azsazz

[azsazz]

Shining Armor

Knight!Azriel x Princess!Reader (Rhysand's Sister)

Summary: For @sapphirelunawolfie who said "Knight!Az x Princess!Reader" and inspired me 💙

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence.

Word Count: 1841

Notes: This eats I'm not even going to lie.

_________________________________________

Azriel doesn’t know why you’re here.

Here, in the middle of the Night Court King’s throne room.

Here, sitting on a throne of your own, placed slightly behind your father’s.

Here, where there is a noticeably absent seat on the dais.

He stands at your side, stiff as a board, hand perched on the hilt of his sword. He studies the room with rapt attention. How straight Rhysand sits on his own throne, instead of the usual blasé way he lounges during a ball. The longing glances you keep taking at the empty throne beside your father’s. The sharp jaw and angry eyes of the King. The way his golden rings dig into the wooden armrests of his seat.

The pale sliver of skin on his fourth finger where a ring used to sit.

The setting sun cascades through the stained-glass windows near the ceiling. Blots of color paint the walls. Azriel knows exactly which pane paints the room crimson. He memorized the tales behind each and every one of the eight windows lined perfectly beside each other long ago. This particular artwork always seemed to scream bad omens in his ears, and the hair at his nape stands on end.

Azriel blames it on the icy cold chainmail.

He doesn’t want you here. Not when you’re in mourning. Not when he can hear the soft sniffles you’re trying to stifle.

He hates the King for this, for summoning you, Rhysand, and his retinue when the entire Court is in misery.

Whatever is going to happen here tonight, it must be important.

King Dornan sits so still on his throne he looks like the gargoyles perched on every terrace of the castle. His violet eyes are hard, filled to the brim with bloodthirsty vengeance. His black cape drapes carelessly over his shoulder, spilling down the side of his throne as if he stormed in here twenty minutes ago and barked out orders to gather everyone closest to the family, and to arrive as quickly as possible.

Cassian stands beside Rhys, just as confused. Rhysand had been visiting you when one of the King’s messengers raced down the hall, startling the two knights standing guard outside your room. Azriel and Cassian had been conversing softly when the scrawny boy came running by. His steps echoed so loudly in the hall he heard you and your brother quiet on the other side of the door.

Their hands had found their swords quickly, and the boy would have been dead if they hadn’t recognized him the split second, he rounded the corner. Azriel and Cassian were the best trained knights in the kingdom with the exception of Rott, the King’s personal guard. The boy had been a panting mess, his blue eyes terrified as he delivered the summons.

The doors to the chamber swing open with an angry force that makes Azriel itch to throw himself in front of you, to protect you from the army of guards that whip into the room. The metal of their armor clangs loudly, but it’s the screams that pierce Azriel’s ears that really have him on edge. He wants you out of here, right the fuck now.

It’s not the first sentencing you’ve attended, but it’s the first sentencing you’ve attended since your mother’s murder only a few nights prior. You were supposed to be with her that fateful night, but she had convinced you to stay and keep your father company, sit with him in the lounge and challenge him in a game of chess while she went to visit Rhysand a few villages over.

She never made it. And you haven’t left your bed chamber since.

The guards drag two wailing men between them. Immediately, Azriel knows what’s happening. The lack of a public viewing, the quickness in which the King called for you and your brother.

These are the men that killed your mother, and the King is about to make his revenge a family affair.

Azriel fights the urge to whisk you through the secret door in the back of the room. You don’t need to see this, you’ve been through enough this week. You should be resting, mourning in your rooms while he stands just outside the door, his heart rattling behind his chest plate at every sob he pretends he doesn’t hear.

He’s wanted to burst inside and console you for days, but that is not his role. He doesn’t think about you, the Princess of the Night Court. He’s hardly even supposed to talk to you, but he can’t deny the magnetism that draws him to you. He’s intrigued, and as the knight from the top of his class, the one that holds one of the highest positions in the King’s eyes, should not be thinking of you more than a duty.

“Azriel,” the King calls. He doesn’t startle, but his breath shallows slightly in surprise. Not enough for anyone to notice.

You twist in your chair, brows furrowed in confusion. He doesn’t know why he’s being summoned, either, but he waits for one of the guards lining the walls to fill his place before he takes the few steps to join the King at his side.

It’s Bryaxis that takes his spot. Azriel doesn’t like taking leave from your side, but if there’s anyone who is as serious at his job as he is, it’s Bryaxis. He has the build, custom-made armor hangs from his large frame, nearly double the size of Azriel.

You want to reach out and snag Azriel’s hand as he passes. You don’t understand what’s going on, why your father is requesting his presence. You don’t like anything that’s happened this past week, and worry digs into your chest. You don’t want anything else to happen.

“Yes, my King?” Azriel answers once he reaches the throne. He stares straight ahead like a loyal soldier, awaiting his orders.

“Cassian,” the King calls, ignoring Azriel.

Despite knowing not to interrupt his father, Rhysand murmurers a confused, “Father?”

Again, the request for attention is denied. The King glares down at the two men who have been forced to their knees before the dais. A steady flow of blood patters to the stone beneath their curled forms. One of the guards behind the perpetrators digs his fingers into the matter black hair on the top of his head and yanks. With a sharp grunt, the man’s head is wrenched up, and all Azriel can focus on is your gasp of shock behind him.

Half of the man’s face is split open, almost right down the center. One of his eyes is completely gone, bludgeoned from its socket. Blood pours rivulets down his bare chest, stripped of everything except his raggedy pants. The blackening liquid dries in his chest hair.

The second man is face down on the floor. Azriel’s not sure if he’s already dead, but when the King demands him to wake and the knights closest to him begin prodding him roughly with the tips of their steel-lined boots, his lashes flutter.

These are the men that killed the Queen. Your mother. They’re poor excuses for men, trying to disguise themselves by rolling around in the dirt and thinking they’d blend with the villagers. King Dornan hasn’t let any of his soldiers sleep until they were found, interrogated, and executed.

And, well, the throne room is definitely dressed for an execution.

The King eases slightly in his chair, and with a flick of his jeweled hand, he orders Azriel and Cassian. “Avenge the Cunningham’s for the loss of our beloved Queen.”

Neither he nor Cassian hesitate. They step down the dais at equal pace, their boots thundering loudly, menacingly, with each step they take. Their swords croon a taunting lullaby as they unsheathe them, and the men on the floor beg and plead an infantile song in reply.

They should hold their breath. There is no changing the Kings mind.

The only person Azriel is worried about is you. He wishes he could turn around to see the look on your face, to see how you’re faring with this order. He wants to look you in the eye as he kills the man who did the very same to your mother. He’s doing this for you.

He and Cassian are fortitudes of marble. They’re been trained to feel nothing, used to slay enemies and traitors alike for the King, until he and his wife deemed their skillset perfect for protecting his children. King Dornan wanted nothing but the best for his family. Protection. Intelligence. Togetherness.

And these men took that from you.

The man on the floor doesn’t move, accepting his fate. Cassian stares harshly at the man, disgusted. He’d prefer it if her put up a fight, showed him what he was made of that night in the middle of the woods where they ambushed the Queen and her guards.

Azriel’s traitor tries. He fights against the wrought-iron chains that hold his arms behind his back. Even if he didn’t have them, Azriel wouldn’t care. He would be no match for the knight that stands before him, staring down at him like a Death God all his own.

Azriel knows why he’s been chosen with this task.

The steel of his blade meets little resistance when it hits the bone of the man’s neck. Blood splatters, and Azriel doesn’t make a sound. The man’s head teeters for a moment, as if it doesn’t know which way to topple to the stone. His face is frozen in shock. Within a second his head goes rolling to the floor, his body following with a wet thud.

Cassian’s blade is pulled from the lifeless man on the floor’s head with a slick noise.

Azriel watches, waits for the familiar shadowy slivers to slip from their bodies. No one in the room besides the King notices, which is why Azriel was chosen for this particular job. His fellow knights don’t know. You certainly don’t know why he stands over their bodies when Cassian has already spun on his heel and knelt to his King, but you are curious.

Finally, two razor-thin plumes rise from the bodies. Their souls.

Azriel summons the shadows from the corners of the room. They follow obediently, following the cracks and shadows on the floor, behind guards, beneath his boots to consume the souls of the men who have committed the ultimate act of treason.

Their screams still ring in his ears, but they’re silenced by the mass of other souls Azriel rules over. Now, they’re his. Should the King request it, he can pluck them out of the river of black that follows him everywhere he goes.

When the ringing stops, Azriel turns on his heel and lowers himself to the ground, resting his hands on the hilt of his sword and dipping his chin. “My King,” he says, and with those words, his King knows the deed is done.

“You may rise,” King Dornan says with the hint of a sinister smile on his lips.

[azsazz]

Thank you so much for participating. You killed it yet again!! 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

Celestial

Feysand x Reader

For @starfallweek [hosted by: @azsazz and @writingsbychlo]

Starfall Week 2025 Masterlist

Day 7 - What if getting struck by a Starfall Star invoked a new power within Character A? How might Character B react?

Summary: Starlight is the core power of Night. And getting struck by a pure streak of it, ended up giving you some unseen gifts of Night.

Cw: None

Starlight was known to be pure Night, there was no form of magic bigger than starlight. It was in everything, it was the essence of Night. So it was easy to figure out that when a streak of it struck you, it would leave with something new

As you stood beneath the celestial canvas, your skin tingled with anticipation, watching Starfall. The night air hummed with otherworldly energy as if the very stars themselves were alive and whispering secrets. You closed your eyes, breathing in deeply, and felt the weight of starlight settling upon you like a gentle rain.

A shimmering trail of silver light danced across the sky, weaving an intricate pattern. Without thinking, you extended your palm upwards, as if beckoning the celestial light closer.

The moment the star made contact, a jolt of energy surged through your body. You gasped, feeling the starlight coursing like liquid fire within your veins. The sensation was both exhilarating and terrifying, leaving you breathless and trembling.

When you opened your eyes again, they gleamed with an ethereal luminescence, casting an aura of mystique around your delicate features. You were in a bed, their bed as your High Lady and Lord stood over you, worry written all over their features.

Feyre's gaze searched yours, trying to discern the extent of the change that had taken place. She reached out a hand, hesitating for just a moment before gently touching your cheek. Her fingers brushed against the radiant glow emanating from your skin, and she flinched slightly at the unexpected warmth.

"I... I don't know what happened," You whispered, still reeling from the encounter with the starlight. Your voice sounded foreign, resonating with an otherworldly timbre that sent shivers down Feyre's spine.

Rhysand sat beside you, he reached to hold your hand and flinched the same, "It was just starlight, it shouldn't have made you pass out. It could be something to do with you not being from Night... But..."

His words trailed off as he studied your face more closely, noticing the subtle changes in your appearance. Your lips, once a soft pink, now held a faint blue hue, almost imperceptible but undeniable. He exchanged a concerned glance with Feyre, who nodded grimly.

As Feyre helped you sit up, you noticed the way her eyes lingered on your hands, the ones that had touched the starlight. A flicker of unease ran through you, but you pushed it aside, focusing instead on the strange sensations coursing through your body.

"Can... Can you not touch me anymore?" You asked them, worried at the thought of them never holding you again.

Feyre's expression softened, and she reached out tentatively, letting her fingertips brush against your arm. "Of course we can still touch you. We're not afraid of a little starlight." Rhysand nodded in agreement, his thumb stroking the back of your hand reassuringly.

However, their attempts at comfort only seemed to heighten your anxiety. You pulled away slightly, needing space to process this newfound awareness of yourself. "I don't understand what's happening to me," You admitted, frustration creeping into your voice. "This power, these changes... They're not natural. I'm Day, not Night."

Feyre sighed, her brow furrowing in concern. "We'll figure it out together, I promise. But first, let's get you some rest. You've been through quite an ordeal." She guided you back under the covers, tucking you in warmly.

Rhysand sighed, rubbing his temple, turning to Feyre, "We've never encountered anyone like this before, someone who absorbs starlight and begins to exhibit Night traits. Making you into High Fae gave you the powers of all Courts. But starlight?"

The implications of their words sank in, sending a chill down your spine. You were something else entirely now, a mysterious fusion of Day and Night, born from the very essence of the cosmos.

"I think it chose you." Feyre said softly, holding your paling hand, a surge of electricity rushed through you. As Feyre's words echoed through the chamber, the room began to spin, colours bleeding into one another. "Starfall stars don't randomly land on you."

The electric current from Feyre's touch intensified, pulsing through your veins like a heartbeat. You gasped, feeling the starlight within you respond, the electricity was yours, not Feyre's, coiling tighter, ready to unleash its full potential.

Suddenly, the room stilled, the spinning colours fading into a mix of blues and purples. You blinked, disoriented, as Feyre's hand slid from yours, leaving behind a trail of glittering stardust.

"What did it do?" Rhysand asked, his voice laced with worry as he watched you, waiting for signs of what might come next, for something he'd never seen before.

You took a shaky breath, trying to calm the turmoil inside you. The starlight pulsed within, urging you to embrace its power. Slowly, you raised your hands, studying the glowing trails left behind by Feyre's touch. With a tentative gesture, you brought your palms together, feeling the electricity crackle between them.

To your amazement, the sparks grew brighter, swirling into a miniature vortex above your joined hands. The air around you shimmered, as if reality itself was bending to accommodate the raw energy. You gasped, realizing the true extent of the starlight's influence - it had awakened a part of you that defied explanation.

Feyre and Rhysand watched in awe, their faces illuminated by the dancing lights. "By the stars," Rhysand breathed, "you're a conduit for the celestial power."

The vortex intensified, growing larger and more complex, tendrils of light reaching out like grasping fingers. You felt dizzy, overwhelmed by the sheer force coursing through you. Feyre and Rhysand stepped back, their expressions a mix of fascination and fear.

Suddenly, the vortex exploded outward, bathing the room in a blinding radiance. When the light faded, you found yourself standing alone, the bed you were on nothing but stardust, the starlight reflected in your eyes. The changes it had wrought remained, etched into every cell.

You looked down at your hands, half-expecting to see them glowing once more. Instead, you noticed a subtle shift in them, the brown skin pulsing with silver, the nails sharpened into delicate claws. You lifted your gaze to meet Feyre's, seeing her own surprise mirrored in her eyes. "What have I become?"

Rhysand approached you, hands raised, as if he was cautious, "It's ok... We'll help you figure it out."

You nodded, trying to steady your racing heart as Rhysand drew near. The starlight still thrummed within you, a constant reminder of the transformative power that now resided within your very being.

"We need to understand your abilities," Feyre suggested, her voice measured and calm despite the shock of witnessing such a phenomenon. "For your safety, and ours."

Rhysand nodded in agreement, his violet eyes searching yours intently. "Let's start with small tests. See how much control you have over the starlight's effects."

You swallowed hard, steeling yourself for the unknown. "Alright… What do you suggest we try first?" As you spoke, the starlight within you responded, a soft glow emanating from your skin once more. You felt its eager pulse, a siren call to unleash its full potential.

Rhysand considered your question, his gaze flickering between you and Feyre as they conferred silently in their head. After a moment, he turned back to you, a hint of excitement colouring his tone. "How about we begin with something simple? Like making the room lighter or darker." He demonstrated the suggestion himself, effortlessly manipulating the darkness around him with a mere thought.

Now it was your turn. You focused on the starlight within, visualizing a gentle breeze rustling the silken curtains. As you willed it, the fabric swayed. Emboldened, you tried to warm the chilly air, imagining a cosy fire crackling in the hearth. You gasped when the curtains set on fire instantly, flames licking at the edges of the luxurious material.

"Shit!" Feyre leapt forward, her hands weaving intricate patterns in the air, dousing the blaze with a cool, soothing mist. Smoke curled upwards, dissipating into wisps of stardust.

Rhysand swiftly moved to Feyre's side, his presence calming even as he assessed the situation. "Careful, love," he murmured, though there was no real danger now thanks to Feyre's quick thinking. He glanced at you, a mix of amusement and concern on his face. "Perhaps we should start smaller next time, hmm?"

You nodded vigorously, cheeks flushing with embarrassment and the thrill of wielding such immense power. It was exhilarating yet terrifying, a double-edged sword you weren't yet sure how to wield properly.

"Remember, it's okay to make mistakes," Feyre reassured you gently, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. Her words soothed your frayed nerves, and you managed a weak smile in return. "Maybe don't burn the house down. We should take this outside."

Rhysand chuckled, shaking his head fondly. "Sounds like a plan. Let's move this training session to the gardens. Plenty of fresh air and open space for our experimentations." He offered you his hand, helping you to your feet. As you stood, you noticed the way his touch sent shivers down your spine, the connection between you humming with barely contained energy. "You'll have to train these powers."

You sighed, looking back down at your slivering hands, "Now who will tell my brother about this?"

Rhysand's expression softened at the mention of your family. "Leave Helion to me. I'll handle the news and ensure he doesn't overreact." His confidence was reassuring, and you felt a weight lift off your shoulders. "Right now, focus on mastering your abilities. That's what matters most."

Feyre nodded in agreement, her eyes shining with determination. "We can't predict the extent of your powers, but with practice, you'll grow stronger and more trained at controlling the starlight within you. Whatever it may do." She placed a reassuring hand on your arm, the warmth of her touch grounding you amidst the whirlwind of change.

Together, the three of you made your way to the sprawling gardens beyond the castle walls. The night air enveloped you, carrying the scent of blooming flowers and the distant hum of Night creatures.

{General Taglist- @lilah-asteria @paleidiot @dee-writes-angst @adalia-jaycee @anarchiii @alwayshave-faith @velarisnightsky444 @minnieoo @mellowmusings @daughterofthemoons-stuff @tele86}

{Rhysand Taglist- @yeonalie}

[azsazz]

Just popping in to say you’re incredibly talented, I love you, and I miss the Shadowsinger babies. I’ve reread that little series so many times it should be a crime.

sorry for not responding to this until now! but thank you so so much!! I miss the babies too, they're all so cute and so much fun to write about. each of their unique personalities never fails to make my heart full! I'm glad you love them just as much!! 💙💙

[azsazz]

Yay I'm so excited!!

HAPPY STARFALL WEEK EVERYONE!

[azsazz]

hey, I just saw that you said you are writing a second book? I love your fics but didn’t know you are a writer as well. If you have published anything I would love to know the name so I could read it!

hi! Last year I published my first novel called Midnight Muse! It's on KU or Amazon or you should even be able to order it from your local bookstore if you'd like :)

[azsazz]

If people get to go on anon to harass you about Garrick fics then I'm bringing that same energy for Over Ice I'm messaging you at least once a day about this and you'll never know it's me (don't think too hard you might figure me out)

Consider yourself warned Ki😭🫶🏻

😂😂 oh noooo who started this 😅 not the worst kind of harassment tbh.

I love over ice so much I’m trying to not let too long go between updates lol I’ve been sick for the last 3 weeks and am busy with some freelance stuff and my second book it’s truly a whirlwind but I’m going to find the time I promise! 💙💙

[azsazz]

I have been MIA from Tumblr but HI I MISS YOU AND YOUR BLOG!!! I saw some Garrick lovers and I just need to say I'm down bad for both Garrick and Bodhi!

Hiiiii welcome back we missed you!!!

Yesssss Bodhi would have some AMAZING angst 😮‍💨 I can imagine it now

I’m loving Garrick too. YUMMY

[azsazz]

two words GARRICK TAVIS

PREACH

[azsazz]

yess! More garrick please

🙌🏼

[azsazz]

im so in love with Garrick and there arent any fics with him (that are good)

Haha oh noooo 😅 hopefully I’ll have some time to write more for him soon 💙🤞🏻

[azsazz]

anything with Garrick coming?

haha hopefully soon! haven't really been writing much in the past few weeks, i've got a lot of stuff going on but I will see what I can do!

[azsazz]

heyy! Do you have any more fics with Garrick? I loved the one you wrote so much

hiiii!!! Drown in Me is currently the only fic I have for Garrick right now. Thank you so much, it was really fun to write!! Hopefully I can work on some more stuff soon 💙

[azsazz]

I think we have a Garrick fan up in hereeeeee 💙💙 lol

love u

[azsazz]

Over Ice (Part 11)

Hockey!Rhysand x Reader

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

Warnings: Mentions of barfing.

Word Count: 3989

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Part 10)

Notes: Sorry I haven't put anything out in a while, I've been mad sick.

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“I still think this is a bad idea,” you whisper-yell as you and your two roommates sneak across the lawn. There’s no need to sneak, really. The Hockey House is packed to the brim with people, some even spilling onto the front lawn of the two-story home. You’re pretty sure they wouldn’t even notice if you walked right through the door and up the stairs to begin your search for their precious trophy. 

Mor and Gwyn halt where they’re pressed against the side of the house to stare at you. You all are dressed in black from head-to-toe, which, in your opinion at least, makes you stand out even more from the plethora of people inside.

“Where’s this sudden conscious coming from?” Gwyn asks. She’s right, even she’s here, though this entire scheme was her idea in the first place. For some reason, she hates everything and anything that has to do with the word hockey, and yet, here she is.

To steal a trophy, your mind supplies. It’s not like she’s here to party.

“Yeah,” Mor tacks on, and it’s difficult not to duck out from under her scrutinizing gaze. “My cousin’s in there and you don’t see me complaining.”

Funny she mentions that, because that’s the exact thing you’re worried about. Running into Rhysand.

“Nothing,” you stammer, trying to console your roommate. “It’s just…we should be cutting Gwyn’s cake right now, not pulling some prank like high schoolers.” At first, the idea of pulling a prank on the hockey team seemed like fun. Now that you’re here and the buzz of the wine you drank has wavered, it doesn’t seem like such a good idea anymore. Those hockey boys take their superstitions seriously, you can’t imagine how they’d feel about a trophy disappearing.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, but you don’t take it out for fear that it might be Rhysand. You can barely believe he called you, flirted with you while his cousin was one room over. He knows that nothing can happen between either of you, it would only spell disaster. Mor would have an aneurism, at the very least.

“Stealing this will taste so much sweeter than cake!” Gwyn insists. She wobbles on her feet and catches herself against the side of the house, waving Mor off when she reaches out a hand to steady the redhead. Gwyn blinks her big cerulean eyes at you in her infamous innocent look. “This is what I want for my birthday, but I won’t force you to join us. We’ll go inside, steal the trophy from right under their noses, and meet you back at the apartment, if you want.”

“No,” you shake your head. Maybe this will be fun. Maybe you can do this for Gwyn and return the trophy before the boy’s notice. Maybe they won’t even notice at all. Yeah, right. “we’ll find it faster if there’s three of us. I’m in.”

Gwyn beams and throws herself into your arms. You stumble, unprepared, but manage to keep the both of you upright with a startled laugh. Mor quickly joins the hug and it takes five minutes for the three of you to stop giggling and get your heads straight.

“Right, so where do we think they’d hide it?” Gwyn asks as the three of you huddle together to form a plan. When you left your apartment, the only idea in motion had been to walk into the house and steal the trophy. You have a feeling it’s going to be a little trickier than that.

You and Gwyn look to Mor who makes a face. “What the hell are you looking at me for? How would I know where it is?”

“He’s your cousin,” you supply and Gwyn nods vehemently.

Mor scoffs. “And? That doesn’t mean I’d know exactly where they’re hiding a giant trophy! I’ve been here the same number of times as you!” She points in your direction. “Do you remember seeing it around?”

You think for a moment. No, you don’t remember seeing at the last party you were here for, but you don’t think you’d miss a giant, gleaming trophy, even if you were distracted by Rhys. “No,” you mutter quietly.

Mor crosses her arms over her chest and lifts her chin haughtily. “Exactly.”

“So, we sneak inside and split up and hopes one of us finds it?” Gwyn asks. She’s not giving up on this easily, that’s for sure. You don’t think you’ve ever seen her so hungry for revenge. Maybe if you knew exactly why she disliked the hockey team so much, it’d help psych you up.

“No, we need a better plan than that.” You offer a silent apology. “Who’s the most superstitious?”

“What?”

“Well, if we decide who’s the most superstitious of the group, maybe we can narrow down where the trophy might be,” you explain. “Like, if Rhys is the most superstitious, do you think he would hide it under the kitchen sink or something?”

Mor’s brows furrow as she thinks. Nearby, a boy shouts drunkenly across the lawn. You can’t make out what he says with the way his words slur, but the three of you huddle closer to the house, nonetheless.

“Azriel or Rhys,” Mor decides. “Cassian wouldn’t care about some trophy. He’d mix drinks in it. Which leaves us with Azriel or Rhys.”

And well, that narrows things down a little.

“Where would they hide a trophy like that?” Gwyn asks.

You and Mor exchange a knowing look. “Their room.”

The three of you decide that after you sneak upstairs, Gwyn will keep watch, Mor will snoop through Azriel’s room, and you’ll try and find the trophy in Rhys’ room.

“Why do I have to look in Rhys’ room?” You all but complain. You didn’t like this idea before, but you sure as hell don’t like it now. Snooping through someone’s personal things is so wrong, and the fact that you’re going to be digging around in Rhys’ things, the boy who stirs reluctant feelings in your stomach, your tutor, doesn’t sit well with you.

“Because I can’t look through his things!” Mor protests, then shudders. “What if I find something that changes my perspective on my cousin forever? I spend too many family holidays with him, it’ll be too difficult to avoid eye-contact with him if I saw something weird.”

And yeah, that’s a good point. Maybe for more reasons than one. If you find something that puts you off from Rhysand, it won’t be such a struggle to stay keep away from him like you’re supposed to be doing. Being his tutee will be much easier if every time you see him, you’re thinking about a stiff sock under his bed or a Playboy beneath his mattress.

“Okay,” you nod. “Let’s go.”

Gwyn puts her hand out and looks between you and Mor eagerly. “C’mon. We need a chant.”

You don’t, you really don’t, but you divulge her, anyway. You place your hand on top of hers, and Mor rests hers on top, completing your best friend hand stack. Gwyn bounces her hand up and down. On the third bounce, when you all break and toss your hands in the air in triumph, she cheers, “These hockey boys don’t know what’s coming for them. Revenge is best served over ice!”

Revenge? Who on the hockey team is Gwyn beefing with that she wants to enact revenge on these boys?

Before you can ask, she slips around the side of the house into the darkness of night.

“Shit,” Mor curses, “Let’s go.”

There’s really no need for the three of you to be sneaking at all, but if this is what Gwyn wants for her birthday, then you will deliver.

College students are still elbowing their way inside of the house. The three of you slip into the crowd easily. It takes a few minutes of patience to get through the front door because people keep pausing to greet newcomers, but once inside, your all-black garb really does seem to help you blend in. The lights are dim in the house, and it’s all too easy to wind your way through the living room to make your way to the staircase, clutching tightly to your friends’ hands.

“Duck!” Gwyn yelps and tugs you lower. You don’t question her, ducking deeper into the crowd.

A behemoth of a boy ambles past, like a drunken bigfoot. You’d recognize those broad shoulders and loud voice anywhere. Cassian.

“Who’s up for a game of flip-cup?” He shouts directly over your heads. Thankfully, he’s too busy counting the number of hands that shoot up for a chance to be on his team. You and your friends quickly slither away from him, keeping your heads tightly tucked to your chests. “Shirts vs. skins!”

You roll your eyes at the suggestion in his tone. Then, you wonder if Rhys is playing.

Something hot prickles your gut, but before you can read into the feeling, Gwyn’s leads you further into the wolves’ den.

You straighten your posture as you pass the kitchen, hoping that you’re in the clear, only to catch a glimpse of the other two members of the household you’re attempting to prank tonight.

Your breath catches when you spot Rhys. He stands beside Azriel, the both of them leaning casually against the counter. They look cool. Effortless. They look fucking hot.

Your mouth runs dry. His shirt is tight, stretched across those broad shoulders that are the basis of your dreams. The material stretches across his bicep when he reaches a hand up to brush back the strands of his deep, dark hair. His violet eyes glow, and a dimple indents his cheek when he grins down at the person who stands before him. You follow his line of sight and this time, when you see the petite, pretty brunette that holsters his amusement, your stomach churns violently. It’s definitely jealousy this time.

You clench your jaw and shove the emotion away. You hold no claim on him, nor that you can. He’s Mor’s cousin, you remind yourself vehemently. He’s your tutor.

Neither of those chants does anything to ease the sourness in your stomach.

At least all three boys are occupied. It makes getting up the stairs all that easier. As you ascend, you can’t help but think that maybe you do want to steal this trophy, make their lives a little more vibrant tonight. It’s petty, you think, but you continue anyway.

When the three of you reach the landing, you and your roommates reconvene.

“Any idea whose room belongs to who?” You ask, looking up and down the hall. There are five doors. One has a line of people behind it, so you count that as a bathroom. Maybe another is a closet. You’ll have to look quickly.

“No idea,” Mor shrugs, and glances down the stairs. None of the boys have caught wind of you here yet. Good. “We’ll just have to look.”

“What if their doors are locked?” You wonder and both of your roommate’s stare at you. Shit. None of you had thought about that possibility, and unless Gwyn or Mor secretly know how to pick locks, your prank might be doomed.

“Worry about that if it happens,” Gwyn answers hurriedly and shoos you down the hall. “If you hear a turkey call, the missions been compromised and you need to run. If we get split up, meet at the rendezvous point by one a.m. or the search party will come out.” Rendezvous point being your dorm, search party being whoever makes it to the dorm first.

Turkey call? You share a look with Mor. You’re learning so much about Gwyn tonight.

You split from your friends without another thought. If the three of you pull this off, you’re won’t hesitate to interrogate innocent, little Gwyn about all of the revelations you’ve learned tonight. Apparently, you don’t know your roommate as well as you thought you did.

You rip open the first door you come across. You’re met with a bare ass and the lewd moans of a girl getting her world rocked. The pair don’t even notice you, but you blurt in shock. “Holy shit! I’m sorry!” You gape for a moment longer, truly impressed the kind of leverage the boy draped over her back has in the tight confines of this linen closet. You slam the door shut and stumble to the next room.

Aha! The door is unlocked. You take a quick glance over your shoulder. Gwyn’s attention is on you. She offers you a huge smile and a big thumbs up, then avert her gaze back to the stairs like a rottweiler on duty.

“Please, don’t let anyone be naked in here,” you mutter before slipping inside.

Thankfully, you don’t hear any sex-induced noises. No squeaking of a mattress. No headboard hitting the wall. Just the bass of the music through the floorboards.

You flick on the light after shutting the door. It’s a typical boy’s room, you note as you look around. A bed with navy sheets, surprisingly made. There’s a wooden dresser pushed beneath the three large windows that overlook the small backyard. A closet door hangs ajar near the corner of the room.

You aim for the dresser. There’s a picture frame of the hockey team on top, along with a stack of clothes that hasn’t yet been put away and a few textbooks, but no trophy. Damn.

There’s a small desk that looks like the legs are going to give out if the slightest breeze brushes up against it. A laptop sits shut on top, along with a cup stuffed full of pencils and pens. There’s a notebook flipped open, and you recognize a few words as psychology jargon from some of your classes. Rhys room, you deduce immediately.

“Where are you, where are you…” You mutter. The closet produces no results, either, just perfectly lined up sneakers and a surprising number of suits and dress shirts. On the shelf, there’s an entire bin of beanies, and thrown on the floor in the middle of the closet is a hockey bag. The smell that wafts out of it makes your nose scrunch.

You’re about to dive to the floor and check under the bed. Your heart pounds in your chest, adrenaline coursing in your veins. You don’t have high hopes that the trophy will be stashed under his bed, but you’ll give it a cursory glance before reporting back to Gwyn.

You kneel on the floor and peer under the frame, praying that you don’t find some weird sex toy or something. That’s the last thing you need to be thinking about right now. You hold your breath and open your eyes, exhaling a loud huff of relief when you don’t find any monsters under his bed.

“And just what do you think you’re doing in here?” An all too familiar voice rasps from behind you.

You almost hit your head on the metal bedframe when you jump in surprise. You whip your head around only to see Rhys towering over you. His arms are crossed over his chest and though he’s trying his damned hardest to keep the smirk from breaking out across his lips, you can tell how amused he is by the glittering of his violet eyes.

“Fuck!” You scramble to your feet, dusting your knees off. “You scared me!”

Where the hell was Gwyn with her turkey call? Were you so invested in searching his room that you missed it completely?

“As much as I like the idea of you in my room, darling,” he drawls, and his voice sends shivers down your spine. “When I pictured you in here, you were in my bed, not under it.”

Fuck. Now you’re thinking about being in his bed, too, and that just won’t do.

You swallow harshly. If you rip your gaze away from his hungry eyes, you’ll look directly at said bed. And then you’ll be even more tempted to fall into it, and pull him in behind you.

Stop it right the fuck now.

“I was just, ah,” you scramble for a lie. “Looking for some psych notes.” You wince. It’s not terrible, but there’s no way in hell Rhys is going to believe you. “My test today really got me down. I thought I would start studying for the next one early.”

Rhys quirks a brow. He’ll play along, if that’s what you want. “And you thought I keep my notes under my bed?”

You glance at the floor where you were just face down, ass up, snooping. Your cheeks flare at the thought of him standing right behind you. You must have looked like you were his for the taking.

“I thought I dropped a piece of paper,” you nod solemnly. “Thought I saw it drift right under the bed.”

“And?”

“And what?” you ask, mustering all of the innocence you can.

The corner of Rhys’ mouth tips up and your breath hitches in your chest. Gods, he looks good enough to eat. All you’d have to do is take one step forward and you’d be pressed flush against his front. One step to the side and you’d be falling on his bed, where you really would offer yourself up to him.

Damn the wine you drank.

“And,” Rhys teases. He takes a step closer and you’d move back if you were of sound mind. If your feet weren’t glued to the floorboards. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

His breath brushes the tops of your cheeks and your lashes flutter. The warmth of his body floods yours. Your nipples tighten painfully under your shirt. Your chests brush with every sharp inhale you take, but does nothing to help calm your racing heart.

“I, uh,” your gaze flickers to those perfect, pink lips of his. You think they might be your favorite thing about him. How soft yet demanding they felt against yours at the Halloween party. What they look like wrapped around the top of a pen as he studies. Fuck. You want to taste him again, you’ve forgotten what he tastes like. When you drag your gaze back to his violet eyes, you find them teeming with the same pent-up arousal that courses in your veins. “I think I just did.”

You’re not sure who moves first, if you roll up onto your toes or if Rhys ducks down. All you know if the sensation of his mouth crashing against yours in a desperate kiss. Like you’ve gone without for far too long.

This is bad, this is sin, your mind refutes. You’re breaking rule number fucking one!

But your heart tells you to move closer, to press your body flush against his. It’s like you’re in a trance, and you do just that.

Rhys’ fingers thread into the hair at the nape of your neck where he grabs a fistful of hair. You gasp erotically against his mouth and he swallows the sound with a growl that makes the innermost parts of you ache. He guides your head this way and that, and you give into him, allowing him to take you how he wants.

You aren’t taking the time to run your hands up his body to explore like you want to. Nope, your fingers are curled tightly into the fabric of his shirt. You’re unable to move, completely entranced by the feeling of his tongue dipping into your mouth and laving against yours. It’s dominating, it’s sensual, it’s fucking perfect.

“Rhys,” you whine. It’s not a whine for him to stop, like it should be, but a desperate plea for him to keep going. You’ve thought about your kiss with him every night since Halloween. Touched yourself a few times to it as well. This, this is better than what you remember.

He shushes you softly. It sounds like a promise, like you have all the fucking time in the world. And you do, you think. You can’t remember what you were doing before this moment. Don’t even know what you’re going to do after this moment.

Have sex with him, hopefully.

Rhys hand wraps around your hips, then lowers. He grabs a handful of your ass, which spurs you into his arms. You lock your hands around his neck and all but climb into his arms, twining your legs around his trim wait.

“Fuck, darling,” he grunts as your nails scratch his scalp. It feels good, everything you’re doing. He wants you up against the wall, on the bed, bent over the dresser. Hell, he wants to sit you right upon that flimsy desk and fuck into you until it breaks. His teeth scrape against the skin of your neck. “Take your shirt off for me.”

You can’t obey fast enough. Rhys eyes are dark with desire, drinking every inch that you reveal to him like it’s his last meal on earth. Your pussy clenches at the sight and if he doesn’t start touching you, removing more clothes, you think you might just combust.

Like he sees it in your eyes, he slides his hand beneath your bra and cups your breath roughly. You moan, head falling back on your shoulders and he praises gruffly. “That’s it, darling, I’ve got you.”

You can’t even respond. Your brain doesn’t work. Any words you can form get caught in your throat. Rhys dips his head to kiss and suck at the tops of your breasts. He tweaks your nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger.

“Rhys!” You hiss. You tug the hair at the nape of his neck. He fights against you, and it makes you even hotter. He knows what he’s doing with that mouth, and as nice as it feels on your chest and crawling up the column of your throat, you need his lips pressed against yours right now. “Please!”

“Okay, darling,” he whispers, and latches onto your mouth again.

You melt into him with a noise of pleasure. You grind your hips into his which makes his hands around your waist tighten. You’re lost in the feeling of him, want him to move closer to the bed, to press his tongue right between your thighs and use that very same swirling motion around your clit, you want him to strip bare and press his hot, aching cock right between your—

“Holy fucking shit!” A voice exclaims, ripping through your psyche.

Holy fucking shit. You’re kissing Rhys. Your shirt is off, you’re in his arms, and you’re kissing fucking Rhys.

You rip yourself from Rhys and swing your attention to the door. Dread settles like lead in your veins and you drop your feet to the floor, scrambling to pick up your discarded shirt form the floor.

Gwyn stands in the doorway, struck. Her cerulean eyes are comically wide, which is saying something because she’s always doe-eyed. She sways over the threshold and you hope it’s the lingering wine in her body and not because she just witnessed you all but mauling Mor’s cousin.

Mor.

“Gwyn,” you say desperately, tugging your shirt over your head. She can’t tell Mor, no one can. This will ruin your entire friendship, and you can’t handle that. “It’s not what it looks like, I promise.”

You barely register the affronted noise Rhys makes. You’re struggling with the material of your shirt, and he reaches a hand out to help. You brush him off, making your way to your friend who stares, glossy-eyed at the floor.

“I can’t…” Gwyn trails off. She raises her head and you falter at the hurt look in her eyes. It makes a lump form in your throat. Shit. You’re going to lose both of your best friends in one night.

Except, Gwyn admits, “I don’t feel very good.” She turns back into the hall and proceeds to throw up all over the floor.

_________________________________________

Over Ice Taglist:

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[azsazz]

Hello!!!! just hope to read more of your forthcoming song fic🤭

Hiii! I’m sorry, which one is this referring to? Fourth wing?

[azsazz]

I’m so happy you guys decided on doing Starfall week!!! This is such a beautiful platform for all the creators in the fandom to shine!! I’m not an artist myself but I love how talented all of you are🩷 it’s so special 🥰

Yay, I’m so glad to hear that! This can definitely be a wonderful platform for creators and we’re so happy to be a part of it! 💙 thank you for the kind message, can’t wait to see what everyone comes up with!

[azsazz]

omg I have admired your work for soooo long and I’m just now gathering the courage to write to you just to inform you that you’re one of my favorite authors in this fandom and also that I’ve been struggling with feeling inadequate with writing stories and finding author friends so I looked through your masterlist for anything to help me and I stumbled upon the writing tips and it’s made me feel a whole bunch better 😮‍💨 … blah blah blah you are magnificent and I adore your stories and I hope your pillow is cold every night ♥️

Awe thank you so much! That means the world to me 💙💙 And congrats on your writing journey, I’m so excited for you!!