#SO SO EXCITED

[acoazlove]

i’d been waiting for an update for so long, and this was so good!! the banter is always soooo good!! rhys is such a flirt, i know i probably couldn’t handle it if i was in readers position. if mor ever finds out that somethings going on between them (which will absolutely happen) it will be an absolute nightmare. AHHHHH!! i love themmmm, and i can’t wait for more of them!!! i live this AU!!!! <333

Over Ice (Part 9)

Hockey!Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Anon Req: She’s walking around Campus and BOOM right smack dab into Broody McBrooder!! She THEN finds out he’s the tutor for one of her hardest courses (personally Psych would be a good one) and they become super duper close with him and the team!!!

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 3178

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8)

Notes: ughhhh. i don't like this part. fml

_________________________________________

Annoyance courses through your veins when Rhys’ phone buzzes against the tabletop again. The devilish device has been blowing up with messages since before your tutoring session had even begun, as soon as Rhys walked into the room with a mumbled greeting, fully immersed in the device.

Each vibration has slowly chipped away at your feeble concentration. You quickly lost focus on studying, and you’ve had to re-read the same paragraph three times over, restarting every single time he received a new message. Not a single fact has clicked in your head, and the urge to collapse in defeat is all too tempting right now.

Rhysand is in no way phased by your unpleasant aura and blatant glares. His laptop is open, eyes glued to the screen as his fingertips fly across the keyboard. He has a paper due at nine in the morning, and although he’s known about it since the end of last week, between tutoring you, the Halloween party, hockey practices, and games, he’s up to his ears busy.

But he wanted to see you.

He’d spent all week thinking about you. During practice, he’d found himself glancing up into the bleachers, looking for you, hoping he’d catch a peek of you in that sinfully butchered jersey of his. That reminds him, he needs to get you a new one because you’re more than distracting in that scrap of fabric.

He’d searched for you the same way at the away game the Bat’s had this week, even though he knew you weren’t in the building at all, weren’t even in the same city.

And psychology is fucking ruined for him. He thinks about you the most when he’s sitting in class, staring at the lecture slides he should be copying down. It’s a good thing that the information comes so easily to him, otherwise he’s pretty sure he’d be fucked with the amount of time spent daydreaming about how your lips felt on his, soft, shy, intimate.

“You know, if I’m keeping you from something,” you finally say, snapping Rhys from his paper. It’s hard to keep the annoyance out of your tone but the surprise on his face, the way his brows knit together in confusion has a pang of guilt stabbing you in the chest. Clutching your pen in your grasp only helps a little. “We don’t have to do this tonight.”

You refrain from admitting that you really do need his help tonight due to the quiz you have coming up later this week. It’s the only night he’s available to tutor you, with his hectic schedule. Right now, his presence is more distracting than it is helpful, and from where you sit across the table, you can tell that he’s stressed.

It’s in the way that he runs his fingers through his jet-black hair, tugging on the roots when whatever he’s typed doesn’t make sense. You know this is his tell because it’s followed by the prominent clicks of the backspace key for each letter he removes. Clack. Clack. Clack.

You can fully see the exhaustion written on his face, the circles beneath his violet eyes, and how every so often you’ve caught him rubbing his fists into his eyes. The bruise on his jaw looks better than it had the last time you saw him, splotches of yellow-green dust the area instead of the deep purple coloring it was when the injury was fresh.

He must see your frustration on your face because his shoulders drop in shame.

“What? No, I’m here,” he insists, shoving his computer away from him. Yeah, maybe a break is what he needs. Shame crawls up his throat. He’s supposed to be your tutor, and he’s been so caught up in his own work that he forgot that he’s supposed to be helping you.

Rhys frowns when his phone jolts against the desk again. You take a calming breath, closing your eyes, but they still prickle with frustration. You’re just as frazzled as he is. If you don’t pass this quiz, you’re not sure there’s hope of salvaging your grade.

You’re arguably just as exhausted as Rhys. Your other classes are also on the verge of kicking your ass, and you can only blame it on the fact that you actually have a semblance of a social life this year and aren’t holed up in your dorm room 24/7 outside of your classes, studying your ass off. No, you’re hanging out with your roommates more, meeting new people, going to hockey games and parties, both of which are things you never thought you’d be into.

And trying to keep up this façade as Rhysand’s fake girlfriend isn’t easy. Amarantha seems like she’s everywhere. You can barely count the number of times last week Rhys messaged you about her. You meet up with him when you’re close and able, in the commons, the food halls, you even met him between the stacks of bookshelves in the library while she pretended to peruse the non-fictions, but you can’t be everywhere at once. It’s a lot. Just last night, Amarantha was at the hockey house when Rhys arrived home. She had sunken her blood-red claws into one of the freshmen who’d been invited over for a few beers with a small group of players. Azriel had warned him of the devil under their roof, and Rhys had showed up at your dorm with a sheepish smile and a box of cookies from the convenience store he passed on the way over.

If he didn’t have those sweets in hand—and if your roommates hadn’t gone to a movie that you wanted to see but couldn’t because of the amount of studying you had to do—you would have slammed the door in his face.

You spent the night studying alright, but it wasn’t the words in your psych textbook. You couldn’t help but examine Rhysand, who sat across from you on your couch, the way that his hair fell from his brow when his chin tilted down to his own work. The way that he held the chocolate chip cookie in his mouth between his teeth as he wrote in his notebook. The zip of excitement you felt when your fingers brushed against his rough ones in the cookie box.

Your cheeks warm at the memory. You swear you can still feel his touch, the sheepish smile he gave you when he pulled his hand away, letting you pick whichever cookie you preferred. You wanted to lean over and taste that soft smile against your lips. You managed to find the restraint, offering him a gentle smile in return before stuffing a bite of the chocolatey goodness in your mouth as you ripped your gaze from his.

“No, really,” you try to insist politely. “If you need to go, you should. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.” It’s difficult to hide your cringe. You really do need his help.

Rhysand stares. He doesn’t know what he’s done wrong, and when he opens his mouth to ask what has you so on edge tonight, his phone pings with another message, and realization sets in like a boulder in the pit of his stomach at the way your gaze drops back to your book.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, snagging his phone from the table. It’s Cassian, again. His roommate won’t let the fuck up in the group chat, demanding mandatory attendance from every single member on the team at the party he’s hosting at the hockey house the night before team plays the Springview Wolves.

Rhys would be worried about the potential jinxing Cassian’s text puts into the universe if he didn’t know that this is the one superstition his defenseman has. The past two years, the entire hockey team had attended one of Cassian’s pre-celebration parties. It was the last party before their meet with the Wolves, who they’d then slaughtered in a 6-2 game. The following year, they’d beat them in nail-biting overtime with a snapshot that could’ve broken the plexiglass had Azriel missed. Safe to say that this party has become as much as a tradition as it is a superstition, and Rhysand needs to be there.

But right now, he needs to be here, focusing on you and the psych class you’re bombing.

“Look, if you’re too busy to tutor me I’d rather you tell me now so that I might have a chance at finding a new tutor before this quiz.” It’s difficult to mask the disheartened etch to your voice. Who are you kidding? There’s no way you’ll be able to find a tutor when the quiz is two days away.

Yep, you’re officially screwed.

“I’m not,” Rhys protests, shaking his head. Something about the idea of another person tutoring you has annoyance flaring in his veins. He silences his phone, something he should have done as soon as he walked over the threshold of the study room. “It’s just Cassian, anyway.” Rhys slides his chair around the corner of his table so close that your knees knock into each other. The touch sends a shockwave up your thigh and you try not to recoil at the surprising feeling. “Sorry. I’m done texting. Remind me what you’re working through, and I can help with any questions you have.”

You’re apprehensive to let this tutoring continue. It’s become very clear that Rhys has other priorities. He’s the captain of the hockey team for fuck’s sake; he probably has more on his plate than you think he does.

At your hesitation, he questions, “What?”

You shrug, feeling completely defeated. All you want right now is to crawl home with your tail between your legs and curl into a ball in your bed. You’ve pretty much accepted that you’re going to fail this class, tutor or not. There’s no way you’re going to admit any of this to Mor’s cousin right now, so you deflect, lamely. “I don’t know Cassian that well, but he doesn’t seem like the kind of guy that likes to be ignored.”

Rhys rolls his eyes, and your breath hitches as the corners of his mouth twitch in amusement. Sadly, a grin doesn’t break through, but it lights a fire under your ass. You want to see that smile, and you’ll do just about anything to make it happen.

It’s sad, almost, how much effort you’d put into earning that grin, but not apply that same energy toward studying.

“He’s going through our roster in the group chat, calling every single person out by name to make sure their schedules are cleared for the party we’re throwing this weekend.”

You catch yourself before your eyes roll into the back of your head in what might possibly be the most dramatic, epic eyeroll ever.

“Wow,” you feign an amused laugh. “That sounds dramatic.”

“That’s Cass for you,” Rhys says, amused. He crosses his arms and places them on the table. It takes effort not to watch the way his muscles pop beneath his t-shirt as he leans in closer. You’re only a foot away from each other. If you wanted to recreate the kiss you shared on Halloween, all you’d have to do is angle forward, tilt your head, and his lips would be on yours. You wonder for a fleeting moment if Rhys was as thrown over the kiss that night as you were. If he still thinks about it, can still feel the phantom sensation of your lips pressed together.

You remember that you shouldn’t be thinking about the kiss at all, and you sit back in your chair.

“You know,” Rhys starts, and you don’t like the telltale signs of a scheme that lines his tone. You almost groan out loud but settle on shooting him a warning look. “Since you’re my girlfriend—”

“Fake girlfriend,��� you correct instantly.

Rhys rolls his eyes and tips back onto the back legs of his chair. “Fine. Fake girlfriend,” he mimics and you toss your pencil at him. He catches it against his chest and the smile you’ve been waiting to see finally cracks his face. Fuck, he’s gorgeous when he does that. You’re even gifted those pearly white, straight teeth of his. You’d keel over in your chair like one of his many conquests if it wouldn’t give him an ego. You almost miss the end of Rhys request with how entranced you are. “You should probably make an appearance at the party.”

“Yeah,” you sigh. Realization strikes you like a fist. Rhys all but preens in his seat. You blink as his words settle, frows knitting together. “Wait, no, I can’t.” His face immediately falls. Rhys’ face scrunches adorably and you’d really like to reach out and smooth the crease between his brows right now.

There are more than a handful of reasons that you should not show your face at the hockey house party, the most prominent being that you’re his cousin’s best. She doesn’t want you anywhere near him, and you can’t break that promise even more than you already have.

Well, I won’t tell anyone if you won’t. His words echo in your head and you shove them away as quickly as they arrive.

The second reason you shouldn’t be going to his party is that you’re barely even friends, you’ve somehow been sucked into a mess of a situation, pretending to be his girlfriend in exchange for tutoring. Tutoring that right now isn’t helping improve your grade at all.

“Why not?” He challenges. “What if Amarantha shows up?”

“Because I have other plans,” you answer plainly. You don’t need to give him a reason. You press, “I can’t be your buffer between Amarantha forever, Rhys. You’re a big boy; you can fight your own battles.”

He looks awfully like he doesn’t want to fight his own battles, with his lips pressed into a pout. If you thought that he was distracting before, this is an entirely new level of diversion. A much better kind, to be honest.

“You’re seriously not coming to the party?”

“No,” you respond, packing up your things.

“But what if she corners me and tries to kiss me or give me a hand job or something?” He asks.

Your eyes almost bug out of your head. “Then you tell her no, Rhys,” you state. “It’s really that simple. And don’t guys enjoy hand jobs? When was the last time—” He opens his mouth and you shake your head. “No, nope, I don’t even want to know.” You glare until he shuts his mouth, but the amusement lingers in his eyes.

He huffs. “Those nails are sharp,” is all he offers.

You wince. Amarantha does keep her nails long and pointed at the tips, crimson red, like blood. You almost look down to admire your own hands but catch yourself at the last second. You do not need to be thinking about how your fingers might look like wrapped around Rhys’ eight inches.

Your cheeks burn and Rhysand raises a brow in question.

He must read the plea on your face because he thankfully changes the subject. “What could you possibly have going on that’s better than free booze, good music, and seeing yours truly?”

“Wow, Rhys,” you scoff. “Your ego is unbearably suffocating tonight. Did you get your dick sucked recently?” You ask sweetly, then busy yourself by turning to a fresh page in your notebook.

His answering grin is fucking smug.

The muscle of your jaw twitches with how tightly you clamp it shut.

“Hoping it happens at the party,” he answers, suggestively.

You fake gag. “No way.”

“Didn’t say it was going to be from you,” he teases. “But if you want to, you’ll know exactly where I’ll be.”

Gods, this boy and his fucking filthy mind. You certainly haven’t forgotten that he’s your best friend’s cousin, but the fact that you’re his cousin’s best friend has either slipped his mind, or he doesn’t care.

Either way, this isn’t a good situation to be in.

You divert, pulling your focus back to the books splayed out on the desk. Studying. Right, that’s what you need to be doing instead of whatever…this is.

“I told you; I can’t go.” You try and reach for your pen that’s in Rhys’ grasp but he pulls it out of reach, ignoring the glare you send his way. Fine. You search your backpack for a backup but come up empty. Ugh.

“Can’t, or won’t?” He shoots back.

“Both,” you sigh, checking the time on your phone. It’s well past nine o’clock in the evening, and you really thought that you’d be back at the dorms already, curled up on your bed with your laptop overheating on the sheets as it played a movie. “Can we get back to studying?”

“In a second,” Rhys assures. Why does he want you to come to the party so badly? Besides the obvious. Amarantha surely can’t be that much trouble. She is a little bit of a nightmare and you could see how Rhys wants her to take the hint that he’s moved on, but if he’s that worried about her in the first place, why doesn’t he tell her that she’s uninvited? Or make the hockey team aware that she’s not allowed in the party? Why is flaunting you around the only answer? “What if I said please?”

“That wouldn’t magically cancel my plans.”

“What plans?” You frown. You wonder why he’s pushing this so hard.

Studying for this quiz is going to be impossible. You and Rhys might as well pack up and vacate the room so that people who are actually trying to study can use it. You’re almost positive that the group lingering by an overcrowded area of the library keep shooting you scathing looks every time you open your mouth.

“Gwyn is turning twenty-one and since Mor and I don’t turn twenty-one until next year, we’re planning on ordering in and getting a little tipsy at the dorms.” Rhys gives you that seriously? look that makes you glare. “Not that I care about your opinion, like, at all, but is there something wrong with that?”

“Only the fact that you’re ditching a party whose halls aren’t patrolled by snitches?” He explains, and he would think that the resident assistants live for getting college kids in trouble. “It’s the dorms! How freshman of you.”

“Whatever, Rhys. Some people don’t want to drink until they can’t see straight in front of a bunch of strangers.”

“I’d be your eyes for you,” he winks, as if what he said was comparable to a knight in shining armor defending a princess.

“Good,” you retort. “Because I’m about three seconds away from gouging them out if you keep hassling me about this. Come on, I really need to study.”

Luckily, Rhys relents. His shoulders fall and the feet of his chair meet earth again.

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” he says, and cranes his neck to see what you’re reading about. “Let’s get you nice and ready for your quiz.”

_________________________________________

Over Ice Taglist:

@saltedcoffeescotch @acourtofbatboydreams @mrsjna @velarisdusk @bionic-donut @tenshis-cake @eleganttravelercloud @lilah-asteria @serena05 @bwormie @soph1644 @house-husband-of-castlemurdock @tothestarsandwhateverend @topaz125 @judig92 @se7enteen--black-blog @thecraziestcrayon @cherry-cin @itsinherited @justafictionalnerd @bookishbroadwaybish @405rry @w0nderw0manly @bbykaixx @marina468 @taechvita @marigold-morelli @esahintzkanen @miakxn @ssmay123 @webvics

[clownxian]

ONLY 20 DAYS UNTIL I GET YOU🫵

[alltimecharlo]

couldn’t get this out of my head so i had to make it

[sororygilmore]

tsou deluxe is being released next week omfg

[tulipsinthedas]

Made some memes for the dragon age veilguard hype. Might make more of the fourth meme for all companions if anyone is interested lmk!

[comicake]

Baked a little theatre cake for season 2 premiere 💅 (very proud of how my little fondant posters turned out 🥺)

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

in other news i am once again (never stopped) thinking abt poly goken 🙏🙏 god bless

[maverick-prime]

EEEEEEEK i just posted my first published fanfic over on ao3!!! if you are a fan of found family, domestic fluff, human/robot romance, and healing trauma through healthy interpersonal relationships, then this fic is for YOU! preview under the cut!

He remembered the first time Tessa had stepped foot inside the farmhouse. He’d been so nervous that she would hate it, that she would resent having almost no surviving memory of her mother in the house because of the explosion. Instead, she’d seemed thrilled that Cade was finally moving on, which had been a hell of a surprise.

“You really aren’t mad?” he’d asked her.

Tessa smiled at him, that sunny grin that had always reminded him so much of Emily, and touched his arm. “No, Dad. I’m not mad. Sure, I miss Mom sometimes, but I was so little when she passed that I don’t really remember her that well.” She shrugged, the shape of her smile softening. “I’ve met so many people that care about me. I’ve done things no one else has done. And I graduated high school, just like you both wanted! She wasn’t here for any of it, but I know she’d be proud of me. I know she’d be proud of you, too. I think she just wanted you to be happy, and it seems like you’re finally getting there.”

Cade, swallowing around the lump in his throat, had felt tears burning his eyes. “I don’t want to forget about her.”

“You don’t have to,” Tessa said. Her hand squeezed his arm a little. “But it is okay to move on. After everything we’ve been through, we deserve to be happy. You don’t need ghosts haunting you, not when you’ve got giant alien robots to look after.”

“When the hell’d you get so wise?” He’d pulled her into a tight hug, his face tucked against her shoulder. If there had been tears dampening the fabric of her shirt, neither of them said anything about it.

[brickcollector]

presenting at a museum conference tomorrow !!! (I get to talk about queer shit!!! and the archive!!! and women!!!! which is SO exciting)

[melovrs]

NEW VISUAL FOR BLUE LOCK S2 😆😆

[lemoncholy-stars]

tdp s7 liveblog let’s go!!

[mermaidgirl30]

Going on a little vacation in a couple of days, so I’m hoping to get lots of writing time in!

[softiedancers]

OH MY GOD SAMMI FINALLY GETS TO IMPROV HER SENIOR YEAR IM SO PROUD OF HER

[peach-pot]

game changer season finale really pandering to old collegehumor fans with the cast

[mytdpblog]

Just binged watched the first 3 seasons of The Dragon Prince this weekend and I feel ALIVE

[fortheloveofwbb]

alright… so it begins

also the book was released on my bday??? 🤭