explain.
Rhys could never know, the wound of Feyre running away with Tamlin and abandoning Nyx was sure to still be raw, Rhys hadn't been on a date in four years, and if this conversation had confirmed anything, it was that Nyx wasn’t the best secret-keeper.
Your words had to be chosen carefully.
“Your daddy is my best friend, so, yes. I do love him.” You thought you’d done well, until Nyx made a non-committal sound, another question all ready to go.
“Does he make you smile?”
“Yes.” Your teeth gritted, the looming office building of the company HQ filling the sky as you pulled up to the security box, not even needing to roll the window down before the gates were buzzing open for you.
“And, do you think he’s the prettiest man in the whole wide world?” His arms flew as wide as they could, and you ignored how endearing it was, choosing a parking spot instead and focusing on your alignment.
“He’s very pretty, Nyx. Just like you.”
“Then why can’t you be my mommy?” That question felt like a punch to the gut, the car shutting off, silence filling the cabin around you as the engine stopped and the singing CD paused. He was waiting, playing with his fingers and staring at you when you turned to face him. His eyes were wide, confused, and you hated that he felt that way.
“Let’s clean up your face, huh? You’re all dirty.” The words were pathetic, you hated yourself, because avoiding his question meant avoiding your own. You were taking the coward's way out, pulling two wipes from the packet in the dash to wipe at his face. He stayed silent, lips pursed in an unhappy pout, but he didn’t push it. The next time he spoke, it was as you were unclipping him from his car seat and lifting him towards the ground.
“No, no, no.” He clung to you more, jutting out his lip and putting on puppy eyes he knew worked every time. “More cuddles?”
If it kept him effectively distracted, that was more than enough. Settling him in your arms and locking the car this time, the two of you set off towards the building, Nyx babbling in your ear about everything he could see around him so far.
Upon entering the lobby, his chatter cut off, head lifting from your shoulder to wave excitedly at the assistant behind the main desk. Long ago, you’d felt insecure stepping into this building in nothing but your jeans and a hoodie as everyone else wore dresses and suits and polished heels. Now, even as the elegant woman stood in her pencil skirt to lean over the counter to greet him, you felt at home. “Hi, Ana!”
“What are you doing here in the middle of the day, little mister?”
He only laughed, leaning out proudly to wave at her, and a new receptionist you didn’t recognise. “We’re here to see Daddy!”
She offered a knowing smile when you pushed his hair back just enough to show off the growing bruise, and turning to the intern beside her. “Take them up to the boss, and let him know.”
With a shaky smile and a polite introduction, she led your group over to one of the elevators, Nyx pulling faces and giggling over your shoulder at Ana the whole time. The ride up to the top floor consisted of Nyx counting the numbers off loudly, tickling them off on his fingers until he couldn't count anymore, and the doors chimed open at level twenty-six.
Guiding the both of you toward the boardrooms, you stopped outside of Rhys’ preferred meeting room, the one with ‘the good coffeepot’ he claimed, a smile flickering on your lips as you spotted his silhouette through the frosted glass while she knocked at the door.
As she entered, you could hear his voice pouring out, the back end of a speech on this year's profit margins that he’d practised on you a hundred times before today, only going quiet as all attention fell to her. “Sir, your wife and son are here.”
Your brows rose at her wording, still sitting high on your forehead as Rhys appeared, closing the door behind him and dismissing her thankfully. Left alone, his gaze flickered over you both, an emotion you still didn’t understand settling on his face when Nyx sat up in your arms, still cuddled against you.
“Hi, daddy! I got a bump on my head, look!” Pushing his hand over his hair, he moved his fringe out of the way, Rhysand’s eyes going comically wide as he stepped closer to get a look at it. “I fell off the climbing frame!”
His frantic gaze swept to you as he ran a thumb over his son’s forehead, the other hand settling on your hip subconsciously, but all your attention seemed to fix on the way his thumb swept over your waist in a matching way.
“I took care of it all, don’t worry.” You mustered the best smile you could, getting a whiff of his expensive work cologne when he dipped down to press a kiss to the same spot you had when tucking Nyx into the car. He examined the cut a little more, frowning at the mark on his son’s face, and you wanted to say something, to reassure him, to quash the thoughts about being a bad father that you knew were flying through his head. Before you could speak, though, he was acting once again.
He nodded, seeming to have already fought the war inside his own mind, and if the way his shoulder’s slumped from their tightened position, he’d won this one. Leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead too, your breath caught in your throat at the intimate brush of his lips over your skin. Rhysand had always been affectionate, this part of your friendship was nothing new, but somehow, it had become so much more than a flirty comment or wink. Your eyes fluttered shut, pressing selfishly into that hint of affection as it dragged on just a second too long, warmth coating your cheeks when he pulled back.
“Give me five minutes to finish this meeting up, wait in my office.” His attention moved to his son. “You can get one toy out, just one.”
At the mention of the toy-box tucked away in the back corner of the office, Nyx’s face lit up, hands clapping together excitedly, and Rhys chuckled at him. “Do you need anything?”
“We’ll be fine.” You’d been to his office more times than you could count, knowing the building like the back of your hand. “Go finish up, gods know you didn’t make me suffer through your rehearsals a thousand times just to mess it all up now.”
He only smirked, adjusting his blazer and ruffling his son’s hair, cautious of his injury. “I’ll be with you soon, darling.” Before you could respond, he was placing a quick kiss on your cheek, and backing away and returning to work, the door closing behind him.
When you stared at his empty space a little too long, Nyx let out an impatient sigh. “I want to play with the racing cars, darling.”
“Hey, now, cheeky! If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were feeling absolutely fine, and perhaps I should take you back to school!”
Nyx burst out into more laughter, shaking his head and clinging to you. Even if his movements did make it harder to carry him, you didn’t care, grinning at the enthusiasm and excitement on his face. As soon as you had the office door open, he was squirming in your arms to get down, racing over to the box in the corner the second his feet were touching the floor.
Tearing off the lid, you flicked the light on, shutting the door and frowning as he began to pile toys up all along the floor. “Nyx, your dad just told you only one toy. Pick one, put the rest back.”
“But the cars all count as one, I have to get the whole set out!”
“Nope. You know that’s not how it works.” He scowled, but remained silent, making a point of pulling out the black truck with flames on the wheels, the one you hated, because it made terrible sound effects of grating engines and monster trucks. Piling the rest of the toys back inside haphazardly, the lid remained off the box, and he switched the volume up, glancing at you as he did. You only granted him a sigh, collapsing down into the plush leather chair of Rhysand’s desk.
Five minutes of watching Nyx push the truck around the floor and over every surface as he made car sounds himself soon slipped into ten. He changed toys to a small fluffy dog, and at fifteen minutes, an action figure. Just as he was setting up for his meeting with the plastic army man, Rhys appeared at the door, tugging his tie loose and smiling when you straightened in his chair.
Tucking the tie down into his suit pocket, he circled the desk, eyeing Nyx on the floor, who didn’t even bother to look up from his life-or-death mission. Taking a seat in one of the cushioned meeting chairs on the other side of the desk, he turned a questioning gaze to you, raising an eyebrow.
“He climbed too high on the climbing frame at school, and slipped when another kid tried to help him down. He got all checked out by the school first aid, he’s totally fine. No dizziness or headaches or nausea, nothing wrong. Just a bruise and a bump.” It didn’t stop Rhys from worrying, rolling his lower lip between his teeth as his gaze moved back to his joyfully-distracted son. “Rhys.”
He didn’t look up, biting down on that lip harder. With one hand, he popped free the button on his collar, and the one below, taking a deep breath.
“Rhysand.” With a firmer tone, you managed to gain his attention, a reluctant stare shifting to you, and you held your hands out across the desk, palms up. Wiggling your fingers, he placed one hand in both of yours, sighing sadly at the look on your face as you squeezed his hand. “It’s okay, Nyx is fine, I made sure of it. I checked him out myself, signed the forms after reading them, and I’ve been keeping an eye on him. Look at him. He’s perfectly okay.”
“I’m sorry you had to leave work.” He whispered, ashamed gaze trailing to your joined hands, the edges of his lips barely flickering as you smoothed your thumbs over his knuckles. He squeezed a little harder, tugging a little closer, ensuring you weren’t letting go just yet. You’d had no intention to, anyway.
Tugging on your hands a little more, he guided you around the desk, back to your feet until you were standing before him, between his knees, and he could tip forwards to brace his head against your ribs. He still held tight to one of your hands, running his fingers over your skin now, but you managed to fight one hand free. With it, you patted his hair softly, smoothing over it until he let out a shaky but light breath.
“Thank you.”
“You know I’d do anything for you two. Absolutely anything, you have nothing to thank me for, or say sorry for.” He only nodded, tipping his head up enough that the tip of his nose dragged over your skin, until his chin was propped there instead, glancing up at you.
“Not true, I’m thankful for you every single day.”
You willed your body not to react, not to give you away, other than the small smile you offered him, settling with your hand on the nape of his neck for a second. It was intimate, romantic, far too much for friendship, and the sudden flash of thought made your spine stiffen, and your hand retract down to sit safely on his shoulder instead. “Rhys?”
“Yes, darling?”
“Why does Nyx’s school have me listed as his mother?”
He blinked, once. “What?”
“When they called, they asked me if I was his mom, and I never got a chance to correct her before she was telling me everything. Then when I got there, she said it again.”
He was silent for a moment, before sitting up once again, disentangling himself from you and putting on an easy-going smile to match his shrug as he slumped back into the seat. “I have no idea. Maybe she just got confused, or forgot.”
“Okay…” You gave only a moment's pause, leaning yourself on the edge of the desk beside you, and crossing your arms. “Well, why does your receptionist think I’m your wife?”
“She’s new.” The words rolled off of his tongue so fast it was like he’d planned them, your brows shooting up a little. “I mean, you come in here carrying Nyx, and what else would she know?”
Despite his casual demeanour, a soft layer of pink tinged those tan cheeks, so faint you’d hardly notice it if you weren’t so good at reading him. His eyes studied you for a second, a deep look as he stared, gaze taking you in just as much as you seemed to take him in. There was a lull, a pause, like so many moments lately where the air seemed positively charged between you both, lingering on an adrenaline-filled precipice and just waiting for something to happen.
Rhys broke it, just a second before it would have become too much for you, too. Clearing his throat, he caught Nyx’s attention. “Why don’t we go and get some ice-cream, buddy? Put the toy away and we can go right now.”
“Before dinner?” The child’s eyes widened, throwing the army man into the box without a care for the way he slammed off of the wall, all love gone now at the mention of ice-cream. Clicking the lid back into place, you watched them interact in a daze, the joking and chatter becoming background noise.
You’d never given yourself a chance to think before, too scared to get your heart broken and to lose them both, but a small flame of hope in the back of your heart had been steadily growing bigger and brighter, and it was starting to become hard to ignore.
Only when a small hand slipped into yours did you snap out of it, Nyx swinging happily with one hand in yours and the other in his father’s, telling him all about the school work he’d done as Rhysand grabbed for his briefcase and coat. Once he’d acquired them, you were on the move, trailing through the building in much the same way, swinging Nyx between your bodies and letting him bounce excitedly at the prospect of frozen sugar before a healthy meal.
As you wandered through the lobby, you took stock of yourselves, noting just how much the three of you really did resemble a family. The receptionist would be right to assume, simply from what it looked like. And, even if the teacher did know you hadn't been, from the number of mornings you’d dropped Nyx at school or picked him up at the end of the day, it could easily be misread as merely a development in a complicated relationship.
Perhaps, it was nothing more than a misunderstanding, and Rhys was right.
The butterflies in your stomach died down to a heavy weight. One of both relief, and disappointment you refused to acknowledge, the hot flush of anxiety cooling into a steady calm, and you were finally able to take a deep breath once again as you reached the car.
“We just need to grab his bag and forms from my car, and-”
“You’re not coming for ice-cream?” Rhys’ head snapped up from where he’d been looking down at his son, brows furrowing at you, and Nyx fell silent, turning to stare up with an identical look of confusion.
“You don’t like ice-cream?” He echoed in his father’s tone, the two were far too alike for your good, and Nyx was nothing if not a clone of his father. One silver lining had always been that Nyx seemed to be 99% Rhys, only getting 1% from his mother. It was the smattering of freckles over his nose that only came out in the summer.
“Of course, I like ice-cream.” You tapped at the tip of Nyx’s nose and he beamed.
“So, you’re gonna’ come with us, then?” Your gaze moved from him, to Rhys, whose brows only furrowed further.
“What’re you lookin’ at me for? You know you’ve always got a place with us. Frankly, if you decided to move in tomorrow, I wouldn't bat an eye.”
Your eyes rolled, and when you were looking back at him, he was grinning. “What about my car?”
“I’ll drive you back here to get it.”
“What about work?” You motioned to the building behind you, and he opened his car door, motioning for Nyx to hop up into the back.
“I own the company, I can take off an afternoon to be with the people I care about.”
“What about-” He leaned in close enough that your noses almost brushed, a smirk forming on his lips at the hitch in your breath, cutting off your words.
“Shut up, get in the car, and let me take my family for ice-cream.”
You couldn’t breathe, never mind form a response, that word ricocheting through the inside of your skull like a bullet. Nudging you to the side, Rhys opened the passenger door, motioning you too, until you were sinking into the spacious car and letting him close the door behind you.
By the time he’d strapped in his son and gotten into the car himself, you’d regained your calm and your ability to speak. “You’re bossy.”
“I’m the boss.”
“Not in this car, you’re not.” You muttered under your breath, his chuckle only dulled by the purr of the engine as the SUV roared to life. Setting the car into gear, he cast a cheeky look in your direction.
“Oh, I know. You’ve been calling the shots here since the day I met you, and I’m just fine with that.”
He settled a hand on your knee, innocently enough, after turning on kid’s songs to match your car to keep Nyx happy. He never flinched, never even glanced at his hand on you, like it was the most normal and natural thing in the world. The scariest part, was that it felt exactly that way to you, too.
Nothing about it seemed wrong, or off, and the longer you stared at his hand, the more you wanted to take it. To lace your fingers together, set your hands in your lap after kissing his knuckles. Despite your attempts to push it down, it was seeming more and more like your ignorance of your situationship with Rhysand was making itself known.
It didn’t make sense. You were perfect together, in every other way, so why had he never made a move in this way? The spike of confused pain through your chest stung like a needle through the heart.
The drive to the ice-cream parlour didn’t give you much time to think, everything today was too fast, not enough time to think or clear your head. Before you knew it, you were pulled to a stop, Rhys climbing from the car to release his son who was practically tearing out of his car-seat to get to his favourite dessert store. He could have done with the run, the walk, anything to burn off some of that energy, but Rhys scooped him up into his arms, pressing several kisses to his son’s head, who only moaned and pushed at his father’s head.
He didn’t want kisses, he wanted sprinkles.
Too bad Rhys was beating himself up again about it all. Freeing yourself from the car to alleviate his worries, you squeezed his arm as you stepped out, shooting him a look to tell him that Nyx was more than okay. “One bumped head does not make you the world’s worst dad. Kids have accidents all the time, but look how happy he is right now.”
He didn’t need to look, shuffling his son to his hip and reaching out for your hand instead as he nodded. Lifting it up, he placed a kiss on the back of your hand before lacing your fingers together.
There was a bell tinkling over your head as Rhysand guided you into the cold store, looking for all the world, once again, like a real family, and you allowed yourself a few selfish seconds to eat it up. Finally, Nyx gained his freedom, darting over to the large glass display cabinet and plastering himself to the front of it as he took in all the flavours available today.
By the time the two of you had reached the front of the queue, he’d seemingly made up his mind, turning to stare at you both with a look on his face that could only mean trouble.
“You pick what you want, bud?”
Rhys’ cautious tone meant he’d picked it up too, his hand squeezing a little tighter around your own when you chuckled, cutting you a glare as Nyx rolled on the balls of his feet and nodded. “I want the chocolate fudge, two scoops,” He held up two small fingers, for emphasis. “With chocolate sauce and the little fudge-chunk sprinkles.”
The woman behind the counter only laughed, staring down at him adoringly as he placed his hands on his hips, expectantly. Rhys’ eyes widened, his head shaking a little. “How about vanilla, with strawberry sauce, and rainbow sprinkles?”
“Ew, yucky, no.” Nyx’s face crumpled, and Rhysand’s jaw dropped, glancing from his son to you, and back.
“It was your favourite last time.”
“But, this time my favourite is chocolate fudge with chocolate sauce and fudge chunks, Daddy!” Nyx stated it like it was obvious, and you tugged on your connected hands to bring an indignant Rhys’ attention to you.
“Oh, let him have his chocolate-fudge extravaganza, he bumped his head.” Rhys’ only scowled, muttering under his breath about being ‘ganged up on’, before nodding to the woman behind the till but indicating for only one scoop.
“You’re putting him to bed when he gets a sugar rush.” Was all Rhys could snipe back with, a smile forming on your lips against your control once again, letting him lead you over to the display stand as Nyx watched his ice-cream being constructed with rapt attention. Turning from the cabinet to you, he nudged his nose lightly against your temple, a feeling that had blood rushing to your cheeks and your head spinning at the intimacy. “The usual?”
“Yeah.” Your voice broke a little as you spoke the single syllable, and had you been capable of speaking properly at the time, you were sure you’d have been a little more embarrassed about it.
“One raspberry victoria-sponge chunk ice-cream with, two scoops, and one triple-scoop rocky road.” He added to the order, the woman only nodding, piling them up on top of the counter as Nyx tried to reach for his, sparkles in his eyes as he stared at his sickly-sweet monstrosity in awe.
Lifting it down for him, you stuck a wooden spoon into the cardboard cup holding it, a soft ‘thank you’ tumbling from his lips as he accepted it, cradling the pot patiently in his hands like it was a rare treasure. You remembered the same look being on Rhys’ face when he’d first held his son, the same tender and gentle astonishment, the shock in his eyes at something so special. You could only smile.
“Darling,” Rhys tugged on your arm, your head snapping up from Nyx to look at him, only to find both his eyes and the servers on you. You hummed, brows raising, and watching Rhys balancing two ice-cream cones in his hand. “I said, can you get my wallet? It’s in my jacket pocket, your side.”
“Oh! Right, sure.” Twisting to him, he smoothed his thumb over your hand in silent appreciation as you rooted around the inside of his pocket, fingers brushing across worn black leather, and pulling it free.
You were more than familiar with Rhys’ money and his cards, he often handed you a small fold of notes or one of his shiny cards whenever you took Nyx out or needed to buy something, refusing to ever let you pay, but you rarely held the whole wallet.
Flipping it open, your eyes scanned over the folds inside to search for the right card, but your gaze snagged on the fold of an image inside. Pinned lightly behind clear plastic, the image preserved perfectly, was a picture of you and Nyx. You remembered the moment clearly, you’d been out with the whole family, one of the rare moments that Azriel had been home at the same time Mor was back from travels and Cassian had a day off. Amren even freed the day up to sit in the park with you all, celebrating Nyx’s third birthday. Mor had been on her Polaroid camera hype, and you didn’t even know she’d snapped this picture.
Nyx’s hands were on your face, pushing your sunglasses on upside down after he’d finished playing with them. He was stood between your legs, the sundress you’d worn that day still had small stains from the muddy bottoms of his shoes, but the smile on his face that was caught in the picture was worth it. You rubbed a hand over the plastic protecting it, treasuring that day with all of your heart, and uncovering Rhys’ writing at the bottom as you did.
‘My loves’.
“Darling, the purple card. C’mon, the ice-cream is getting warm.” He nudged you again, Nyx staring pleadingly from the ground below as he clutched his treat, still waiting, and you slipped the purple card out with your thumb. Tapping it against the car reader and being sure to add a tip to compensate for your daydreaming, you slid the card back, sliding the wallet back into his pocket as the three of you found a table.
Just because you could no longer see the picture, didn’t mean it, and, more importantly, the caption, wasn’t seared into your mind. My loves. If he truly felt that way, why hadn't Rhysand ever made a move? It didn’t make sense, you’d been here since before Nyx had even been born, almost a decade of best-friendship and flirty comments that never became anything more, while secretly harbouring a picture of you in his wallet and holding your hand, kissing your forehead and smiling in a way that read as far more than just friends.
You’d barely even settled into the booth before Nyx was digging into his ice-cream, and your hand finally being freed and you were given your cone. Twisting it around and towards yourself, your eyes narrowed a little on the chunk missing from the side, somewhere where an obviously large piece of cake had been pulled out, and your glare turned to Rhys.
“You ate some of my ice-cream?”
“We always share, stop acting so surprised about it.” He grinned, taking a large scoop from his own, and you scowled at him.
“I hadn't even tried it yet, and you ate the best piece of cake!” He only smirked.
“Do you want to try my ice-cream?” Nyx offered, and you turned to look at him across the table. His hand was gripping the spoon like he was stirring in a cauldron, the contents inside had been churned up into a gloopy mess, and he held a spoonful of it out to you, chocolate and fudge-covered cheeks stretched in a smile.
“That’s okay, Nyxie, it’s all for you.” You passed your cone back to Rhys after unwrapping the napkin from around it. “Hold this, and don’t eat any more.”
He nodded dutifully, but eyed another piece of cake hidden within the ice-cream nonetheless, as he ate his own. There was a particularly large piece of dark chocolate with a marshmallow on the side of his own that he’d yet to notice, and you stored that away for revenge. Reaching across the table, you wiped at Nyx’s cheeks, unsure why you’d bothered since he was only going to end up in the same state again soon, but you did your best with the sticky mess anyway.
You gave up when he got ice-cream on your hand too, refusing to pause eating even when you tried to clean him up. Leaving the scrunched-up napkin on the table, his father only chuckled in your ear and handed you your cone back. Turning to him, you held out your other hand. Wiggling your fingers, his face pinched for a second, before he sighed, giving in. He pulled that same face every time, despite being right that you always shared, a victorious smile on your face.
You made a point of turning the cone, flashing the delicious chunk of chocolate and marshmallow to him, watching his jaw drop to stop you, but not fast enough. Clamping your mouth down around it, you pulled the chunk free, chocolate melting across your tongue as you let out a moan of appreciation.
His eyes flared, leaning in and snatching his cone back, but leaving his face close enough to your own that when you licked over your lips, you almost licked him too. “You’re so cruel to me.”
“Payback is a… well, you know the saying.” You smirked, ensuring not to swear in front of the child across the table from you both, and he only growled a little. His eyes flickered over your face, every spot his gaze touched made your skin burst out with heat, lingering for a moment on your mouth. He smirked, raising a hand, and brushing his thumb along the edge of your mouth as he pulled back a fraction.
“You missed a spot.” He breathed, thumb slipping to settle on your chin instead, and his eyes found yours once again. The air between you both crackled like it never had before, electricity sparking between you both again, but so much more intense. “I, uhm, I’ve been meaning to talk to you lately...”
“Yeah? Well, we never see each other, I can see how it’d be hard to find the time.” You teased, his softly sighed laugh brushing over your face as his gaze held yours. Smoothing his thumb along your jaw until he was cupping your face, it was only when a drop of ice-cream dripped from your cone and onto your finger, the cold sending a jolt through you that made you gasp and snap back.
Glancing down at it, you winced, licking away any more drops that looked like they may fall, and using Nyx’s napkin to wipe your fingers. When you turned back to Rhys he was facing the table again, eating his ice-cream and acting as though nothing had happened. The bubble was broken, whatever he was going to say he clearly wasn’t planning on anymore, and so you let it pass.
You ate your ice-creams together, conversation steadily flowing onto other topics, far safer ones, no doubt, and you did your best to clean up Nyx’s face once again. Smears of chocolate covered his cheeks, and you knew Rhys would have to scrub it off later before bed.
The ride back to the office was where you grew to regret convincing Rhysand to allow Nyx’s choice, his sugar rush beginning to kick in at full force. He screamed his songs at the top of his lungs, loud enough to make you both wince as you drove, bouncing chaotically in his seat and threatening to break right out like a miniature beast.
The hand, now sitting on your lower thigh rather than your knee, squeezed at a particularly loud shriek as he played with the window settings, up and down, up and down. “This is your fault.”
“I know!” You wailed, glancing back at Nyx, who was all but vibrating as he rocked side to side, giggling hysterically to himself. “I figured the sauce would be sugar-free, and fudge isn’t that much sugar, it’s like-”
“It’s half sugar!”
“What?” Your eyes widened a little, turning to look at Rhys with wide eyes, and he contained his laughter as he watched the road, trying to tune out the din from the backseat. “Regardless, I apologise for this.” There would be no calming him now.
Rhys rubbed his hand up and down your thigh softly. “I already told you, that's your problem. You think I’m going to let you go home and leave me with this?”
“I have some very important work to do-”
“Liar.” He called your bluff, and you scowled, turning your glare on his hand as it set warmth firing along all of your nerves.
When he finally pulled back into the parking lot, it was considerably emptier than it had been when you’d left, and he spun to park across two full spaces into place beside your car. He left the car with a happy sigh, closing the noise that his son was making inside the vehicle, and rolling his neck from side to side. Finally, he opened his son’s side, lifting the boy from his chair and setting him on the concrete, where he immediately began to jump up and down, holding onto his dad’s hand.
The pair accompanied you to your car, retrieving the school bags and taking them back to their own while you gathered the correct forms from the glovebox, meeting him by the back of the SUV that made your car look tiny in comparison. You pressed them into his hands, and he tucked them into the front pocket of Nyx’s bag, setting his son off to put the bags away, who remarkably, did as told.
“I know you said no thanks, but, thank you for today. I mean it, you were so wonderful. You’re always so wonderful, I couldn't do any of this without you.”
“Any time, Rhys. You know that.” He shrugged, hands tucking into the pockets of his smart pants, leaning against the side of the car only a foot away from you.
“I know, but that doesn’t make me any less lucky to have found you, and to get to keep you in my life.”
Small padding of feet came rushing back, bags no longer in sight but a picture clutched in his hands to be held up in the air as he came to a stop. It was decorated with pieces of glued-on dried pasta, glitter and sequins, and some splatters of paint. The most important part, though, was the drawing at the bottom.
You’d grown used to his style of drawing now, easily able to pick out what each scribble was supposed to be, or rather, who each scribble was supposed to be, and the attempt at writing underneath. It didn’t matter, though, because he was quick to enthusiastically point it all out.
“Look, look! It’s us! This is daddy, in purple. And this is you in blue, because it’s your favourite colour. And this is me! I’m wearing a crown.” His chest puffed up proudly, the broken piece of pasta on his head acting like a crown, and you traced the words written in matching colours under each figure.
Daddy. Nyx. Mommy.
Casting a look up, Rhys was staring at the paper, a horribly crushing mix of longing and pain in his eyes as he stared at it, throat bobbing in a swallow, before he was blinking it away. He’d always been good at playing another role, hiding his feelings when he needed to, but you’d caught him too many times.
All the pining and want, you’d always assumed it had been for Feyre, for the missing woman who had birthed his son, but when his eyes met yours, the façade cracking just a touch, you allowed yourself to wonder if maybe it was for you. Whatever it was today, this last few months, it was something new. It was like those walls you’d built up were finally crumbling, he was fighting through his own, and he let out a shaky sigh.
He let Nyx lower the photo, occupied with admiring his artwork. He leaned down, lips finding your cheek and lingering there in a soft kiss. You hooked a finger under his chin, twisting his head up until your noses were brushing, his eyes snapping open wide before you, as your lips brushed lightly. “What are you doing?”
“Well, I was thinking about kissing you.” You whispered, your voice shaking as you second-guessed yourself, second-guessed it all. His hand found your hip, smoothing around to sit on your lower back and tugging you close enough that your chests pressed together, his forehead resting on yours.
He didn’t pull away, he didn’t stop you, he just gave you your chance to decide.
So, you did.
You leaned up, pressing your lips to his in a delicate kiss that set your stomach into a frenzy of butterflies, and drew a soft noise from Rhys as he tightened his hold on you. After only a second of hesitation, he kissed you back, a push and pull with his lips that was as intoxicating as it was grounding. You felt like you were floating, tethered only to him as you gave into a desire you never thought you could have, his lips melding to yours in slow drags.
It felt like it went on forever, and you were certain that you could easily have stayed there, just like that, for the rest of your life.
When he let you breathe, when your mouths fell only an inch apart, you wanted to nudge closer to him once again, to seal yourself back to him, to sink into him wholly and entirely and never come apart again. If the tight grip he had on your hip was any indication, Rhysand felt the same way.
The fog cleared after a few moments, and he shifted back some more, eyes fluttering open once again, and this time, they were filled with questions. Swirling in the violet like a storm brewing at dusk, and you lifted a hand, running a finger over his cheek lightly, and smiling when his head tipped into your touch.
“I’m so telling Uncle Azzy that you kissed Daddy.”
You practically jumped out of your skin, having forgotten about the babbling little boy at your feet, who was now staring up at you both in nothing but shock and smugness, one hand planted on his hip as the picture that had sealed the deal hung limply from the other.
“Daddy and-” You scooped him up before he could even get started into that little riddle, the taunting making your cheeks warm, even if he was only four, and making your way back toward the car. Rhys shuffled along behind you in a silent daze, holding the door open for you and standing by as you tucked Nyx back into his car seat. He never gave up on his childlike-smirk.
“How about some dinner, huh? A little someone can have his favourite mac n’ cheese.”
“It's me! It’s me!” He cheered happily, and you took the opportunity while his arms were raised to strap the belt around his waist, sealing him back into the chair as his arms strapped through the other two. “I’m calling Uncle Azzy tonight. And Uncle Cassie.”
“You do that, Nyxie.” You bopped the end of his nose, switching on the small TV set that was attached to the headrest to face his way, and watching it load up. You could feel Rhys’ stare burning into you, like a fire crawling along your skin, impatient and needy and desperate for answers, making you grateful for this small distraction as you scrolled the shows on the tablet.
Like a warning, a warning not to make him wait much longer, Rhys settled one large hand over your hip, squeezing tightly and tugging you a fraction out of the car towards him, a shiver travelling down your spine. You hit play on the first show up.
Backing out of the car to close the door, you didn’t get far, Rhys didn’t move, only pulling your body back into his with the grip on your waist, slamming the door shut for you and leaving you pressed to him. In a quick spin, he had your back pressed to the cold metal of the car, out of sight of his son and closed in by your own, the cold metal making for a relieving contrast to the heat.
“Do it again.” There was a pleading note to his voice, his sights fixed entirely on your mouth now as he bit down on his lower lip, his forehead coming to rest on yours. “Kiss me again.”
You took your time, teasing him just a little, by running your hands up his arms, over his shoulders as he tensed, until you were holding his face. He sagged closer to you, like he couldn't even hold himself up anymore, pinning you between his body and the car. With a sweep of your thumbs over his cheeks, his eyes closed, noses brushing in sweet motions until he gave an aggravated breath at the waiting.
At long last, you gave in, closing the gap between you both once again. This time, he let out a soft moan when your mouths connected. He kissed like a man starved, like a man who had waited every moment of his life for this. It was like your first taste of air after being underwater, his mouth insistent and unrelenting, like he was memorising the way it felt to kiss you.
You gave him all you had, committing every part of him to memory too. Every sound he made, the way he panted against your lips before diving back in, teeth scraping your lower lip and sucking softly, before following it with a sharp nip. He ruined everyone else, no kiss you’d ever had compared to this and nothing else ever would.
When his tongue smoothed over your lower lip, you were forced to pull back, to try and think somewhat clearly, one of you had to, because if you let this go on anymore, you weren’t sure you could stop. His hand was already shifting, exploring, dragging his fingertips up your spine to tangle in your hair, and you lowered yours to his shoulders, pushing him back just enough to take a breath that didn’t taste like him.
He groaned, licking over his swollen lips to take away the taste of you, his eyes darker than before when they found you again, and you pressed your lips together to fight temptation. “You should… you should get our boy home.”
At that, he blinked, his gaze softening endlessly at the endearing claim, and his hand let your hair go to slip back to your back. Pulling you closer, he pressed a wet kiss to your cheek, nodding against your temple as he left a kiss there too. When he pulled back, it was to simply stare. There was nothing hidden now, the kind of dumb-in-love look shining in his eyes that you couldn't miss. Had it always been there, and you’d just never seen it before, or had he just stopped hiding it?
“You okay, Rhysie?”
He melted into you at the nickname you rarely brought out, eyes shining as he continued to stare. “So, so very okay, darling.”
Silence lingered between you both, the same comfortable quiet it had been since day one. No matter what, no matter how anxious or nervous or rattling, Rhys always had a way of making you feel at ease. You felt so vulnerable, and yet so safe with him, voice coming out in a whisper to speak into the gap between you both, “Can I ask you a question, Rhys?”
“Are you going to ask me if we can have carbonara with chicken for dinner again?” He teased, putting your nerves even more at ease, or maybe it was for his own, by making a joke.
You indulged him, “It’s a classic for a reason, because it’s so good. Besides, who said I’m coming for dinner, anyway?”
“You think there’s any way I’m going to be able to let go of you now?” He mumbled, head dropping down to rest on your shoulder instead, and you chuckled, feeling his lips press a soft kiss to your shoulder through your jumper. “What did you really want to ask?”
That brought the nerves back in full force. “Why did nothing ever, y’know, happen between us?”
His head snapped up, eyes widening to look at you, but no words came from his parted lips.
“Don’t you ever think about it, Rhys? I mean, look at us. There’s so much that would work, and I guess-”
“Of course I think about it.” He breathed the words in a rush, and your jaw snapped shut as words finally began to pour out of him, unrestrained and uncontrolled. “I think about it all the time. Every minute of every day you’re on my mind.”
“Rhys…” He let out a slow breath, but there was no stopping him now. You’d uncorked the bottle, the contents unable to be stopped from spilling.
“Since the day I met you all those years ago, I knew that I would hold onto you for the rest of my life. I couldn't let you go. But, I was a stupid kid who just inherited a company, and I was terrified of that. I wasn’t ready for that kind of commitment. You just dropped into my life and filled holes and cracks I didn’t know I had, you made me feel complete. I fell for you, so hard and so fast, and I was so godsdamned scared of that.” He looked away, unable to look at you any longer, and swallowing thickly.
“So, we became friends…”
“So, we became friends.” He repeated, sighing like he couldn't hold the weight of the world anymore. “I thought, selfishly, that I could hold onto you as my best friend, until I was ready for more. That it would be fine. I was too slow, though, and you started dating Lucien.”
Your mind flickered back, hardly remembering the man you’d been with for only a couple of months almost six years ago, flashes of red hair and tanned skin in your mind recalling it.
“He was good to you, and I hated that. I hated him, but I wanted you to be happy. But, I was so miserable. I was so sickeningly, maddeningly, obviously in love with you, and I had to do something before you noticed. So, I dated Feyre. It wasn’t… we moved too quickly, too fast. I threw myself into it and then she got pregnant. Nyx came along, and she abandoned him. I thought I’d lose you too. I was scared again, but you stayed. You helped with everything, you made it better.”
His voice started to crack, and so your arms raised, looping around his neck, pulling him in until his forehead was pressed to your own.
“I wasn’t scared when you were there. You taught me everything, you stayed for every step. I knew within days that you should have been Nyx’s mother, that being with you like this was all I’d ever want, I started to want everything cliché, a white picket fence and a little house of our own and a street where Nyx could learn to ride a bike with us. I mean, I picked out the house you liked best from the viewings even though it was gonna cost so fuckin’ much to renovate and repair and clean, but it was so worth it.” He laughed emptily, and you sniffed back tears.
“I had no idea.”
“I know, I never told you. I wanted you to see your dream house without the guilt.” He rubbed at his nose, and you kissed his cheeks, feeling him smile under your lips as you did, stopping the tears clinging to his lashes from falling. “But, you were still with Lucien, so I settled to take what I could get. If having you as my friend, helping me raise him like this, was all I could ever have, I’d take it. Then, you weren’t, and I thought maybe you’d be heartbroken about your break-up, or sad, and I wanted to give you time. I gave you too much time, I was a coward, I was nothing but a lonely man who already had a son. I couldn't offer you all the things you wanted anymore. I couldn't travel or go out and party or do anything. I’m always working or with my boy, and I didn’t want you to be forced to take that on.”
You were shocked, his candour had left you breathless, and he sniffled lightly, blinking away the tears he was unwilling to let drop. “We broke up because of you.”
“What?” He let himself look up, to you, of all the expectations he’d seemingly braced himself for, this obviously wasn’t it.
“Lucien and I. He- he said, understandably, that it felt strange to have a relationship with a woman who was practically a part of another family. It made him feel like some sort of home-wrecker. He didn’t say it, and he never would’ve, he was a good man, but it was a choice. You and Nyx, or him.” Giving the best smile you could despite the emotions overwhelming you, he matched it with a watery laugh. “I didn’t even have to think about it. That’s why I was never sad.”
“You chose us.”
“I’ll always choose you.” Your smiles were real this time, shared and intimate and frighteningly tender. “So, the real question, is whether you’re still sickeningly, maddeningly in love with me?”
“You forgot ‘obviously’. I can’t believe you don’t know it, I haven’t been subtle. I tell everyone you’re my wife, and let them believe you’re Nyx’s mom.” Your scoff only made him smirk, smacking at his shoulder lightly, pushing him away only to have him grip you tighter, tugging you closer to him.
“I knew those weren’t ‘little mistakes’, or miscommunications!” He only shrugged, dipping back in, every intention clear as he moved slowly.
“I intended to tell you today, and so many other times, but I was always so scared of losing you.” The confession hung between you both, the unspoken promises and words as he tried to give you a chance to leave, to back away, to call it too much, but you didn’t.
You let him kiss you, let him kiss you until your lungs burned for oxygen and your head was spinning, and it felt like hours had passed by as you learned one another’s mouths. You let him kiss you until you were sure he understood that you felt the same, that you always had.
“I still love you. I will always love you. You don’t just get over this kind of love.”
You could only grin at him, cheeks aching but you didn’t care, because you couldn't have contained your happiness even if you’d wanted to. “Good, because it would have been horrible if my feelings were unrequited.”
“Never.” A few more stolen kisses, mumbled promises between them. “So, you’ll follow us home for dinner?”
The leap in your chest at the word home was enough to make you breathless, the knowledge you now had that he’d chosen it just for you, in hopes you’d one day live with them. It was almost too much to bear. “Only if you’re making carbonara. And garlic bread.”
“I’ll make you anything you want if it means you’ll keep kissing me.” You hummed, pressing another peck to his lips before managing to disentangle yourself, despite his complaints and tight hold.
“I’ll see you soon, where we can continue this.”
“Don’t take too long, I’ll miss you too much.” He winked, looking messy and kiss-ruined as you stepped back to fully take him in. His shirt was rumpled, his blazer was a little askew, and his cheeks were flushed red, swollen lips to match.
summary; you and rhysand keep one another sane under the mountain, until you can return to your mate, at long last.
word count; 5143
notes; yeah, listen, this is rough. obvious trigger warnings for UTM stuff, not just for rhys but reader too. it's hard going. this is pretty much pure angst. also, it's not romantically rhys, but there's honestly more rhys than az, I think. it's just an angsty little piece, so, roll with it. please take caution when reading though, there are quite a few sensitive triggers in it.
If there was one thing Rhysand had both hated and loved in his time Under the Mountain, it had been your presence. He'd been reluctant to take you to the party at all; the party he'd prepared to go to and never leave, the party at which he'd planned to commit his biggest sin of all. And yet, he hadn't been able to stop you, when he'd banned all of his friends from attending in his company, and you'd laid your own invitation on the dinner table before him. Amarantha had wanted you both, and not bringing you would have risen suspicions from the start. And so, the Night Court's favourite courtier, the infamous star in the dark, the woman known to bring kingdoms to her knees with a well-placed smile, had bowed with mock politeness before the red-haired Queen at his side.
For ten years after that fateful night, Rhysand had told you how he hated himself every day for allowing you to come with him, let his chin wobble in rare moments alone as he apologised profusely. In the eleventh year, even that small part of his restraint had broken. He'd clung to you, sobbing endlessly until his knees had given way, until the two of you had been slumped against the wall in one of your hidden nooks, crying in one another's arms. He'd confessed his pain, that over that last couple of years he'd stopped feeling guilty at all, he'd stopped wishing he could go back and change that day, change the way it all happened.
You'd watched his face crumble as he confessed he wasn't sorry at all anymore, that he thought himself selfish and heartless, for thanking the Mother you had come, that he had someone, a friend he cared for so much, a friend he loved so dearly, just one person who knew he wasn't truly a monster, even on the days he thought he was slowly becoming one. You'd cried too, and told him he was your only remaining tether to your heart, that as everything else was slowly becoming stone as cold and hard as the walls confining you both, he was your star in the dark.
For forty years after that day, you had shared Rhysand's bed. Every night he wasn't held by Amarantha until morning, he'd crawl back into his bed, into your arms, and cry silently into your neck until he fell asleep. Every night you weren't expected to play the seductive courtier, the role Amarantha had carved for you, a prize she'd reward for loyalty, the only thing keeping you safe, you crawled back to him. And he held you, soothing your hiccuping sobs with soft murmurs, playing with your hair until you dozed off. Every night, you held one another, tethered one another, found new ways, every way possible to stop the other's soul from shattering entirely.
He would use those lingering pieces of his powers to show you memories of Azriel, when so many decades had passed you'd both begun to forget what their faces looked like, the emotions held in every snapshot warmed you both through. Every story you whispered in the dark, the same ones over and over of your family back home, never failed to bring either of you back from the brink. Jokes from Cassian that you both knew word for word, tales Azriel would tell of all the wonderful places he'd see on his travels, stories from Mor of her parties, myths from Amren, everything that stitched the broken pieces of you both together, holding tight, as long as you could.
You'd whisper to him, as his head lay on your chest and your fingers combed through dark hair, what it felt like to have a mate. And somehow, despite all the darkness, the smile that would paint his lips let you know that he believed it when you told him he'd have that one day. When you were overwhelmed, when the façade became too much, Rhysand would sweep you up into dances to keep away the filthy hands of those males that always slipped too far, and he'd waltz you across the floor until you could no longer stand. He'd make sure to stay sober on the nights you drank, to keep an eye on you as you sent yourself into oblivion to simply forget it, and you'd do the same for him on the nights he could no longer bare it. He kept you warm, he kept you whole, he kept you sane, as you did for him.
The day he had woken up, gasping for breath and jerking so violently in your arms that it stirred you too, he spilt all about that first dream; when he'd first seen that woman. He told you every morning, as you shared a pillow, with soft smiles before the day truly started, he'd recount every detail of what he'd seen the mysterious woman in his dreams do. He told you about the flowers on the table, the scenes of a forest he didn't recognise, a human town and what it was like. He told you of the night he sent something back, the night sky image he'd pushed to her, the glint in his eyes that had been missing for almost half a century was finally back.
That night, when the two of you recalled one of the many well-worn tales Cassian would tell when drunk, instead of merely smiling fondly, the two of you had laughed. Laughed so hard and loud that tears spilled from your eyes, you'd been clutching one another, gasping for breath at the amusement of old memories. And you'd stayed awake all night, talking and sharing jokes, until the silent halls outside the doors had filled with sound once again.
He'd come back shaking from his trip to Calanmai, wound up in such a frenzy that when he fell into bed that night you'd had to spread your entire body across the top of his to hold his shaking down. The night after, when he'd returned looking stricken and pale from his visit to Spring Court, he'd thrown up every bite of dinner the two of you had shared, he’d cried his way through three bottles of wine as he told you about how he just knew that woman, the woman from his dreams, the one he'd met, was his mate. How he'd never see her again, but was so grateful for such a gift. You were sure it was breaking the final parts of your heart, as he clung to you that night so tightly, in a way he hadn't done since the first few years of seeking comfort in one another.
When you'd watched his face fall apart as Feyre, her name finally known to you both, had been dragged into the main hall, you'd done what you do best, what you'd done for months-shy of fifty years. You gave your everything to hold Rhys together. When you watched the last threads begin to fray, you'd pressed a drink into his hand, and stood behind his chair, running your fingers through his hair and crooned mocking words at his mate that only made Amarantha laugh; you'd felt Rhys jerk away from your touch in anger at you for saying such wicked things, but you knew it was best. His fear turned to anger, his emotions were directed at you and not his mate, and it saved his life.
You let him be angry, that night you had let him seethe, you had let him turn away from you in your shared bed, let him sleep so far from your body that not even his wings touched you, even if it broke your heart. The following morning, you did the same, you grinned and giggled as Amarantha practically tortured Feyre, and Rhysand wore his usual mask, the anger broiling at you fuelling all of it. You saved his life, again. He did not come to bed at all that night. In the morning, his smell was in the bathroom, the door locked, as he scrubbed away the scent of Amarantha that lingered in the air.
And upon the day of Feyre's first trial, you sowed the seeds as he fretted over his mate. You lounged, and gambled on her success to incite others against the Queen, you danced with any male bold enough to try and get his hands on you only to whisper into his ear your own misgivings. When murmurings of Feyre possibly breaking the curse reached Rhysand's ears from the crowd by the end of the night, you watched something spark in his eyes.
When he came to bed that night, he smelt of the dampness of the mountain dungeons, of blood and of humans, and he collapsed down tiredly with his cheek pressed to your shoulder, whispering his apologies, begging for forgiveness. And you held him, you answered by wrapping your arms so tightly around him he shuddered with suppressed sobs, because you'd felt that craze, that pain, that longing, with your own mate. The one you were so desperate to see once again someday, and you hoped Feyre was the key.
She was. You watched her die to break the curse, you watched Rhysand prepare to give his life with her, and you prepared to give your own to stop him. It took every shred of strength that you'd had to hold him back, everything you had when he'd clawed and fought at you to let him go when he'd watched Amarantha snap her neck, and he'd collapsed to the floor in shock, staring at you in agony and betrayal as the breaking sound of her neck echoed the cavernous room.
You'd cupped his face, fingers smoothing over the tears on his cheeks to clear them, the sounds of Tamlin tearing Amarantha to shreds falling away as background noise. "Hold the bond, Rhysand. Grip it tight, use that power that's coming back, and hold on. Do not let her go, you can keep her with you." And so he had, he hadn't blinked, hadn't flinched, while you'd held his eye and wiped away every tear, until he'd gasped on a hoarse throat, lips flickering at the edges. "I've got her." He had whispered.
Everything had been a blur after that, watching all of the high Lords bring her back, Rhys' fingers had never left your own for even a second once he'd taken your hand. Everything was changing, too much, too fast from the way it had sat stagnant and rotting for fifty years, and you were both afraid to let the other go. Afraid that if you did, the other would disappear. On the balcony, as he called to her, to make sure she was alright and that everything would begin to fall as it should, he finally let you go, but only when you felt his mind wrap around yours wholly; no walls, nothing between you both now as it had been for so long. With his power back, he dared to, he dared to let his hand leave yours just to step a few metres away onto the balcony, to take a breath of fresh air, as he clung to your mind with his own. A safety net, a reassurance.
He'd panicked, you'd felt the snapping of his mate bond in his chest, felt it ricochet through his connection to you, and before you’d known it, the two of you were gone. His hands were gripping your shoulders as pure night unfurled around you both, and when you could see again, you were home.
Walls you thought you'd never lay eyes on again, paintings you'd forgotten the colours of, people whose faces you'd forgotten, smells that had long since faded from your nose, it all came crashing down. Mor had been the first there, and she'd caught Rhysand as he collapsed, mumbling about his mate, the utterly numbing feeling that washed over your whole body when that bond snapped, you'd felt it yourself. And for the first time in fifty years, you felt your bond hum, pulse, and jump-start within your chest. A dead thread as heavy as chains that had been wrapped around your heart with the suppression of that mountain, that curse, it finally came back to life. You felt the pull, so hard and fast you stumbled forward, knees hitting the ground so harshly you winced, your palms shooting out to catch yourself before you hit the tiles.
You never reached them, though, your shoulders jerked as you were caught, cold shadows whipping as space and time were wrenched open, and then a warm body was holding you. You gasped, a heaving breath, nails scraping over thick leather as you tried to haul heavy breaths into lungs that refused to open. Your head was spinning, you couldn't breathe, you couldn't think. The smells, that same comforting smell you'd forgotten so long ago were now washing over you in waves, every taut muscle went loose as you collapsed into his chest.
Your mate, your husband, your love.
His arms circled you, strong and warm and safe, so much like the way Rhysand had held you but never enough, never the same, he hadn't been Azriel. No, now you had him, and he shushed you, his entire body trembling almost as much as yours did, crying as hard and as loudly as you did, gripping with the same fierceness. You were shrouded with darkness, his wings wrapping around you, a warmth that no fire or blanket could ever bring, shadows swirling faster and faster until you were practically concealed inside of a bubble only for the two of you.
Nothing was said, not as the bond between you both finally sang, a feeling you'd once worried would never come back, a feeling you'd accepted was lost to you years ago, it was back. You felt every burst of Azriel's emotions, crashing in vicious collisions with yours, both of you left breathless to finally be able to feel one another again. That bond was pulling tight, strumming between your two hearts in absolute ecstasy.
When you'd finally been able to pull away, you'd had no strength at all. You'd remained slumped on the floor, surrounded by his wings and a thick wall of shadows, but you mustered enough strength. Enough to cup his face, to run your thumbs over his cheeks, to memorise the way he looked once again, to commit every single piece of him to heart, to promise never again to forget the way his eyes crinkled at the edges when he finally smiled, to never forget the shine in those amber eyes, to never forget the curl of his lips as he whispered your name.
It was hours before his shadows finally calmed enough to free the two of you, to let the light of the home slip back in. Hours of whispered conversations, hours of confessions and tears, hours of long stretches of silence that consisted of merely holding one another, drowning in one another once again.
When the light started to leak in, conversation from outside of that bubble was returned, and your chest swelled full of emotions you thought you'd cried out. It was back, great tidal waves of it as you set your eyes on Cassian, who'd dropped to his knees so fast you thought they'd crack, and swept you into a hug so crushing you'd feel it for days. You cried with him, and held him, with Azriel's fingers never quite leaving you, always there, always touching.
When Mor had taken Cassian's place, Azriel had hovered, finally standing, stretching out legs that had lost sensation, flexing tight wings, his hand resting in your hair as he rubbed soothingly at your scalp. No matter how long passed, he'd never forgotten just how to give you exactly what you needed. Then Amren, she had always been cold, always composed, and yet even she had offered a smile, a thick swallow with a nod of her head, and a hug that lasted barely a few seconds but held everything you needed to know. Even Amren had missed you both.
Dinner that night was quiet, and tense, with everyone waiting for you or Rhys to say something, everyone waiting for someone else to break the silence. You'd taken a seat next to your friend, your best friend, on instinct. Azriel had a hand resting over your knee, on the back of your chair, always touching you in some way. Yet those skittish touches had paused when Rhysand had reached out, instinctively, taking your hand during one of Cassian's stories and lacing your fingers together, hidden under the table to sit on his thigh. You'd felt confusion, and hurt, echo down the bond, as shadows swirled possessively of their own accord around your wrist, tugging at Rhysand’s impatiently.
You squeezed your friend’s hand tighter, and sent nothing but love down the bond to your mate. It was hard, to snap out of a mentality that you'd grown so used to over fifty years. You were lost, sinking in it all, you couldn't breathe, like you were being pulled down through the thick lakes in Oorid. No matter how much you loved your friends, no matter how much you had missed them, it was too much, all at once.
Your breathing got shallower and shallower, and you could feel Rhysand's pulse beating faster and faster against your own as he felt the same. The night was running on, but the food was tasting like ash in your mouth and the wine was bitter and made you cringe, and you were gripping one another's hands so tightly that each of your knuckles were white.
Rhysand had snapped first, standing abruptly and taking your hand with him, everyone's gaze closing in on it, and he dropped it a second too late. He said he needed his quiet, he needed some space, needed to think. They understood, and you could have cried when they bid you a soft farewell, before Azriel had winnowed you both home. Home to a bedroom you barely recognised anymore, to unfamiliar smells. A bedroom with windows, the light of the night pouring in, the sounds of happiness in the streets buzzing in your ears.
Silence, was all that was left after Azriel drew the curtains, and prepared to change for bed. You were frozen, in the middle of the room, because you couldn't remember. You couldn't remember your own home now, you couldn't remember where your pyjamas were, or which side of the bed was yours, or even what your address was.
And something broke. Tears streamed wordlessly, soundlessly, down your cheeks as you stared at the bed, a bed you hardly remembered. The longer you looked, the harder your chest heaved. It was made of pale wood, covered by thick blue sheets made of cotton and pillows that were fresh and crisp and white. But, dark silk taunted you behind your eyes, mountains of maroon pillows on a black frame, the wicked curve of red lips as you recalled the room Amarantha had given to you, given to both you and Rhysand, a sick gift as she promised you that you could 'have her dripping leftovers' back each night. A game, just another one she'd played with you, as she tested how far she could push you and Rhys, to see if you'd ever both truly snap.
Azriel approached, slowly and cautiously, one hand looping loosely around your waist, the other coming up to weave into your hair, moving until your face was pressed to his neck. "It's okay."
"It's not okay," There was so much wrong, so much you couldn't remember, couldn't shake away, so much you hated about yourself and what had happened that you would never be able to leave behind. Things you may never be able to voice.
"I-I could smell it - him - on you as soon as I held you." His voice cracked, and confusion filled you, sadness of his own meeting yours in a twist between your hearts. Worst of all, came the crushing guilt, because you'd always imagined that coming home to Azriel would be nothing short of perfection, and yet the routine you'd formed with Rhysand was jarring in its absence now. "It's okay, it was so long. He was all you had, and it's okay. I can feel that you still love me, as I still love you. It's okay if you love him too."
"Azriel. Az, my love. Rhysand, he held me together when I missed you so much I thought I'd never-" You choked on a sob, and he only nodded, head moving as it lay atop yours to tell you he understood, you didn't have to say it. "I love him, I love him more than anything, and he gave me everything he had under that mountain, as I gave him everything I had, to keep one another whole. But please, believe me, trust me, and rest assured when I say that I have never been in love with anyone other than you."
He pressed a kiss to your temple, head dipping to kiss your cheeks, your nose, everywhere he could reach, before he was pausing with his lips brushing your own. He believed you, you knew, you felt it, and when his lips closed softly over your own, a fresh batch of tears poured from both of you. It was soft, and delicate, learning the taste of one another once again, and when he pulled back, it was like he was taking all of your thoughts with him. "It's okay. We can learn it all again, everything, I'll show you it all. You are home, you are back with me, and I will not let you go again."
"I was worried this was a dream," you whispered, voice thick as he guided you slowly towards the bed, and you tried to blink back any more tears. Your throat was raw, your eyes burned and your skin was stinging from how much you cried today. You didn't want anymore. you couldn't. "But I know that it's not a dream. I know, because I had forgotten the smallest details of your face, the way you smelled, and how it felt to be held by you. I know it's not a dream, because my mind had lost the ability to conjure you like this for comfort so long ago."
You sat nervously on the side of the bed that he directed you to, and it felt familiar. It felt reassuring, your fingers brushing over the bedside table on this side as it all started to come back to you. You watched as he silently moved to the dresser against the wall. One with a vase full of fresh flowers, you did remember that, you loved those fresh flowers, it had been your pride to get new ones for the bedroom every week, and you'd missed flowers so much when you'd been where none would grow. He opened a drawer, pulling out a set of pyjamas you didn't remember owning, but the fact he'd never packed your things away, they'd always sat here waiting for you, made you settle so much you felt weightless.
"I want to-" You didn't know, didn't know how to say that you couldn't wear those, that they no longer belonged to you, they weren't what you wanted, or needed. Some kind of base need thrummed down the bond, instinctive and subconscious, but the flare of his wings told you that Azriel understood. Slowly, he reached behind himself, unbuttoning the clasps of his leathers, stripping off that top layer and discarding it to the floor. A soft but worn t-shirt sat underneath, stuck to his skin and falling loose with every heavy breath. He undid that too, but rather than throwing it, he held it out.
It was warm, the heat of his body keeping it so as it fell into your hands, and you clutched the bundle up to your nose, taking a deep breath, and feeling the last of the tension drip from your body. Standing on weak and shaky legs, you stripped off your clothes, uncaring of the eyes that never left your form. Your body hadn't been your own for a long time now, simply another possession of Amarantha's, and you were too tired to care about his stare. Even as he took in every new bruise or scar, even as he took in every fresh new whorl of ink on your skin, and itched to know what kind of bargains you'd had to make that branded you.
When you tugged his shirt over your head, feeling the brush of the warm cotton, drenched in his scent, your head spun. And for the first time in the whole night, you finally felt truly at home. You could breathe, lungs filling all the way up, a rush through your blood. Seconds later, Azriel's knuckles were brushing your back, quietly doing up the clasps to hold the material closed, despite the gaping patches from your lack of wings. When he finished, you fell into bed, puffing up the pillows and watching tiredly as he changed himself. He did not bother with a shirt, despite the chill in the air, and you both knew why.
He plunged the room into darkness before joining you in bed, and the second he was within reach under the covers, you plastered your body to his. He chuckled lightly, though no humour filled it, and his hands gripped you just as tightly as you held him.
It was within that same tight embrace that you fell asleep. It was soundless sleep, one of exhaustion and weariness that not even nightmares could find you, but the second your subconscious felt Azriel moving, you were snapped from it so violently your stomach churned.
Your hand flew out to his side of the bed, warm still, fingers grasping the sheets as panic rose. It was dark, so dark, you couldn't see a thing and for a second you were sure you had dreamt it all. You were alone again, wrapped in taunting silk in a horrid shade of red as Rhys was detained by Amarantha again, and it was as you were gulping in harsh breaths that you heard it. Knocking, loud and reverberating through your home from the wooden front door. Shadows whispered across your cheeks as your hand flung out, illuminating the faelight on the bedside table. Your hand crashed into the lamp, knocking it into the wall.
Swirls of darkness remained around you even as the room was lit, and you took a deep breath. They were comforting, weaving through your hair and nudging across your cheeks to wipe away tears, a sure sign that your mate hadn't been ripped from you once again, but it didn't stop the fear. Nothing stopped it, until he returned, the banging stopped, and he reappeared sleepily in the open bedroom doorway, slipping inside. As you set your eyes on him, you could finally breathe again, and he rubbed tiredly at his face, but rigidly alert the second he took in the tear tracks on your cheeks in the faint glow of the room.
"What happened, my love?"
"You- you can't-" Your heart stammered, chest aching at the tightness, and you held hard onto his hands to tug him closer as soon as his knees hit the bed. "You can't leave me. You can't go. Anywhere. I thought- I was alone again, don't leave me, Azriel, don't go, don't-"
He shook his head, closing in enough to press a shaky kiss to your lips, and when you calmed enough to twist back to your pillows, you realised he hadn't returned alone. Lingering in the doorway was Rhysand, dried tear stains on his own cheeks, feet bare as he stood in the doorway of your bedroom.
"I'm sorry for coming here." He whispered, shrugging helplessly as a laugh so hollow and self-deprecating left him your own heart ached. You could feel the agony washing down the bond from Azriel, as he took in his long-lost brother. "I... I can't sleep without you. I can't sleep alone. I'm too scared to get in my bed. It's too big, and cold, and-"
You shifted further into the large bed toward the middle, toward Azriel's side, then lifted the covers, and Rhysand cut himself off with a sniffle, holding back his tears like you were trying to do. He shuffled across the room, stumbling in a way so un-lordlike you committed it to memory, until one day, maybe, you'd be healed enough to tease him for it. He settled into the bed, and you tucked the blankets around his body as he settled into the mattress, finally losing a sigh, that carried away everything he'd been holding onto.
"I'm sorry, Azriel."
Your mate settled in behind you, one arm curling under your body to pull you flush to his back, the other reaching over you, beyond you, to settle a comforting weight on Rhysand's shoulder. The lord's eyes lined with silver, and he squeezed them shut. "You have nothing to be sorry for, brother. You kept my mate alive, you stopped her from breaking, and you brought her home to me. I am happy that you found solace in one another, and that you are both home. If it had to happen, I would not wish it to have happened any other way. If this is what you need, then this is what you shall have."
You settled one hand over Azriel's where it held you tightly to his body, and the other reached out, settling over Rhys' and weaving your friend's fingers through your own from where it sat on his pillow. He gripped back tightly, sniffing back tears once again. "Thank you." He whispered, voice unable to go any louder.
He winked out the lamp once again, three sets of breaths harmonising in the room as true peace fell over you all. "Thank you, for taking care of her, Rhysand. One day, when you find your mate, I hope I'll somehow be able to repay that debt. But this? You can have this for as long as you need. We are yours for as long as you need us."
Rhys whispered his thanks, the words hanging in the air, and he tapped at your mental shields. You squeezed, knowing what he wanted, and he gave a soft scrape in silent thanks. He wasn't ready to tell them yet, to tell the rest of your family that he had met his mate, that he knew her and lost her, but he would one day. Until then, you'd keep his secret, and you'd slowly heal, together, now that you were home.
i refuse to listen to your haterisms if you cannot cite your sources... a REAL hater doesn't have to make shit up to be a hater about. a real hater sees the truth and hates accurately. a hater who makes shit up and is wrong is just annoying. get on the level
i’m not even a dickbabs shipper, and honestly i do wish some of the other interesting characters who could’ve been long-term love interests for dick (shawn, bea, etc.) had gotten more attention. but i’m not gonna blame that on fictional ship dickbabs or fictional character barbara gordon 😭
some people push so hard against the idea that dick could ever be a cheater or a playboy, like any messiness in his relationships is a personal affront to them. why can’t dick be flighty? why can’t he be imperfect? why can’t he make mistakes? why is it always barbara’s problem?
characters should be allowed to be messy. it doesn’t have to be all extremes, either "they’re a serial cheater and irredeemable" or "they would never in a million years hurt their partner". sometimes people make mistakes, but that doesn’t make them terrible human beings. cape comics, at the end of the day, are basically soap operas with masks, and the easiest way to add drama is through cheating plots or "i’m not over you" arcs. dick can be considered a cheater, tim can be considered a cheater, bruce can be considered a cheater. it’s often just because they date a lot and because comics thrive on drama.
what really sticks out to me in the dickbabs/dickkory shipping war (which seemingly had a resurgence recently and is so, so fucking annoying) is how blame tends to quietly fall on barbara. if dick is constantly cheating on other women with her, wouldn’t that imply dick is mostly the one at fault, not her? and should stop dating other women? and yet somehow it's barbara that gets framed as the insecure or spiteful one while dick’s behavior is either excused or blamed on writers writing him out of character.
i’ve said this in other posts, but there’s this weird double standard in fandom depending on whether you like a character or not. if you like them, it’s always the writer’s fault that they were written certain way, and any "bad" behavior can be dismissed as ooc (even when it's a pattern across multiple comic runs and various writers). if you dislike them, suddenly it’s the character’s fault, as if the character themself has real agency. and also the fans of that character are suddenly under suspicion or seen as agreeing with everything the character does ("why are you supporting this bad person character?"). and guess which category female characters usually fall into.
another thing that bums me out is how people can’t just say, "i don’t like this ship". instead, they hunt for moral justification and write long posts critiquing it while labeling other shippers "misogynists" or "homophobic" or whatever. "i don’t like this, therefore it’s morally bad" is becoming such a common reaction in fandom, and it’s exhausting. you can just admit you don’t like something because you don’t like it! you don't need to justify yourself!
and honestly, a lot of the "this ship is morally wrong" energy feels less about writing critique and more about discomfort with seeing your favorite character behave like a real human, messy, contradictory, imperfect. people contradict themselves all the time, characters do too (just because dick says something about himself doesn’t mean it’s true if his actions contradict it lmao). you can like imperfect characters! you don’t have to justify their every action or make them always be in the right! it’s okay to like fictional murderers, abusers, or even, and i know it can be difficult to stomach, fictional cheaters!
yes, fandom has a misogyny problem. no, shipping the "right ship" isn’t feminist activism.
let characters be flawed and ships be complicated and please please please bring back the term "notps". keep critiquing bad writing all you want, just be consistent, don’t hate the fans for canon writing decisions or for enjoying something you don't like, and don't act like the characters have real-life agency.
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