#starfall week

Nesta nodded, humming in agreement, her lips curving into a small smile at her sister's words. You knew they were right, after everything that had happened, you desperately needed a night out. Nesta was already snatched away by Cassian, dressed as old warriors of legends, lost in the music.

Elain, dressed like a walking garden, was nursing her drink and sitting by, even though such parties weren't her scene she was with the shadow twins, talking and having a laugh.

You wore an outfit that looked like it was made of life itself, the shimmering fabric seemed to pulse with an inner light, leaves and vines twisting around your curves as you moved. The skirt you wore flared at your thighs, the corsetted top barely covering your curves. Your hair had white tinsels in it, styled up in a high pony, a mask over your face, fully covering you. You found it hilarious, dressing like life, given your powers. Nesta had convinced you to dress slutty to "catch a better male for the night" as she put it, there was plenty blushing involved on your part as she went into detail about the importance of a matching set of lace underneath.

While you stood there, amidst the pulsing throng of bodies, dancing your heart out for the past hour or so, having a little too much to drink, you couldn't recall, the music seeming to flow through your very veins, you felt a sudden presence behind you. Strong hands gripped your hips, pulling you back against a firm chest. You could feel the heat radiating off the body pressed so close to yours.

"I must say, that costume is... Captivating." A low, heavy voice murmured in your ear, sending shivers down your spine. "Life itself couldn't possibly be more beautiful than you look tonight."

You turned your head slightly, catching a glimpse of a someone covered in darkness, he wore a cloak over his head. Suriel? A scythe in hand. Death. How poetic.

You felt a thrill run through you at the dark stranger's bold touch and flattering words. There was something magnetic about his mysterious aura, something familiar too, the way his strong hands held you possessively. When you glimpsed his cloaked form and the ominous scythe, a frisson of excitement mixed with apprehension danced along your nerves.

The mysterious male in the death costume spun you around to face him fully, one large hand still resting possessively on your hip. Up close, you realised you could truly not see his face, as if the darkness that surrounded him made him appear headless. His other hand came up to brush a stray lock of hair from your cheek, leather glove-covered fingertips grazing your skin and leaving tingles in their wake.

"I've been watching you all evening," He murmured, his deep voice resonating through you. "Watching you move, watching you shine brighter than anyone else here. Tell me, little life, do you often have this effect on strangers?"

His thumb traced idle circles on your hipbone through the thin fabric of your costume as he waited for your response, the heat of his palm seeping into your skin.

The male's fingers tightened almost imperceptibly on your hip as he awaited your response, the heat of his touch seeming to brand your skin even through the thin fabric of your costume. You swallowed hard, pulse quickening at his proximity and the dark promise in his tone.

"I… I don't know what you mean," you managed to say, voice coming out breathier than intended. "I'm just here to enjoy the party with my sisters." Even as the words left your mouth, you knew they rang hollow. There was a part of you that revelled in his intense focus, in being singled out amidst the writhing sea of bodies. You were glad you had let Nesta talk you into wearing a matching lace set to "be ready for a male" in her words, because you were going to fuck him tonight, you just felt like it, in your slightly tipsy state, you needed someone to forget him, someone currently without a face seemed like a wonderful option.

A low, dark chuckle rumbled from the cloaked male's chest at your feigned innocence. "Is that so? Well then, allow me to change your mind." In one fluid motion, he pulled you flush against him, one muscular thigh slipping between your legs to press intimately against your core. The heat of him seared you even through the layers of clothing separating your bodies.

"This isn't just enjoyment, little one. This is destiny." His gloved hand slid up your side to cup the swell of your breast, kneading the soft flesh possessively. "Can't you feel it? The pull between us, like moth to flame?" Leaning in, he nipped sharply at the sensitive skin below your ear before soothing the sting with his tongue. "I'm going to worship every inch of you tonight until you're begging."

You gasped as his thigh ground against your core, but instead of pulling away, you leaned closer, "And what of you, do you approach random females having fun out of nowhere and think everyone wants you?"

The cloaked male threw back his head and laughed, a rich, dark sound that sent shivers down your spine. "Oh no, sweet thing. I don't make a habit of approaching just any female." His hand slid lower, gripping your ass and pulling you impossibly closer. "But when fate drops a goddess wrapped in silk directly into my path, I'd be a fool not to act."

He captured your lips in a searing kiss, his mouth moving over yours with skilful intent. One hand fisted in your hair, angling your head to just push the mask past your lips as he plundered your mouth thoroughly. When he finally released you, you were left panting, knees weak.

"My apologies, I couldn't resist sampling the nectar of the Mother herself," He purred wickedly, he wasn't sorry at all. And you weren't either, cause you felt like you knew those lips, and you kissed him back more confidently.

He broke the kiss, only to trail his lips along your jawline, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. "Mmmm, I can taste the wine on your lips. But there's another flavor beneath it, something sweeter. The essence of life itself." His hand slid under your skirt, calloused fingers caressing the smooth skin of your thigh. "I wonder, does all of you taste as divine as your mouth?"

The crowded dance floor seemed to fade away, the pulsing beat of the music dimming to a distant thrum. All you could focus on was the heat of his body pressed against yours, the wicked promises in his gravelly voice, the teasing caress of his fingers inching higher up your thigh. Your core clenched with need, arousal dampening your lace.

He groaned softly as his fingers brushed against the damp lace covering your most intimate area. "Already so wet for me, aren't you little goddess?" His hand traced teasing patterns over the soaked fabric, applying maddeningly light pressure. "I bet you're aching to be filled, to be stretched wide. Let's take this somewhere private, yeah?"

Then he pressed his scythe to the back of your head, then you realised that it wasn't simply a part of his outfit and the blade was very much sharp. As the reality of the situation dawned on you, a surge of fear mixed with exhilaration coursed through your veins. The cold metal of the scythe pressed firmly against your skull, a potent reminder of his power and dominance.

"Move, now," He commanded, his voice a low growl that vibrated through you. Without hesitation, you allowed yourself to be led through the crowd, his grip on your arm unyielding. The dance floor receded further into the background as you stumbled after him, your heart pounding in your ears.

He guided you through a door in the back, set for privacy in the club's nightly activities, the doors were dark red yet translucent, you could make out faint bodies of lovers pressed together, the male guided you to one of the empty rooms. The room was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of incense and something muskier, more primal. A large wooden table dominated the centre of the space, its surface polished yet stained with age.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind you, he spun you around to face him, pressing you back against the cool wood of the table. His hands roamed over your curves, squeezing and kneading as if to claim every inch of you as his own.

"You look exquisite in the dim light, like a Nightbloom blooming under moonlight," He murmured, his breath hot against your ear. "So delicate, yet perfect for the taking." His fingers deftly untied the bow at the front of your corsetted top, revealing the lacy cups barely containing your breasts. "Let's get rid of these restrictive garments, shall we?"

With practised ease, he peeled off your corset, leaving you in your mask, tiny skirt and the soaked lace covering your cunt.

His hungry gaze devoured the sight of your nearly bare body, drinking in the curves and valleys of your skin. The way your nipples pebbled in the cool air, the gentle rise and fall of your chest as you breathed heavily, the glistening evidence of your arousal on the lace clinging to your cunt. Every detail was etched into his memory, fueling his desire.

Without warning, he swooped down, capturing one pert nipple between his teeth. He suckled gently, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. At the same time, his hand delved beneath your skirts, fingertips grazing the sensitive inner thighs as he worked his way upward.

"Mmm, you do taste divine," He purred against your breast, his free hand palming the other, rolling the nipple between his fingers. "I could feast on you all night long."

You cried through the pleasure, head rolled back, you still couldn't see the male's face, covered in darkness, but as the shadows flickered in the room, you were fully sure who he was, yet you still played the part of not knowing.

His gloved hand slipped past the lace barrier, fingers brushing against your slick folds before circling your clit in deliberate strokes. "Such responsive little life," Death murmured approvingly, his hot breath tickling your skin. "I can tell you're eager for more."

With a sudden, decisive move, he hooked his fingers inside you, thrusting them deep into your clenching heat. A guttural moan escaped you as he pumped his digits in and out, stroking that magic spot within you that made stars explode behind your eyelids.

"That's it, let me hear you," He coaxed, his thumb continuing its relentless assault on your clit. "Scream for me, little goddess. Show me how much you crave my touch."

"What should I moan for you?" You gasped, toes curling on the table, hands gripping the sides as his gloved fingers curled inside you, now that you knew, you could sense the scars on his hands. "Death?"

He chuckled darkly, the vibrations of his laughter sending tingles through your body. "Yes, Death," He confirmed, his fingers never ceasing their sensual torment. "And I'm here to collect your soul..." His shadows moved the Scythe to aim for your throat, forcing you to keep your head up.

His pace quickened, pumping into you harder and faster until your whole world narrowed to the sensation of his fingers stretching and filling you. The pressure built, coiling tighter and tighter in your core until you teetered on the brink of release.

"Now, scream for me, life," He demanded, his thumb rubbing merciless circles around your throbbing clit. "Let go and give me everything." With a final, brutal thrust, he pushed you over the edge into blissful oblivion.

With a final, ruthless thrust, he pushed you over the edge. Your body convulsed, back arching off the table as a scream tore from your throat. Waves of intense pleasure crashed over you, drowning you in ecstasy, light leaving your form as it slammed back in, you were a little ashamed to admit that your previous lover had never made you feel like that just by his fingers, or any part of him.

Death watched, mesmerized, as you came undone beneath his skilled touch. The way your cunt spasmed around his fingers, the flush of bliss on your cheeks, the sheer abandon in your expression, It was intoxicating.

As the aftershocks subsided, he slowly withdrew his fingers, bringing them to his lips to taste your essence. "Delicious," He purred, savouring the flavour of your climax, tasting your essence.

He leaned in close, his shadowy form looming over you. "But don't think that was enough to sate me, little goddess," He whispered, his breath a chilly caress against your ear. "I want to consume every last drop of your sweetness, to drink deep from the well of your desire until you're utterly spent and begging for mercy."

He grabbed your hips, pulling them back against his straining cock. The thick head prodded insistently at your entrance, seeking entry into your welcoming heat.

With a swift, powerful thrust, Death buried himself to the hilt inside you, his rigid cock stretching you wide open around him. A harsh groan ripped from his throat at the exquisite sensation of your slick walls enveloping him, your tightness a delicious contrast to the chill of his skin.

He began to move, withdrawing almost completely before slamming back in, setting a punishing rhythm that shook the table beneath you on it's legs. Each stroke was a claiming, a possession, a declaration of his dominance over your quivering form.

The sound of flesh meeting flesh filled the room, punctuated by your cries of pleasure and his guttural grunts. His shadows danced across the walls, mirroring the wild, primal energy coursing through his veins as he lost himself in the carnal delight of taking you.

The shadows covered the translucent glass, so no one outside could see the two of you. His movements became even more frenzied, hips snapping forward with reckless abandon as he chased his own release. The table creaked ominously beneath the force of his thrusts, but he paid it no mind, too consumed by the need to fill you, to mark you as his own.

"Fuck, you're so tight," He gritted out between clenched teeth, his hips snapping forward with renewed vigour. "I'm going to fill you up, little life," He snarled, his voice raw with lust. "Every last drop of my seed, marking you as mine." With a final, brutal plunge, he buried himself to the root inside you, his cock pulsing as he spilt his cum deep within your womb.

The sensation of his hot release flooding your insides triggered another orgasm, your body trembling and clenching around him as you came once more. Body curling around his to grip on.

"He. Didn't. Deserve. You." Azriel grunted as he slammed through your climax, his hood falling down, the shadows that he'd used to cover his face falling, "I hated hearing you sob for him at night. When my mate should be moaning for me." He growled the term and for you it was like time stopped.

Azriel captured your mouth in a searing kiss, swallowing your gasps and moans as he rocked into you, his hips grinding against yours in a slow, deliberate dance. "You're mine now, y/n," He growled against your lips, nipping at them possessively. "Mine to claim, to cherish, to fuck."

His words sent shivers down your spine, a thrill of excitement mixed with trepidation. But there was no denying the fierce passion burning in his eyes, the unyielding conviction in his tone. He wasn't asking, he was declaring, staking his claim on your very being.

As if to emphasize his point, Azriel pulled out of you abruptly, only to flip you onto your stomach and yank your hips up into the air, his shadows gripping your ponytail, grabbing your form still for him.

Without wait, Azriel lined his still hard cock up with your dripping entrance once more, still more to go, the blunt tip probing at your slick folds. Then, with a savage grunt, he drove into you again, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust.

"Ah- AZ!"You felt every inch of him, his hard length splitting you open, reaching depths you didn't know existed. He set a punishing pace, his hips slapping against your ass as he took you with animalistic ferocity, each stroke driving home his claim on you.

Azriel's grip on your hair tightened, pulling your head back as he leaned over you, his breath hot against your ear. "This is what you needed, isn't it, Life? To be taken, claimed, owned?" His voice was a low, menacing purr, laced with dark promise. He pressed in fully, bruising your cervix with a rut of his hips. "Because I'm not done with you yet. All you needed was me. Your mate. But instead you went for that pathetic male. I could feel you when you were under him, how little he pleasured you. I wanted you to explore around and that was the male you chose to have your heart broken by? That male made you cry!"

Azriel's accusations cut deep, striking at the heart, you had chosen wrong. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but he continued unabated, his relentless pace never faltering as he pounded into you.

"You thought you loved him, didn't you?" He sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "Thought he understood you, could make you happy. But look where it got you - crying yourself to sleep, desperate for something more. Something real."

His hand left your hair to trail down your spine, nails digging into your skin as he gripped your hip, holding you in place for his brutal thrusts. "I am that something real, y/n. I've always been here, waiting for you to realize it."

"Az..." You whimpered under the weight of him, his cloak fell as his wings stretched to their full might. Though you weren't scared of him, instead you felt something snap between you, a thread of gold that connect you.

Azriel's wings unfurled, casting an ominous shadow over the room as they spread wide, the leather a stark black against the dim lighting. The sight alone would have been intimidating, but coupled with his dominant position over you, it was a potent display of his power and control.

As he continued to pound into you, his movements grew more erratic, his hips snapping forward with a frenzy that bordered on violence. The table creaked ominously beneath you, threatening to collapse under the force of his thrusts.

"I'm going to ruin you for anyone else," He growled, his voice a low, menacing rumble. "No other male will ever satisfy you like I can. You belong to me, body and soul." His hand slid from your hip to wrap around your throat, applying just enough pressure to make your pulse race. "Say it, princess. Allow me to kill him and I will bathe in his blood, for ever shedding a tear on your pretty face not born of pleasure."

Azriel's grip on your throat tightened, cutting off your air supply as he held you in a vice-like embrace. His free hand slid down to grasp your jaw, forcing your gaze upwards to meet his intense stare in the obsidian of his shadows, being so dark they reflected back everything he was doing to you, like a mirror to the show.

"Look at me, y/n," He commanded, his voice a low, dangerous hiss, his eyes were fully shadow. "Meet my eyes and tell me you understand. Tell me you're ready to let go of that pathetic excuse for a lover and embrace the darkness that's been waiting for you all along."

His hips never ceased their relentless assault, each brutal thrust driving home his point, his possession, his ownership, his jealousy. The air was thick with tension, heavy with the weight of his unspoken threat hanging over you like a spectre of doom. "Say it," He repeated, his grip on your throat constricting further.

"Yours," You choked out, the word barely audible over the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears. "I'm yours, Azriel."

With those three simple syllables, the dam broke. Azriel released his hold on your throat, allowing you to gasp in a ragged breath. His fingers dug into your jaw once more, angling your head to the side as he leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear.

"Good girl," He purred, the approval in his voice sending a shiver down your spine. "Now, let's finish what we started."

And with that, he redoubled his efforts, fucking into you with a newfound intensity, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge of oblivion. A ring of white forming around the base of his cock, everything of his he'd already deposited deep within you.

In that moment, he didn't look like a male who'd put on a death persona for a little party, but he was death himself, come to take you. And you would gladly go with him.

Azriel's movements became more frantic, his strokes growing shorter and harder as he chased his release. His nails raked down your back, leaving red welts in their wake, a physical manifestation of the claim he was making on you.

"You're mine now, y/n," He growled, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "My mate, my love, my everything. No one else gets to touch you, to taste you, to make you scream."

With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, his cock pulsating as he spilt his seed deep inside you again. The feeling of his hot cum filling you, you let out a strangled cry as he put his entire weight on your back, the table underneath giving out. Mixed with a shadow that rubbed insistently at your clit, it triggered your own climax, waves of pleasure crashing over you as you came undone in his arms.

Azriel collapsed atop you, his weight pressing you into the now very broken table as he rode out the aftershocks of his orgasm. His chest heaved against your back, his hot breath fanning over your neck as he struggled to catch his breath.

After a long moment, he lifted his head, looking over his shoulder at you with a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. "That's right, princess," He murmured, his voice husky with satisfaction. "You're mine now."

Slowly, he withdrew from you, his softening cock slipping free with a wet pop. A trickle of his essence leaked out, glistening on your inner thighs as he settled beside you, pulling you into his embrace.

"You're safe with me, y/n," He whispered, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. "You know that, right?"

Azriel's words were a soothing balm to your frayed nerves, his warm breath against your skin calming the lingering tremors of your climax. You nodded.

"I know," You replied softly, turning your head to press a gentle kiss to his cheekbone. "I trust you, Azriel. I... I feel what Feyre explained she felt."

He hummed in approval, his arms tightening around you as if to pull you deeper into his embrace. "Good," He murmured, his lips grazing your temple. "Because I intend to keep you safe... And satisfied... For eternity." He kissed your temple, "Still, tell me, should I kill him? As much as I didn't enjoy you wanting to go after someone else, he did break your heart."

Azriel's question hung in the air, heavy with implication. In truth, part of you wanted revenge, craved the sweet justice of watching Azriel's wrath unleash upon the one who had wronged you. But another part, the part that had surrendered itself to this dark, beautiful male, whispered that perhaps there was mercy to be found.

"No," You said finally, your voice firm despite the uncertainty swirling within you. "I don't want you to kill anyone for me..."

Azriel regarded you for a long moment, his expression inscrutable. Then, slowly, a dark smile curved his lips. "I will end generations for you, my mate. Anything that hurts you is nothing but dirt to me."

Azriel's declaration sent a thrill through you, a mix of fear and exhilaration at the depths of his devotion. But as you looked into his eyes, you saw no cruelty there, only an unwavering commitment to your well-being. He would be your darkest protector, your mate.

"I believe you," You whispered, leaning in to brush your lips against his in a tender kiss. "And I'm glad to have you by my side, but he's not worth any more moment of my time. Just let him go."

Azriel's response was immediate and passionate, his mouth claiming yours in a searing kiss that left you breathless. His hands roamed your curves, mapping every inch of your body as if reassuring himself of your presence.

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

🤍💙✨💙🤍

You were perched in a tree, eagerly watching the night sky above you.

It was a tradition that you had started for yourself, watching the first few minutes of Starfall alone.

It had started ten years ago, when the rest of your family, Rhys included, had attended Starfall in the Hewn City in order to appease the citizens there. You had been left behind at the Moonstone Palace, and as such had spent the evening staring at the cosmic event, soaking in your bathing pool.

The main color you had seen that year had been orange, beautiful streaks darting across the sky, one spirit even falling across your face as you watched.

That year, you had gained more freedom in your life, you father having finally allowed you to spend time at Windhaven while Rhys and your mother were living there.

The next year, the most common color streaking across the sky in your eyes was green - you had spent the year becoming in tune with nature, your powers of starlight having finally come into your body. You spent most of your nights embroidering in the moonlight, losing yourself in the beauty of the night.

The year after that? Red spirits had flown across the sky in droves. The color had brought you strength as you finally learned to fly without another having to be near you, allowing you to experience the way that your brother - and his new friends - had always flown.

Every year, the main color your eyes picked up had set the scene for your life.

This year was no different, and you were waiting with bated breath as the first bright spirits began to cross the sky.

You wanted - no, needed to know what your year would have in store for you.

Blues, purples, greens, and yellows shot across the sky as you watched with fascination, ears picking up on the cheers of Illyrians, closer to the center of camp.

You would join them soon, just as soon as you knew what color would dominate your life this year.

Tiny spirits shot down, coloring the tree branches around you, and few splatters streaking through your hair. You let out a giggle at the bright colors, holding out your hand for a pink spirit to glide across your skin before rejoining its brethren in the sky.

You turned your eyes back to the shimmering stars and spirits, eyes widening at the sudden influx of pink through the sky.

Pink?

You’d never seen so many pink spirits in the sky as you were now, a massive streak of them covering the other spirits flying through the sky, a sure sign of what was to come.

Now all you needed to know was what a pink Starfall meant for your life.

“Y/N, is that you?” a voice asked softly from below the tree you were in, and you looked down to meet hazel eyes.

“Hi, Azriel,” you said shyly from your perch, gathering your skirts closer to your legs. “Why aren’t you at the bonfire?”

He smiled up at you, a sight that always managed to take your breath away. “I thought a certain someone was missing, so I came to check on her. Can I come up?”

A blush dusted your cheeks as you nodded, and Azriel jumped high, using his wings to lift him the rest of the way to the large branch you were on.

“Why aren’t you at the bonfire?” he asked once he was seated next to you, your wings brushing together occasionally, eyes darting between you and the spirits streaking across the sky.

You stayed silent for a moment, debating on if you should tell him your tradition. He had never teased you before, unlike Cassian, who seemed to enjoy poking fun at you. “I like to watch the first few minutes of Starfall alone, it’s… Nice. Peaceful.”

Azriel nodded in understanding. “Did I interrupt your alone time?”

You looked over at him, heart stuttering when you noticed the pink that had streaked across his forehead and curly brown hair. “Not at all,” you replied quietly. “Sometimes it’s better to have someone to enjoy it with.”

Azriel smiled at you, a soft thing in the vibrant lighting of Starfall. “That’s very true, Y/N.” He wrapped an arm around you carefully, mindful to not brush against your wings.

Your head naturally tilted to rest against his shoulder, pink dusting your cheeks when you heard a satisfied huff leave him.

Maybe... Maybe pink means time with Azriel… Love?

Whatever it meant, if it meant more of this? You were excited for what the rest of the year had in store for you.

🤍💙✨💙🤍

“You’ll miss the best part,” Cass complains, peering up at the dark canopy above you. The sky is beginning to stir as the stars ready themselves for their journeys. It won’t be long before they’re soaring and crossing.

And tempting as it is to stay and watch the sight that never lessens in its magnificence, you feel…different this year. Like there’s somewhere else you ought to be. Someone else you ought to be with.

“I’m sure,” you dip your chin. “You go, Cass. Enjoy it.”

But he doesn’t move. He studies you head to toe, studies every shred of effort you put into your appearance — hair and makeup perfected, a stunning outfit hugging your body. You feel beautiful, no doubt — and yet you’re leaving after a mere hour of drinking on the balcony with your friends.

“You know she’s just going to be holed up in her apartment with the curtains drawn,” Cass says. “She hates Starfall.”

You cock an eyebrow. “Who?”

“You know who.”

Amren.

Is it little bit humiliating that you’re so damn transparent? Perhaps. But Cass is one of your closest companions — you can hardly expect him to believe that you’re simply leaving to return to your own home and switch your stunning dress for your pyjamas.

You shrug a shoulder. “I just want to check on her, is all.”

“Hmm,” your friend’s lips twitch. “I’m sure.”

With a roll of your eyes, you swat his ludicrously huge arm. “Go back to the party,” but you lean up to press a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you — for flying me.”

“Good luck with the tiny little rain cloud. She’ll be even crankier tonight than usual.”

With a lopsided smirk and a fond — and annoying — mussing of your hair, he launches back into the sky and heads back to the House of Wind. You stare after him, wondering if you’re making the right choice.

Because when Amren says she wants to be left alone, she means it. But…you don’t know. Things have been changing. Things have been…different.

This is your third Starfall, since your move to the Night Court after the war. A native of the Day Court, it had surprised you to find yourself so at home in a place of starlight, so opposite to what you’d always known. But as one of Helion Spell-Cleaver’s nearest and dearest, you’d worked closely with Rhysand and his Inner Circle during those fraught times of battle and bloodshed — and bonded with them far more than you’d ever expected yourself to. Become an honorary member of their unit, so to speak.

And when Rhysand had courteously invited you for a visit to Velaris after the war was over, you’d known from the second your feet had touched the cobbled streets — this was where you were supposed to be.

Three years later, with a home here, a job as a Night courtier…it was hard to imagine you’d ever been anywhere else.

And perhaps the most notable and unexpected connection you’d forged was the one you had with the with the tiny creature whose barbed, edged words were — you’d learned — a sign of affection.

You did not understand Amren one bit. She was a mystery you couldn’t puzzle out, a being that was sometimes so harsh, it was hard to believe she had any warmth in her at all. But Rhysand giving the two of you a subject he’d needed you to research together had brought you closer, over the recent months. Had shredded through that trepidation you’d once felt around her and shifted it into something…different. Something exciting.

You find that try as you might, you can’t stay away.

And that’s how you find yourself strolling those cobbled streets of Velaris, dressed up to the nines and stars beginning to burst above you. You could be spectating the brilliant sight with your friends, but something tugs you towards the other side of the city. To the loft apartment with the sloping windows and the strange, intriguing female who dwells within

Indeed, as you approach, you find those windows to be blacked out. Blocking out the sight of what is occurring in the skies. You almost smile, but now you’re nervous and second-guessing yourself a little. You could turn away, go home — in all likelihood, Amren won’t want to see you.

But tonight feels different. Tonight feels like a reckoning.

So you swallow your nerves and decide you’re doing this.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

You knock once, and a voice that is both nightmare and fantasy calls out, “Go away!”

Not unusual for Amren. She tells guests to go away, even when she’s invited them.

So you brace a hand against the door and call back, “It’s me.”

There’s a beat. And then small footsteps are padding closer. There are the sounds of bolts being undone, locks clicking. Whatever it is Amren feels she needs keep out is little more than a distant thought as she yanks the door open just a tad and eyes you suspiciously through the gap. Her steely gaze takes in your dress, hair, makeup. She lifts her chin.

“Why are you here?” she asks.

You shrug. Feel a little pathetic as you answer, “I thought I’d come see what you’re up to.”  

“Why.”

“Perhaps I find your company to be just slightly more scintillating than Cassian’s.”

At that, there’s the briefest twitch of her lips. She masks it expertly. “A dead rat has more to offer in the way of company than that boy.”

You snort, rubbing at your arms. Goosebumps are pebbling your skin. The air is too brisk to comfortably be stood in for too long.

Amren studies you again, and too quickly for you to register, she’s widening the gap in the door and yanking you in by the front of your dress. She slams the door shut and gets to work refastening the bolts, sliding across the chains, securing every lock. It’s all you can do to stand and watch.

And then she turns to face you with a neutral expression — one that says that if you find anything peculiar about her behaviour, shut the fuck up. You know she won’t tell you what’s got her so on edge, so you don’t bother asking.

Instead, you turn, still rubbing at your chilled skin, and study the general disarray of her huge, open-plan studio apartment. Her bed is unmade, her trinkets and baubles scattered across various surfaces. And on the numerous overlapping rugs that cover the floor, a gathering of books, some stacked in a pile, others tossed aside, a few open on certain pages. It would seem she is spending the night going over your recent research.

“Perhaps a drink?” you ply, angling away from the mess.

She quirks a dark eyebrow. “Tell me, what is it about you and the others barging into my home and making demands of me?”

“I believe it’s customary to offer your guests refreshments.”

“I believe I didn’t ask for guests in the first place.”

Her words, to anyone outside your circle, would sound so sharp, so harsh. But you know Amren, now. That last sentence vaguely translates another meaning: I wasn’t expecting guests, but thank you for coming. Of course I’ll get you a drink.

Not that she’d ever say that in a million fucking years.

She saunters past you, towards the kitchen area. As she goes, she closes the open books and throws them onto the stacks. Picks up empty glasses.

“Don’t clean up on my account,” you say, knowing full well that she isn’t.

“I’m not,” she confirms. “I don’t want your clumsy feet treading on anything,” she places the empty glasses in the sink and turns to you. “What do you want to drink? There’s wine, wine, or wine.”

“I’ll have the wine, then.”

With the barest incline of her head, she turns her back to you. While she’s occupied, you take a moment to study the covered windows, everything that blocks out what’s occurring outside. Even the skylights are covered, and your lips twitch at the thought of her wrestling her way up there to fasten drapes over them.

It’s all so methodical, so thought out. And though you know she’d probably never tell you, you can’t help wanting to break down that barrier and know the more vulnerable side to her that is so unsettled by this holiday.

A glass is placed in your hand, and you clear your throat, ripping your gaze away from the skylight — but not fast enough for Amren not to notice.

“It unsettles me,” she says drily, surprising you.

You try your hardest not to blink at the offered snippet of information. “What does?”

“Starfall. What it is. What it signifies.” Taking a slow sip of her wine, she sits on the rug. You follow suit. “Those stars, beings, whatever you want to call them…they are on a journey. Going from one place to another. Perhaps from one world to another. That was once me.”

“…and that unsettles you…”

“Perhaps I know one of them, from many, many years ago. Perhaps they are an associate of a time and a world long-forgotten. A past friend or foe or—”

“A lover?” you supply. You’re not sure you mean to say it.

But Amren’s grey eyes slide to you, and one side of her mouth lifts into a wicked grin, bearing sharp white teeth. “Does that surprise you?”

“Yes. No. I suppose I know nothing of your personal relationships. Of what you like.”

“I like what I like, and I hate what I don’t like.”

You stare at her, thoroughly annoyed and thoroughly entertained. Speaking with Amren is so often trickery and riddles. No matter how much you may feel like you’re getting somewhere, she always leads you on a merry dance that circles you back to the first step.

“And what of you?” she asks, surprising you.

Your eyes snag on the way her razor-sharp black hair moves as she angles her head. The ends tickle the column of her long, creamy neck, adorned with a jewelled necklace. For one moment, for some reason, the sight makes your head empty.

But you shake yourself out of the bizarre reaction and ask, “What of me?”

“What do you like?” Amren asks.

You almost snort as you take a long sip of your wine. Amren is simply not somebody who asks questions about other people very often. And the topic of your love life seems like one that would be trivial and pointless to her.

“Are you asking because you want to know?” you smile. “Or to be polite?”

Another flash of those brilliant teeth. “Have you ever known me to be polite?”

“I suppose not, no.”

“So tell me, girl, what takes your fancy?”

Draining your glass, you set it aside and lounge back, bracing yourself on your hands. And perhaps the wine is already commanding your mind and blurring lines — because it tells you to glance down at the full lips in front of you, painted with red that’s deepened by the dark nectar she sips at.

You do.

Amren watches. The air seems to shift.

“Pour me another glass,” your voice comes out huskier than you intend, “and I’ll tell you.”

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

“Lions?”

Rare, for Amren to sound like anything besides being perpetually bored. An hour or so later — and too many glasses later — the two of you are sprawled back on the rug, staring at the ceiling.

“Helion keeps lions?” she turns her head to quirk an eyebrow at you.

“Yes,” you answer with a laugh in your voice. “Very real, very fucking huge lions.”

“I rather thought that Pegasuses were his thing.”

“They are. But his lions are a prided jewel of his — and a court secret that I absolutely should not be sharing with you.”

Her petite, lithe body rolls onto its side. She crooks her arm at the elbow and rests her chin there, staring at you through glazed, grey eyes.

It takes only a beat of eye contact for you both to break into laughter.

This is…unusual. And nice. Though the two of you have undoubtedly been growing closer, Amren always has a glass wall up that allows you to peer through but not penetrate. Tonight is the first night that you feel that…that you might be on the other side of that wall. That she might be letting her guard down for you.

You like it. A lot.

The laughter thinning out, she stares at you. It’s a little strange to see those sharp, angled features not appear harsh and ready to slice at anyone. She appears…open. Almost normal.

“Lions,” she repeats, in something like wonderment. “And they just roam about his private estate? Are they tame?”

“He has sprawls of private land on which they can roam freely,” you tell her. “That land is guarded very well, from anyone he doesn’t wish to share the sight with. The lions are very tame. There’s a rumour — though I never got Helion to confirm it — that they once walked on two legs and spoke our language. That thousands of years ago, a curse bound them to their feline form that even Helion’s vast libraries hold no answer to cracking. And since they weren’t able to break the curse, he and his predecessors set to ensure that they would, at least, always be safe and accommodated and able to live comfortably as they are. If it’s true, they seem perfectly happy in their lion bodies.”

“So Helion allowed you access to them? What are they like?”

You smile — at the images that the question conjures up, and the fact that you hold Amren’s interest enough for her to ask it at all. It makes you feel…proud, somehow. Like the cat that got the cream.

“Amazing,” you rest your arms behind your head, taking yourself back to that private land on which you spent so much time — just you and the lions. “They’re just…regal. The males have huge, brilliant manes. The females are so lithe and elegant. The cubs are painfully adorable. There are families of them. Sometimes, they fight. Often, they play. They love to snooze in the sun and frolic in the long grass. The youngsters love splashing each other in the lake. If they recognise you as someone they can trust, you can comfortably sit with them and stroke their fur. They especially like you if you bring them food.”

There’s such a long pause as Amren takes in your words that after a short while, your eyes slide to her, half expecting to find her asleep. But she simply stares at you. Quiet. Assessing.

“I think I would like to see lions,” she says after a moment. To her, it seems to be a huge confession. Something not easy to admit.

You study the perfect lines of her face. That face that appears in your thoughts when you’re trying to sleep, think about absolutely anything but her. You’re not sure you like how drawn you are to her. She’s so unreachable that it only makes you reach harder. So difficult to work out that sometimes, you question if she delights in your company at all.

It is, after all, you who always seeks her out. Since you began your research together, it’s been you who has found excuses to see her.

You who barged your way into her home tonight, while stars collided above you.

And you who might do something unwise if you stay any longer.

You clear your throat, breaking eye contact. Your head feels as though it’s filled with cotton as you sit up and announce, “Perhaps I should go.”

Amren pauses. “Why?”

“I didn’t mean to take up your entire evening.”

“You could stay,” she also sits up, tucking her legs beneath her. “You never did tell me what it is you like.”

You take a moment to just…breathe. You’re not used to Amren being so…warm. It’s dangerous. Exciting. You don’t know if it’s safe.

Slowly, you turn on the floor to face her. “I’m not sure you’d appreciate the answer.”

A dark eyebrow arches. She likes doing that. “Tell it to me anyway.”

Should you? Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad thing. Maybe you’ll tell her that thoughts of her keep you awake, not in the forms of nightmares but in the allure of fantasies. Maybe then she’ll cease all work she does with you, and distance herself from you, and you can rid yourself of these feelings—

“You are what I like,” you speak quickly, flushing hot. “Who I like. I was thankful when Rhysand tasked us to work together, because I was already drawn to you. It seems I can’t stay away—”

A flash of dark hair, the potent scent of perfume and wine, are the only warnings you get before Amren is in your face, her perfect mouth sliding over yours. Wine is the overpowering taste of the kiss, but there are hints of other things behind it — sweet vanilla and something floral.

It takes you by surprise, no doubt. But you push the shock away and sink into the rightness of it. Your shoulders slump, body loosening. You slide a hand up to tentatively cup Amren’s cheek, and you kiss her back.

What starts out slow and explorative quickly builds into something that steals the very air from your lungs. Your bodies seem to move in perfect synchronisation, finding the right positions from which the kiss can deepen and grow. Amren kneels between your legs, and a sharp tooth gives the slightest, twinging bite to your lower lip — one that makes you gasp.

The act is deliberate. She slides her tongue into your mouth, folding it around yours. Your tastes mingle until you’re not sure which is yours and which is hers, and that simply will not do. You want her on your tongue. The flavour of her skin and that scent of hers that is quickly growing stronger, thicker, shifting into something else that you would commit sins to taste.

Your fingers sink into Amren’s hair, and she makes a low noise that could be a warning or a plea. The strands, despite always looking sharp enough to slice through rock, are silken, soft. You fist them in your palm and tilt her head back to kiss her deeper.

But she pulls away, her heavy breaths landing on your lips. Her eyes meet yours, and it’s the first time you see her looking anything besides…steeled. Composed.

She looks flustered. Like pulling away from your mouth was the last thing she wanted to do.

“I don’t know what this means,” she blurts.

The admission makes you pause. You agree, “Neither do I.”

“No—not just this. What you do to me. I don’t know what any of this means,” she narrows her eyes at you, almost accusatory. “Emotions like these have always felt pointless to me, but you…”

“…but me?”

“You…” the word is leaden on her tongue. “You are different.”

Her gaze slides to your mouth again, and you can tell that her comfort is in articulating her feelings with actions, not words.

And that is just fine by you.

Like she reads the encouragement straight from your thoughts, a breathy word escapes her. “Yes.”

And then she’s fastening her lips on yours again and stamping out every shred of confusion. No matter what either of you are unable to say, the dance of your mouths can speak it all. For now, no more than that is necessary.

Amren kisses you, and you kiss her. It’s deep, desperate, yearning. It’s bigger than anything and everything. The stars that race through the sky pale in comparison.

This is the real beauty of this night. The real thing you had hoped for. It could end no better way.

You kiss until your mouths are bruised and tender. Until the taste of wine is gone, and there’s nothing but the two of you on your tongues. For all you know, the rest of the world outside this apartment could have disappeared. You’re not sure you care.

You’re the one to pull away this time, but you don’t move far. You part your lips to gulp down breaths and press your forehead to Amren’s. Your voice is a rasp as you joke, “You better not be kissing me just so I’ll show you the lions.”

She laughs — actually laughs. It’s a short, brusque chortle, but it makes you glow with pride.

But she quickly sobers. Her face is serious once more, her eyes drinking you in.

“I’m kissing you, girl,” she says, “because I think about you too much. Because the very first time I laid eyes on you, it scared me — what I might do to look at you forever.”

You try to mask your surprise. You hadn’t realised—

“It was me who suggested to Rhysand that you and I should work together,” she admits. She pulls back a little, as if urging you to read the honesty on her face. “It felt pathetic and foolish, but I did it to be close to you. I can’t stop myself wanting to be close to you.”

Exactly the same feelings you had tortured yourself with all this time. To think that Amren had agonised over it just as you had is comforting, somehow.

You reach out a hand, pinching a strand of her soft hair between your fingers. She watches the action closely.

“Don’t stop yourself wanting it,” you say, not at all sure that it isn’t a plea. “Don’t stop yourself, when I want it, too.”

“…I’m not used to being…unsure of things.”

“Embrace it,” you offer a smile. “Have fun with it.” With me.

She stares at you, brooding and calculating. You wait for her to decide that this is too out of the realms of familiarity. She won’t allow herself to be so vulnerable.

But then she moves her hand to yours — the one still touching her hair. Slowly, tentatively, she laces your fingers together. She stares down at your joined hands as though the sight is alien, fascinating.

“Stay,” she eventually says, glancing up at you. There’s an undertone in her voice, an inference.

“…the entire night?” you hedge. You try to keep the hopefulness out of your tone.

Her red lips lift into a smirk, grey eyes glimmering. “On one condition.”

“Name your price.”

Your heart picks up as she leans in again. Her hair tickles your cheek, and she watches closely as your skin flushes at the proximity. Her lips hover against yours.

But instead of kissing you, she whispers four words that land straight on your waiting mouth.

“Show me the lions.”