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azsazz · 1 month

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Over Ice

Hockey!Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Anon Req: I think we could really have fun with the different courts and Illyrian values on a thematic basis but ALSO if the reader is in something very artsy and hasn’t really been into sports and then 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!!! She decides to wear Cass’ jersey to make him mad and when he finally gets a hold of her after the game: *cue innocent shrug* he asked me to!

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 3032

Notes: While I work on a plot for an azzy hockey x figure skater au, please enjoy a rhys hockey au 🤪

This was originally an Az idea but I thought it fit better for Rhys bby so here we are. I feel like I've forgotten how to write and this is shit (dont judge me im going thru smthin rn)

_________________________________________

A giant FU stares up at you.

Well, actually, it’s only an F, but it may as well be the former with the way it’s circled in thick, red ink.

Three. Fucking. Times.

Tears sting the back of your eyes but you refuse to let them fall. It never feels good, failing, and even if you’d gotten a C+ like you hoped, you would’ve still beaten yourself up over the grade because plain and simple: that’s who you are.

Two months ago, at the beginning of the semester, psychology had seemed like a breeze. The lectures were easy to listen to and intriguing, and you had no trouble following along with the professors’ slideshows as you took detailed notes of everything on the screen. Your assigned readings were completed in a similar state, though they weren’t graded but included important information you’d find on the tests.

Somewhere along the line, your grade slipped, and you don’t remember if it had been between studying for Biology or reveling in your newfound freedom away from your parents, partying and enjoying a true college experience with your roommates.

Whatever happened, the repercussions are hitting you right in the face, the taunting letter you have never seen before on any of your assignments throughout all your years of learning.

If your parents saw this, they would bring the entire house down with their scolding.

It’s not like you didn’t try. You studied, even if the word is a loose term for what material you used. Things started piling up this month, with it being a new semester and all. You didn’t schedule out the time to focus on psychology when the classes you were really interested in—Introduction to Nutrition and Kinesiology—took first and second place for your attention. Plus, with the number of social events your best friends—who are also conveniently your roommates—invited you too, it was almost impossible to say no. Friends are a vital part of the college experience and you were in desperate need of some fun after having spent the summer lounging at home with your parents.

You found a psych support group that met at the library once a week to study together. It wasn’t anything like you thought it would be, a bunch of clueless students with grades similar to yours. All they seemed to want to do with your precious time was bitch and moan about the professor instead of actually trying to conquer the areas of study for the upcoming test.

And now the consequences of your actions have made themselves known.

Grumbling, you shove the test into your binder before shutting it with a snap that does nothing to ease your frustration. A few students still trail from the room, though most bolted right after being released. Some linger at the bottom of the lecture hall where the professor sits, answering their questions.

You have about a million-and-one of your own but you’re too worked up about your grade to go down there and hash it out with Mr. Hybern. His peppery colored hair is perfectly coiffed on this terrible day, his beard trimmed close to his jowls. His gleaming, golden skin makes you think that maybe he’d spent his weekend grading tests out in the sun, and you have half a mind to stomp your way down the stairs and demand a second review of your test.

It wouldn’t solve your irritation, and it would certainly be embarrassing if in fact your F is correct.

Placing your binder, notebook, and pens back into your bag, you zip it, sling it over your shoulder, and make your way to the exit, holding your chin high because if there’s one thing you’re not going to do, is cry over your terrible, awful grade in public.

The waterworks will just have to wait until you’re locked in your private bedroom in your shared dorm.

There is good news. It’s Friday, which means you can snag the pint of your favorite ice cream that your roommates won’t dare touch because ‘no ice cream that’s worth it should have fruit in it, that’s like asking for a steak on your spaghetti.’ You have no idea what Mor—one of your roommates—was on about when she brought up the awful comparison, and in reply all you’d done is scooped out a chunk of cherries embedded into the creamy, pink goodness and stuffed it into your mouth.

With it being the weekend, you can also wallow well into the night without having to worry about hiding your puffy eyes in the morning. You’ll have all day tomorrow to figure out a plan of action, once you allow yourself the time to properly grieve and process…and maybe have a drink or two.

You shoulder through the heavy lecture hall door with your head down, hiding the red stain to your cheeks. So, maybe you’re not going to hold you head high as you trail back to your dorm, but you will not cry.

The door swings open and you barely catch the noise of surprise before you’re barreling into something that’s akin to a brick wall. Your breath leaves your body in a whoosh and your balance slips out from under you, arms flailing as you fall.

You squeeze your eyes shut, bracing for impact, but it never comes.

Slowly, mortified because you know exactly what’s cushioned your fall, you peek your eyes open, carefully meeting a sapphire gaze that surely would take your breath away should you have any left.

This close, you can see the perfection of his angular features: a long, straight nose, high cheekbones under the dusting of pink that caresses his own face. His lashes are dark as charcoal, the same color of his hair that looks as soft as silk.

Whatever it is that has you entranced by his beauty, the sentiment seems to be mutual. Those bright eyes trace across your features, carefully drinking you in. You don’t know if you’re thankful that your face is already as red as the marker on your test or if you want him to see the way your cheeks go molten.

There’s a warmth against your hips that you don’t notice until he speaks, his hands that have a solid grip around you, keeping you steady to his chest. His whispered breath brushes across your lips. “By all means,” he teases softly, “Take your time.”

“Oh, my Gods, I am so sorry,” you squeak, rolling off his chest. You can hear his chuckling as you scramble to climb to your feet, but your knees are so weak at the sight—and touch—of the most handsome man you’ve ever seen lifting gracefully to his feet, holding a hand down to help you up.

You try not to notice just how big his hand is in yours, and for the second time today, you fail.

“Don’t worry about it, darling,” he says, displaying an easy grin that makes your heart stutter in your chest. The door opens with a loud click and the both of you startle. His hand comes down warmly on your spine, ushering you out of the way of the student that’s beaming grin falters into apology at the idea of almost running you down, already on the phone with someone and gushing over their test result.

It’s hard to reign in your glare.

The student’s conversation seems to jolt the man out of his stupor. He blinks, shaking his head as if to rid him of a spell you might have cast on him, or maybe he’s testing to see if he has a concussion from the fall.

When he returns his attention to you, it takes everything in your power not to melt into a puddle beneath that gaze.

“Is Mr. H still passing out tests?” he asks, and you swallow the sourness that accompanies the name of your professor. You and he are not on good terms right now, not that this boy knows that.

“Yeah,” you answer, remembering you saw him sitting on his throne (desk chair) with his loyal citizens (students) kissing his feet (talking through their tests). “I think so.” Then, because you’re pretty sure you would remember a face like his if he were in your lecture, you ask, “Are you in this class?”

“No,” he answers with a scoff that tells you he breezed by this class. “I took Psych 101 freshman year, but I have Professor Hybern again for Cognitive Psychology and I need to turn in my paper early.”

Turning in a paper early? What is he, some kind of genius?

“Oh,” you answer lamely, “Cool.”

His answering grin cracks open the casing of the butterflies you didn’t know were living in your stomach, taking off in a flurry of emotion.

He shrugs like he couldn’t really care less about any of it, but to you, the fact that he’s managed to pass Psych 101 at all is an impressive feat, though you don’t know why he’d sign up for even more torture. “Sure. Look, I’ve got to run, but are you sure you’re okay?”

It’s nice of him to ask if you’re okay when he’s the one who had his back painted to the floor only moments ago. “Yeah, I’m fine, but I should be the one asking you that. Are you okay?”

His laughter is rich and warm, and you want to melt into it. Before you have the chance to make even more a fool of yourself in front of this handsome stranger, he answers. “I’ve been checked harder, darling. You have a nice day now.”

“Thanks, you too,” your words trail off as he catches the door on its next outswing, ducking inside without waiting for your response.

Jeeze, he must really be in a rush, then.

It’s when you exit the doors to the psychology building that you curse yourself. You should’ve gotten his number, his name at least. You could’ve invited him over for something more distracting and yummier than the ice cream you’d planned on demolishing.

At least you have something better to think about tonight than your test.

With a heavy sigh, you allow your backpack to fall off your shoulder. Now that you’ve arrived back to your dorm, you’re suddenly feeling more exhausted than ever.

The walk home from class had been nice, your time spent thinking about the boy you’d run into. The broadness of his shoulders you didn’t seem to notice until he turned away, stretching wide beneath his tight t-shirt. The bulge of his biceps beneath said t-shirt, flexing as he pulled the door open for himself. The shape of his ass in those snug jeans.

The sight of that is what had your eyes nearly popping from your head. What’s he doing that gives him such a bubblicious ass? Squats? Lunges? You can do those. You choose not to, but if there’s a guarantee that you’d have an ass like that, you’d start right this second.

Tucking your lip into your mouth in concentration, you plant your hands on your hips, making your way to the refrigerator that your ice cream is housed in, lunging your way there.

It’s not that far, the communal space in your shared dorm is small, but your heartrate is elevated by the time you’re two lunges away from your prize: your ice cream.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Mother!” You shout as the voice of your roommate breaks your concentration. Your knees wobble and your thighs shake, unable to hold you up from the burst of exertion you used. You clearly need to get into the gym more, another thing to add to your already busy schedule. “You scared me!”

Mor rolls her chocolate-brown eyes, sliding into one of the stools at your counter. It’s not built for it, the laminate countertop doesn’t hang over the island far enough for your legs to fit, but you and your roommates thought they were cute, nonetheless. You can suffer having to hunch over your knees to reach your cereal bowls in the mornings in favor of having more space for company to sit.

When you haul yourself off the ground, you take in your roommate. She’s wearing some kind of jersey, one you’ve never even seen in her wardrobe before, and you probably spend more time in there than her because she has every item of clothing you could ever imagine. The top she’s wearing now totally clashes with everything that screams Mor: silk scarves, tight bodice tops, leather pants, and what she has on now isn’t even red, a color that’s a staple in her closet.

“Well, if you were paying attention,” she scolds playfully, flipping open the compact in her hand, checking her makeup in the tiny mirror. She makes a few faces that would make you chuckle if you didn’t notice how she looks like she’s ready to go out, and that means she’s going to try to drag you with. “You would’ve heard me walk into the room. I am wearing heels, you know.”

Of course you know. Mor doesn’t do sneakers, only when it’s five in the morning and the sun is still sleeping, the perfect time for working out where nobody will catch her. Maybe I should join her, you think, mind wandering back to that boy’s butt.

“Why are your cheeks all red?” She asks, planting her palms on the counter and leaning towards you, eyes narrowed in inquisition.

“Nothing,” you wave her off, reaching for the door to the freezer. It’s the last thing between you and the cherry chunk ice cream calling your name.

Before you can open it more than an inch, it slams closed, Mor’s sharp, bright red fingernails splayed out to stop you.

Damnit, how does she move so silently?

“What do you think you’re doing?” You question each other at the same time, biting back your smiles at the mistake.

She answers first. “Why do you look like you’re about to get the ice cream, put your pajamas on, and wallow in bed all night?”

“Because that’s exactly what I’m going to do,” you cross your arms over your chest defiantly. “So, if you’ll excuse me…” You trail off, hoping she’ll step away and leave you to your peace.

She doesn’t. That’s not Mor.

“I had a rough day!”

“You say that every day,” she whines, stomping her heel-clad foot. “Don’t you even want to know what I’m inviting you to tonight?”

“From the look of your clothes, no, I don’t want to know what you’re doing tonight, Mor, and no, I don’t want to join you, either.”

Your roommate scrunches her nose, tipping it towards the ceiling. “I’ll have you know that this outfit is cute.”

“Yeah, if the definition of cute changed to ‘not pleasing or appealing to look at.’”

“You take that back,” Mor shouts, full naming you.

As your lips part in apology, because that was rude of you, your other roommate pads out of her room. Her reading glasses are perched up on her nose, blue eyes round and wide, and it always looks like she’s looking around the room in wonder. She has a blanket thrown over her shoulders and looks every bit of cozy you wish you were.

“Gwyn,” you sigh in relief at the sight of her. “Please, help.”

“I already said no,” she offers you a sympathetic wince. “I don’t think there’s any getting you out of the hockey game, sorry babe.”

Now it’s your jaw that falls to the floor. No, it falls through the floor and about five more floors down, hitting the lobby with a crack that echoes through the building.

You whirl on Mor. “Hockey game? Since when have you been interested in hockey?”

“Since my cousin got named team captain this year,” she says smugly, and you don’t know why she’s acting vain, it just means that he’s captain of the douchebags now, even you know that. Mor turns, showing off the back of her jersey. The number one stands out like a beacon, and you brush her blonde hair over her shoulder to read the smaller patches spelling out what is in fact, her family name.

Cunningham.

“Think of all the parties we’ll get into,” she says over her shoulder, and she does have a point there. The athletes at your college are a group of students that you don’t ever interact with, nor do you care. Mor is all about connections though, and if she wants to go to the hockey game, then it looks like you’re going with her.

You wonder what excuse Gwyn used to get out of it. She looks mighty comfy right now, slinking over the plop down on the couch and turn on a movie.

“Why do we have to go to the game? Can’t we just go to the parties?” You ask, grasping for anything to get out of this. You don’t want to go sit in the cold arena and watch a bunch of guys wearing full-body padding slide up and down the ice. Why couldn’t her cousin have been on the baseball team? They have nice, tight uniforms.

“Because,” Mor emphasizes with a glare, spinning to face you once more to give you the full effect of her irritation. “I’m a good cousin, and if we don’t attend the games, we’re going to be blacklisted from the parties,” she grumbles, the fight leaving her a little bit. “I’ve already argued about it with Rhys, I don’t want to have to argue with you too.”

It’s with your sigh that Mor brightens. “Fine. I’ll come with you, but I’m not going to be happy about it. And don’t expect me to cheer.”

Her squeal pierces the sound barrier. What the fuck have you gotten yourself into?

Mor grabs your hand, dragging you towards the empty single room that’s left in your dorm. She uses it as an extension of her closet until someone else gets placed with you. So far, you’ve been lucky, living here since freshman year, just the three of you. “Great! I got you a shirt!”

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Over Ice Taglist:

#rhys x reader #rhysand/reader #rhysand x reader #rhysand #acotar #azsazz #acomaf #acowar #acotar au #rhysand hockey au #over ice

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mischiefmanagers · 7 months

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Eris Vanserra Fic Rec Library 🍁❤️‍🔥

these fics are a mix of Eris x reader, Eris x OC, and a few general Eris fics with no pairing. if you've never read an Eris fic before, I highly recommend starting with the first rec below (gust & flame) because that fic made me fall in love with him. enjoy ✨

🌼 personal favorite 🥀 angst 💞 fluff 🔥 smut

by @invisibleanonymousmonsters

gust & flame (series) 🥀💞🌼

by @theostrophywife

here in your arms. 💞

like you wanna be loved 💞

by @acourtofmenandthirst

The Fox & The Hound 💞

by @leafsandstarlight

Destiny's Battleground (series) 🥀💞🔥

In Spite of Our Differences (series) 🥀💞🔥🌼

Great Rite 🔥

The Prince of Blood

by @profound-imagination

Finding Home 💞

Rose Gardens

by @munsons-hellfire

Happiness in the Heart 🥀💞

by @sweetcarolina-24

Scorched Shadows

by @azrielbrainrot

Fire on Fire

Mind Over Matter 🥀

by @danikamariewrites

Rescue 💞🥀

Fake Sleeper 💞

Peace 💞

Seekers 💞🌼

Did You Just Say No?

Song of Death

Starfall Revelations 🥀💞

Guilt 🥀💞

Kisses 💞

by @redbleedingrose

Till the End of Time 💞🥀

Pretty? 🥀💞

by @b0xerdancer-writes

It Wasn't Supposed to Happen Like This 🥀💞

by @thisblogisaboutabook

Bad Idea, Right? 🥀🔥

by @azsazz

Cherries, Juniper, and Orange Slices 💞

Fire & Water 🥀🔥

by @honeybeefae

Cauldron Fated 💞🥀🔥🌼

Forgotten Ties 🥀

Valentine's Mini Fic 💞

A Court of Wings & Fire (series) 🥀

Past and Present 🥀💞

Coronation Day 💞

Potions 🔥🌼

by @we-were-beautiful

The Fox and the Hounds 💞

by @bubbles-for-all-of-us

My little flame 💞

Her 🌼

My tears ricochet 🥀

by @2thestars-andbeyond

The Fire That Burns Within (series) 💞🥀🔥

by @simkaswriting

What if…Eris had danced with y/n instead?

by @jeannineee

Daylight 🥀💞

Breeding 🔥

by @jdeclerc

a brother's intervention 🥀

by @azrielsdove

Playing With Fire 🥀🔥Azriel x Reader x Eris

by @cassiefromhell

Unexpected 💞🥀🔥Azriel x Reader x Eris

by @fieldofdaisiies

Late Again 🥀

Brother 🥀💞 no pairing

Falling 💞🌼

by @azrielsoulmate

Covered in you 💞

by @cupidojenphrodite

Morning After 🔥

by @acourtofwhatthefuck

Loose Lips 🥀🔥

by @thelov3lybookworm

Remember me? (series) 💞🥀 from Rhysand x Reader to Eris x Reader

Bloodshed 🥀💞

Not what I expected 🥀💞🌼

by @fineghkst

How Eris acts around his mate 💞

by @ladyescapism

fractured bonds 🥀

by @clairebear08

Woven 🥀

Use Me 🔥

by @historiaxvanserra

If I Can't Have Love, I Want Power 🥀🌼

I Am Not a Martyr, I'm a Problem

by @shadowdaddies

Autumn's Eden 💞

Bramble 💞

by @azrielslightintheshadows

Fake love. 🥀

by @crypticandmachiavellianaugustine

Sweet Nothings 💞🌼

by @readychilledwine

Death of Peace of Mind 🥀🔥🌼

Safe Haven 💞

Relief

Unconditional 💞

Leap 💞🌼

Kissed By Fire

Lapcat 🔥

Pack Mentality 💞

Tainted Love 🥀

by @throneofsmut

Bound In Flames (series) 🥀💞🔥

by @parkerslatte

Overlooked 🥀🌼

Warm Me Up 💞🔥

by @prythianpages

Like An Angel 💞

Cruel, Wicked Thing

by @saphirered

Frozen lake 🔥💞

by @thehighladywrites

Professor Eris 🥀💞🔥

by @thevanserrras

Breaking Point 🥀

Den of Foxes 🥀💞

Happy Equinox at Last 💞

Wake Up 🥀💞 Azriel x Reader x Eris

Petty 🥀💞

by @secret-third-thing

Never An Honest Word 🥀 no pairing

by @nocasdatsgay

From the Ashes, the Wildflowers Grow (series) 🥀💞🔥🌼

by @lucienforhighking

Hounds of Love 💞

Dancing 💞🔥

by @callmeblaire

when fire and ice dance

by @moonlightazriel

Symphonies 💞

When no one hears your calls 🥀💞

by @sellyoursoulforagoodfic

Monstrous Secrets 🥀💞

by @florencemtrash

Flame, Shadow, Beast 🥀💞 Azriel x Reader x Eris

by @serpentandlily

Sly Fox, Dumb Bunny (series) 🌼

Last Solstice 🥀💞🌼

by @fever-fluff

Unconditional

by @yearning-for-autumn

Would That I

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illyrianbitch · 2 months

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One Summer— Part Three

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: One beach house. One festival. One summer to fall in love.

Warnings: alcohol use, mention of drugs, mentions of scars (azs hands), slight Tamlin slander (lighthearted tbh), reader being observant, az being… well az :)

Word Count: 4.7k

Previous Part | Series Masterlist | Next Part

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Introduction to Philosophy was taught by professor Jeff Davids.

It was one of the smaller classes you’d taken in freshman year. Though many people took it to fulfill a General Education requirement, it was more significant for you. It marked the beginning of your Philosophy major and a longstanding obsession with the ideas of ancient thinkers.

It was the same for Morrigan and Feyre, both of whom you met in Professor Davids’ class. Like you, they were Pre-Law students. And while you’d sat with Feyre on the first day out of pure chance, you were sure that it was fate that pulled you both into an assigned group with Mor— and Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel. The three boys had chosen Intro to Philosophy because it had enough seats for all of them.

There were many things you remembered about your Intro to Philosophy class. Professor Davids was a rockclimber, the Allegory of the Cave was one of the most well-known philosophical concepts, Cassian always came ten minutes late, and Mor’s first major presentation was an in depth and perfectly executed criticism of Plato’s The Republic. You remembered it clearly. She argued against the idea of Plato being classified as the ‘first feminist’. Even if you hadn’t already shared Mor’s belief that Plato fell short of feminist ideals, her presentation would have won you over. Just two months into your friendship, Mor had already made a lasting impression. You remembered her eloquence, the way she commanded the room—a woman of honor and dignity.

It was strange, in an endlessly entertaining way, to see the same woman before you now down on one knee, chugging the last of her drink in the Summit Pulse parking lot.

She let out a belch as she stood and Cassian responded with an approving whistle, giving her a sloppy high five. “Fuck,” she said, gingerly dabbing at her smeared lipstick. “Can someone pass me my bag?”

Summit Pulse had officially begun twenty-five minutes ago, at 11:30 AM. You’d arrived at 11, found two open parking spots, and began your small, almost humble, tailgate— consisting of various seltzers, shooters, and beers for the boys.

You’d driven in two cars: Feyre and Rhys in one, and Az, you, Mor, and Cassian in the other. It was more economical to get two parking passes for the three days, so the boys had devised a plan. The idea was simple: whoever wasn’t driving in the morning would get heavily intoxicated right from the start, making full use of the tailgating privileges. Since the sets ended around 10 PM, by the end of the night one of them would be sober enough to drive. For today, Az was the designated driver, while Cassian would take over for the ride home.

Rhysand’s plan was far simpler. He would only drink modestly throughout the day— but no matter what, he was driving home. This was for two reasons. First, no one but him was allowed to drive his car anyway, and second, he didn’t want Feyre to be worried about her ride home.

When you’d asked the boys why they hadn’t included you, Feyre, or Mor into the shifts, they had shrugged and adamantly opposed. According to them, it was their job to take care of you, to let you have fun at a festival knowing you’d have three eyes watching over you. Not to mention that they knew their alcohol tolerances better than you three.

Rhys, with a sly smile, had also pointed out that your edibles made predicting sobriety a bit unreliable.

He was right, of course, so you didn’t argue— even if you hadn’t brought them today.

You handed Mor her bag. Her nimble, ring-clad fingers dug through it as you grabbed your phone, offering the camera screen to her as a makeshift mirror. She sung out a small thank you in response.

It was already hot out, a fact you’d prepared for but nonetheless hated, and the seltzers in your stomach gurgled in the heat. It suddenly crossed your mind that you should’ve had a heavier breakfast. But the morning had been chaotic, so you were now forced to rely on the festival food— food that was bound to cost three times as much as it would outside of festival grounds.

Two voices joined the sounds behind you and you cranked your head in time to watch Feyre bound over, a bounce in her step. She wore simple shorts and a flowy, linen tank that swayed with her movements. The look of it seemed to perfectly pair with the outfit Rhysand wore— white linen shorts and a short-sleeved button up, a few more buttons undone than necessary, of course. An image flashed into your mind of a very probable future: Feyre and Rhys married in this very city, white linens and salt-air breezes at their reception.

Cassian and Azriel would fight for best man, of course, and when they were both asked, they’d fight about which was number one and which was number two. Feyre’s maid of honor would be a much more nuanced choice, balanced between her two sisters and you and Mor.

At least, if you and Feyre were still friends by then.

You pushed the thought away— a silly, irrational, and anxious thought. They appeared a lot, especially when you weren’t as busy as you’d conditioned yourself to be these past few semesters. It was strange how those thoughts manifested when you were at your happiest. But there was no room for those this summer. You’d told yourself this over and over. One summer to just live, you repeated in your mind, one summer to exist.

Feyre wrapped her arms around your shoulder, tight enough to give you a welcome squeeze but tender and careful so as to not disrupt your mirror duties.

“You smell good,” you told her as the sweet smell of pear reached your nostrils. She met your eyes from the side as you grinned. “Look even better too.”

A small blush painted her cheeks and Feyre smiled. “You think?”

You nodded and Mor ran a gentle nail around her lips, picking up the excess red gloss with her nails. You watched as she struck a pose.

“And how do I look?”

There was a mischievous glint in her eyes that seemed to intensify by the second. Her excitement grew as the drink she chugged began making its way through her system.

“Good enough to get free drinks.”

You felt Feyre nod in agreement against your shoulder.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Summit Pulse had been going strong for hours and you were riding the high of it all. The sun was still glazing in the sky, your ears were still ringing, and the crowd's anticipation for the next set was almost tangible despite it not starting for another hour.

You guys had staked out a great spot near the front, close enough to give you a full view of the stage. Sadly, you hadn’t come early enough to get barricade, but you were more than content with the place you held in the growing crowd. Az and Cass had ventured off some time ago to grab more drinks and a small, worrying voice in the back of your mind began to worry that the two boys would struggle to rejoin the group.

You tried to pay it no mind, focusing on the game of Heads Up you were playing with Feyre and Mor. Feyre held her phone to her forehead and prompted the next word to come.

SPRING.

You and Mor exchanged a conspiratorial glance, gently pushing one another to create a space between your two bodies. A mirrored grin grew on your faces— ones with such childish glee and mischief that Feyre immediately picked up on the shared thought.

Her eyes widened as she shook her head. She dropped her hands to her side. "No," she whined, "Please don't."

You frowned in feign confusion, bringing a hand to cup your ear. "What?" you exclaimed, "I can't hear you." You looked back at Mor, watching as the face she formed mimicked yours. "Do you hear anything?"

Rhys fought to suppress a grin, wrapping his arms tighter around Feyre as she let out another helpless groan. He gave her a kiss to the temple as he leaned in further, eyes bouncing between you and Morrigan.

"I-" Mor stopped, bringing a hand to her chest as she exaggeratedly examined her surroundings. "I think it sounds like….like…"

Rhysand leaned into Feyre's ear. "Like Spring?"

"Oh god," Feyre whined. The sound fell on deaf ears. "Kill me."

Tamlin Spring was Feyre's boyfriend in freshman year, a first love so smitten with her that it bordered on slightly creepy— teetering across that fine line of obsession and adoration. You found Tamlin tolerable in small portions, but the others hated him with a passion. In truth, they hated a lot of people, your ex boyfriend included, and you just chalked that up to the reality of growing up in the same small city with the same people. You thanked eighteen-year old you everyday for choosing to attend college in a different state.

"Spring, you say?" you chimed in. Mor mimicked the motion of drawing a bow across a fiddle. She gave you a look and without missing a beat, you launched into a memorized dance, feet bouncing in an exaggerated jig while your hands moved as if playing invisible fiddles.

This abomination of a dance was one you and Mor had created one random drunken night—- a way to commemorate the infamous serenade Feyre had received from Tamlin post-breakup. At the beginning of their relationship, Tamlin's musical talent was impressive, even charming. But when he pulled out his fiddle and played what was meant to be a heartfelt apology, it left Feyre cringing and you unable to defend him anymore. Thus, the iconic dance was born.

For what it counted, the tradition to embarrass Feyre with your performance of it lasted longer than their relationship ever did.

Feyre's face was three shades redder by time you found yourselves unable to continue the dance any longer. She leaned her head back against Rhysand's chest as he laughed and hugged her tighter, apologizing for his own musical incapabilities. She tucked her phone tightly away in her pocket, muttering some off handed comment that she was never playing ever again.

You were still giggling and catching your breath as Azriel and Cassian returned, slowly making their way through the crowd— each holding a fresh, cold can of beer. Azriel's face was neutral as always, but a glint of amusement sparkled in his eyes as they met yours. Cassian, on the other hand, wore his usual broad grin. He murmured polite, flirty pleasantries to every pretty woman they brushed past.

"Damn," Cass said, filling in the space Mor had saved for him by proxy of a strange, wide-legged stance. You’d done the same for Az. "Did I miss you hitting the Tamlin?"

You and Mor let out another shared round of giggles and Feyre groaned into the sky once more. Cassian turned to Rhys with a grin.

"Do you two have no shame?" Az said, settling into the space between you and Feyre. He took notice of Mor's lingering gaze on his drink and offered his can to her eager hands.

You shook your head, a grin plastered on your face as Mor brought the drink to her lips. The two of you made eye contact, and maybe it was the buzz of the drinks you’d already had, the tiny high making everything funnier, but you couldn’t hold back a laugh. Mor followed suit, the sound coming out of her in a wet snort as Azriel's drink sprayed everywhere.

Once you both finally calmed down, Mor pushed Azriel's drink back to him with an extended hand, batting her eyelashes as she met his gaze. "Thanks, Az. I needed that."

"I'm good. That's all yours now." Azriel pushed the can back to Mor with a single finger, a look of playful disdain on his face. His eyes, however, shone with amusement—enough to show that he wasn't really angry, not even disgusted, despite his expression. "I'll get a new one later. Preferably with less spit."

Mor offered him a sheepish smile. "My bad."

She offered the can to you next. You narrowed your eyes at it for a moment, then shrugged with a resigned smile and raised it to your lips. You felt Azriel's gaze on you, noticing the amused, skeptical eyebrow he raised. You waited for him to say something, to speak in that low tone he often preferred in public, but he only shook his head, chuckling softly.

His eyes lit up a few seconds later.

"Wait a second,” he said.

Azriel's gaze flicked to Cassian, and without a word, he started patting him down. Cassian angled his head to the side, brows furrowed as Az’s hands wandered around his form. “Dude,” he said, “What's with the hands?”

Azriel didn’t respond, continuing his search with focused intent. He wrapped a palm around Cassian’s exposed biceps to face him further, finally reaching the fanny pack strapped to his broad chest.

“Got it,” Az declared. When he pulled away, you caught sight of the device in his hand. Cassian paused for a moment, and you could see an out-of-pocket response on the tip of his tongue, but he simply shrugged and rejoined the conversation he had left with Feyre and Rhys.

His camera was held securely in his hands as Azriel turned back to you and Mor. Your eyes drifted down to the way his palm held it. It looked so natural there, a perfect fit, and the glow of inspiration in his eyes sent a flutter through your body. You hadn’t realized that he had brought it— hadn’t seen when Cassian went through security with his bag.

Az lifted the camera in a silent invitation and Mor let out an excited squeal, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to pull you in close. You smiled and your focus fell on Azriel. He held his camera with a careful, precise grip, ensuring you were perfectly in frame. With every movement he made, either a height adjustment or a turn of the camera, he sent a quick glance to his surroundings, quietly making sure that he refrained from accidentally bumping the people around him.

It was sweet how he managed to remain respectful in such a large crowd, how he cared enough to be aware of such things. The thought burrowed itself deeper into the area of your mind that had gained a heavy label this past week: Longings for Azriel, as you called it. An embarrassingly fitting title.

He took the picture with a satisfied smile and lowered his camera, the sunlight casting a warm, almost golden glow over his features. For a moment, your mouth felt dry at the sight of him. The harsh sun you’d been cursing for hours now seemed to soften, bathing his eyes in a molten blend of brown, gold, and green. Azriel had been in his element all of today. You saw it clearly— the ease in which he spoke with all of you, the way his eyes gleamed and the smile on his lips persisted. Every set you’d watched had been enjoyed through two ways: dancing with Mor, Feyre and Cassian, or admiring Az as he listened. Your grip tightened around the can you still held.

Mor leaned in to view the image on the camera’s screen and your surroundings poured into your consciousness once more, the loud sound of the crowd rising in level. You closed the gap Az had created when he stepped back and, in a moment of self-indulgence, brushed lightly against him to view the picture.

“This is so cute. I love it,” Mor fawned. She placed a hand on Az’s forearm and gave him a sweet smile. “This is such a great photo, Az.”

Azriel angled the screen towards you. You didn’t doubt her words, but Mor was indeed right. It was a great photo. You could see it all perfectly: the bustling crowd, the stage, the speakers in the background, and you and Mor glowing with happiness. It stirred something emotional within you, a perfect memory you could imagine showing future children to prove that their parent was once cool.

You looked up at him. “This is perfect.”

He smiled, almost timidly. “Yeah?”

“I guess you're back on track?”

Recognition sparked in his eyes. “I think I just found my mu—”

Just then, the crowd moved like a restless sea and a body pushed into you. You stumbled slightly and Azriel's hand instinctively reached out to steady you, his touch warm and firm against the exposed skin between your shirt and pants. A shiver ran through you at the contact.

You turned to look at the person. He looked to be around your age, if not a few years older, with green eyes and a strange mullet that almost gave him bangs. Mor glared at him, but it was Azriel who spoke.

“Watch it,” he growled.

“My bad man,” Mullet slurred, eyes shifting between you and Azriel. “Didn’t see you.”

Azriel’s glare followed him until his figure melted back into the crowd, muttering under his breath, “Cut that mop you call hair and maybe you’d see better.”

You suppress a laugh at Azriel’s irritation, a huge amused grin spreading across your face. You’d forgotten how protective Az could be, even if it wasn’t strictly necessary. His readiness to jump to the defense of those he cared about was endearing at its core, so you swallowed the small urge to make fun of his response.

Instead, it was Mor who broke the tension, her voice laced with mockery. “Damn, Az.” She raised an eyebrow and a small smirk grew on her lips. “If looks could kill, you’d be a serial killer.”

Az rolled his eyes but there was a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, betraying his true amusement despite his feigned annoyance.

You handed Mor the canned drink back and clapped your hands together. “Alright. I need my own drink, so I’ll be back.”

Az handed Cassian the camera and turned to you. “I’ll go with you.”

You shook your head. “No, its okay. You just got back.”

Az gestured to the drink Mor had swiped. “I could use another, too.” He looked around. “And I think you might need some help getting back.”

You scanned the crowd, noting how it thickened with every passing second. Having Azriel to help navigate through would be a relief. And the prospect of some alone time with him was just as appealing.

“Okay,” you smiled. “Thank you.”

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

The line for drinks was manageable, with only about seven people ahead of you. The festival buzzed around you, the air thick with the scent of food and the distant hum of music from other stages.

Azriel stood next to you, head slowly scanning his surroundings, silver dagger earring glistening in the sun. Your eyes lingered on the slight curve of his lips, at the way a sense of ease hung from his resting features.

“You know, I knew you’d enjoy this,” you found yourself saying, voice carrying over the ambient noise. “The live music and all. But part of me is surprised.”

He looked at you, one eyebrow raised. “Why’s that?”

”I thought you weren’t a large gathering type of person.”

You held many memories of Azriel from over the years. The memories from the past two years were few and far between, but the ones from freshman year—- those you held in abundance. Azriel’s quietness was something you noticed before you knew him. He was content to watch, content to observe. It was why photography seemed so fitting for him, a hobby for someone who liked to collect moments, to enjoy them from a watcher's vantage point rather than that of a main actor.

Azriel chuckled softly. Despite the festival’s noise, you heard it in perfect clarity.

“I’m not. But that’s for gatherings where I’m expected to constantly engage. This is different. Everyone here is doing their own thing, no one is paying attention to me. I can just disappear into the crowd.”

You let the words settle and studied him more intently. It occurred to you how unrealistic his words felt to you, how silly it was to think that people’s eyes didn’t naturally gravitate towards him. And you thought that it was a bit silly too, then, that your eyes did.

You and Azriel were friends, maybe even in the lightest of terms. Friends that could’ve been more, could’ve had a deeper connection, platonically, had it not been for choices you made. And yet, your eyes always found him. All of this morning, all of this past week. Your gaze found him time and time again, like a magnet calling to you.

You shook your head and a small laugh left your lips. An amused, timid sound. Azriel nudged your shoulder.

”What? He asked, but you only shook your head again, letting the smile linger on your lips. “What is it?” Azriel asked again.

You met his gaze then, that surveying, intense gaze, and shrugged. “It’s just, you could never disappear into a crowd, Az.”

His brows furrowed and you held his gaze, watching as a flicker of confusion crossed his face—- or perhaps it was curiosity, instead. You felt a flutter of something deep and tender inside of you. You swallowed.

“At least not for me.”

The line moved forward and you sent a silent thank you to the sky, stepping ahead. Azriel lingered behind for a moment, eyes still trained on you. His brows were still slightly furrowed, but a smile tugged at his lips—-something tender, like your words touched him in a way he hadn’t expected.

You ordered your drink, offering a grateful smile to the girl behind the table, and stood to the side as Azriel stepped up to order. The girl’s demeanor changed almost immediately—- cheeks flushed slightly, a new timid smile playing on her lips as she drank in the sight of him. You resisted the urge to laugh at it, a desire born out of total understanding rather than mockery.

Azriel was a stunning kind of attractive, a cold type of handsome that made you shiver if you stared too long. And the girl, she was pretty too, you thought, in an angelic sort of way. Blonde hair like Mor, blue eyes like Feyre. It dawned on you that you might look at Azriel the same way, with the same childish awe and longing admiration. The thought made you blush in embarrassment and you took a sip of your drink.

Azriel seemed oblivious to the effect he was having, focused solely on the screen before him and paying for his drink. She turned around to face him, drink in hand, and leaned forward to offer it.

And then her eyes fell to his hands. She let out a small breath, a sound that seemed to surprise even her, and her eyes widened in response. Az’s drink was placed on the counter much harsher than she likely intended.

As strange as it sounded, sometimes you forgot about Azriel's hands— forgot that they weren't what were considered normal to the causal observer. You didn't know if this was a good thing, if it was something Azriel preferred or had no opinion on.

Like most people, you'd noticed them when you first met him. Azriel was a quiet observer, a motionless one at times. But in class, when you caught yourself staring at him more often than you'd ever admit, you'd catch sight of the way he'd anxiously crack his fingers with the pad of his thumb. It would bring your attention right back to his hands, to the ridges on his skin.

The scars that marred his hands were extreme, yes, and a certain sadness flowed through you when you looked at them long enough— when you thought about what pain he must've endured— but they were also beautiful. Something so entirely unique; unique enough to where you knew it was him whenever he touched you.

But as hauntingly beautiful as his hands were, eventually they simply became a part of him, something as mundane and expected as his right earlobe or the freckle on his cheek— the one that disappeared into his dimple when he smiled hard enough.

The girl tried her best to catch herself, quickly pushing forward Azriel's canned drink on the surface and giving him a timid, almost apologetic smile. But it was too late. You saw the switch clear as day, watched as something dark ran through Azriel's face— something parallel to childhood fear, to deep-seated embarrassment, to heated resentment, all in one. He pressed a button when prompted for a tip, his gaze steady on his finger as it moved across the screen.

You cleared your throat, leaning forward to grab his drink in your free hand and motioning him away from the growing line. Az seemed to snap out of the daze he'd fallen into, meeting your hurried motions with a furrowed brow. You nodded towards the crowd.

"C'mon," you said, offering the can to him. "We gotta head back."

The whine in your voice did its intended job, concealing your actions as ones driven out of an impatience to return rather than a desire to protect him. It wasn't that you thought it would bother him if he realized what you were trying to do, no, but you didn't want him to read it as something rooted in pity. You didn't want him to fall further back into his head than he already had.

When he didn't reply, you pushed his drink further towards him with an impatient hum. He raised a singular eyebrow for a fleeting second, the corners of his lips twitching upwards as he took the cold drink from you, fingers brushing against yours. Nothing flashed in his face at the contact— there was no twitch, no flicker of something darker in his features.

"They're not going on for another forty five minutes," he finally said.

You sighed, a dramatic and weariful sigh, and the curve of his lips blossomed into a smile.

"Az,” you began, ��Some of the best moments are going to be found in that crowd while waiting."

For the second time, you beckoned towards the crowd. You ignored the flutter in your chest as you leaned forward to grab his hand, tugging him along behind you— ignored the tightening in your chest as Azriel held onto you tighter.

You made your way back through the dense crowd, struggling to move until you finally reached your friends. Feyre and Rhys were the first to spot you, offering a cheer of greeting as you and Az squeezed into the spaces they’d saved for you. Mor’s eyes traveled to Azriel, scanning his face quickly.

“Whats wro-“

You widened your eyes in warning, giving a small, subtle shake of your head that only she could pick up on. Mor mouthed a clarifying question and in response you brought your hand to the one that wrapped around the cold can of your drink, gently brushing your palm against the knuckles.

Her eyes widened in understanding and a small frown found her lips. She wiped it off within seconds, any trace of it perfectly concealed as she grabbed Azriel's attention with a large smile.

"Aren't you so excited? I'm so excited."

Azriel nodded, but his expression remained a bit guarded. Your stomach twisted and Mor shot you a worried glance. You looked at Az, nudging his arm with your shoulder, and his gaze dropped to you.

”Cheers?” You said, lifting your drink in invitation. “For good luck.”

Azriel’s face softened and the remaining edge washed away. His eyes glimmered as he lifted his drink.

“Cheers,” he replied, clinking his can against yours.

Thirty five minutes later, the crowd came to life as the band walked on stage.

They played for a total of forty-eight minutes.

Your eyes were on Az for around twenty-seven of them.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

authors note: they notice each other 🥺🥺 they pay attention to each other 🥹🥹 god this makes me miss having a crush— noticing every small thing, those BUTTERFLIES!!! i love them your honor

permanent tag list 🫶🏻:

@rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon

@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen @azrielsbbg

@evergreenlark @marina468 @azriels-human @panther-girl-124 @bubybubsters

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @feyretopia @ninthcircleofprythian @velariscalling @azrielrot

@justyouraveragekleemain @marigold-morelli @mrsjna @anarchiii @alittlelostalittlefound-blog

@melissat1254

@m4tthewmurd0ck @beardburnsupersoldiers @isnotwhatyourethinking @tothestarsandwhateverend

thank you for reading 🫶🏻🫶🏻

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danikamariewrites · 4 months

Text

Balance

Mob!Azriel x reader AU

A/n: I reread @thehighladywrites professor Eris series and it inspired this lil mob Az blurb. Ruhn week day 1 post will be out later today, love you guys 💕

Warnings: guns, cold medicine

Cracking your eyes open, the sting of dryness made you blink rapidly. The coolness of the bed and room made your runny nose worse along with your cough. Your chest constricted, that dry cough ripping at your throat.

You reached for Azriel, desperate to absorb his warmth to stop your shivering. Touching the cold sheets on his side of the massive bed your hand shakes.

Wiping the sleep from your eyes you see the digital clock on Az’s nightstand blares two in the morning in red numbers. Letting out a groan you pull the covers tight around your shoulders. You swear he was here when you fell asleep, maybe it was a fever dream? You were still fending off a one hundred degree fever so it’s entirely possible.

Azriel was probably working, like he always was. It never bothered you unless you truly needed him like right now. There was only one thing to do now. Make your boyfriend feel guilty by wearing your cutest tired pout and wrapping yourself in a fluff blanket.

Doing exactly that (wearing your extra fluffy slippers for good measure) you head downstairs to Az’s office.

You heard arguing through the cracked door, making you second guess your decision to interrupt Azriel’s work. But, you already walked all the way down here, so there was no turning back now.

Padding over to the door you peek through the opening to assess what you were about to interrupt. Azriel was fully dressed with Rhysand and Cassian flanking him, along with a few other ‘employees’. They all faced someone you couldn’t see. A man, clearly begging for his life, vehemently insisting he did not have the information Azriel was seeking.

You should leave. This isn’t something Azriel would want you near.

But he was right there. And you were desperate for him to comfort you.

The interrogation continued as you stayed hidden behind the oak double doors, your thoughts still warring on whether to stay or leave. As one of Azriel’s men hands him his gun, your body makes the decision for you, of all things a sneeze gives you away. A small squeak coming from you as you try to hold it in. Everyone in the office freezes, shocked by the little noise. Azriel shoves the gun into Cassian’s chest, making his way to doors, his demeanor completely changing into the loving, caring Azriel you know. Pulling the door open lightly you stare up innocently at your boyfriend. Azriel’s concerned face staring back at you, “Sweetheart, what’s wrong? Were you sick again?” His tone was soft and worried. You step to move into him but Azriel forces you back a little, confirming that he didn’t want you to see whatever was unfolding in his office.

You shake your head, “No, I just woke up cold and needed you.” Azriel lets out a sympathetic hum, pressing his lips to your forehead. You felt his frown at your still too warm temperature and your trembling shoulders under his arms.

Turning to his men Azriel orders them to finish working. Scooping you into his arms, Az makes sure to angle you to not see inside. Mother above, if must be gruesome in there.

On the way back to your bedroom Azriel whispers calming words to you, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you woke up, my love. I thought the medicine would keep you asleep. We’ll get you some more before you go back to sleep.” He punctuates each sentence with a soft kiss to your temple.

Placing you on the bed with all the care in the world, Azriel slips the blanket from your shoulders, draping it over the end of the bed. Getting another pill from the bathroom he places it on your tongue, holding a glass of water to your lips as you take small sips.

Taking his suit off for the second time that night, leaving him in a pair of black boxers, Azriel climbs into bed pulling you close to his chest. You immediately feel relaxed. Your arms feel heavy as you wrap them around Azriel’s shoulder, sleep creeping back into your body thanks to the meds. “Thank you Azzy, love you s’much.” You babble.

“I love you more, sweetheart. Rest now, I promise I’ll be here when you wake up.” His focus is fully on you now. His work downstairs is long forgotten.

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar reader fic #acotar reader imagine #acotar imagine #azriel x reader #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x you #azriel fic #azriel imagine #azriel fanfic #azriel au #acotar azriel #azriel #azriel fluff #mob!azriel au #mob!azriel

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lyssasdrafts · 5 months

Text

★ 𓈒 ݁ STAR—CROSSED (rhysand x reader) ⊹

prologue: (written) ✧

𓈒 ݁ ✫ masterlist next

prythian university had always been your dream.

it was a top school, boasting the most famous alumni and their academic achievements. you knew since you were young that this was where you wanted to end up and had worked your whole life for it. even if being accepted was more than enough, you knew it couldn’t end there. you spent your time dedicating everything to the school so you could still claim being valedictorian at your university graduation too.

while it was stressful, prythian was definitely worth it. you loved the campus life, being able to admire all the historic buildings and how big their library was everyday. even your professors, who were rumored to be some of the harshest, were friendly towards you. a part of you wanted to stay in this part of the city forever, it almost seemed better than your life at home.

what you hadn’t expected from going to prythian were the three famous names on campus. they were your most infuriating classmates, blocking your way everyday from the crowds gathering around them and giving you a headache all the whispers about them in class.

azriel was the only one you could tolerate. he kept his head down and sat at the back of the class, and was always quiet and respectful. that’s what you appreciated about him. the only thing that turned you away from him was that one time you were ever late to class and the look he’d given you as you walked in.

he was cold, you thought. you could feel his glare on you whenever you were nearby. he refused to talk to anyone, even turning his head at others who were just asking if the seat next to him was available. sometimes you wondered how someone so reserved could get along with cassian and rhysand.

at least he wasn’t a menace; that was cassian’s job. you probably found him the most annoying out of the three. he was always the one asking the most impractical questions in class, clearly just to get a reaction out of everyone and to annoy the professor. you recoiled everytime he gave that big grin afterwards, thinking he’d done something.

you hated how loud and immature him and his jokes were. you never understood what the appeal of him as a jock was. high-fiving every other person in the halls and causing a group to form around him.

while cassian got on your nerves the most, rhysand was your least favorite. he was the combination of azriel’s coldness and cassian’s boldness. he had always pissed you off ever since he flaunted the fact he got a higher mark on a first year exam. would someone like him even realize how hard you’d worked?

it never failed to confuse you how someone like rhysand, who partied every weekend with his friends and caused a pandemonium everywhere he went, could be compared to you. you, who had stayed up every night in your dorm room alone studying. and he was your competition?

it never made sense to you. you never understood why people were so drawn to them, why they were considered the best of prythian university, and what was so enticing about them when all they’ve done is act like fools to you. even seeing how your professor would smile at them as the boys walked out of class enduringly, despite the boys giving them a headache for the day. you tried to ignore whenever your classmates and even friends asked about them, how much it annoyed you that they were praised for nothing.

perhaps you could understand why some would find them attractive. it’s hard not to have your eyes on them — the way their tall figures walked down the hallway. you ignored the way your eyes lingered at rhysand sometimes, how sometimes you avoided him because you couldn’t hold his gaze and not purely because you hated him.

but as of now, as far as you knew, you wanted nothing to do with prythian’s golden trio and made it your goal to absolutely become better than rhysand.

#— starcrossed #acotar x reader #acotar x you #acotar imagine #acotar au #rhysand x reader #rhysand x you #rhysand imagine #rhysand acotar #acotar rhysand #bat boys x reader #night court x reader #night court x you #cassian x reader #cassian x you #azriel x reader #azriel x you #rhysand au #rhysand angst

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thehighladywrites · 11 months

Text

masterlist.

a court of thornes and roses

rhysand

ᜊ Beneath their smiles - your friends turn out to be using you, comfort and hurt

ᜊ Texting Rhysand - smau

ᜊ Sugar daddy Rhysand - big dick daddy rhysand spends cash on you and falls in love, breaking your agreement

ᜊ “Just one more, I know you can do it” - rhys has a massive breeding kink

ᜊ “This isn’t goodbye, this is simply see you later” - ex husband/baby daddy rhysand

ᜊ “I got you, darling…” - Rhys takes care of you on your period

azriel

ᜊ Texting Azriel - smau

ᜊ Texting Azriel pt. 2 - smau

ᜊ Need you so bad baby, please… - ovulation week hits you hard, you need your mate

ᜊ Azzie, I think your mom is super hot… - you meet azriels mother and develop a little crush on her

ᜊ I still remember the third of December, me in your sweater… - angst, just plain angst with a somewhat bittersweet ending

ᜊ “Tell me you’re mine” , “ i’m yours” - you dream that azriel was cheating on you and now you can’t look at him without being annoyed. It’s not really his fault, but still… azriel reassures you, promising that you’re the only one for him.

ᜊ “You can even call me daddy, give you someone to look up to” - sugar daddy azriel spoils you

ᜊ “If it’s so wrong, why does it feel so good?” - azriel is a stalker and pervy guy

ᜊ The sessions masterlist - nerdy azriel x bimbo reader

ᜊ “You were flirting with me?” - you doubt Azriel even likes you since all he does is stare into your soul. Azriel thinks he is very clear when he stares, why do you not understand that he is flirting?

cassian

ᜊ That’s your mother but she’s my wife first… - your kids loose their tempers, cassian reminds them who you are, nsfw, light angst, hurt & comfort

ᜊ The Airhead Chronicles: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5 - cassian is mates to a ditzy reader, and he loves her more than anything. How do they function together? - FINISHED

ᜊ “make her squirt on my balmain shirt” - cassian finds out you can squirt

eris vanserra

ᜊ Professor Eris x reader: part 1, part 2, part 2,5, part 3 part 4 part 5 - you hook up with this delicious older man for one fun night to forget your scummy ex, what do you do when the same man turns out to be your new professor? What do you do when that same professor had a dark secret? - ONGOING

ᜊ Vanserra brothers NSFW Alphabet - nsfw, crack, a sprinkle of angst

feyre archeron

ᜊ “let’s settle this catfight in the ring, let’s settle this in bed” - enemies to lovers, smut, angst, jealousy

elain archeron

soon

lucien vanserra

ᜊ Vanserra brothers NSFW Alphabet - nsfw, crack, a sprinkle of angst

acotar men x reader

ᜊ ACOTAR men x reader, sneaking out to a bar while you’re drunk - smau, multi men, tiny bit nsfw

ᜊ ACOTAR men x reader, using doe eyes on them - nsfw, multi men, headcanons

ᜊ ACOTAR men x reader, putting bows on their things - headcanons, multi men, cute asf

ᜊ ACOTAR men x reader, you being asexual - smau, multi men, headcanons

ᜊ ACOTAR men x reader, sassy man apocalypse - smau, multi men, crack

ᜊ ACOTAR men x reader, being their sneaky link - multi men, nsfw, headcanons

ᜊ ACOTAR men x reader, banning them from intimacy - multi men, nsfw, headcanons

ᜊ ACOTAR men x reader, meeting your parents - multi men, headcanons, crack, fluff

ᜊ ACOTAR men x reader, your child catches you in the act - multi men, headcanons, crack, nsfw

ᜊ ACOTAR men x reader, sitting on their lap - multi men, headcanons, nsfw

ᜊ ACOTAR men x reader, them as your baby daddies - multi men, nsfw

multi characters

ᜊ Breaking up with the acotar characters as a prank - smau, multi

ᜊ Texting “ She’s busy “ as a prank with the acotar characters - smau, multi

ᜊ ACOTAR characters x reader, ” I had a really fun time yesterday. Oops wrong person ” - smau, multi

ᜊ ACOTAR characters x reader, creepy man hitting on drunk reader - smau, multi, tiny bit nsfw

ᜊ ACOTAR characters x reader, we need to talk - smau, multi

ᜊ ACOTAR characters x reader, sending them nudes/lingerie pics - smau, multi, nsfw

ᜊ ACOTAR characters x reader, asking them for hand pics - smau, multi, tiny bit nsfw

ᜊ ACOTAR characters x reader, “can i get x’s number?” - smau, multi

ᜊ ACOTAR characters x reader, doing elf on the shelf for your kids - smau, multi

ᜊ ACOTAR characters x reader, random texts - smau, nsfw, multi

ᜊ nsfw visual links for them - multi, smut, nsfw,

ᜊ ACOTAR characters x reader, “where’s my treat?” - multi, nsfw-ish

ᜊ ACOTAR characters using twitter; pt 1 | pt 2 - nsfw, swearing

ᜊ ACOTAR characters x reader, forgetting your anniversary - smau, angst, multi

throne of glass

multi:

ᜊ TOG characters x reader, sending them lingerie pics - smau, multi, suggestiveness

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daycourtofficial · 7 months

Text

Falling in Love on the Fourth Floor - Part 6

Summary: Out of an act of desperation, you move in with a guy you kind of know who happens to have a really hot brother who lives next door.

Author’s note: getting some tension here 👀 and yes the opening scene is inspired by How I Met Your Mother. This ends on a sad note for Azzy Baby so a bit angsty

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Masterlist)

Azriel isn’t surprised as his front door opens to find you bursting through it, as you had texted him about fifteen minutes ago if you could come over and tell him something. You quickly lock the door behind yourself, turning to face himself and Rhysand.

“So you guys know how Cassian and I got drunk last night after dinner,” you start before Rhys cuts you off with his hand. “Please don’t tell me Cass made it three weeks with a female roommate before having sex with her.”

You grimace at him, “ew, no.”

A look passes between Azriel and Rhys, one you can’t quite make out, but Azriel stands a bit straighter after your words.

“As I was saying - we got drunk, and after you guys left, we were walking down to go get donuts from the place on the corner when we passed a tattoo parlor and we went in.”

After the dinner with Mor last night, Feyre dropped the four of you off and you all had congregated into yours and Cassian’s apartment. You were tipsy for most of the night, Rhys and Az had the slightest hint of a buzz, and Cassian was bordering on blackout because he “wanted to take advantage of not doing anything the next day”.

Your mention of a tattoo parlor got their attention very quickly. You start giggling then, jumping up and down at what you have to tell them. You can’t contain your excitement as you blurt out, “Cassian got a tramp stamp and I don’t think he remembers it.”

They both look at you in shocked silence then start laughing. They start asking a million questions - “what is it? What color is it?” After a minute you tell them, “he’s awake and I know he’ll be over any minute - we have to remain calm. You need to see it.”

You turn back, unlocking the door for Cassian. The three of you wait in pained silence until you hear the knob turning, prompting you and Rhys to begin two completely different conversations to fill the silence.

“So like I said she was hot-“

“My professor is a jackass who wouldn’t -“

Cassian walks in, too hungover to notice the conflicting dialogues. He walks in shirtless and you start practically buzzing in excitement. You send warning glares to his brothers, trying to communicate, “please please please you need to see it before you say anything”.

Cassian groans a greeting to you three, walking past the three of you to open the fridge door. As he searches for whatever it is he wants, the three of you crowd behind him to look at the little blue candy heart that says “babygirl” in pink script tattooed just above his ass.

Rhys shoves his fingers in his mouth to keep from laughing and Azriel’s about to break when you slap a hand over his mouth. You all try so hard to keep from laughing, which makes it that much harder to restrain yourselves.

Rhys cracks first, unable to stop himself as he asks, “are you lost, babygirl,” referencing that godsawful 365 Days movie Cassian made you all watch a few days ago.

The three of you lose it, and Azriel collapses to the floor in giggles, taking you with him. From the ground you watch Cassian’s confused brain try to make sense of why you all were laughing so hard when Rhys slaps right where the fresh tattoo lied and Cassian yelps in pain.

“Oh gods, why does that hurt so much?” He stills, running straight for Azriel’s bathroom. The three of you follow, standing outside the door listening for Cassian’s moment of realization. He screams in shock, running back out, pointing a finger at you.

“You did this!”

“Me?” You ask, between giggles, “I think it was you, babygirl.”

That sends Azriel over the edge again, and he starts giggling into your hair.

“I’m getting it removed asap,” Cassian grounds out, storming out the apartment, leaving the three of you to giggle and mock him a bit more.

The week goes by in a blur of classes and project work. You don’t see much of Azriel, but the two of you text frequently after sending him that first message about Cassian’s tattoo.

The two of you would send photos of valentine’s hearts to each other, clearly mocking Cassian, asking, “would this look good on my chest?”

You had spent most of the week glued to your phone, waiting for his responses. Feyre even got mad at you when you had dinner at her place on Wednesday because you kept glancing at your phone while she was telling you something.

You began apologizing, telling her about you and Az texting, when her own phone buzzed taking away her attention. You had sat back as her gaze moved to her phone, hands itching to respond to Rhysand.

“Go on,” you told her, “pot calling the kettle back, I see.”

Today was Friday, so you didn’t have any classes, however you did spend the day TAing for several Organic Chemistry labs, the first of which had Rhysand in it. He had offered to drive you to campus, and after dinner with Feyre, you’re wondering if it’s just so he can talk to you about your friend.

You walked into their apartment, ready to meet Rhysand when you were met with a beautiful girl on their couch. She had long blonde hair in a nest braid on her head, and her silver eyes pierced you as you entered the apartment.

You look around, checking that you’re in the right apartment, and offer her a small smile, trying not to look as shocked as you feel as you shut the door behind yourself.

Was Rhys seeing someone?

She tells you, “I’m Nesta,” and you nod, offering her your own name back. She quirks a small smile at that, leaning back in the seat. “Interesting,” she says, “you’re just like Azriel described.” Her eyes roam up and down your body, and her face remains neutral, not giving you any hint of what she sees.

You want to know more about how Azriel had described you, when the man in question comes out of his room and stops at the sight of you talking to Nesta.

“Hey,” he tells you, and you’re too focused on watching him to notice Nesta roll her eyes at how much he had deepened his voice. She starts to say something, and he realizes it, strolling over to give her his notebook to keep her quiet.

The teasing words die on her tongue, replaced by words of gratitude. Azriel breaks eye contact with her to see you’ve started to stand, saying, “I’m gonna go wait outside - uh clearly you have company.”

Azriel looks at you, your face riddled with confusion and something else he can’t quite place.

“No, don’t worry. I was just leaving. I’ll see you tonight?” She asks, turning back to Azriel, “7?”

You wince at the date they’ve made, and Azriel definitely notices. He nods, “yeah, I’ll see you.”

He walks her to the door, before turning back to you, an interesting look on your face.

“She’s uh nice,” you stammer out, heart beating wildly once he shuts the door behind her.

Of course someone as pretty as Azriel needs someone as striking as Nesta. Were you a fool this whole time? To consider he might harbor affections for you? Was all the texting just niceties between neighbors?

“Not to new people she isn’t,” he replies, hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his feet.

“She was nice to me,” which makes it ten times harder for you to hate her. Your face flushed with embarrassment at having read this whole situation wrong. You are internally pleading with any force in the universe to make Rhys hurry up so you can bury yourself in shame and embarrassment away from Azriel.

“Well that’s because-“ but the words die on his tongue, as Rhys strolls out of his room, clearly hearing your prayers.

“Oh there you are, come on let’s go,” he tells you, grabbing his bookbag, snapping at you like you’re the problem, “we’re going to be late.”

Azriel’s brows furrow, “where are you two headed off to?”

Rhys smiles, “didn’t you know? She’s my lovely TA for O Chem lab.”

Azriel pulled up to the building later that night, hopping off his bike after spending hours with Nesta at the library. She was doing a minor in computer science, so she was taking the same electives as Azriel and they met weekly to do their homework together.

Tonight’s topic for review was all about you and how Nesta is certain that you were jealous of her sitting in his apartment and she was equally certain that any man in a city block would be lining up to ask you out.

“Don’t wait too long, Az,” she had told him as they walked towards the parking lot, mostly empty due to how early it was in the semester and the late hour. “She’s awfully pretty and smart. I’d date her.”

She smirked at Azriel’s disapproving look, thanking him for the notes from yesterday’s lecture.

Nesta’s words ring in his head as he spots you at the door of your building, a little black dress adorning your body. He walks closer, opting to leave his helmet on, eyes glued to how the dress covers your curves, and it takes a moment to realize that you’re with someone.

And not just anyone.

A guy. Some guy. Some guy that wasn’t himself.

Fuck, he thinks.

Did he have it all wrong? Were you seeing someone - responding to his texts because of pity? You had been so nice - were you just this nice to everyone? The subtle touches, the quick glances, did he make them all up?

He hadn’t thought much of your lack of communication today - you had told him previously that Fridays are a busy day for you, but now he knows you likely spent the afternoon getting ready for this date.

He keeps the helmet on as he walks past, not even hearing your conversation with the guy. He tries to keep himself from being noticed as he walks right past you, the scent of vanilla and flowers hitting him. He walks through the lobby, straight into the waiting elevator.

His fingers stay pressed on the button that leads to your floor, moving to stay pressed on the “close doors” button. He can’t stomach the sight of you two, and he certainly can’t stomach sharing an elevator with you two, forced into making small talk with your date.

His thoughts whirl and swirl with the texts you had been exchanging all week since you all had dinner together as he leans his helmeted head against the closed elevator doors. Jokes shared between you two into the odd hours of the night.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had stayed up texting someone, not wanting to go to sleep for fear of ending the conversation. He thought he had even heard you laughing through the wall at his dumb jokes. He had even fallen asleep while waiting for your response last night, his phone unlocked next to his face to your chain of texts the first thing he saw that morning.

The doors to the elevator open and he walks to his apartment, unlocking the door, and trudging into his room. He pulls off his helmet, chucking it somewhere in his room. He replaces it with his headphones, cranking the volume up as loud as it will go, to drown out any noise that could filter in from the apartment next door.

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel #azriel fanfic #azriel fluff #azriel x y/n #azriel angst #acotar writing

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a-new-romantic · 1 month

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academic rivals ♡ (azriel x reader)

summary: you and azriel have been fighting for the spot of valedictorian for your whole lives. the day has finally come where you find out who it really is.

a/n: i wish i had an academic rival

you submitted your last final, to your professor who nodded in approval at the first page of answers.

as you turn away, a triumphant grin crosses your face as you eyes Azriel still in his seat finishing his exam. he glares at you as you stick your tongue out at him, leaving the classroom. another win in your book.

you headed to your locker and grabbed all the remaining stuff from the storage space. As you finished, you turned to walk towards the principal's office to ask them the question you've been asking your whole education. suddenly, you felt a rush of wind race past you.

"catch up, slow poke" azriel called out at you as he sped walk by you, ever the stickler for rules and refusing to run down the halls.

"whatever," you muttered as you rolled your eyes and slammed your locker shut, walking as fast as you could to the principal's office.

"morons," cassian muttered from his locker as you both passed him "why don't they just run?"

"beats me," rhysand replied, examining his nails with a knowing smile.

you run the last few feet to the principal's office, reaching there at the same time as azriel. you both pant, as the door opens up in front of you two - revealing the secretary.

"come in," she said with an air of boredom, having been through the same song and dance multiple times.

you both beeline the principles office, shoving at each other as you sit down in the chairs in front of his desk.

"hello you two," the principle said, looking away from his computer. "congratulations on completing all your finals!"

"yeah, yeah," azriel said, shoving at your shoulder, "tell us who it is."

"what? the principle asked in confusion.

"tell us who valedictorian is!" you explained, "it has to be me, right? i took more APs."

"no, it's me! I did more community college classes," Az countered back at you, glaring.

"it's neither of you." the principal said, interrupting your argument.

"what?" you said, both of you stopping in your tracks.

"i'm the valedictorian," you hear from behind you, and you both turn around in horror to see Rhysand leaning against the doorway.

"i have a higher GPA than the both of you. 4.9," he stated as he stalked towards the desk. "i'm here to pick up my sash."

the principal handed him the sash and he left with a wink.

"you two are free to go now," the principal said, turning back to his computer.

you both stand up wordlessly and leave the office, the secretary snickering at the two of your faces.

"oh my god," you said as soon as you got out of the office. you rubbed your face with your hands, groaning into them. "how could neither of us win? how did rhysand win?"

"i have no fucking clue," azriel said, mirroring your despair. "we're literally best friends, why wouldn't he tell me?"

after a few more minutes of wallowing, he looked at you.

"i guess we both don't win our bet," he said, sadly. suddenly, you eyes flases in remembrance.

"oh my god, our bet," you said, reminiscing on the deal you both had made after 8th grade promotion where you both had been names "best student". you had stated that if you got valedictorian, azriel would give you his car. if azriel had won, he would take you on a date.

"there goes my date, huh?" azriel said, looking into your eyes with a slightly remorseful feel. as you looked at him, you realized that the best thing about fighting for valedictorian was that you fighting with him.

it would not have been the same if it was anyone else fighting with you, you only enjoyed it as long as the competition was with him.

ignoring his question, you said "i'm gonna miss us," quietly.

"me too," he said, "the competition was nice. and you're pretty nie too," he said, giving you a one sided hug.

"hey," you said, returning the hug, "we have all summer. do you still want that date?" you said.

he looked at you with stars in his eyes, "i would like nothing more," as he linked his hand with yours. you squeezed his hand and he squeezed yours as you smiled up at him.

suddenly, you hear a shout behind you.

"azriel! y/n! i know neither of you were valedictorian, but the position of salutorian is open." the principal stated.

you both glanced at each other with wolfish grins as you nodded to hear the answer.

"congratulations y/n," he said as he handed you a sash. "prepare your speech for graduation by next week please."

you stare at the sash in your hands, proud of yourself (even if it wasn't valedictorian).

"YES!" you shout, and jump around the halls, gripping the sash in your hands.

"congrats beautiful," he muttered as stared at you celebrate with admiration. "i can't wait to hear that speech, i better be mentioned." he said. you grinned and pinched his arm, "of course," you stated as you both left the school ready for your endless summer romance to begin.

#azriel x reader #acotar x reader #acotar #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #rhysand x reader #azriel x reader fluff #azriel fluff #azriel shadowsinger #azriel #azriel fanfic #acotar fanfic #azriel x oc

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sonics-atelier · 5 months

Text

Professor Sonic here to educate yall why Rhysand Hiding vital information about Feyre's body from her was wrong

1. Lack of informed consent : By withholding vital information about Feyre's pregnancy and the risks associated with childbirth, Rhysand denied her the opportunity to make an informed decision about her own body and reproductive health. Every individual has the right to know and understand the potential risks involved in pregnancy and childbirth, and Rhysand's failure to disclose this information deprived Feyre of her autonomy and agency.

2 . Endangering Feyre's health : Pregnancy and childbirth are inherently risky processes, and concealing information about potential complications puts Feyre's health and well-being at serious risk. By keeping her in the dark about the possibility that childbirth could be fatal, Rhysand failed to prioritize Feyre's safety and disregarded her right to access necessary medical care and support.

3. Emotional and psychological harm : Discovering the truth about the risks associated with childbirth after becoming pregnant can be deeply traumatic and emotionally distressing. Rhysand's decision to withhold this information not only endangered Feyre's physical health but also inflicted significant emotional harm, as Feyre was forced to grapple with the fear and uncertainty of facing a life-threatening situation without adequate preparation or support.

4. Lack of trust and communication : Healthy relationships are built on trust, honesty, and open communication. By choosing to hide vital information from Feyre, Rhysand undermined the foundation of trust in their relationship and created a barrier to effective communication. Feyre's ability to trust Rhysand and confide in him was compromised, leading to a breakdown in their relationship dynamics and exacerbating feelings of isolation and loneliness.

5. Sensory deprivation and isolation : Rhysand's decision to shield Feyre from everyone and everything, including crucial information about her pregnancy, subjected her to sensory deprivation and emotional isolation. Deprived of access to external support systems and resources, Feyre was left to navigate the challenges of pregnancy and impending childbirth alone, exacerbating her feelings of vulnerability and helplessness.

In summary, Rhysand's actions in hiding vital information about Feyre's pregnancy, including the risks associated with childbirth, were deeply wrong and harmful. They deprived Feyre of her autonomy, endangered her health, inflicted emotional trauma, undermined trust and communication in their relationship, and subjected her to sensory deprivation and isolation. It is essential for partners to prioritize honesty, transparency, and open communication in matters concerning reproductive health and to respect each other's autonomy and agency.

#anti feysand #anti rhysand #anti rhys #anti sjm #fuck you guys really #this proves that women are the biggest enemy #to themselves #God forbid this happens to one of you #but if it does only then you will understand #i have no respect for these idiots #acotar analysis by sonics-atelier #acotar analysis by sonics atelier

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epochofbelief · 7 months

Text

Strictly Confidential: Chapter Five

A Modern Feysand AU

She’s a law student turned confidential informant. He’s a federal prosecutor with one goal: bringing down her boyfriend for his white collar crimes. What could go wrong?

Author's Note: Sorry it took so long everyone. Life is... insane. But it's spring break, so I finally had the time and energy to devote to this. It's kind of long, so fair warning ;) Also, I did just spend four straight hours writing and editing this so if there are typos… there are typos💓

Strictly Confidential Masterlist

My Other (Completed) Feysand AU Fic: What to Expect When You're (Not) Expecting

Chapter Five:

A week after Feyre told Azriel she would turn informant against her partner, she still hadn't heard from the FBI.

And her week only grew worse with every passing day. Her professors had hit the mid-semester stride, assigning longer and longer readings. She continued to receive invitations to networking events and all manner of schmoozing and boozing opportunities from her future firm. Various midterm writing assignments were ramping up, and she had just finished a particularly brutal round of citation checks for the Law Review legal journal on which she was a staff editor.

Her only saving grace had been Tamlin’s obvious exhaustion. He left the apartment before Feyre woke up and returned long after she fell asleep.

If it had been any other way, Feyre wasn’t sure how she would have survived the week. The thought of Tamlin touching her sent shivers down her spine and images of what Rhys’s younger sister might look like spinning through her head. Did Tamlin know about what had been done to keep his secret? How involved was he in the more violent aspects of his criminal enterprise?

The questions were endless, and yet Feyre had no one to ask. She was supposed to be the one finding answers, anyway.

And while she desired to put a stop to Tamlin's crimes, she couldn't help but find it ironic that this was just one more thing that had come to rest on her shoulders.

And the FBI didn’t seem to be in any kind of hurry, Feyre thought irritably as she waved Tamlin out the door on Thursday night. He had come home early to pack a bag—once again leaving town for the weekend. On business.

Feyre let him press a kiss to his cheek, then shut the door on his back, doing her best not to slam it.

She turned and leaned against the wood, scrubbing her face with her hands. If the FBI didn’t tell her what to do soon, she would forget about the deal and break up with Tamlin. Move back in with her family. It would mean adding a job to her academic workload, but she didn’t think she would survive more than a few months in her family’s house. Nesta would freeze her out until she needed something. Elain's perpetually present boyfriend disliked Feyre for some reason. Her father wouldn’t know what to do with her.

Feyre sighed, then jumped as a knock on the door behind her head reverberated through her skull.

“Did you forget something?” She asked, flinging open the door, expecting to find a harried-looking Tamlin on the other side.

Instead, she came face-to-face with Rhysand, a stunning blonde woman next to him.

“Oh,” Feyre squeaked.

Rhysand grimaced at her, dressed once again in all-black suit, tailored perfectly to his muscular body. Though he looked more casual than Feyre had ever seen him—his usual black tie was missing, and the first few buttons of his shirt were undone. Feyre swallowed, averting her eyes from his tanned upper chest and violet eyes, instead surveying the blonde.

The woman was also clad in all-black, her blazer buttoned around a narrow waist, a short pencil skirt emphasizing long, tanned legs. Her blonde hair cascaded over both shoulders, and her lips, coated in a bright red lipstick, tugged into a smile.

Perhaps this was Rhys’s partner? Feyre’s eyes snapped back to Rhys’s at the thought, as if she would find the answer there.

“As much as I would love to stand here and watch you two stare at each other, the hall is a little exposed. May we come in, Feyre?” The blonde asked, brushing past Feyre without waiting for an answer, disappearing into the apartment behind her.

“You came,” Feyre breathed.

Rhys cocked an eyebrow. “Sorry it took so long.”

“Would you two get the hell in here?” The woman’s voice sounded from behind Feyre.

Rhys grimaced again, gesturing for Feyre to lead the way into the apartment. “Please excuse my cousin, Morrigan Underwood. She’s one of the best the FBI has to offer, but most days she’s just a pain in my…” Rhys trailed off, and Feyre couldn’t help but grin as Morrigan extended a manicured hand toward her.

“It’s nice to meet you, Feyre,” Morrigan said, smiling warmly down at her. Morrigan was tall, and the heels only added to her height. Next to the beautiful FBI agent, Feyre felt short and grubby in her socked feet next and oversized t-shirt. “Sorry to barge in on you. We got lucky tonight—video cameras are down. So we thought we would come to you.”

“Just luck?” Feyre asked, folding her arms and leaning against the kitchen island.

Morrigan and Rhys exchanged a glance. “Luck with a little help from Azriel,” Morrigan admitted, shrugging.

Gods, they really were the FBI, Feyre thought, walking around the kitchen island and opening the fridge. “Can I offer either of you—a water? Or something else?”

“We don’t want to trouble you,” Rhys said, at exactly the same moment Morrigan said, “Absolutely. Tamlin took forever to leave, and even though someone knew there would be a stake-out, he didn't think to stock refreshments in his car.” Her brown eyes cut to Rhys.

“Mor,” Rhys groaned.

Feyre smiled to herself as she retrieved three bottles of sparkling water from the fridge and returned to the living room, sitting in the armchair across from the couch where Rhys and Mor had seated themselves.

“Nice place,” Mor commented, her eyes scanning the room appreciatively. “Very . . . minimalist.”

Feyre shrugged. “It’s not exactly to my tastes, but thank you.”

Feyre ignored Mor’s cocked eyebrow and the crease that formed between Rhys’s eyebrows at her words. She cleared her throat. “So. Care to share why you’re here?”

Mor popped the top off her water and sank back into the plush white couch, lifting the drink toward Rhys. “You’re up, cousin.”

Rhys leaned forward on the couch, his own water forgotten on the sleek coffee table in front of him. Feyre couldn’t figure out where to look as she waited for him to speak. His large hands, clasped in front of him. The sliver of exposed skin just below his neck. Those violet eyes that seemed to pierce her very soul.

She settled for his forehead as Rhys began to speak. “You took a risk last week, going into Spring Solutions without backup. If something had happened to you in there, we would have had no way of knowing.”

Feyre folded her arms. “I thought you wanted me to gather information for you. How am I supposed to do that if I can’t go anywhere without an escort?”

“Backup doesn’t necessarily mean an escort.”

-----

Two hours later, Feyre’s mind was about to explode with all the information Rhys and Mor had drilled into her head. They had provided her with a wire, an earpiece that she could hear and speak to them through, an exhaustive explanation of how dangerous being an informant was, and a briefing on proper reporting and contacting methods she would have to engage in when reaching out to the FBI.

She drew the line at the bulletproof vest Mor retrieved from her bag.

“Where am I supposed to hide that?” Feyre demanded. “The tech is enough.”

Mor and Rhys exchanged a glance. “Feyre…” Rhys trailed off, his eyes searching her face.

“You make me take that and this whole thing is over before it began.”

Rhys held up his hands. “Alright. But if you dream up any more ridiculous plans to go into the heart of enemy territory, you contact us first. We’ll get it to you.”

Feyre rolled her eyes. She didn’t envision herself getting shot any time soon.

“Lastly,” Mor said. “Here’s the address of our future meeting place.” She handed Feyre a scrap of paper. “Memorize it and then destroy it. You can get there by train, so transport isn’t a problem. You’ll have to switch trains about halfway there, but that’s your opportunity to determine if you’re being followed. If you have any suspicion whatsoever that someone is on your tail, do not go to the safe house. Just board a train back in the direction of the city.”

Feyre looked down at the address. “How often will we be meeting?”

“Only as often as necessary. You let us know through that earpiece and we’ll arrange it. Best not to create any new strange habits that people might notice. Memorize.”

Feyre nodded, swallowing the sudden wave of anxiety cresting through her. She was truly doing this. Working for the FBI. Attempting to inifiltrate a strange and possibly deadly organization. Betraying her boyfriend—the man who had fed her and housed her for the better part of her law school experience.

Mor cleared her throat, glancing at her watch. “I’ve got a meeting. Finish up here, Rhys?”

Rhys nodded, clapping his cousin on the shoulder as she stood, extending her hand once more to Feyre. “Good luck, Feyre. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again very soon.” Feyre nodded, and Mor paused, her manicured hand squeezing Feyre’s. “Do try not to get caught.”

Then she was gone.

Leaving Feyre and Rhysand alone in the enormous, stark apartment.

“Is there much more?” Feyre asked, forcing herself to keep her arms at her sides rather than swinging them in the awkward silence.

“No, but—” Rhys halted midsentence as Feyre slumped into the enormous white armchair next to the window, relieved to hear those words coming from Rhys’s mouth. She honestly hadn’t been sure if she could take much more.

Her entire relationship was a lie—everything was a lie. She had trusted Tamlin with her safety. With her nights and days and most of the time in between. He had given her a place to stay after years spent under her family’s influence.

And yet.

“He’s been lying to me,” Feyre muttered, more to herself than Rhysand, who had leaned closer to her as her thoughts spiraled deeper and deeper. “This whole time.”

Her eyes drifted down from the ceiling, locking instead with Rhys’s blue eyes, drinking her in from his position on the couch.

“I never knew,” she said softly. “I never even suspected. You must think I’m some kind of idiot.”

A muscle fluttered in Rhys’s jaw, and he shook his head, one hand extending toward her as if to rest it on her knee. But he thought better of it, instead clasping his hands between his knees. “On the contrary. I’ve spent a year investigating Tamlin and he's slipped through my fingers every time. It’s no surprise you never knew."

Feyre bent over her knees, hands covering her face. “How long will it take?”

Rhys cleared his throat, thankfully understanding her meaning. “It depends. The more and better information we get, the easier it will be to charge him.”

When Feyre didn’t respond, Rhys continued.

“But if you want out, Feyre, say the word. We—I—would never dream of forcing you to stay in this relationship just for our purposes. There would be no hard feelings if you changed your mind.”

Feyre’s hands slid from her face, and she returned Rhys’s stare with one of her own. “No.”

“No?”

“I want to do this. I have to do this. If what you say is true, Tamlin is the reason your sister—and who knows how many others who knew too much—are gone. I can’t stand by and watch that happen. Can’t leave him knowing about the horrible things he is causing, or at least sanctioning.”

She could have sworn a glimmer of pride shone in Rhys’s eyes as he surveyed her. And despite everything, despite the loss of his sister and the investigation and the potential threat to Feyre’s life, he smiled.

“Then let’s bring that bastard down.”

Feyre couldn’t resist the grin she shot back.

-----

A week later, some of that excitement had died down. Tamlin had been at work around the clock, busy with various “projects” as he described them to Feyre. However, he had revealed that his next out-of-town venture would take place in late October—just a few weeks away. And Feyre was determined to discover the destination. So in addition to her studies and checking in every so often with the FBI through her earpiece, she spent the wee hours of the morning combing through Tamlin's computer in secret, digging through his bags and looking through his phone for anything that might reveal his future plans.

She continued to come up empty-handed.

But she didn't intend to give up, even though her exhaustion grew worse with every passing day. Feyre resolved to take a break from her sleuthing that night as she walked to another networking event, this one just a few blocks from her apartment.

She arrived in her best black suit, pencil skirt just brushing the tops of her knees, black tights beneath warding off the crisp fall air. She had spent extra time on her hair that evening—adding a little extra dry shampoo, teasing the golden-brown strands into a gentle curl at the ends. She even went so far as to add an extra layer of mascara before she came to her senses.

There was only one reason Feyre was putting in this extra effort, despite the minuscule chance that the reason would even be present at the mixer.

United States Attorneys surely had better things to do than attend every attorney/law-student networking event in the city.

And besides. Feyre was still unavailable, even if Tamlin had barely laid a finger on her the past few weeks, as busy and stressed with work as they both had been. Even if in her mind, her relationship with Tamlin had long since come to a crashing halt.

So she had resisted the urge to dab on some blush before she rushed out the door, tying her black overcoat around her waist as she rode the elevator to the lobby. Just a half hour later, she found herself engaged in a spectacularly dull conversation with a pair of junior associates from one of the other firms in Prythian. Feyre had forgotten their names almost as soon as she had heard them, distracted as she was with thoughts of her mission for Rhys—with thoughts of whether Rhys might be present tonight.

“Do you have plans to pursue partnership?” One of the attorneys—a middle-aged woman with dark brown hair and brown eyes—inquired, taking another sip of her mixed drink. The woman was tipsy, but quite adept at hiding it. If Feyre hadn’t spent years observing her older sister Nesta’s drinking habits, she might not have noticed.

Unfortunately, the woman was staring at Feyre so intently that Feyre decided she would be forced to answer the question. Feyre’s mind raced, and she genuinely wondered whether saying, “I don’t know—nor do I much care at this point,” might be disadvantageous to her career. If it might get back to Hybern & Night.

But then she felt a hand at her elbow, a warm male body sidling up next to her, the scent of citrus and the sea washing over her in a wave.

“Feyre, darling. You’ve been avoiding me. My father insisted I meet his firm’s future associate.”

Feyre bit back her smile as she turned her attention from the attorneys in front of her to the man who had just stepped up to her elbow. Blue-black hair slightly tousled, as if he had just run his fingers through it. Violet eyes dancing with mirth. Black-on-black suit only emphasizing his imposing figure.

“I didn’t realize we were engaged in a game of hide-and-seek,” Feyre said. “Will you excuse me, ladies? It was wonderful to meet you both.”

And she allowed Rhys to whisk her away, through the crowded ballroom where the event was being held and up a set of stairs, where he pulled her out to a small balcony overlooking one of Prythian’s many parks to the rear of the building.

“That’s twice now,” Rhys noted, releasing Feyre’s elbow only when she leaned against the railing, her own elbows resting against the cool metal.

“Twice what?”

“That I’ve saved you from the vultures. However will you repay me?” Rhys asked, leaning onto the railing next to her.

“I’ll think of something,” Feyre said quietly, raising her eybrows.

“How are you holding up?” Rhys asked.

Feyre blinked. She had expected him to press her for details on Tamlin’s movements, or perhaps encourage her to try just a little harder to get him something, anything he could use to find justice for his little sister.

“I’m—fine,” she said haltingly. “Tamlin has another trip in two weeks, but you already know that. He’s…resistant to the idea of me hanging around Spring Solutions. Keeps insisting it’s going to interfere with my studies.”

Rhys sighed, shifting on his feet. Feyre tried to ignore how the motion brought his arm closer to hers, so close she could feel the heat of his body soaking into hers. “He may be an insufferable bastard, but the man is cautious.”

Feyre tried, unsuccessfully, to hide her wince at the words “insufferable bastard.”

“I’m sorry,” Rhys said, once again surprising Feyre at how adeptly he said the right thing, how flawlessly he interpreted her mannerisms and expressions. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

But Feyre shook her head. “You have every right, Rhysand. After what he did to your sister…”

Rhys let out a long sigh. Feyre echoed him a moment later.

"You called them vultures," Feyre said after several silent moments passed.

"And?"

"Why did you become an attorney if—if you find most of those people in there as abhorrent as I do?"

Rhys shrugged, the movement causing his shoulder to brush against Feyre's. "I come from a very long line of attorneys. In a way, it was the only future I ever really considered for myself. Even though I hated the way my father's work kept him so busy, how he constantly chose his billable hours over his family. I knew he never had any passion for the law he practiced. He merely craved the money, and the prestige, and the reputation."

Feyre turned to observe Rhys, studying the side of his face as he gazed out over the park.

"But I think watching all that made me want to be a different kind of attorney. Someone who cares about the people I'm representing, the cases I'm bringing. And a career as a prosecutor seemed like a good place to start—at least for now.” Rhys paused, as if weighing whether to say what he said next. “I'm not sure if it's made me any better than my father."

"For what it's worth, Rhys, I don't consider you a vulture."

Rhys met her eyes then, his face so open, so vulnerable, for one brief moment. "Likewise," he said quietly.

Feyre grimaced, choosing not to argue with him. Even though she was the one chasing the money that came with a big law job. Even though everything Rhys had said could very well describe her situation exactly.

“You want to get out of here?” Rhys said suddenly.

Feyre turned to look at him. “And do… what?”

“Take a walk. Grab a drink. Do anything other than talk to those insufferable sycophants prowling around that ballroom.”

Feyre swallowed, and before she could talk herself out of it, she heard herself saying, “Let’s go.”

An hour later, Feyre was two glasses of wine deep, laughing at something Rhys said to the strangers they had befriended at the bar a few blocks from the networking event. She hadn't had this much fun in—in a very long time. She couldn't remember the last time she went out with her friends on a whim, talking about everything and nothing, without discussing law school or work or anything serious.

But Rhys was fun. And Feyre was enjoying herself immensely. She even felt a little sad when Rhys paid the tab over her protests, insisting that he remembered all too well the weight of law school loans, before he ushered her out of the bar.

“I’ll walk you home,” he said as they emerged into the dark streets of Prythian.

“You don’t have to do that,” Feyre said.

“It’s dark and we’re downtown.”

Feyre bit her lip, but nodded in assent, turning right to lead Rhys in the direction of her apartment. They made it all of five steps before Rhys's phone rang.

"Sorry," he mouthed at Feyre, answering the call and guiding her over to the edge of the sidewalk.

"Night speaking," he said quietly, leaning against the wall.

Feyre leaned next to him, grateful for the buzz of the alcohol keeping her warm and relaxed as she waited. Grateful that it kept her from thinking too hard about the fact that she had just gone out with drinks. With Rhysand. Alone.

But the languid peace coursing through Feyre's veins evaporated when Rhys stiffened next to her.

"Who is this?" Rhys bit out.

Feyre shivered at the ice in his tone.

"Tell me who you are," Rhys growled, even as he seized Feyre's elbow and tugged her down an alley to their right, pushing her against the wall and crowding close, as if he could shield her very existence from the world around them.

"Who is this?" Rhys demanded once more.

Who the hell was on the other end of that phone call?

"Fuck!" Rhys exclaimed, the phone going dark in his hand as whoever he had been speaking to hung up.

"Who was it?" Feyre whispered.

"I don't know. They wouldn't tell me."

"What did they say?"

Feyre felt the blood drain from her face as Rhys explained.

"We have to go," Feyre said, hands coming up to push at Rhys's chest.

"No. I have to get you home. I'm calling Cassian. He'll handle it." Rhys unlocked his phone, fingers flying across the screen.

Feyre gritted her teeth. "We're two blocks away. I'll be fine. Let's just go."

And before Rhys could argue, she took off down the alleyway, jaw set.

They made it to the alley in less than five minutes, Feyre skidding to a halt at its mouth. Rhys had just hung up with Cassian, whom he had told to meet them there as quickly as possible. Feyre made to plunge into the dark alley, but Rhys grabbed her arm, shaking his head. "Stay behind me," he insisted, moving in front of and stalking slowly down the alley.

They were halfway through the space when Feyre caught sight of what looked like a pile of rags or fabric slumped against the alley wall about twenty feet in front of them.

Only, they weren’t rags, Feyre realized, watching the dark lump on the alley floor shift as Rhys approached.

It was a person—a man—laying on his side, head facing away from them, legs tangled together.

Azriel.

Feyre dropped to her knees next to the agent, the two glasses of wine she had drank earlier now threatening to come up when she beheld the state Azriel was in.

Two black eyes were already forming, his eyes so swollen they were mere slits in his red, black and blue face. Dried blood crusted the skin under his nose and continued all the way down his chin.

Feyre rested an arm on Azriel's shoulder, praying the agent wasn't bruised there as well.

“Azriel,” she breathed.

To her surprise, the agent chuckled. “Believe me, Feyre,” he grunted, his raspy voice echoing slightly in the alley around them. “I’ve had worse.”

Feyre bit her lip as Rhys brushed a hand lightly over her shoulder before joining her on the ground before Azriel.

"How long?" Rhys asked.

"Half hour," Azriel rasped, a series of hacking coughs interrupting him before he could continue. "Maybe longer."

Feyre saw the shadow of rage that passed across Rhys's face as he realized how long Azriel’s attackers had waited to call him. But he didn't verbalize it, instead murmuring, “Let’s get you up, friend." He gripped Azriel’s shoulders and pulling him into a seated position. A shaft of moonlight illuminated the agent, allowing Feyre to more fully appreciate just how battered his face was.

“Gods,” Feyre breathed, following Rhys’s lead and ducking under one of Azriel’s arms.

“It was Spring,” Azriel said quietly, once they had managed to drag him halfway down the alley.

Feyre sensed, rather than saw, Rhys stiffen at the words.

“How do you know?” Feyre asked quietly.

Azriel coughed, spitting a wad of blood onto the alley floor in front of them. “They jumped me,” he said. “Took my gun, then a few of them held me down so they could take turns hitting me. I couldn’t do anything but let them—let them—” He broke off. “Then they dumped me and said they would send someone to retrieve me. I didn't know if that meant someone to finish the job, or help. The only other thing they said, the whole time, was right before one of them stomped on my head: 'Stay the hell away from Spring Solutions. Or else.' I was out cold after that. I think."

A chill ran down Feyre’s spine.

What did or else mean?

None of them spoke another word as Rhys guided them to the mouth of the alley, where a black car awaited. Rhys ripped open the door, revealing a tense-looking Mor in the backseat. She beckoned, taking Azriel from Rhys and Feyre.

Rhys got into the front seat, and Feyre climbed into the back with Az and Mor.

"Gods above," Mor breathed, surveying the damage done to Azriel's face. "What happened?"

Rhys explained as Cassian drove them quickly away from the alley, winding through the dark streets of downtown Prythian.

"Do you think they know?" Mor asked. "About Feyre?"

Rhys shook his head. "No. It was just a coincidence that she was with me at the time."

"They're getting more confident," Cassian noted, pulling his car to a stop in a darkened side street.

It took Feyre a moment to recognize where they were.

"I'll walk you to the building," Rhys said, unbuckling his seat belt and getting out of the car.

“What?” Feyre demanded, mouth falling open as her eyes found Mor's. "I can't go up there knowing—knowing." She broke off, unable to finish her thought. How could she return to her apartment after people from Tamlin's company had just beat Azriel into a bloody pulp just to make a statement?

"Please, Feyre. We need to get Azriel medical care, and the longer you're with us, the greater the chance your cover is blown," Mor pleaded, one manicured hand brushing back Azriel's silky black hair.

"I want to help," Feyre said quietly as Rhys opened the car door next to her.

"You are helping. You already have helped," Rhys said, reaching inside the car to unbuckle Feyre's seat belt. "We need to keep you in a position where you can help."

Feyre swallowed, and let Rhys coax her from the car.

"I'll call you to let you know how he's doing," Mor offered as Rhys shut the door.

Rhys was quiet as he escorted Feyre to the side entrance of her building. "Use that earpiece as soon as you get upstairs. Let us know you go to your apartment safely. Okay?"

"And what if my cover is blown?" Feyre asked.

"If we don't hear from you in ten minutes, I'll come bursting into that apartment myself. They wouldn’t waste time on Azriel if they found out about you.”

Feyre repressed a shudder at the implication in those words: That if Tamlin’s people discovered her treachery, they would come straight for her rather than risk her retreating to the FBI before they could silence her.

Feyre gritted her teeth, lingering in the open doorway.

"Please, Feyre. We have to get Azriel help."

There were so many things Feyre wanted to say, things that the attack on Azriel now made impossible. Had it really been less than an hour since she and Rhys had sat in that bar, laughing and talking without a care in the world?

But Feyre said nothing, instead letting the glass door swing shut between her and Rhys. And since she knew Rhys wouldn't turn to leave until she did, Feyre trudged up the stairs, fighting the urge to turn back for a last glimpse of the attorney watching her.

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