In contrast to my Dark!Rhys in Obsidian Salt, pls enjoy some fluffy werewolf!bat boy head canons that have been floating around in my head all day:
•Werewolf!Azriel who scents you before the others and (not so)secretly plants a little wolfsbane in the garden beneath your window to ensure no other wolves come sniffing around before he can claim you
•Werewolf!Cassian with extra long scruffy hair and a matching beard (I’m drooling) who loves it when you play with his hair or when you squeal when his scruff scratches your cheek when he goes in for a kiss.
•Werewolf!Rhys who INSISTS you cannot leave the house until he has rubbed his scent over every bit of you. He twines himself around you like a giant cat, making sure he pays extra attention to the scent glands on your throat and wrists. Anyone who gets close will have to get through the layer of him on you before they can even catch a whiff of your own scent. (He definitely rolls around in your laundry when you’re not home so his scent is on your clothes too but he always folds them neatly and puts them back before you get home)
•Speaking of laundry, good luck heading into work in any other top but a turtleneck or sweatshirt. Not because they’re so possessive that they care what you wear out, but those bastards are competitive and if one of them leaves a hickey they ALL have to leave a hickey. It soon spirals into who can mark you up the most and it gets to a point that your coworkers are concerned for your wellbeing. You have to, on more than one occasion, explain that everything is fine back home, great actually, but your werewolf boyfriends are very, very competitive (and definitely a tad possessive)
•The boys have lived a long time together, just the three of them, their scents over every bit of the house until the day you finally move in and start lighting candles and bringing home flowers to sit in the windowsills to brighten the place up; the first time the boys come home Cass makes a comment about it smelling weird in the house now and you dejectedly throw it all out thinking he hates it and you’ve now invaded their space. This sends Cass into an absolute SPIRAL because he didn’t mean it like that he just has been so used to the others’ scents. He starts bringing you home any flower and candle he can get his hands on to the point that the hall closet is precariously full of candles that have never and probably will never be lit.
•There is ALWAYS someone to cuddle with. On the couch reading? Cass is sprawled out with his head on your stomach, large arms wrapped around your middle, keeping you warm with his natural body heat. Sitting in the library working on reports? Rhys will lift you out of the chair and sit himself down so you can relax in his lap, head leaning between the juncture of his shoulder and throat, one of the few times the wolf will be utterly vulnerable to you. Lounging in bed, curtains shut for the night? Azriel will keep you tucked tight against his chest, one leg tossed over yours practically keeping you pinned to the mattress. Mother forbid you even try to leave. He is a vice. You are in bed for the night. Maybe the week, depends on his mood. And Cauldron Boil you if you’ve had a bad day, all three of them are piled onto one piece of furniture to hold you and stroke your hair.
•Their first full moon with you in the house is a mess. You come home from the store to find them dragging the thickest chains you’ve ever seen down into the basement.
“It’s for your safety.” Azriel says.
You bite down on the laugh that threatens to bubble up your throat. They’re really adorable, all concerned for your safety and convinced they’re a danger to you.
“You guys know this isn’t the first full moon I’ve spent with you, right?” You ask and the confusion on their faces is enough to remind you that they often black out completely on nights like this. “You all came sniffing around my apartment. I sprayed Az in the face with a water bottle infused with wolfsbane. Cass let me scratch him behind the ears like a puppy.”
Cassian is blushing so hard you think the pink tinting his cheeks might be permanent.
Azriel scratches the top of his head, trying to recall.
“And you,” you say poking Rhys in the chest. “Broke my fucking window, not to do any of the beastly things you think you do on a full moon, but to eat my chocolate cake off the counter! I had a full panic attack I thought you were going to die on my floor!”
“I don’t remember so it doesn’t count,” he says but there is the faintest hint of pink on his own cheeks, violet eyes glinting in amusement.
“So you can put the chains away, I’ll be fine.” And you’re correct. Cassian does tear the basement door completely off it’s hinges and the local population of sheep decline drastically, but at the end of the night, three large furballs climb into your bed with the first rays of dawn to cuddle with you, snouts nuzzling into your neck to breathe in your scent. The real inconvenience is that everything smells like wet dog in the morning and you have to wash the sheets twice to get the smell out.
Ugh I’m gonna have to write some fics about this soon!
A/N: I am exhausted and need Rhys to... comfort me
Warnings: this is mostly fluff but def smut too, cockwarming, somnophilia-ish (that's where this would head if there was a part 2)
The soft rug dragged against your feet as you trudged into your mate’s office, Rhys looking up at you through his reading glasses while you shuffled closer.
A slow smile appeared on his lips, tongue flicking out as he took in the sight of you in your nightgown and bed-ruffled hair. “You are up late, darling,” he purred, violet eyes twinkling like starlight.
A soft, silent yawn left you, limbs stretching as your legs carried you around the desk to where your mate sat. “I missed you,” you admitted, leaning against the desk as one foot crossed over to slide along his thigh.
Rhys swallowed thickly, his power flickering throughout the room as he struggled to control himself. “What do you need from me, my love?”
Suppressing the wicked smirk you felt within, you allowed your eyes to rove over his body. Rhys’s unbuttoned shirt displayed his tattooed, toned chest, his tightening slacks leaving nothing to the imagination.
“I just want to be near you.” The admission left you in a breathless whisper, eyes growing hazy as you straddled his lap, settling over the hardened length beneath you.
Settling against his warm chest, you relished in the feeling of your synchronized heartbeats as your muscles relaxed in his hold. Everything in you felt at peace, except for the ache in your core at his arousal pressing against your own, his scent growing stronger and darker in the air.
Rhys’s arms enveloped you, your arms wrapping around his neck as he continued to attempt to work on the papers laid out before him. Leaning forward to gather ink on his quill, your mate’s crotch brushed against yours in a way that evoked a high pitched mewl from you.
Sharp teeth bit into the skin of your neck, tongue flicking out to soothe the sore skin as Rhys’s voice invaded your mind.
It is very... challenging... to keep my composure, when you make sounds like that.
“Then don’t,” you whispered aloud, leaning back to look in his lust-filled eyes, hands dipping to the waistband of his pants.
Rhys groaned, hips rolling up against your own, head tilting back against his chair. Your face flushed at the sight of his cock as it sprang free, pussy clenching around nothing at the mere thought of him being inside of you, stretching your walls in painful pleasure as he hit the deepest parts of you.
“I have work to do, though,” he gritted out, voice pained as Rhys looked to you for mercy. “I need to feel you, darling, please.”
Hands cupped his sharp jaw, tilting his face towards your own as fingers slid through onyx locks to tug him impossibly close. The tip of his cock rubbed your folds, making it difficult to focus as your own head fell from his lips, collapsing against his shoulder.
One hand guiding Rhys’s lips to your neck, the other slid down his toned chest to his cock, lining him up with your entrance. Sliding down, your hand gripped his neck, his teeth digging into yours at the sensation.
“That’s so good,” you murmured. “So deep.”
Another small yawn escaped you, your desire for Rhys at odds with your own exhaustion.
“Sleep, my love,” he murmured, chest pressed against your own as he picked up his quill to return to his work. “I’ll take care of you soon enough.”
“Mm,” you moaned, half-asleep and warm in his arms, the safest place in the world for you. You felt a kiss press to the top of your hair, love flowing through the bond as you fell asleep with Rhys deep inside of you.
CW: Mentions of war. Actually a bit angsty for flufftober lol.
Summary: Rhys is off fighting in the first war, and you rarely see him. You savor the love letters he sends when he can.
Word Count: 377
October Masterlist
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In the last five years, you had only seen your mate a handful of times. It shattered your heart, knowing he was out there fighting. Every time you saw him, you were haunted by the knowledge that it could be your last day together.
What you savored more than anything were the letters he sent you. They were rare, only sent when he was able. But you kept every single one in the drawer of your bedside table. Before you went to sleep every night, you read them all.
Today, you were cleaning the windows of your bedroom when a letter appeared on your desk. Your heart leapt in your chest, your eyes lighting up. You dropped the wet rag on the floor, unable to care enough to pick it up.
You gripped the letter from your off of your desk, ripping it open without care. The letter was written on rough parchment, but he had taken care with his words, each one written deliberately and in tidy handwriting.
My dearest, YN,
I miss you with every ounce of my being. You are the first thing I think of when I wake, and the last before I go to sleep. Even with all of the blood and carnage around me, I still believe in good, because of you. Because of our love. You make me believe, even with everything I have witnessed in the last five years. I see your face in my mind at every moment. I hear your voice, your laugh. I feel your touch, and smell your perfume. I cannot wait for the day we are reunited for good. I have a feeling it will be soon. We are making progress, and I can tell the war is nearing an end. That will be the happiest day of my life. I love you, my dear, YN. I will never stop loving you.
Yours always,
Rhys
Tears fell from your eyes, staining the parchment. You read the letter over and over again, until you had memorized the words. You would never forget them. The words of your mate, the love of your life.
And you believed in his hope. Hope that the war was nearing it's end.
Hope that you would be reunited with your mate once more.
omg imagine rhys with a s/o that has a crush on him, like an actual huge crush, they’re mated, married and have been for a long time but she still blushes and gets nervous around him. She gossips with her friends ab cute stuff he does and she’s just being soooo inlove. She tries on new dresses and literally does everything to get his attention even though she already has it, He notices obviously and thinks it’s so cute😩🥹 imagine he’s in a meeting and he gets out of his office and reader just runs up to him and leaps in his arm and AHHHH SO CUTEE
stop bc i just know that if i were mated to Rhys i could be 10,000 years old and he would still make me kick my feet and giggle like a teenager. that man is FINEEEE. Also, I love writing fluff so this was so fun.
also listened to Tattooed Heart by Ariana Grande while writing this <3
Butterflies (Rhysand x Reader)
It was baffling to you how even after hundreds of years of being mated, after countless dates, sex, memories, everything really, your mate was still able to make you feel like you did when you first met him.
Rhysand was the definition of perfect in your eyes. His midnight-colored hair, those blue eyes that turned violet and held a million stars, the voice that made you feel safe and alive, and his touch that had saved you so many times. All of it could be found in him. He was your beginning and ending, your moon and sun, your everything.
You knew your friends grew sick of you talking about him all the time, about the most recent way he had spoiled you or taken you. It was so hard not to talk about him. You felt like a teenager with her first crush.
If you were being honest, it should be embarrassing. Every time you go out and buy new dresses you pick out something you think would catch his eye or a matching set of lingerie that he would ravish you in. Whenever you cooked you made sure it was something he would like and don't even get started on the notes you two wrote to each other.
He knew what you were doing, of course. He knew you would try to catch his attention when he was busy or wear his favorite perfume just to get him to come closer. You loved watching his eyes light up when he saw you in his favorite dress or heels, loved the way he would pull you into his arms and kiss you like you were the only two in the entire world.
Today was no different as you stalked outside his office door, the soft pads of your feet barely making any noise as you waited for him to finish whatever business he was attending to.
It had been three days since you had seen him due to his trip to the Illyrian camps with Azriel and Cassian. Rhys had asked you to stay here, knowing this was not a happy meeting, and you were mostly fine staying behind. You just didn't know how hard it would be for you not to see him.
The pen was still scratching against the paper as you let out a small sigh and began the walk back to your shared room. It had been several minutes since you had been waiting and you knew he probably was going to be a few hours more.
As you touched the doorknob you heard a door at the end of the hall open, the familiar scent of citrus and sea wafting over to you as you turned your head. Rhysand stood there, tired but smiling, as you let out a small squeal of happiness and launched yourself towards him.
He caught you with ease, burying his nose into your hair as you wrapped your legs around him and clung to him like a babe. You could feel his rumbling chuckle in your body as he kissed your temple and pulled back to look at you.
"I missed you, darling. Three days is much too long for us." He smirked, licking his lips.
"Any day without you is too long, Rhys." You said softly, caressing his cheek. "Did you see what I'm wearing?"
"It was the second thing I noticed after your smile." Rhys hummed, letting you go so that he could examine you properly. "I think it's so cute that you still think you have to do all these things for my attention, Y/N."
"I want to make sure your eyes and heart are always on me." You grinned. "Just like mine are always on you."
"Darling you've had my attention since the moment I met you. No one else can ever come close to you." He purred, pulling you into a sweet kiss. You melted into him, wrapping your arms around his neck as you savored him as if it were your first kiss.
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)
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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.
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.
Summary: Set after the events of the Datura Series, Rhys x Reader return to the Night Court and meet the Inner Circle in the Moonstone Palace. Part I of a multi-part epilogue following their healing journey post!UtM
Content Warnings: Mentions of trauma, Reader has a brief panic attack, suggestiveness
Author's Note: This has been finished for like two weeks now, I spent the rest of the time deciding how I wanted to break this chapter up. Pls enjoy some fluffy Rhys x Reader
Previous Chapter/ Masterlist
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You hadn’t expected leaving the Mountain would make you feel so… different.
Flying into the Night Court in your mate’s arms feels like a dream as his sprawling court comes into view, the snow kissed mountains a sight to behold. He gives you a brief summary of the settlements you pass, of the people who call this place home, but banks away from any major cities, promising to take you there personally once you’re settled in. He’s being very cryptic about it, but you’re just happy that he’s happy and don’t push. He takes you instead to the Moonstone Palace, a sprawling estate carved into a mountain face. The sight of another mountain is the first unexpected response your body gives you, hands shaking as Rhys sweeps down onto an ornate balcony overlooking a cliff’s edge. There are tables and lounge chairs, all empty, the doors leading inside thrown open, white silk curtains snapping in the breeze. There’s some sort of ward over the open doors that keep you from seeing anything other than darkness inside and your whole body locks up as Rhys sets you down on your feet.
“Darling?” He asks, the bond flooded with concern.
You can’t do this again. You can’t go back underground, into the dark!
Before you can tell him as much, something red comes shooting out of the darkness and your claws tear through your nail beds as you ready yourself for a fight that never comes.
The red thing, is in fact, a very well cut dress, on a blonde female, who is very much not the threat your body seems to think it is; a female who sobs into Rhys’s chest as he wraps her arms around her.
Cassian and Azriel slam into the deck beside you, faces solemn as the reunion plays out.
It is an effort for you to put the claws away, even as you keep them tucked behind your back.
“Mor,” Rhys says softly, hands soothing down her back, tears in his own eyes.
A second female emerges from the darkness, the smallest of the bunch, her dark hair cut sharply at her chin. Silver eyes appraise you for a very long moment, before she turns them to Rhys. “What were you thinking? Leaving me here with these idiots?”
Rhys laughs as he pulls away from Mor, using the back of his hand to wipe his eyes. “It’s good to see you too, Amren.”
She frowns at that. “What did you bring back with you?”
Rhys turns to you, grinning again as he says, “My mate, Y/N.”
Mor lets out something between a squeal and a sob as she throws her arms around you too. It’s as awkward as hugging Cassian had been and you don’t really know what to do with your hands other than pat her on the back, thankful that your claws aren’t still out. Still, you have to look over her shoulder, through the thick locks of blonde hair falling in your face to avoid looking at her dress. You might throw up right here on the deck if you do.
“How did this happen? I want all the details!” She insists.
“Mor don’t squeeze the life out of her,” Azriel warns.
“Yeah, she’s already died once,” Cassian mutters.
It’s that that gets Amren to leave the doorway where she lurks to come appraise you, silver eyes inspecting every inch of you as if she can see right through your skin and bones to the power that lies beneath.
“What?!” Mor says, head whipping back to look at Rhys, who’s very meticulous in removing some lint off his shoulder.
“I wasn’t really dead,” you stammer, running a hand over your scarred throat. “Well, at least I don’t think so.”
“Inside,” Mor declares. “For wine and details. All of them.”
Cassian leads the way, Azriel quiet, clinging to the shadows behind him as you’ve begun to notice him do. His shadows relax over his broad shoulders, as if they’re taking a breath now that they’re home.
Amren remains staring at you, nose crinkling as she sniffs at you like a dog, even as Mor reaches for your hand to pull you in. There is something about her that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand, despite her stature, and you shrink closer to Mor as she continues to appraise you.
“You smell like death,” Amren muses.
You glance at Rhys for help as Mor says, “Don’t be rude, Amren!”
She pulls you inside as if she means to spare you from anymore of Amren’s appraisal but you can’t think past the roaring in your ears as the darkness of the palace closes in around you. There are fae lights in the ceiling, bobbing on a phantom wind, giving the hewn walls a soft glint; a far kinder light than the torches of the Mountain had ever been, but her grip on your wrist feels too much like iron biting into your skin.
You’re trapped.
You can’t get out.
There’s no way out.
Mor has no idea that your fangs are tearing through your lip, body shifting beneath you as you lose control, a bit of dark mist seeping from your skin.
There’s more light at the end of the hallway; how far you’ve gone you have no idea, you don’t even remember moving your legs, it’s just suddenly there, bright and blinding ahead of you and gods there’s going to be another monster waiting for you, another leering crowd around a mud covered pit and…
Strong hands settle on your shoulders, pulling you out of your thoughts. Rhys’s breath is warm on your flushed skin as he puts his lip to your ear. “Breathe,” it’s the command of a High Lord, the dominance in it making all the irrational thoughts spinning in your head still. He brushes a mental talon over your mind, making you shiver at the suddenness of it. “You’re safe.”
Mor waits in this new doorway, more silhouette than anything against the lights. “Come on! I want to hear your stories!”
“Give us a minute,” Rhys says softly and that is all she needs to hear before turning to follow the boys inside.
Amren slides past Rhys, still eyeing you warily as she follows after the promise of wine.
Tears stream down your cheeks as you press yourself into his chest. “I’m sorry,” you whimper. It’s too much at once. You aren’t sure what you expected when you got here, but this isn’t it.
He runs his hands through your wind swept hair, making soothing sounds as he holds you tight. “It’s ok. You’re ok. Just breathe for me.”
It’s his scent that calms you, the citrus and jasmine that invades your senses. No mirthroot. No incense. Not rot and decay.
“We’re out,” he whispers, hands still stroking your hair. “I’m sorry I didn’t warn you. I should have.”
It’s not his fault he lives on the side of a mountain, you honestly should have expected someone with wings to live somewhere accessible by flight, but it hadn’t occurred to you it would be like this.
“Do you want to go back outside?” He offers.
You never heard the door close behind you, if you strain your ears enough you can still hear the fluttering of the curtains on the breeze--still a way out. You close your eyes and lean further into his chest, letting the evenness of his own breathing calm you as you focus on the sound of the fluttering curtains. There’s a door, you’re not trapped, you have a way out.
“N-no, I think I’m ok,” the way you're clinging to his shirt might say otherwise, but you can breathe again, so maybe you’re somewhere in between.
He kisses the top of your head, the bond warm with the soothing thoughts he projects down it.
“Are you ok?” You’d been Under the Mountain a couple of months, how is he this calm after fifty years?
“Having the walls this close makes me feel a little itchy,” he confesses, “but the doors are open. We can sit somewhere with a view. We’ll be ok.”
You nod and slowly pull yourself away from him, using your shirt sleeves to dry your eyes.
“Tell me if it gets too much, we can go somewhere else,” he assures.
You take his hand in yours and let him lead you into the room where they all sit around a blazing fireplace. All the couches and chairs are built with someone with wings in mind. Cassian sits with his draped behind the couch, booted feet propped up on an old coffee table. Azriel sits in a chair in the corner, where the fire light doesn’t quite reach him, already drinking from a glass filled nearly to the brim with red wine. Mor’s pouring everyone a drink, each glass filled to the brim; it takes two bottles for everyone to have a glass, and judging by the dust along the green glass, it’s a nice reserve too.
Behind them, as Rhys promised, is a long set of windows, all overlooking the snow capped mountain ranges you’d crossed to get here. With a slight flick of the wrist, he uses a bit of magic to push one of the windows open.
“Why’s it so stuffy in here?” He says as if that’ll make the gesture less suspicious.
“I don’t know, maybe because you’ve been gone for fifty years,” Cassian retorts. His glass is already half empty, though you suspect he says things without thinking about them even when sober, if the way Mor sucker punches his arm is anything to go by.
“Shut up!” She hisses.
Rhys lowers himself onto the couch on the opposite end of Cassian and Mor, pulling you along so he can tuck you into his side against the plush cushions.
Amren downs her entire glass in one gulp and holds it out for a refill before saying, “He does not lie, I don’t know why you always berate him for being honest.”
“‘Cause some of us don’t like to be an ass about things,” Mor hisses as she refills the glass with a third bottle.
“Well I just assumed you’d all be using the place, since most of my good wine is here and it appears to be dwindling,” he teases.
“We waited until the Townhouse ran out of your good whiskey,” Cassian says with a grin as he finishes off his own glass and steals the bottle from Mor for a refill.
You take the glass left out for you and take a sip, careful not to spill it all over the couch.
Mor rubs her hands together, now that she’s free from holding the bottle, and says, “So tell us what happened. I want to hear how you two met!”
You take a big swig of the wine, savoring the way it helps settle your frayed nerves. It’s still hard to look at her without seeing someone else, but your body begins to relax under the alcohol whether you’re ready to or not.
“Well,” Rhys starts, realizes what he’s about to admit to his family, and then downs half the glass for the liquid courage he’s going to need to face the needling they’re going to give him.
“That bad, huh?” Azriel asks.
“There was a lot more trickery and blood than one would expect from Calanmai,” you say and Cassian snorts so hard a bit of wine comes out his nose.
“What?!”
Mor smacks him again. “You always make a mess when you get wine drunk!”
“I’m not drunk!” He insists through a cough.
Amren huffs and rolls her eyes from the other side of the room as if this is something she’s been dealing with for a long, long time.
“Calanmai, huh?” Mor asks once Cassian has recovered himself, her perfectly manicured brows wiggling teasingly across her forehead.
Rhys takes another drink. “Not as fun as it sounds.”
“I started having these visions of these flowers a couple years ago, and I ignored it for a while until one night I couldn’t and it led me to him,” you recall.
“Flowers, huh?” Mor teases. “What kind?”
You take another sip of wine as you glance at Rhys, hand absently going to your chest, where that same flower should have still been inked. “What was it called again?”
“Datura,” he says softly. The moonlight streaming in from the open windows bathes him in a soft, ethereal glow. The violet of his eyes seems so much brighter here, like they’d been carved from starlight and plopped into his head.
“Flowers and an orgy, romantic,” Cassian laughs.
“Poetic,” Azriel says, raising his glass in salute.
“We didn’t have an orgy,” Rhys sighs like he knows he’s never going to hear the end of it.
“Just a kidnapping,” you say with a shrug.
Rhys takes another long drink as Mor starts yelling at him about his choices.
“It was a little rocky in the beginning,” you add to spare him further injury.
“KIDNAPPING, RHYS?! YOU MEAN TO TELL ME YOU LURED HER OUTSIDE TO A SEX PARTY AND THEN KIDNAPPED HER?!”
It’s your turn to take a long drink from your glass.
“I was trying to get her out of the Spring Court, everything just went horribly wrong!” He counters.
“There are marriages built on worse,” Amren says with a shrug.
It takes a good five minutes for Mor to calm down enough for Rhys to explain further what had happened, and by that point, your glass is mostly empty and the wine has made you feel nice and warm and relaxed. There’s a slight breeze coming in from the window and you tilt your head back against Rhys’s shoulder to enjoy the kiss of it against your skin. For all the pain that the beginning of this journey had caused you, it had led you here in the end.
“By the Mother,” Mor whispers in disbelief when he finishes telling the tale. Her eyes flick back and forth between the two of you, unsure which of you to address over the chaos of the story. There’s a blend of pity and awe in that gaze and you can’t help but glance at your mate; how much more pity would there be if he’d told her the full truth? He had not shirked away from the pain he’d caused you, the ass he had been in the beginning in an attempt to keep you at arms length, but he never once mentioned the things he’d endured before meeting you. He’d made it sound as if this was the whole tale, the years of abuse and darkness before were irrelevant, they were nothing to speak of at all.
“I’ve got a lot to make up for,” he says as he presses a gentle kiss to your temple.
“Oh I’d be wielding that promise over him for a while if I was you, Y/N,” Mor says teasingly, her eyes gleaming in challenge.
And just like that the relaxed feeling is gone. “It’s over,” it takes all your restraint to not snarl out the words, teeth aching from how hard you have to hold back your fangs. It’s not their fault they don’t know what he’s been through, but it’s not your story to tell either. If he doesn’t want them to know, you can’t force him. Still, the mere implication of holding anything over Rhys’s head, wielding any power over him for what he had to do to survive the Mountain makes you want to start tearing at your skin. “There’s nothing to make up for.”
“A classic case of Stockholm Syndrome,” Amren says and you’re pretty sure it’s supposed to be a joke, but Rhys stiffens behind you all the same.
“Now who’s being an ass?” It’s from Azriel, who’s stayed mostly silent in his dark corner, wreathed in his shadows, during the story. You’re pretty sure he is the only one who’s noticed that your fangs have torn through your gums and you’re grateful for the interjection. Mother knows what you might have done if no one had butted in.
You swallow down the rest of your glass, trying not to shatter it against your fangs.
“You’ll have to forgive, Amren,” Rhys says smoothly, the mask of pure ease still adorning his features, though you still feel a flicker of pain down the bond regardless. “She never really learned her manners.”
“They’ve gotten worse since you’ve been gone,” Cassian says. He’s on his third glass now, slumping further into the worn couch.
A part of you envies his ability to relax. The other curses him for being so focused on the damn wine that he doesn’t see his brother is lying through his teeth about how he feels. The bond roars at you to defend and protect, cover every wound and sting as fast and efficiently as possible. Your powers pull at your bones, aching to be released in his defense. How are they so blind? Can they not see his mask for what it is?
Mor refills your glass for you, then offers more to Rhys, who declines despite his glass being empty. He hasn’t relaxed into the couch behind you, body still rigidly upright. He’d vanished the wings sometime in between entering the house and sitting, only a bit of darkness drifting from his shoulders in their absence.
“Is this a senior moment, Amren?” Rhys croons. “Forgetting the basics already?”
That earns a chuckle from his brothers and a snort from Mor, even more so when the ancient female flashes a perfectly manicured middle finger at him.
Perhaps this is just how they talk to each other. Mother knows that you’d never lived anywhere long enough to have a close knit group of friends, let alone a family, but still, the bond aches and rages over the quiet suffering he still endures. Is it not enough what strangers and the other High Lords say to and about him? Is he supposed to endure it here too?
You take another drink of wine, trying to hide the scowl you still feel pulling at your features. It’s once again Azriel’s hazel gaze that sweeps to you, one dark brow raised in a question you don’t know how to answer. This is all so different compared to what you know--compared to who you used to be. No matter how many times you’d moved, you’d always tried to make friends, had fallen into smooth and easy conversations with people. It had been easy. But this feels like pulling teeth. It feels like…
You almost break the glass as you bring it to your lips again. It feels like being the uncontrolled monster Amarantha had unleashed in her fighting pit all over again. All your powers want to do is rage and scream and break things. It's angry and miserable and it’s different. You are irreparably different from the girl that went Under the Mountain.
Rhys, somehow, starts directing the conversation away from the Mountain and back to what his family has been doing in his absence. It’s a lot of joking and needling and Cassian is half way through a fourth glass and starting to hiccup every time he answers. Amren continues to sneer from her seat, even as she too starts in on her fourth glass, though she certainly handles it better than the Illyrian. Mor, to her credit, tries to draw you into the conversation, but as the hours start to tick by, you find yourself slipping deeper and deeper into the darkness of your own foul mood and even the wine can’t save you. It’s bitter in your mouth, more and more with every sip.
Rhys still hasn’t relaxed anymore, his glass still empty on the coffee table. The mask never comes off, he is so outwardly smooth and unbothered that every time he speaks it makes your heart clench and your mood worsen.
By the time Azriel suggests you all continue the conversation over breakfast, you’ve lost track of the last time you spoke at all. It might have been hours.
Cassian, fumbling over himself, hugs Rhys again, large hands slapping him hard on the back as he slurs, “It’s good to have you back, brother.”
Rhys returns the sentiment as Azriel dutifully drags him upstairs to his room, promising to see you both in the morning.
Amren disappears without a word.
Mor hugs you tight, her grip so firm you can’t help but wonder what kind of training she’s had. Even a little tipsy, her eyes still shine when she tells you she’s so glad you’re here. After kissing Rhys’s cheek, she winnows herself, presumably, to her own room.
It’s impossibly late, the moon full and shining through the open window. Rhys yawns as he stretches his arms above his head. “So, Darling, can I persuade you to join me in my chambers tonight? Or would you like to have a little privacy?”
“Trying to get rid of me already, huh?” The words are out before you can think better of them and he’s sweeping you into his arms and kissing your forehead in apology immediately.
“Hardly,” he assures. “I just didn’t want you to feel like you had to.”
The thought of trying to sleep without him sounds as appealing as cutting off one of your limbs after all the nights you’d spent trying to stay warm in a cell. “As long as you know you don’t have to if you don’t want to either.” You have not established any boundaries in your relationship, or even discussed what you plan to do other than eventually you want to fully accept the bond. You’re not really sure what any of this is supposed to look like and after everything, you don’t want him to feel like he has to drag you along.
He grins as he winnows the both of you into his bedroom. “I’d prefer you to always be within reach, but I realize that’s asking for too much.” He raises a hand to touch your damaged throat, eyes dark as he traces the still raised and pink skin, clearly thinking of what happened the last time you’d left his sight.
“Why didn’t you tell them what happened to you?” You drift your hands absently over his chest, thankful that there is no bruising or blood on him any longer. “What I did to you? Or what…” you can’t bring yourself to say her name. Not here, in his bedroom, in the house with his family that he fought so hard to get back to.
“It’s over,” he says as he pulls away. “There’s nothing more to talk about.”
You want to argue, but there’s circles under his eyes and a yawn on his lips, and for the first time in months you’re in a room you can sleep in safely and maybe this isn’t the time to push him.
“I don’t know about you, but I want a bath and then I want to sleep for a week,” he says, changing the subject as he heads to the attached room, candlelight flickering to life behind him as he moves.
The bedroom is massive, the centerpiece a bed large enough to accommodate someone with massive wings. The far wall, like the living room, is framed with floor to ceiling windows, a world of glittering star light and snow capped mountains on full display. The attached bathroom is equally as big, equally as luxurious as the silk sheets and expensive wallpaper the bedroom sports. The tiled floors are a smooth, polished stone, dipping ever so slightly into an in-ground tub that’s big enough to be a pool. On Rhys’s command the water bubbles and steams, a couple bottles of soap and oils flittering off the shelves to empty themselves in the water, until the whole room smells like lavender and night blooming jasmine. A scent so distinctly Rhys it makes you pause in the doorway as he peels off his shirt and tosses it into a hamper. Nothing in the room is dusty, the air isn’t stale, it’s pristine and inviting, as if the palace had been waiting eagerly for its Lord’s return. Everything about the place feels like a piece of him, something etched and carved into the essence of the High Lord. The title has always been there, but this is the first time you understand it, the first time you really feel it.
“I’ll happily give you a show, Darling,” he teases, hands undoing the ties of his pants, even as his violet gaze remains transfixed on you. “But the tub is big enough for two.”
Despite the fact that you’ve slept with him, that you’re mated to him, this feels very intimate, enough to make a blush creep its way up your cheeks. “This tub is big enough for eight,” you reply.
“Plenty of room for activities,” he says with a wink as he pushes his pants down his hips.
The shift in conversation to this is a pleasant distraction, but you know he’s doing it on purpose. He’s very good at shifting conversations away from things he doesn’t want to talk about and this thing between you that’s been there from the beginning is so much easier to slip into than the honest, brutal truth of the last fifty years. You bite down on the need to push him. He has been giving you an out to avoid your own pain all night, the least you can do is give him one in return. He will talk when he is ready. So you peel off your own shirt and pants and climb into the bubbling water after him--pretending you aren’t staring at his ass the entire way in.
Rhys settles into the built in seat along the edge of the tub, lythe body leaning back against the cool tiles with a sigh of relief.
You take a seat opposite him, fingers digging into the lip of the tub as you focus your attention on the feel of the tiles against your bare skin. You haven’t been fully submerged since your trip into the Cauldron and the bubbling hiss of the water sets you more on edge than anticipated, but focusing on the tiles helps. As long as you can feel some sort of bottom, as long as you can claw your way out, you’ll be fine. And once your body starts to calm under the delicious heat, the lavender and jasmine filling your senses, your body blissfully begins to relax.
“Why are you so far away?” Rhys whines after several long minutes of comfortable silence.
“Didn’t feel like swimming laps,” you retort.
A tendril of shadow slithers along the water’s edge, dipping between your shoulder blades in a gentle caress before it twines around your hips and spins you across the open space between you two. It’s a blink and you’re suddenly straddling his waist, his large hands settling on your hips, nothing but a bit of water between your bodies.
You, instinctively, wrap your arms around his neck, fingers playing in the damp strands of his hair.
He grins lazily at you, nose brushing over yours as he nuzzles into you. “Much better.”
“You know you can talk to me about… everything--anything--right?” You can give him a distraction, but you can’t act like you don’t see that pristine mask for what it is. It makes your chest ache.
“Mhhm,” he says absently, distracting himself as he dips his head and places a kiss along your throat.
You shiver despite yourself. “It doesn’t have to be now.”
“Ok.” Another kiss, following the jagged pink skin that will forever decorate your throat, a twin to the mark slashed across your palm from ripping your hand off the Cauldron.
“Or tomorrow.”
He brushes your hair off your shoulder to reach more of you, humming like he’s listening but you’re not entirely sure he is.
“I just need you to know that I’m here for you.”
He only stills when he reaches your shoulder, the marks from the chimera somehow the least devastating scar out of the three. “Thank you,” he says softly, the bond flickering with emotion.
You drag your hands through his hair, nails lightly grazing his scalp and he shivers under your ministrations as he resumes his exploration of your skin. This is nice, gentle amidst several months of stress and misery. It’s the first you’ve felt him relax all night and you’ll do anything to give him more of this.
There’s a dip in the floor behind his head, a little alcove that holds bars of soap and bottles of shampoos and you reach a hand out and grab the first one you can reach. You lather up the citrus scented shampoo in your hand while he’s still distracted and bring it up to start washing his hair before he can stop you.
“What are you doing?” He asks, lips still roving over your skin.
“Washing your hair,” you retort.
He tilts his head back to look at you, a lazy grin still cutting across his candlelit features. Everything about him glows like moonlight here, and you don’t stop yourself from gently placing your lips against his, even as you finish thoroughly getting the soap all leathered in his dark hair.
“Why?”
“Your hands are full,” you return, fighting the urge to grind yourself down on his lap for emphasis. This is about him, you want to focus on taking care of him.
His fingers kneed your hips teasingly as you reach around him and grab a bar of soap next.
“And maybe I like taking care of you,” you admit.
“You don’t need an excuse to touch me,” he returns, eyebrows raised teasingly.
You get the bar wet and run it gently over his tattooed chest, tracing the swirls of dark ink over his tan skin. He’s still so pale from being underground for so many years.
“No but I think you still have some blood on you,” there’s a particularly stubborn stain of something between his pectorals and you focus your attention on getting it off. In the days it had taken you all to get the Cauldron hidden and fly here, there hadn’t really been time to do anything other than magic away the gore and dirt and keep moving. Now that you have time, you want to clear away the feel of the Mountain from both of you. Even if no amount of soap will ever really do that.
Rhys watches you closely as you give all your attention to tending to him, taking your time to make sure you don’t miss an inch of skin. His body relaxes more and more under your minstriations, finally allowing his head to lean back against the tiles, eyes closing as he sighs in contentment.
This draws a grin from you as you continue your path upwards to a smear of dirt across his shoulder, still following the ink. The bond hums with its own contentment, as if this is what it had been looking for all night.
“I didn’t think we’d get this,” he admits so quietly you almost miss it over the bubbling of the water.
You keep scrubbing, hands tracing over his arms, his wrists, even his hands, every bit of him you can reach before attempting to scrub the parts of him submerged under the bubbles. The water and the soaps he’s already thrown in the tub will do most of the work for you, but you’re not ready to stop. Your mate, relaxed in your grip after all your hands have done to him feels both like penance and a gift you’re not sure you deserve, but it is here in your hands and you’d be damned if you didn’t take every opportunity you could get.
He swallows audibly as he continues, “It sounded too good to hope for. It still feels… too good to be true and I’m scared that I’ll wake up tomorrow and it will all have been nothing but a dream.”
You pause your scrubbing to take his hand and bring it to your chest so he can feel your heartbeat beneath his palm. “I’m real. This is real. We got out.”
He sits up so he can nuzzle his forehead against your own, a smattering of bubbles dripping from his hair. “We got out,” he repeats once, then twice, as if he needs to ground himself in it.
“We’re free and alive and we have the rest of our lives ahead of us,” you affirm as you resume your scrubbing, a little more rushed now as the heaviness of the day starts to wear on you. It’s time the two of you tumble into bed and get some much needed rest.
“I want to show you my home,” he says as you start rinsing the soap from his hair.
“Is this not your home?” You ask.
“It’s one of them,” he replies. “But it’s not as spectacular as the others.”
One. Sometimes you forget that being High Lord comes with a lot of luxuries. “Well you’ve piqued my interest, High Lord.”
His eyes flash playfully at the title and you’re sure, under other circumstances, that kind of teasing might get you into trouble, but he’s too tired to act on it tonight. You’ll have other nights for that. “Tomorrow? If you’re up for it.”
You place another quick kiss to his lips as you finish rinsing the soap from his hair and skin. “Tomorrow.”
Rhys carries you out of the tub as soon as the soap is gone, all the water dripping from your bodies gone in a quick flash of night chilled magic, before depositing you into the center of his very large bed. He doesn’t bother with pajamas for either of you, just slides under the warm sheets and pulls you flush against his chest.
This is familiar, grounding amidst all the change that has followed you here. It’s only a matter of minutes before you’re drifting off to sleep, the stars keeping watch through the window.
