Was reading a SuperBat Fake Daiting Fic that really scratched an itch in my brain and now I can’t stop thinking about a Rhys x Reader AU where they’re both trying to avoid the arranged marriages their high lord father’s are putting on them and agree to fake date but slowly fall in love over time 🤤
Like imagine:
-Rhys sends big bouquets of night blooming flowers to Reader’s Court Estate at least twice a week. They’re always lavish and over the top and the whole estate starts smelling like jasmine. The servants start whispering in the halls about how much the Heir to the Night Court must care for them to spend so much money on flowers every week.
-They go to plays and musicals in both their Courts, waiting until they see a crowd to hold hands. Making sure people “catch” them together. Feigning kisses on the cheek and inside jokes whispered conspiratorially in the ear. Reader always laughs a little harder than necessary at his flirtation, a blush working it’s way up their cheeks, looking away before they can see the adoring look Rhys is obliviously giving them
-Their conversations are either tense and businesslike, setting down a well crafted plan to follow—“Make sure people see us holding hands.” “You should put your arm around my waist more, people are starting to ask if you don’t like to touch me.” “We should kiss after this date. Make sure people know this is progressing.”—or flirtatious and fake, a mask for all the Courts to see. Until an event at the Court of Nightmares turns into intimate conversations about the weight of their parents’ expectations.
-Business becomes routine. It becomes weird to not be out in public with each other. Business becomes oh no I care about them.
-But they can’t tell each other that. This is business, after all, it’s not supposed to be personal. The feel of his lips isn’t supposed to keep them up at night.
-Business becomes agony because everything they’ve ever wanted is literally right here in reach and for a few minutes each day they can pretend that it’s their’s even though it never really was.
-And oops oh no they actually kissed for real and maybe these very real feelings aren’t so one sided after all and they end up together for real
Author's Note: My period started, I had some feelings, wrote some established relationship fluff/smut; enjoy!
Content Warnings: Rhys uses his daemati powers for a quickie (because he absolutely WOULD and you cannot change my mind on that)
------
It was a mistake to go back to work this soon. My whole body aches, the newly accepted mating bond pulling on my bones like it’s a living thing crawling around beneath my skin. I can’t escape the searing heat of it, not even with the office windows thrown open, the dark lace curtains billowing in the soft autumn breeze. I should be cold enough to wear the sweater I’d stolen off the armchair this morning, but it sits draped over my desk chair instead.
Rhys had been called back to the Hewn City two weeks before we were scheduled to return from our retreat. Or as he was so affectionately calling it “The Mating Bond Sex Romp of the Century”. We were supposed to have a whole month to ease into newly mated bliss; the extra time was supposed to help with the chafing and general irritation that would come when we inevitably had to separate and return to civilization. And of course Keir had gone and fucked that up for us. We’d flown in last night, and Rhys was gone before dawn this morning. The empty Townhouse was going to drive me insane and training with Cass and Az would have driven Rhys insane, so my only solution was to come into work and handle two weeks worth of paperwork. There’s certainly enough to keep me occupied for the day, except I can’t think straight! The words in front of me blur, the meaning of them nonsensical. I shouldn’t be here! I should be tangled up with my mate; the only thought in my head should be how much deeper I can take him.
I lean back in my chair, palms pressing into my eyes with a groan of frustration. Stupid fucking Kier! The only sounds I should be hearing right now are my mate’s as I run my lips over his chest, tracing tattoo and muscle and that dark little patch of hair that leads me down…
“Well isn’t this a pretty little thought to walk into.” Even his mental voice is enough to make the bond shiver in delight and I throw down my shields with abandon to let him in further.
“Come here and I’ll make it more than a thought,” I return. We are beyond pretense and formality now. I want-need-him. My body feels like it might burst into flame if his hands are not roving every inch of my skin. I knew the bond would be intense, but not to this degree. I could live or die with just his touch alone.
Night chilled shadows swirl around our shared mental ground like a cat brushing up against its owner. The gesture alone makes me slump down into the seat and sigh. “All worked up, aren’t we?” He purrs, but his voice is strained.
“I’ll rip Keir’s throat out for this. We were supposed to have more time.” I snarl.
The longer my shields are down, the better my mental view of him becomes, until it looks as if the two of us are standing on an adamant bridge, surrounded by endless starlight. Like this he has free reign to all of me, mind and soul; a brush of his fingers and he can walk into any memory he wants, a flick of his wrist and he can take complete control of my body and I’d be powerless to stop him. We are equals and he makes sure I never forget it, but like this, when there is no damper on his power, when he doesn’t have to hide behind a courtly mask, all his power untampered and wild--there are few things I love more. I love him like this. I love being able to surrender to the power of him, yield my own and let him take control so that I do not have to think beyond the pleasure he’s capable of ringing out of my body.
He reaches out and brushes his fingers over my cheek and I could scream under the heat that flares through my physical body. It’s not quite the touch I want, but it’s enough to make my blood sing.
“I know, love, and I’m sorry.”
I turn my head and press my lips into his palm, catching his wrist so I can keep him right where I need him. “Please,” I whisper, because even here in this space I can’t shake the desperation that claws its way up my throat. “Just for a few minutes. I need you.”
A growl sounds in the back of his throat as he leans in and crashes his lips against mine. It’s a flurry of tongue and teeth, his free hand threading into my hair and I drop his wrist in favor of tossing an arm around his neck. There are too many clothes between us, even here, and I claw unabashedly at his shirt until he gets the hint and magics it away.
There is no feeling like the warmth of his skin against mine. Only when we’re chest to chest, my own top disappearing, does the fire in my veins finally turn from painful to pleasurable. I am warm everywhere he touches, no longer consumed by this insistent ache. I sigh contentedly as I nip at his lower lip.
“Better?” He asks as he slides an arm beneath my ass and lifts me so I can wrap my legs around his waist. My back hits the handrails of our shared mental bridge, the cold stone biting into my flushed skin.
“A little,” I say as I press soft kisses along his mouth and chin.
He rocks his hips against my still clothed center, the friction so heady it makes me toss my head back and moan, giving him the perfect access to nip and suck at my throat. “I only have a couple minutes, we’ll have to make this quick.”
I don’t want quick. I want that slow rhythm we’d found that first night in the cabin, his hips slowly rocking into mine, his cock dragging through my dripping folds, my nails clawing at his shoulders as he drew moan after moan out of me, until I had begged him to finish inside me. I want the lazy roll of his hips as he holds me against the mattress, taking his time, teasingly nipping at my throat as he tells me how pretty I look around his cock, as he drags out every stroke and thrust until there is not a single thought in my head but him. But the burning beneath my skin is returning, and I can feel the pull of his duties in the back of his mind as if it’s calling to me instead. This is all the time we have right now, I will have to take it.
The rest of our clothes disappear in a rush and he slides right into me, all the way down to the hilt and I let myself scream into the endless darkness of our bond.
He presses his nose into my neck, where it meets my shoulder as he lets me adjust. Not that I truly need to here, but the gentleness of the motion, how concerned he always is for my well being, makes me want him even more. “I’ll make it up to you tonight. I promise.”
I pull him in for another searing kiss, my hands tangling in the silky strands of his hair. “Make it up to me a couple times?”
He slides almost completely out of me before thrusting back in, stealing the air from my lungs in a rush. “As many as you’d like, Darling.”
With the way I feel right now, I don’t think any amount will truly satiate me. I think I may just need him like this for the rest of my immortal existence.
Pleasure licks up my spine as he speeds up his movements, the stones at my back biting into my skin, keeping me grounded for a few seconds longer. His hands squeeze at my ass, kneading my tender flesh as the motion spreads me open a little more for him.
“Fuck,” he hisses into my neck. The stars overhead spin and swirl like a glittering storm, darkness leaking off his shoulders as his wings threaten to appear. I rock my hips into his, matching his pace with a swirling motion I know drives him crazy. “Maybe I really should just kill Kier.”
The sound that comes out of me as he hits a spot inside me that makes the bridge shake as my mental grip on the psychic plain slips is more moan than laugh.
“Then I could fly right home and take you like this against every surface in the house.”
I clench so tight around him at the thought that he growls and sinks his teeth into my shoulder in retaliation and I let my head fall back further to grant him more access to me. I want his mark everywhere, to the point no collar of the sweaters I’ve stolen from him can hide them.
“If you’re asking my permission,” I bite out through a gasp as his fingers slide between my legs, teasing at my clit, pushing me closer and closer to that glorious edge. “You have it.”
His thrusts grow sloppy as his speed increases, his own release barreling towards him as I slide a hand out of his hair and down between the valley of his shoulders. I’ll leave my own marks tonight, so everyone knows he is as much mine as I am his. If his wings were to make an appearance, then this would be where I would trace the thin membrane until I find that spot that drives him crazy. But he’d never bring them out for a quickie, they are too sacred for that. I will settle for his shoulders for now.
My chest brushes his as I gasp for breath, so close to the edge I can feel it in every nerve ending in my body. The bond between us glows warm and bright, filling up every bit of me as he hits that sweet little spot inside me. My eyes screw shut, thigh muscles tightening around his hips as he hits it again and again and again.
“Love you,” he murmurs in my ear. “Love you so much.”
One last thrust and I’m gone, his own release chasing mine as I whimper out his name.
From somewhere outside of us I hear a male voice call his name, demanding to know if he’s listening.
Rhys grumbles nonsensically into my neck as he holds me for a moment, my body trembling as it comes down from its high. This is the first time all day I feel like I can breathe and I cling to his shoulders for a moment, begging for more time.
“Better, love?”
I press my lips to the underside of his jaw. “If I say no, will you stay?”
From somewhere outside of me I hear a knock, probably the company’s billing department wanting those expense reports I was attempting to work on earlier. Seems the real world needs things from both of us, regardless of our wishes.
My heart sinks in my chest as I slowly unwind my legs from my mate’s waist and touch solid ground. He is High Lord and despite his protests, I hadn’t been ready to let go of my job, even with a title of my own to deal with, this was territory we would have to deal with eventually, even if we’d had the month we were supposed to.
I stretch up on my toes to kiss him again, gently this time, but there is no less fervor in his response than before. Perhaps that pulling beneath my skin was not just my own need, but his, calling to me from across Velaris.
“I love you,” I say as that knock rattles the bridge, our mental grip slipping as reality beckons, louder and louder. “I can grab dinner on my way home.”
He steals another kiss like it’s his last meal. “As long as I still get you for dessert.”
And then he’s gone, nothing more than a star flecked shadow curled in the corner of my mind as reality comes crashing back in for both of us.
I try not to fidget at the uncomfortable wetness between my legs as I straighten the papers on my desk and tell the incessant knocker to come in. I won’t be doing anyone any favors if I start dishing out the same judgment my mate is on Kier here in the office.
“You got those papers for me?”
I leaf through the stack on the desk, using a bit of magic to hide the glaring scent of my arousal. I just have to make it a couple more hours. Then, Rhys is all mine, and I’ll have to find some creative ways to keep him in our bed until the bond finally settles.
It’s all you can think about; the cold, quiet emptiness in your head, in your chest, it’s all encompassing. You’re too far out of reach to warn him. Hybern is here and no one will have any idea, least of all your mate.
You thrash against the hands that hold you--Hybern had winnowed you out of the Mountain and right into the waiting arms of his soldiers, four of which now drag you inside a temple on the outskirts of Spring’s borders, the old building badly burnt, as if someone had recently set it on fire--throwing your weight around as best you can until you hit the floor. Amarantha is not around to punish you, you let your claws slip out of your nail beds so you can gouge them into the worn stones of the Temple floor, trying to slow your progress. There is no manipulating, no smooth talking your way out of whatever Hybern has planned for you, your only chance is to run.
“Bring her here,” Hybern orders. He sounds like an irritated father dealing with a toddler’s temper tantrum, his booming voice echoing off the domed ceiling.
There’s only one Priestess about, her blonde hair slipping out from underneath her soft blue hood, a circlet atop her pale face. She frowns when she sees you, as if you are the worst thing in the Temple, even though its battered walls are full of soldiers bearing Hybern’s sigil.
“No manners on this one, I see,” the priestess says.
Hybern frowns as he strokes a hand over his bearded chin. “Too much spirit in all the wrong places.”
“Get your fucking hands off me!” You scream as one of the soldiers snags your ankle and drags you across the rough stones. It’s only then that you get a glimpse of an altar, old as time, the stones covered in dripping candle wax. Atop the cracked, ageless stones, a giant, black cauldron sits, green mist slipping from the top.
You freeze, claws still digging into the floor, momentarily keeping you in place. Not any cauldron, the Cauldron. Just like your dreams. As if it’s sentient, as if it can sense your unease, a voice from within the bottomless chamber whispers, “Come, come Daughter of the Void, come and see what I have in store for you.”
A shiver crawls its way up your spine and you throw yourself away from it as best you can. No one else seems to notice the voice, perhaps it is a message for you and you alone.
You poke at the bond again, making one last ditch attempt to reach your mate, but there is only cold, emptiness between the two of you. Despite all his promises, he’s too far away to save you.
“Stop this!” Hybern booms.
“Fuck you!” You shout back as you manage to free your ankle from a soldier’s grip and land a kick square in his nose. Blood splatters across your exposed leg as you twist, arms screaming in protest as you bring your knee into the next one’s groin.
Despite your best efforts, all Hybern has to do is reach out, and some great, invisible hand yanks you across the floor until you slam into the altar. When you try to stand, that hand holds you down with enough force to make the air leave your lungs in a terrible wheeze.
“Enough, daughter.”
“I’m not your daughter!” You snarl.
The priestess eyes you curiously, her pale blue eyes on your chest, where Rhys’s jacket no longer covers you, the too big sleeves sliding off your shoulders. She frowns as she steps closer. “Why is your chest glamored?”
Hybern’s power will not release you, even as he steps closer to get a better look.
The slide across the floor tore up the back of your thighs, your skin raw as you fight in vain to move away.
Shit shit shit.
Hybern crouches in front of you, and it’s only now you notice how armed his soldiers are behind him, swords in hand, ready to run you through if they think their king is in danger.
“Drop the glamor.”
“Eat shit!” You can’t move your hands, can’t kick out with your legs, and he’s not close enough to use your teeth, but that doesn’t stop you from spitting directly in his face.
In retaliation, that great power pinning you to the floor lifts you up, just to slam you back down, your head clacking against the altar so hard spots swim across your vision.
“Last chance to spare yourself,” Hybern warns.
You grit your teeth and snarl as many curses as you can think of and you're rewarded with an even more forceful drop, once, twice, and a third. You think you might have bitten your tongue, the coppery tang of blood heavy in your mouth, but the room spins so much you can’t be sure. But still, the glamor remains in place. You can hold it, you know you can, Rhys had prepared you more than you’d realized at the time. You hold onto that. Maybe Rhys cannot be here to physically save you, but all he’s taught you still remains at your disposal.
That power holding you lifts enough for you to finally, mercifully, take a full breath, only for it to shift into something else. What was once a crushing weight quickly morphs into a blasting wind, whipping back and forth over your exposed skin so hard and fast it tears the collar off your jacket. Hybern’s soldiers crouch back, holding onto the walls for support as that wind wraps itself around you like a serpent. Like phantom hands, the wind tears at the magic you’ve bound around yourself, as harsh and sharp as the twins attempt to get into your mind. It takes all your energy to keep the glamor up, to fight against it. You have no real knowledge how to throw out your own power as anything more than a shield, but you do know how to take. You let those phantom hands reach for you, your eyes falling shut, your attempts at pushing it away forgotten. You draw a breath, steadying yourself, willing yourself to open up to the fall.
“Come, come to me, Little Thief,” the Cauldron calls as your powers swim to the surface. “Come show me what you can steal.”
You are not helpless, you are not a mouse as Amarantha so likes to call you, you are a goddess caged in flesh, a storm housed within a body. This power can be yours as easily as it can be his. The thrashing of the wind stills for a moment, you can feel the ebb of it beneath your skin as it syncs to your heartbeat. You grab a tendril of it in your fingers, bending it to your will, and for a moment, for a moment all that terrible power belongs to you.
“Do you think me so feeble, daughter?” Hybern snarls and all of a sudden that power tears itself from your grip and lashes against you in earnest.
Your body jerks in its grip, the beating of it verging on pain now, your skin stinging. No matter how hard you try to grab it, it continues to slip through your fingers, leaving your only option to try and keep the glamor up at all costs. For maybe a minute or two you manage to fight it, pushing the wind away from the ink on your skin, but in the end, there is just too much of it. When the wind lets up and you hit the floor, the glamor is gone, and both your bargain marks are on full display.
“Night Court,” the priestess hisses.
Your heart drops into your stomach as Hybern studies the markings, his disdain palpable. Maybe you’re not so good at this after all.
“What deal did you make with that whore?” He hisses.
Your fangs slip out as your lips pull back in a snarl, “Stop calling him that!”
The priestess laughs, the sound shrill and irreverent in a space like this. “Don’t tell me you’ve fallen for the bastard?”
“Ianthe,” Hybern warns and the priestess clamps her mouth shut. “Tell me what you’ve done, so I can undo it.”
Undo it. The words clang through you like an alarm bell and you push yourself upright, body screaming in protest until you’re flush against the altar. He can’t be serious. It could kill you! Worse, it could kill Rhys.
You instinctively clutch a hand over the flower inked into your chest.
“What did you bargain?” Hybern demands.
There are no thoughts in your head, no clever lies to save you, there is only the bubbling panic that something terrible is about to happen and you’re powerless to stop it, no matter what you’re made of.
“Please, don’t,” you whimper.
“What did you bargain?” Hybern shouts.
The Cauldron continues to whisper and hiss above your head, the strange mist turning the room eerie shades. Everything looks a little distorted and hazy.
“I vowed to kill Amarantha,” you stutter. Maybe the truth will save you, he did say he wanted her dead. “In exchange for some help and training.” No need to mention the moving into the Night Court with its High Lord thing.
“And?”
Together. A promise that there would be an after to look forward to, a future with no Amarantha, no Mountain, no pain. Tears prick the corners of your eyes. It’s not supposed to be like this! You never should have gotten out of bed, maybe if you had stayed in Rhys’s room, Hybern wouldn’t have found you at all. You’d still be with your mate, still working towards your freedom. It would be a cage, but you’d be together, as you promised. But now the ink on your palm is strangely cold, compared to the warmth that should be there.
“That’s all,” you lie and your reward is a backhanded slap across the face.
You grit your teeth; Amarantha has done worse to you, you can endure this.
“In the end, it doesn’t matter,” Hybern says, fixing the rumpled sleeves of his shirt. “If it kills Rhysand, I’m doing you a favor.”
“No!” It’s all you manage to get out before a stab of pain flairs beneath your skin. It’s subtle for a brief second, Hybern’s powers testing the strength of the marks, before it turns violent. Almost immediately, it begins to feel as if your palm and chest are tearing itself apart, splitting open. Black dots swirl across your vision, as the pain becomes white hot. At some point you begin screaming, for yourself, for the pain, for your mate.
“Stop! Please! NO!” The words jumble out of you in a rush. This can’t be happening! Dark mist seeps from your skin, claws and fangs tearing free from your hold on them as your body tries to fight him for you. The Temple rumbles and the Priestess starts muttering a prayer that makes the Cauldron bubble and hiss.
The room spins. Your body jerks, limbs twitching uncontrollably. “Stop!”
He’s going to kill you. All for his stupid war.
“Please,” you’re dimly aware that your claws are scratching at the flower on your chest, as if you can hold it in place, keep the bond from slipping through your fingers. Your tears burn as they slide down your cheeks. What will happen to your mating bond if he breaks this? The two are so tangled together, will it kill the both of you? “Please, stop!”
But Hybern pays your pleas no mind, powers holding you down as the pain becomes so unbearable you heave. Nothing Amarantha has done to you compares to this. This makes her look like a saint.
With one final, mind numbing crack, both bonds snap, the ink fading from your skin as you collapse against the floor. It’s cold, the rough stone biting into limbs that no longer feel connected to your body. The rise and fall of your chest feels like something has been carved from your body.
“I’m doing this for your own good, Y/N,” Hybern says.
You’ve ended up on your back, teary eyes staring through a hole in the ceiling, where the first glitter of stars shine through. “Rhys,” you whimper.
“It would only slow you down.” Hands slide under your shoulders and knees, calluses scraping against the open wounds the stones have made against your thighs. You don’t have the presence of mind to squirm, to fight, limbs still feeling like they’ve come disconnected from your body. “This is the only way for you to be free.”
Free. It’s such an empty word. You’re never really going to be free.
“Come, come, come,” beckons the Cauldron as it comes into view.
Hybern holds you over the rim, dark eyes impassive. “You will thank me for this one day.” And then he drops you in.
------
You’re drowning. Icy water tearing through your throat, pushing down your nose. Your arms won’t work, won’t let you flail back to the surface; legs unable to find a bottom. For something so outwardly small, there should be a bottom, but nothing ever rises to meet you. There are no walls to claw at, no bottom to push off of, there is only the icy water shoving its way inside your very being until it swallows you whole.
------
The world feels different when you come to, surrounded by a puddle of icy water on the floor like the Cauldron had been tipped over to dump your body out. You might be tempted to ask if you were dead, were it not for the pair of boots tapping against the stones in front of your head impatiently. Hard to imagine Hybern would be waiting for you in the afterlife.
It hurts to breathe, like there are shards of ice in your lungs and throat as you cough up some inky, black water onto the King’s boots. He doesn’t flinch away, even as you hurl your guts out.
“Are you done?” He asks.
You glance up at him through the wet strands of your hair that cling to your face. “Fuck you!” Your voice is different, a booming echo that sounds like it’s being screamed inside a cavern. The walls shake when you speak. Stranger still, it is not a single set of fangs you feel scrape past your lips when you snarl, but a whole set of jagged teeth. When you raise your hands to poke at them, your skin is once again an empty, black void, contained within the shape of your body. Your claws are shrouded in a black mist that drifts from your depthless skin.
“What did you do to me?”
Hybern crouches as and grabs the chain that still dangles from your throat, but when he gives it a pull, it feels as if it has become attached to your skin! There is no room between the collar and your throat, as if it had fused to your body, the tug the same tingling sensation you’d get if someone had pulled on your hair.
“You should show me your thanks,” he snarls. “I’ve freed you from the restrictions your uncle put on you as a child.”
You wince as he yanks you to your feet, limbs a little longer now than they used to be. Everything feels sharper. The pounding of the soldiers’ hearts are a drum beat in your ears. Their every breath feels like a scream. Your eyes burn under the faint candlelight, as if they’re not made to be in anything other than pure darkness.
“And now,” he snarls, pulling you close. “You’ll do as I say.”
You have every intention to get your hands on his chest and shove him, to fight back against the harsh hold he keeps on you, but you can’t. Your body stills, mid snarl, like it’s frozen.
Hybern grins as he watches your confusion, callused hand reaching out to brush your cheek. “Do you understand why those bargains couldn’t be there now?”
“What did you do?” You hiss.
He tugs the collar, earning another hiss of pain. “Ianthe used some spells for me, while you were under. Since I touched you last, the collar fused my will to you. If those bonds were still forged, well, you might have only answered to Rhysand.”
Your mind spins, body trembling. What has he done?
“I think you need a demonstration,” he says, turning to glance at his men, then back at you. “Kill them.”
Warmth emanates from the collar in a steady thrum, prompting you forward, whispering like the Cauldron had before you had been dumped in. No matter how hard you try to escape it, the collar only allows you to move in the way you’re ordered too. Despite all your protests, your claw tipped hand raises from your side, dark mist dripping from your fingers.
No. No. No! This is a bad dream.
And yet, you can’t even force your eyes shut, to look away from the carnage your body creates when that black mist gets directed at the line of terrified soldiers pressed against the wall. One moment there’s twenty men gaping at you, the next, there’s nothing but a fine mist of blood splattered against the Temple’s wall.
Nausea rolls in your gut, but you can’t even bend over to vomit.
“Was that so hard?”
This can’t be real. It can’t. You need to wake up.
Hybern tugs on your collar, demanding you look at him. “Was that so hard, daughter?”
You open your mouth to protest, but that same warm thrum from the collar stops the words in your throat. No matter how hard you try, you can’t raise your hands to try and pull it off your skin; if there’s a way to fight it, your body refuses to let you try and find it. When the collar, imbued with whatever spells they’d put into it while you were inside the Cauldron, doesn’t will it, your body will not push back against it. You can’t even cry as you want, all the emotions trapped within your body as if you’re inside your own walking tomb.
And Hybern, the man who’s supposed to be your father, laughs when you don’t answer. Laughs that he’s stolen your agency, your powers, you’re life for his own agendas.
“The Cauldron will need time to recharge before we get to the Wall,” Ianthe muses.
“We won’t need it to get through the Wall,” he returns. “Y/N will do all the work for us.”
She frowns as she takes you in. “What of Amarantha?”
Hybern tucks a strand of hair behind your ear as he leans in, breath hot and unpleasant against your, now sensitive, skin. “For fighting me,” he hisses, “you’re going to go back Under the Mountain and kill all of them.”
Velaris is beautiful at night, from the glittering stars overhead, to the soft gurgle of the Sidra rushing over time worn stones beneath the city’s many intricate bridges. The music makes the whole city feel full of light and laughter, couples often dancing and humming in the streets. It’s one of your favorite places to be.
Usually.
Tonight it’s just… there. Though you stand in the heart of it, everything moves around you, never quite touching you. It’s as if you’re suddenly a stranger in the place you love the most, the emotional distance between you palpable.
You jam your hands in your pockets and keep walking, though you’re not really sure where you’re going, your body moving on autopilot. It’s been like that for a couple weeks now, if you’re honest, you’ll be half way through the day sometimes before you realize you’re not sure how or when you even got out of bed, or gotten dressed. Did you even eat? Kiss your mate good morning? Rhys has been working long hours in Illyria lately, most nights you’re already asleep before he’s even tumbling into bed, but, now that you’re thinking about it, that could also be because you’ve been going to sleep earlier too.
You frown at your boots as you walk, trying to remember when this happened. It’s not new, you’ve had bouts of this since you were a teenager, but they’ve been better thanks to regular sessions with Madja and some other healers. Art therapy in the Rainbow has helped too. Usually you can tell when you’re starting to slip into the darker places in your head, but it crept up on you this time.
By the time your mindless wanderings bring you back to the Townhouse, the light from your upstairs bedroom is already on, meaning Rhys somehow finished his business and beat you home. You’d only planned to grab some takeout so you wouldn’t have to cook, and yet, here you stand, hands as empty as your stomach.
The door opens before you can even reach for your key, soft light spilling out into the entryway. “There you are!” Rhys says by way of greeting, as if he’d been waiting by the door for you. Your mate leans in to place a quick peck on your lips as he guides you inside.
“Did you go to Rita’s with Mor?”
He should be able to tell you hadn’t, since you’re wearing the same sweatpants you had been for a week, but then again, he also hasn’t been home enough to know you haven’t changed out of them.
“No I…” you hate talking about this stuff, hate feeling like you’re burdening anybody with the weight you feel pressing down on your chest. “Uh, went to get dinner.”
Rhys stares down at your empty hands, eyebrows raised teasingly. “Did you forget to bring it back?”
You run a hand over your eyes. Cauldron they’re so heavy! Why is everything always so heavy? Your whole body feels like it’s made of bricks, just the effort to kick off your boots feels like it takes every single drop of energy you have left. “Sorry.” Even speaking feels like too much.
Rhys frowns, “Darling, are you ok?”
“Just tired,” you say, avoiding his eyes now.
He steps forward, placing a knuckle under your chin and tilting your face towards him. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m tired,” you repeat, but your eyes are watering now.
He stills, violet eyes roaming over you, assessing for the first time tonight how you look, the dark circles under your eyes. He knows you haven’t had trouble sleeping, he’s barely been able to wake you when he comes home at night. “It’s getting bad again, isn’t it?”
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, tears falling in earnest now.
Rhys’s features soften as he lifts you into his arms, the bond flooding with warmth and understanding as he says, “It’s not your fault. You can’t help it.”
You rest your head on his shoulder as he carries you upstairs. “I thought I was doing better… but everything just feels heavy again.”
He kisses your forehead gently as he climbs into bed and settles you down against his chest. Twisting, his wings unfurl so he can curl one around you, cocooning you in the warmth of his body. “What can I do to help?”
You wrap an arm around his waist as you settle your face against his chest, his heartbeat steady and even beneath you. Madja had said once that this was helpful if you got overly anxious, the steadiness of his breathing helping yours level out, and it helps now too, gives you something to focus on. It’s grounding and you let your breathing sync up, your chest rising and falling against his own. Madja hadn’t been able to stress enough how important it was to find something to ground you in the present when you got like this, lest your thoughts start to spiral deeper and deeper into the dark.
“Just need you to hold me for a little while,” you say.
Rhys pulls your favorite blanket up over the two of you before wrapping an arm around your waist. “I love you,” and the bond floods with more warmth than you think you deserve, but it doesn’t let up when those thoughts sneak in. “I’ll do anything you need me to.”
You place a gentle kiss to his chest. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he replies, fingers tracing shapes in your back. “No one has all good days.”
“But nothing even happened,” you protest. “I just woke up one morning and it was just so heavy to be awake.”
He kisses your temple. “We can see Madja in the morning, if you need, but you can’t beat yourself up. You have no control over it.”
You press your temple into his chest and breath in the jasmine and citrus scent of him. “I hate it.”
He places another kiss to the top of your head. You know he hates it too, hates that it’s a battle he can’t fight for you, no matter how much he wants to. “It will pass.”
Rhys is warm, his presence soothing, the darkness that seeps from his skin on the days he hasn’t had the time to expel enough of it, drifting over your body in soothing motions. This is safe and quite and peaceful. Your body starts to settle more and more as time goes on.
“Do you really believe that?” You whisper. “That it’ll pass?”
“Yes,” he says. “It has before, and it will again.” Knowing he’s had the experience himself, you’re inclined to believe he’s right.
“I’m glad you’re with me,” you admit.
Rhys holds you a little tighter, “Till all the stars fall from the sky, my love.” He holds you all night, whispering all the things he loves about you as you start to fall asleep.
You let yourself fall into it, hoping tomorrow will be better.
Could you do a fluffy fic with Rhys x reader? Like him helping drunk reader get ready for bed after a girls night out? I can just imagine Mor trying to drunkenly talk to Rhys mind to mind as they’re leaving Rita’s and be like “come get your mate, she won’t get up off the ground” lol
I absolutely love your work💜💜 hope you’re doing well💜
thank you sm honey, hope you're well too 🤗💜 This is SO cuteee, thank you for sending this request!
Swaying your hips, you turned to Mor as you two belted out the lyrics to the song that was playing at Rita’s. Everyone was cheering the two of you on as you danced on the bar, putting on a show in your dress and heels.
As the song ended, you climbed down from the bar top to hear a familiar voice. “Enjoying your evening, darling?” You looked around. Rhys wasn’t here, it’s girls night. A low laugh sounded again, and you searched the room. “Rhys, where are you?”
A sigh echoed through your head, along with a soft “by the cauldron.” You giggled, realizing he was speaking to you in your mind. You sent love down the bond to your mate as you danced your way through the crowd. Just then, Mor gently grabbed your arm, the look on her face showing that she had been talking to Rhys as well. It was getting late, and the two of you agreed you should head home to your mate. Mor winnowed you back, giving you a warm hug before heading off.
You came in through the door, stumbling slightly as you caught sight of your mate. Gods, he was beautiful. A big smile swept across your face as you took in Rhys’s beautiful features. “Hi, handsome,” you purred as you sauntered over to where Rhys stood against the kitchen counter. He grinned down at you, brushing your hair back from your face as he gave you a sweet kiss. “How was your evening, darling?” he purred, making your stomach flip. You hummed, “it was gooood,” with a coy smile as you slung your arms around Rhys’s neck, leaning all of your weight into him.
He chuckled, kissing the tip of your nose as he picked you up bridal style and carried you to your shared bedroom. He sat you down on the bed, kneeling to take your high heels off for you. You ran a hand through his hair, causing him to look up at you. “You’re so pretty, Rhysie.” He pulled your legs apart, still kneeling between them, “and you are beautiful, my little vixen,” he murmured as he reached for the straps of your dress. “Let’s get you into the bath. I’ll clean you up and get you some water, darling,” he whispered as he picked you up, you leaning your head against his chest as he carried you to the bath.
Could I possibly request a fluffy Rhys x reader? Maybe Rhys and reader are in bed for the night and Rhys is already asleep but reader can’t fall asleep? So she goes up to the townhouse roof and sits on one of the chairs and watches the night sky and Velaris. Eventually, Rhys wakes and joins her because she’s not in bed and while they sit and hold each other he tells her little facts about the Night sky or Night Court traditions/ history and eventually she falls asleep?
Hope you have a great day💜💜
Thank you, I hope you have a great day as well 💜 this was so cute and enjoyable to write. Thanks for sending in the request
Calm and Bright
Rhys x Reader Fluff
Arms crossed over your chest, you stared at the ceiling of your bedroom, head spinning with too many thoughts. You were restless, all you wanted to do was kick the covers off and huff out the breath you’d been holding in, but you refrained so as not to wake your mate. You looked over to Rhys, the moonlight glowing against his skin as he slept peacefully beside you. A male who’d had more than his share of restless nights, in a rare moment of serenity.
You slowly climbed out of bed, tiptoeing through the door to pad downstairs to the kitchen. You made a cup of hot chocolate, the warmth from the mug soothing against your tired hands. Running a hand through your hair as you paced around the house, you decided to step outside for some fresh air. Taking your hot chocolate up to the roof, you laid against the chimney as you gazed at the stars. The skies of the Night Court were a consistent source of peace for you, the stars a calming presence.
As you laid there studying the constellations, you heard the sound of the door and familiar footfalls headed towards where you sat on the roof. You smiled at Rhys as he made his way towards you with a hot chocolate of his own and two blankets. He laid one down next to you, wrapping the other around your shoulders before he sat down and pressed a kiss to your cheek. You leaned your head against his shoulder, “I didn’t wake you, did I?” Rhys shook his head as he sipped from his mug. “No, darling. You didn’t wake me. But once I woke, I could not fall back asleep without you by my side.”
You nuzzled your nose into his neck, setting down your drink in favor of holding his arm as the two of you admired the starry evening. “Tell me a story, Rhys,” you whispered to him. He thought for a moment before telling you about the history of Illyria and the Night Court, the three sacred stars, Arktos, Carynth, and Oristes, and the classes of warriors named after them.
You drifted off to sleep to the soothing rumble of your mate’s voice as he told you about the stars and planets, and the history of Prythian. Rhys smiled as he caught you softly snoring, and picked you up in your blanket, carrying you back to bed where you slept soundly in his arms.
