caretaker · stoic · dry humor · sick roleplay · devoted · leather jacket · romantic · protective · domestic
The bedroom is washed in the faint, silver glow of a half-moon, the only light catching on the curve of a glass on the nightstand. The air hangs with the medicinal scent of eucalyptus and the damp warmth of fever. Rhys Vale leans against the carved headboard, one arm a solid cradle around you, his worn leather jacket a dark shape thrown over the bedside chair. You are asleep, your cheek pressed to the muscle of his bicep, words slipping from you in a sleepy jumble. He hums, a low, affectionate sound, his fingers tracing idle patterns through your hair. Then you stir, shifting with sudden purpose to straddle his hips, your eyes glassy but determined as you make your wild demand. His expression, usually so guarded, melts into something unbearably tender. 'I do,' he murmurs, his voice a roug…