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THE HIGH LORD’S ROOM

FEATURING Rhysand x Reader

SUMMARY After surviving unimaginable trauma, you’ve built a quiet, careful life in Velaris. But when Rhysand, watchful, patient, and infuriatingly charming, starts to break past your walls, you’re forced to confront feelings you thought you'd buried forever. Healing isn’t linear, but maybe… love can be safe, too.

CONTENT WARNINGS past captivity and slavery, trauma recovery, PTSD symptoms (flashbacks, hypervigilance, panic), dissociation, mentions of food neglect and insomnia, emotionally vulnerable protagonist, explicit sexual content (nipple play, oral sex, penetrative sex, praise kink, mild dominance), explicit consent and aftercare, found family, protective friends (Azriel & Cassian), implied voyeurism risk (brief scene interruption)

AUTHORS NOTE I absolutely could not hold myself back from completing the smutty bat boys set, so here is Rhys'! I'm actually really interested in further exploring the librarian reader lore, so let me know if you're interest in seeing more!

Check out Azriel’s and Cassian’s versions here! The Interrogation Room and The War Room

You were shelving the last stack of books when you felt it—that unmistakable shift in the air, like a ripple of starlight brushing across your skin.

Rhysand.

You didn’t turn. You didn’t need to. His presence always arrived like a hush before thunder—smooth, soft, but laced with power.

“I thought I told you to stop working so late,” he said from behind you, voice all silk and shadows.

Your fingers tightened around the spine of a worn volume. “And I thought I told you that I like the quiet.”

His laugh curled through the high-arched rows of the library, deep and warm. You hated how much it affected you—how your heart tripped and your skin prickled just from the sound.

He stepped closer, unhurried. “Cassian says you’ve barely eaten today. Azriel threatened to drag you out by your ankles.”

You smiled despite yourself, gaze still focused on the shelves. “I’ll be sure to add that to the list of times he’s threatened me this month.”

Rhys didn’t respond right away. You could feel his eyes on you—studying, searching.

“Are you okay?” he asked at last, softer now.

You swallowed. That question always felt heavy, even from him. Maybe especially from him. Because somehow, Rhys saw through everything—the quiet smiles, the polite distance, the armor you'd spent years forging after your rescue.

Azriel had found you barely conscious in a slaver's den outside the Illyrian border, and Cassian had been the one to hold you upright during your first days in Velaris when you couldn’t sleep, eat, or speak without trembling. They never pushed. Never pried. They just stayed—and eventually, so did you.

Rhys, though… Rhys was different.

He didn’t just see you. He noticed things. The way your hands shook when someone got too close. The way you flinched at sudden movement, even now. The way you sometimes looked at the sky like it might fall on you again.

But he never treated you like you were fragile. Never tiptoed.

And that terrified you more than anything.

“I’m fine,” you said eventually. “Just tired.”

Rhys was quiet again. You turned toward him, and gods—he was unfair. All midnight hair, violet eyes, and impossible grace wrapped in that damned smirk.

“You shouldn’t lie to your High Lord,” he murmured.

You rolled your eyes, but the heat in your cheeks gave you away. It always did.

He stepped close enough that the scent of him wrapped around you, warm spice and crisp night air, calming and intoxicating at once.

“You know,” he said, head tilting just slightly, “you blush every time I get near you. It’s adorable.”

“Rhys-”

“I’m just saying.” That grin deepened. “You make it very difficult to behave.”

You opened your mouth—maybe to scold him, maybe to tell him to leave, maybe to confess that the idea of him not behaving was the only thing you’d thought about for weeks—but the words didn’t come.

Instead, his hand lifted. He didn’t touch you, not yet. Just hovered, waiting. Always waiting for you to close the space.

“I would never hurt you,” he said, so quietly you almost didn’t hear it. “You know that, don’t you?”

You did.

You weren’t sure when you started trusting him—not just liking him, or admiring him from afar, but trusting him with the mess of you. Maybe it was the way he never pushed you. Maybe it was the way he always asked. Maybe it was the way he let you be small, scared, quiet, and still looked at you like you were powerful.

Maybe it was just him.

You leaned forward, just enough to let your forehead rest against his chest. His hand finally touched you—curling around the back of your neck, steady and warm.

He let out a slow breath, as though your touch had undone something in him.

“You make me want to be gentle,” he whispered.

You closed your eyes.

“And I didn’t know I still had that in me.”

His thumb brushed the side of your neck, slow and reverent, as if he knew exactly how fast your heart was racing beneath his hand.

“You’re sure?” he murmured, his voice low and velvet-rich, his mouth near your temple but not quite touching.

You hesitated—but only for a breath. Then you leaned into him just a little more, allowed his scent wrapped around you, spice and cedarwood and something darker, like storm clouds after the heat.

“I trust you,” you whispered, and meant it.

Those three words were small, but they unraveled something in him.

Rhys let out a long, shaky breath and wrapped his arms around you, holding you to his chest. One large hand cradled the back of your head, fingers sinking into your hair, the other flattening over your spine. He held you like he’d waited centuries for you to offer him this closeness—this chance.

“I’ll go slow,” he said quietly, like a promise. “You lead, okay?”

You nodded, cheek still pressed against him.

Rhys pulled back enough to meet your eyes. His hand cupped your jaw, thumb stroking your cheekbone. His gaze searched yours for any sign of hesitation, but all he found was a slow-burning need—years of loneliness and restraint finally breaking open.

He kissed you.

This time it wasn’t teasing or smug—it was devotional. His mouth was warm and patient, tongue coaxing, exploring—never taking, only asking. You parted for him easily, melting into the kiss as his fingers tilted your chin just right. The feeling of him was overwhelming—his scent, his magic, the soft weight of his body as he guided you backward, deeper into the shadowed stacks of the library where no one would find you.

The world slowed.

Books, stone, distant wind against the windows—it all faded as Rhys pressed you gently against a wall lined with ancient tomes. He kissed you again, slower this time, hands braced beside your head. His magic curled around your ankles like a cat, purring in delight.

“Tell me what you need,” he whispered.

You swallowed hard, shivering at the heat pooling between your legs. “I just want… you.”

A growl rumbled in his chest. “Then you’ll have me, darling.”

His hands slid down your sides, fingers skimming your ribs, your waist, the soft dip of your hips. He gripped the hem of your tunic and paused, giving you another silent chance to stop him.

When you didn’t, he pulled it up, slow and careful, and you lifted your arms to help. The cool air kissed your skin as your top slipped away, and Rhys inhaled sharply as his star-filled eyes drank you in.

“Fuck,” he breathed, voice wrecked. “You’re unreal.”

Your arms twitched, instinctively trying to cover your chest—but he caught your wrists and pressed them gently to the wall behind you.

“Don’t hide from me,” he murmured. “You’re perfect.”

He dipped his head to kiss along your collarbone, each press of his mouth slow and worshipful. He trailed lower, his tongue tracing the swell of your breast before closing around a nipple, sucking lightly, then licking over the sensitive peak until you arched into him.

“Rhys—”

“Shh, darling,” he said, switching to the other. “Let me take care of you.”

You were already trembling when he dropped to his knees.

“You’re so responsive,” he said, voice husky. “So good for me.”

His hands slid beneath your skirts, slowly drawing them up until the fabric pooled around your waist. You felt the heat of his breath against your bare thighs, his palms smoothing up the backs of your legs until he hooked a single finger into the band of your underwear.

He looked up at you again. “Still okay?”

You nodded, already dizzy with need. “Yes. Please.”

He kissed the inside of your thigh first—then again, higher this time, until his mouth pressed just beside the place you needed him most. He breathed you in with a soft growl that made your stomach flip.

“Look at this pretty little pussy,” he murmured, dragging your underwear down and off. “You’re already soaked for me.”

You whimpered and leaned back against the wall, your legs trembling as he spread your thighs apart. The sight of him—on his knees, eyes dark with hunger, shoulders bracketed between your legs—was almost too much to bear.

And then he touched you.

His tongue slid between your folds, slow and luxurious, tasting you like he was savoring the richest dessert in existence. He groaned against you, hands gripping your thighs to keep you steady as he licked and sucked, circling your clit with maddening patience.

You cried out, fingers flying to tangle in his hair.

He moaned again, like your sounds drove him wild. “That’s it, darling. Let me hear how good I make you feel.”

Your hips bucked involuntarily, and he held you down, tongue flicking faster now, lips sucking until you were gasping, whimpering, falling apart in his hands.

“Rhys—gods—I’m—”

“Come for me,” he growled against your cunt. “Let me taste it. Let go.”

You shattered.

Your climax crashed through you in waves—hot, intense, shivering—and Rhys didn’t stop. He licked you through every flutter, every desperate moan, drawing out every second until your legs nearly gave out.

Only then did he rise, catching you as you sagged into him, your whole body flushed and trembling.

He kissed you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. “You’re divine,” he whispered. “I could worship you for hours.”

You reached between you, fingers fumbling at the laces of his pants. “Then do it. Let me feel you.”

Rhys groaned low in his chest, and with another whispered spell, you felt the echo of magic sink into your belly—gentle and warm, preparing your body for what came next.

He lined himself up and pressed in slowly, his jaw tight with restraint.

“Gods, you’re tight,” he rasped. “So warm. So fucking perfect.”

You whimpered, your head falling back against the wall as he filled you—inch by inch—until he was fully seated, his body flush against yours, every inch of him trembling.

“Look at me,” he said, voice hoarse.

You met his gaze.

And that’s when he started to move.

Each stroke was deep and unhurried, the grind of his hips against yours sending sparks up your spine. He kissed you through it, whispering praises between every thrust—how good you felt, how proud he was, how long he’d wanted this.

How safe you were with him.

And when your second climax built, it wasn’t from teasing or magic or even pleasure—it was from the way he held you, like you were precious. The way he moaned your name like a vow. The way he made you feel cherished.

Your release hit hard and sweet, your walls fluttering around him as he groaned your name and spilled into you with a final, desperate thrust.

You stayed there like that for a long time, wrapped in his arms, hearts pounding in time.

And deep in your chest… something clicked.

A glowing warmth bloomed behind your ribs, spreading through your veins like starlight.

Your eyes met his—and you both knew.

The bond had snapped into place.

The world felt like it had gone quiet.

Not silent—just still. Like the whole library, the entire House of Wind, had taken a deep breath and was holding it.

You were wrapped in Rhys’s arms, chest against his, face tucked beneath his jaw. His scent surrounded you—smoke and midnight and that subtle sweetness he always carried when he let his guard down. His heartbeat thudded beneath your ear, slow and steady. Anchoring.

Neither of you had spoken yet.

Because there was something else now. Something new.

That tug—that golden-threaded, star-kissed pull in your chest. It hummed just beneath your skin, like music in your bones.

You knew what it was. You knew what it meant.

And the realization hit you like a crash of cold water.

You jerked back—just slightly, but enough that Rhys’s brow furrowed.

“Darling?” he asked softly, still breathless, hands instantly gentle on your waist. “What is it?”

You tried to breathe.

Tried to speak.

But the pressure in your chest swelled too fast—like you were going to burst.

“I—” Your voice cracked. “Rhys, I think something’s wrong. I feel—too much, I feel everything, and it’s—it’s too much—”

He sat up quickly, still holding you, easing you to sit in his lap. “Okay, okay,” he murmured, voice soothing but focused. “Look at me. Just breathe.”

You tried. Gods, you tried. But your vision was already swimming, and your throat was tight, and all you could feel was him—his heartbeat, his breath, his worry. His love. Pouring into you through that tether in your chest like sunlight you weren’t ready to hold.

“I—I didn’t mean for this,” you choked out. “The bond—it's the bond, isn't it? I can feel you and it's—I didn't think—I’m not—how is this happening?”

Rhys’s hands framed your face.

“Because it's real,” he said quietly, reverently. “Because it's us.”

Your lip trembled.

“I’m not ready,” you whispered.

“Then we won’t do anything,” he said instantly. “Not until you are.”

You blinked at him, breath still shaky. “But it’s already there.”

“I know,” he murmured, stroking your cheek with the backs of his fingers. “And it’ll wait. I’ll wait.”

You stared at him—at the man who had just wrecked you so gently you barely knew where you ended and he began. The man who could take cities with his power but only looked at you like you were something fragile and miraculous.

“You’re not angry?” you asked, voice small.

He smiled, just a little, and pressed his forehead to yours. “I just made love to the woman I’ve been falling for since the moment she told Cassian to fuck off in the training ring.”

You blinked, startled. “You were there?”

“Of course I was there. He came flying into my office to tell me a terrified little librarian threatened to set his wings on fire with a candle stub.” His smile softened further. “You’ve had my attention ever since.”

A shaky laugh escaped you. And something in your chest—where the bond pulsed, steady and glowing—eased.

“I don’t want to lose myself,” you said quietly. “I’ve fought so hard to become someone again.”

Rhys kissed your forehead. Then your cheek. Then the tip of your nose.

“Then I’ll help you stay exactly who you are,” he said. “I don’t want to own you. I want to walk beside you.”

You leaned into him.

Not because you were ready to finish the bond. Not yet.

But because it didn’t feel so scary anymore.

Because you weren’t alone.

And for the first time in a long, long time… you didn’t want to run.

A few days later, you were shelving returned texts when a familiar flutter of shadows curled across the back of your neck—followed almost immediately by a soft kiss to your cheek.

You startled, nearly dropping the heavy tome in your hands.

“Rhys,” you hissed, glaring at him over your shoulder.

He was already grinning, perfectly unrepentant. “Sorry, darling. Couldn’t resist.”

You turned fully, swatting his arm with the corner of your book. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“I’m the High Lord,” he said, far too smug for your liking. “I’m allowed anywhere. Especially if I’m here to check on my favorite librarian.”

You tried not to smile. Really, you did. But the sparkle in his eyes, the softness in the corners of his grin… it made something flutter low in your belly.

“Favorite, hmm?” you asked, trying to keep your voice cool.

“Well, you are the only one who’s ever let me make out with her in the back room.”

Your face flamed instantly. “Rhys!”

He just chuckled, that rich, starry sound echoing off the ancient stone and high, book-lined walls. You turned back to your cart, muttering under your breath, but your cheeks were still on fire and he knew it.

Of course, he knew it.

“You’re glowing,” he said, voice low as he stepped behind you again—closer this time. “Blushing just for me. It’s very distracting.”

You were about to snap back with something vaguely threatening—maybe involving throwing him off the balcony—when the air shifted.

You felt it before you heard them: two male figures approaching from the main archway, steps familiar, the magic they carried unmistakable.

Azriel. Cassian.

Shit.

You stepped back from Rhys instantly, your hands smoothing your tunic, your pulse spiking hard enough that Rhys’s eyes flicked to yours.

“Hey,” he said softly, steadying you with a hand on your arm. “It’s okay. Nothing to hide.”

You gave him a tight look. “Maybe you don’t think so.”

Before he could respond, the footsteps rounded the nearest corner—and there they were.

Cassian and Azriel both halted mid-step.

They looked between you and Rhys, eyes scanning the too-small space between your bodies, the slight flush in your cheeks, the way Rhys’s hand lingered on your wrist.

Azriel’s brows lowered in that quiet, assessing way that always made you feel like he was seeing far more than you wanted him to.

Cassian’s gaze shot to your face, then Rhys’s, then back again.

No one spoke for three full seconds.

Then: “Rhys,” Cassian said slowly, smile polite—but tight.

“Cass,” Rhys drawled, completely relaxed. “Lovely day, isn’t it?”

Azriel’s eyes narrowed just slightly. “You’re awfully far from your office.”

“I needed a break,” Rhys replied easily. “And a certain someone,” he added with a glance your way, “is very good at helping me relax.”

You made a strangled sound that might’ve been a cough.

Cassian blinked. “What.”

“Oh my gods,” you whispered under your breath, covering your face with your hands.

“I’m joking,” Rhys said quickly—though the smirk he aimed at his brothers said otherwise. “Mostly.”

Azriel tilted his head. “How long?”

You froze.

Rhys didn’t.

“A few days,” he said, quiet now. “But it’s been coming for a while.”

Cassian’s jaw tightened—not angry, but visibly processing. He glanced at you again, gaze softer now. “Are you okay?”

That was what undid you.

Not the shock on their faces, not Rhys’s amused teasing, not even the underlying panic still fluttering in your chest.

It was that question.

That they still asked it.

You nodded slowly. “I am. I really am.”

Azriel stepped forward first. His eyes, always sharp, lingered on yours. “You don’t owe anyone anything, you know.”

“I know.”

“And if this changes anything—if you feel it changing anything—you can tell us.”

You smiled, just barely. “I think it’s changing everything. But not in a bad way.”

Cassian was still watching Rhys like he was trying to decide if he should shake his hand or punch him. Possibly both.

Finally, he let out a long breath, muttered, “Shit,” and crossed the space to pull you into a hug so fierce it lifted you off your feet.

“You better treat her like she’s sacred,” he told Rhys over your shoulder.

“I already do,” Rhys said simply.

Azriel was quieter, but when you stepped toward him, he met you halfway. His arms came around you with familiar care, one hand on the back of your head like he always did when you were overwhelmed. He didn’t say anything, just pressed his cheek to your temple and held you there.

You felt tears sting the backs of your eyes. Not from sadness. Just… from being seen. Still held. Still safe.

Rhys’s hand found yours as you stepped back, lacing your fingers gently. He didn’t pull, didn’t take. He just stood there, tethered beside you.

Azriel glanced between the two of you once more, then said, with the barest flicker of a smile, “We’re going to talk later.”

“Looking forward to it,” Rhys said, somehow managing not to sound smug.

Cassian groaned. “This is going to be worse than that time you stole my boots and blamed it on Mor, isn’t it?”

“Oh, definitely worse,” Rhys agreed.

You just groaned into your hands again.

It was late. Late enough that the sun had long dipped below the cliffs, but you were still tucked into your favorite corner of the library, curled up on a chaise with a blanket draped over your legs and a cup of tea cooling in your hands.

You weren’t reading. Not really.

Your mind was too full—spinning with soft kisses, Rhys’s voice in your ear, the weight of his hand on your wrist when Cassian and Azriel had walked in.

And the bond—still quietly glowing beneath your skin, like a candle that never fully went out.

You heard the door before you saw him. The gentle click of it closing behind him, then the shift of shadows as he approached—quiet, but not hiding.

You didn’t look up right away.

“Az.”

He stopped beside the chaise. “You left before dinner.”

“I wasn’t hungry.”

A pause.

“You don’t have to lie to me.”

You looked at him then.

Azriel’s expression was unreadable to anyone else—but you knew better. You’d studied those careful lines, those layered silences. You’d been wrapped in his shadows when you couldn’t stand sunlight. He’d held your shaking hands after nightmares, said nothing when you cried on the floor, and never once asked you to be stronger than you were.

Your throat tightened. “I didn’t want you to look at me differently.”

Az’s brows drew together, and he crouched beside you, one knee on the carpet.

“I don’t.”

You searched his face—his dark, steady eyes, the faint crease between his brows, the way he tilted his head slightly when something mattered.

“You looked… surprised.”

“I was,” he admitted. “Not because I don’t trust him. But because you’ve been through so much. And I know how long it took you to even let me sit this close.”

He was right. The first time Azriel touched you—truly touched you—it was weeks after your arrival in Velaris. You’d had a panic attack in the library, shaking and gasping behind a stack of encyclopedias. He hadn’t said a word. Just knelt beside you and offered his hand. Nothing more.

You’d gripped it like it was the only solid thing left in the world.

“I wasn’t expecting it,” you whispered. “The bond. The… way I feel around him. But he’s been so patient, Az. He never pushes. He just… waits.”

Azriel nodded slowly, his eyes scanning your face, like he was reading each tremble and pause in your voice.

“Does he make you feel safe?”

You nodded.

“Wanted?”

You flushed, but nodded again. “More than I know what to do with.”

A flicker of something moved through his expression—maybe grief, maybe relief, maybe both. Then he reached forward, his gloved fingers brushing lightly against your wrist.

“You don’t have to be afraid of what’s good,” he said softly. “You deserve good. You always did.”

Your breath caught.

And before you could stop yourself, you leaned forward and wrapped your arms around him.

Az froze for half a second—then sank into the hug, arms strong around you, chin resting lightly atop your head.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said quietly. “Even if he’s in your life now. You don’t lose me.”

You buried your face against his chest, overwhelmed by the simplicity of it.

“You promise?”

Azriel’s voice rumbled low. “On my shadows.”

You pulled back enough to look at him—eyes rimmed with tears, but smiling now.

“Thank you.”

He nodded, and rose, smoothing your blanket over your legs like you hadn’t just shaken his heart open with those few words.

At the door, he paused. “You know,” he said, glancing over his shoulder, “he’s probably pacing the hallway waiting for me to give him permission to see you.”

You groaned, grabbing the nearest pillow and launching it at him. He caught it with one hand, smirking faintly.

“Tell him if he makes you cry, I’ll shove a siphon somewhere very anatomically inconvenient.”

And with that, he vanished into shadow.

A few seconds later, a knock at the door.

“Azriel?” came Rhys’s muffled, hopeful voice. “Is it safe?”

You sighed. Loudly, but your heart was already fluttering again. “Yes.”

The door cracked open a sliver, then fully—revealing Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court, ruler of Velaris, and your current biggest problem. He poked his head in with an exaggerated wince, as if he expected a second pillow to come flying at him.

His grin deepened when you didn’t.

“Still in one piece,” he said, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. “That’s a good sign.”

You raised a brow. “Is it?”

“Considering Azriel most likely looked like he was mentally composing my obituary on his way out? Yes.”

You tried not to smile. You really did.

But something about him—his voice, his ease, that stupid smirk—it tugged at the corners of your mouth until you were shaking your head.

Rhys’s eyes softened when he saw it. He crossed the room in two long strides and sat beside you on the chaise, one arm stretched behind you, not touching—just there.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

You hesitated. “Better. Azriel’s just… he’s always been there.”

“I know.”

You peeked at him. “What did they say to you?”

Rhys sighed dramatically and tilted his head back against the cushion. “Azriel spent a full minute staring at me without blinking. I think he was debating whether to gut me or drag me into a shadow dimension for questioning.”

You laughed, muffled behind your hands.

“Cassian,” Rhys went on, “paced. A lot. Then he asked me what my intentions were like this was a chaperoned courtship in the Autumn Court. Then he said if I broke your heart he’d snap my wings and feed them to Amren.”

Your eyes widened. “He did not.”

“Oh, he did,” Rhys said, completely deadpan. “Azriel even nodded in agreement. Which is frankly terrifying, because when he agrees with Cassian, it’s always about murder.”

You giggled into your hands, face burning. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Rhys turned toward you now, his hand lifting to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “They love you. Fiercely. And I’d be worried if they weren’t protective.”

You looked at him—really looked.

He wasn’t teasing anymore. Not fully.

And just like that, your pulse stuttered again.

“You’re still okay with this?” you asked softly. “With waiting?”

Rhys cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly beneath your eye. “There’s nothing in this world I wouldn’t wait for if it meant you were ready.”

Gods.

You tried to look away, but he leaned in just enough that your noses brushed.

“And besides,” he added, voice low and wicked, “I’m very good at entertaining myself in the meantime.”

Your breath hitched. “Rhys—”

“Really, darling, you should’ve seen Cassian’s face when I told him how gorgeous you sound when you come.”

You choked. “Rhysand!”

“Worth it,” he murmured, clearly delighted, even as you buried your face in your hands and made a noise halfway between a squeak and a groan.

“I hate you.”

“You adore me.”

You mumbled something unintelligible, which only made him laugh.

And then, quieter, he said, “You really are glowing, you know.”

You peeked at him through your fingers. “Is that your subtle way of calling me flushed and panicked?”

“No,” he said, softer now. “It’s my not-so-subtle way of saying you look happy.”

You blinked.

And the truth was… you were.

You still didn’t know exactly what this was becoming. Or where it would go. But right now, curled beside him in the quiet hush of the library, after Azriel’s quiet approval and Cassian’s half-threatened one, it didn’t feel scary anymore.

It just felt right.

You leaned your head on Rhys’s shoulder, and he immediately tucked his arm around you, pulling you closer.

After a long moment, you said, “So what did you say to them?”

Rhys smirked, gaze fixed lazily on the far wall. “I told them I’d never do anything to hurt you.”

“And?”

“And that I’m completely, irreversibly, stupidly in love with you.”

Your heart skipped.

“…Oh.”

Rhys turned toward you then, his violet eyes bright and open and sure. “Just thought I’d get that out of the way.”

You stared at him, warmth blooming behind your ribs like starlight, “I think I might be stupid about you, too.”

His grin was slow and devastating. “See? I knew I was your favorite.”

You groaned again—but this time, you were laughing.

And when he kissed you, slow and smiling, thumb brushing your cheek, you didn’t feel nervous or unsure or afraid.

You felt home.

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