#sjmromanceweek2023

[velidewrites]

Sarah J Maas Couples for @sjmromanceweek

➴ GWYNETH BERDARA & AZRIEL

"Do you, though? Sing?"

"Yes."

[jmoonjones]

Queen Nesta and her General ❤️ General Cassian and his Queen

[podemechamardek]

Nesta: Cassian, I thought we could wear a couple costume. Cassian: Like what? Nesta: I want to dress up as Wanda and I think you– Cassian: Say no more! Nesta:... Nesta: *sigh* I can’t even say he made a mistake.

Cassian and Nesta as Cosmo and Wanda for @sjmromanceweek Day 7: Free Day ♥️

In Brazil, we don’t celebrate Valentine’s Day on February 14th, but we are already very close to Carnival and in some cities people have already started to celebrate. With that in mind, we decided to commission this piece in reference to both dates.

Elly (nestroves) and I loved working with Nanda (_inkye) again who, as always, did an amazing job.

🚫 Please do not repost.

[c-e-d-dreamer]

Naughty Girl

A/N: Forgive me, Father, I have sinned... This is the absolute filthiest smut I have ever written, all 4,000 words of it. There's not even any plot. The only plot is that Nesta and Cassian are together. Are they married? Are they just in a relationship? You get to decide! But we're celebrating Day 4 of @sjmromanceweek with truly everyone's favorite trope: PWP ;) I'd like to dedicate this to the GC and my favorite enablers who encouraged me to finally release this into the wild and the 54 people who voted in my poll. I hope you enjoy, but maybe not in public, this very very very NSFW fic

The notification going off on his phone is loud in the otherwise quiet office, the sound practically blaring over the shuffle of papers, the glide of his pen. It's jarring enough that Cassian has to blink a few times as he's pulled from his haze of focus. He knows he should ignore it, that whoever is texting him can wait, but there's no denying the way his fingers have started to cramp, the way his eyes have started to ache from reading page after page of black ink spilled across white paper.

With a soft sigh, Cassian scrubs a hand down his face and digs his phone out from beneath the stacks. He frowns when he sees Nesta's name displayed across the screen. She knows he's busy with this endless stream of reports from Rhys, knows he's practically locked himself in the office of their house until they're completed. It's not like her to interrupt him. He expected her to appreciate the peace and quiet to relax and read her book all day.

Perhaps something is wrong?

But if something was truly wrong, why wouldn't she call him? Hell, why wouldn't she knock on the office door?

Suddenly feeling quite anxious, Cassian quickly types in his passcode, thumbing open his text message chain with Nesta. The anxiety quickly morphs back to confusion at the three word message waiting for him.

I'm so lonely

Cassian reads it once. Twice. His brow furrows as he tries to figure out what that means, why she texted that message to him when he's in the middle of these reports. He starts to type out just that question back to her, but she must have seen he'd read her first message because before he can finish, a second message comes through.

This one is a picture.

There's no mistaking the navy blue sheets of their bed, no mistaking the dark wood of their headboard in the top part of the frame. But it's the center of the photo, the focus of it, that has Cassian almost swallowing his tongue, a choked off sound escaping from his throat.

Golden brown hair cascades across the pillow like waves of burnished gold. The strands frame a face tipped back, pink dusting high along the cheeks. Cassian's eyes follow that pink, that flush, across milky smooth skin down and down until it vanishes beneath the red lace covering Nesta's chest. His favorite color. His gaze keeps going down and down, but the photo cuts off what he's really hoping to see. Still, the implication is clear with the way Nesta's arm is positioned, her hand clearly buried between her legs off frame.

Cassian tries to clear his throat, tries to swallow, but suddenly, his throat is too dry. Already, he can feel himself growing hard, and he reaches a hand down to readjust himself in his sweatpants. He knows he needs to get back to his work, needs to refocus on the task at hand, but he can't stop staring at that damned photo.

As if the ache between his legs isn't enough, his hands seem to ache too. Ache to glide along those miles and miles of skin. Ache to be filled with her breasts, to squeeze until they're spilling out of that red, lacy bra, so he can get his mouth on them. Fuck, he wants to get his mouth on all of her. Trace the line of her neck, biting bruises into the skin there that won't fade for days. Taste the fingers of her hand hidden from the photo then drink directly from the source.

A third text message comes in, and Cassian's resolve finally snaps.

Won't you help me, daddy?

Cassian quickly types out his response, pressing send and waiting. It takes less than a minute before he hears the shuffling of feet outside the door, the creak of wood as it's pushed open. Nesta struts into his office, and Cassian gets to see the outfit in all its glory in person. The red, lacy bra cradles her breasts, pushing them up and on full display. The matching lace panties sit high on her hips, and Cassian already knows the cut of them show off her ass without even seeing it.

Cassian stays seated in his office chair, his eyes tracking her every movement. Nesta walks in with a wide smirk, twirling a strand of her hair almost innocently. A wolf in sheep's clothing indeed. She looks every bit like she's won, like the cat that got the cream, but as she takes in Cassian's expression, the smirk starts to slip. Cassian would be concerned if the blues of her eyes didn't flare and blaze in excitement. She knows exactly how this game goes.

"And what did you think you were doing?" Cassian asks, keeping his voice low but calm. "Sending me that photo?"

"I told you," Nesta offers, stepping around the desk and closer to him, sliding a finger along his collarbones. "I was feeling lonely."

"I have to finish these reports," Cassian reminds her, shifting his office chair back enough that he can pull Nesta onto his lap, that she can feel the effect she had on him pressing up against her. "And you ruined my concentration. How am I supposed to work after that?"

"I'm sorry."

"I don't think you're sorry at all."

"Maybe I'm not," Nesta agrees, peering up at him from under her lashes and grinding down against his lap. Cassian tightens his grip on her hips, pausing the movement, and Nesta lets out a quiet whine.

"How very naughty of you, Nes. And here I thought you were daddy's good girl."

"I am good."

"Really? That's not what your little photo suggests. You know good girls don't come without permission."

"But I didn't come," Nesta protests, shifting her hips again as if to prove her point, prove her neediness. "I was waiting for you."

Cassian hums but he doesn't say anything more. He slides his hands down along Nesta's hips and back until he can grasp at her ass, kneading it. Nesta's eyes flutter closed at the gesture, a soft gasp falling from her lips and her arms tightening around his shoulders. Cassian leans in, sliding his nose along the underside of her jaw before following the same path with his lips.

He blazes a trail all the way to her ear, whispering, "you want to play, Nes?" This close together, he can hear the way her breath hitches in her lungs, can feel the way she dips her chin in a nod. "Use your words, baby."

"Yes," Nesta breathes before he even finishes speaking.

"I think we need to see if you can really be my good girl," Cassian offers, nipping at her ear until Nesta is shuddering in his arms. "I think you should warm daddy's cock until he's finished his reports."

Nesta lets out another whine, this one high pitched and seemingly pulled right from the back of her throat. Her head tips forward as she buries her face in the crook of his neck, her lips skating across his skin, and Cassian has to swallow a groan of his own.

"Are you going to be my good girl?" Cassian murmurs into her hair.

"Yes," Nesta repeats, lifting her head up and leaning in for a kiss.

Cassian slots their lips together, slipping his fingers through the strands of her hair and tilting her head how he likes it, so he can press his tongue into her mouth. She moans into the kiss, and Cassian can feel his resolve starting to slip, finds himself tempted to say fuck it to his original plan. Nesta is intoxicating. The softness of her lips against his. The way she tastes. Having her pliant in his arms. He could do this all day. He could get lost in her all day.

Reluctantly, Cassian breaks the kiss and pulls away, but he continues to stare at her. Her mouth is parted still, lips kiss bitten and swollen. Her eyes are still closed, long eyelashes kissing her cheeks. And those cheeks are flushed such a pretty shade of pink, one that matches the flush of her still heaving chest.

She's truly the most beautiful woman Cassian has ever seen and she's all his.

How did he get so lucky again?

Nesta lets Cassian maneuver her off his lap, so she's standing in front of him. He slides his hands down along her ribcage, over her waist, her hips. He toys with the waistband of her panties before leaving them be, instead following the line of fabric between her legs and pulling it aside. He teases his fingers between her folds, feather light touches that have Nesta pressing down against his hand desperately. He chuckles at the reaction, slipping two fingers into her, but it quickly turns into a groan when he's met with no resistance.

"Already so wet and ready for me, baby?" Cassian asks, curling his fingers just right. "You're absolutely soaked."

"Cass," Nesta gasps out around a moan. "Daddy. Please."

Cassian pulls his fingers free, bringing them up to his mouth and licking them clean. Nesta's gaze tracks the movement, watching him through hooded eyes, and Cassian doesn't even bother biting back his smirk. He shifts enough in his seat that he's able to tug his sweatpants off, never more grateful than today for the comfort of working from home. Nesta licks her lips as soon as his cock springs free, and Cassian gives himself a few strokes before lounging back in the chair, arms resting casually against the armrests.

"Come on, then," Cassian tells her, licking his own lips as his eyes sweep over her frame, every delicious inch all for him and wrapped in a pretty bow. "Come sit on my cock."

Nesta turns around, her back to him, and shuffles back so she can comfortably straddle his legs. She reaches down, and Cassian lets out a hiss as she gives him a cursory stroke, but then she's holding him steady and lowering herself down. Cassian has to bury his groan against her shoulder as her tight heat envelopes him, as she sinks down and down until she's flush against his thighs. He can feel the way she clenches around him, can feel the air stuttering in her lungs where her back is pressed against his chest. It's heaven if there ever is one.

"So perfect for me," Cassian praises, brushing her hair aside and pressing a kiss to the juncture between her shoulder and neck. "My perfect girl."

A soft moan falls from Nesta's lips, and her head falls back against his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut. He can see the little crease between her brows, see the way her bottom lip is caught firmly between her teeth. He knows she's trying hard to concentrate on keeping calm, putting all her focus on being still.

"Now, be a good girl for daddy and don't move."

Cassian reaches forward with his left hand, picking up the report he'd left off at. He keeps his right hand on Nesta's knee, tracing soothing lines back and forth with his thumb. He stays just like that as he goes through each of the remaining reports, but every time he needs his right hand to jot something down, to take notes or circle something, he returns it just a little bit higher on Nesta's thigh. By the time he's on the last report of the stack, his hand is resting right at her hip joint, his thumb just barely brushing against her clit.

Nesta lets out a sound halfway between a moan and whine, clenching around him again before whispering, "how many more?"

"How many more what, baby?" Cassian asks, even though he already knows, not stopping the lazy back and forth motion of his thumb.

"Reports," Nesta huffs quietly, her hips starting to stutter before she stops herself.

"That was the last one."

Nesta's whole body freezes at that. Her eyes snap open, watching as Cassian removes his hands from her, as he neatly stacks all the papers on his desk, as he opens one of the drawers and tucks them away.

"You were so good for me," Cassian tells her, returning his hands to her body and squeezing at her breasts through the thin material of her bra.

"Yeah?" Nesta asks, her voice breathless.

"Yeah. And good girls get rewarded."

Before Nesta can ask or say anything more, Cassian grasps at her waist. He hauls her off him and his lap, spinning her around so he can splay her out on his now empty desk. He slips out of his desk chair and down to his knees, finally reaching up to tug Nesta's panties down and off. Once those are discarded, he curls his hands around Nesta's ankles, sliding up her calves, over her knees, and up her thighs.

"What color, Nes?"

"Green," Nesta assures him, reaching a hand down and burying her fingers in his hair.

"Good girl," Cassian praises, pressing a sweet kiss to her inner thigh before smirking back up at her. "You love seeing me kneel before you, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Think about it all the time?"

"Only sometimes. I think about your cock more."

"Greedy. You just had it," Cassian chastises, nipping at her skin in retaliation. "It's alright. I think about your pretty little cunt all the time. How it feels gripping me. How it tastes."

As if to prove his point, Cassian leans in and licks a long, slow stripe over her. Nesta moans loudly, her hand tightening in his hair. The sensation along with having his face pressed right where he wants to be has Cassian groaning against her. He swirls his tongue over her clit, just the way he knows Nesta likes, before shifting down to fuck his tongue into her. Nesta's thighs start to shake, and he keeps his grip on them firm, holding them open as he continues to lick and devour at his leisure, but all the teasing from before has her close already.

"Please please please," Nesta begs, canting her hips against him. "Please let me come. Please."

Cassian pulls back enough that he can speak, licking his lips and smirking up at her. "You're always so pretty when you beg." He gives another deep lick, relishing in the way Nesta's thighs squeeze against his grip on them, the way her whole body shudders. "You've been so good. My good girl. Come for me, baby. Come all over my face."

Cassian leans back in properly and sucks her clit between his lips. It's all Nesta needs. With a loud, throaty moan, she shatters, yanking on his hair and arching her hips up against him. Cassian continues to work his mouth against her until the shaking subsides, until she lets out a soft whimper at the stimulation. He pulls himself to his feet, cradling Nesta's face in his hands and connecting their lips. Nesta moans into his mouth, pressing her tongue against his and tasting herself. It's way hotter than it has any right to be. She's way hotter than she has any right to be.

Cassian pulls away to press kisses along her jaw, down her neck, to her shoulder. "Color, Nes."

"Green. It's green," Nesta tells him, pulling at his face until he's kissing her again. "I want you now."

"Is that so?" Cassian teases, biting her bottom lip and tugging gently.

"Please. Please fuck me, daddy."

Cassian groans, tugging her off the desk and flipping her around so he can bend her over it. "You know how much I love it when you beg."

He fists his cock in his hand, sliding it teasingly against her slit, against the wetness gathered there from his mouth and her orgasm. He knows he should tease her more, should see how much he can really get her to beg, but he can't wait anymore. He presses his hips forward and sinks back into her.

"Gods, you always feel amazing around me," Cassian groans, thrusting shallowly until he's seated to the hilt. "You were made to take daddy's cock, weren't you?"

"Yes," Nesta moans, pressing her hips back against him.

Cassian takes it for the cue that it is, pulling his hips back and snapping them forward. His hands find purchase on Nesta's hips, holding her steady as he fucks into her hard and fast, the sound of slapping skin quickly filling the small office space, mixing in with the litany of moans from Nesta and him alike.

"Fuck, you take me so well. That's my good girl. Could fuck you like this all day."

He shifts one of his hands to wrap his arm around Nesta's waist, tugging her back flush against his chest and allowing him to fuck her harder and deeper. He reaches his hand into her bra and pulls her breasts free, rolling and tugging her nipples between his fingers. Nesta's moans take on a higher pitch, louder in a way that Cassian's glad they finally moved out that apartment and into this house. His name starts to fall past her lips like some kind of chant, and Cassian can't help but agree with the sentiment, swears he's found religion cradled between Nesta's thighs.

"That's it, baby," Cassian tells her, dropping his forehead against shoulder. "Love hearing you scream my name. Makes me even harder."

Nesta's hand comes up to squeeze at Cassian's wrist, nails scraping to find purchase and her cunt clenching around him tight enough that his hips stuffer for a moment. "Cass—fuck. Don't stop. Right there. Don't stop."

"Close again, already?" Cassian asks, Nesta responding with a half intelligent moan as he keeps snapping his hips into her. It's answer enough, and Cassian raises his hand up to her lips. "Open up, baby."

Nesta parts her lips, and Cassian presses two fingers into her mouth. Nesta moans around them, sucking on them and lathering her tongue between them. When they're good and coated, Cassian pulls his fingers free, sliding his hand down to where they're joined and rubbing tight circles against Nesta's clit.

"Now, be daddy's good girl and come all over my cock," Cassian instructs, his lips pressed right against Nesta's ear.

Nesta arches back against him, crying out hoarsely, as she shatters again. He continue to work his hips and his fingers against her, making sure her release is good and stretched out for her.

"Such a good girl," Cassian praises once Nesta comes back down. "So fucking gorgeous when you come."

Nesta slumps forward against the desk, her chest still heaving with the aftershocks. He can still feel the way she flutters around him, and Cassian groans as he follows her down, pressing his lips soothingly along her shoulder blades, down the top of her spine.

"What color now, baby?" Cassian murmurs against her skin.

"Green. Still green," Nesta pants. "So green."

"Think you can come again, then?" Cassian asks, rocking his hips forward pointedly. "I think you can come again."

Nesta turns to look at him over her shoulder, a pretty pout marring her lips. "I want you to come."

"Is that so?"

"Want you to fill me up. Want to be so full of you, daddy."

Cassian has to squeeze his eyes shut, has to remind himself to breathe, even as a loud, deep groan tears its way straight from his chest. It's exactly what he wants to hear, and she knows it. They both know it. Both know exactly how this game ends.

Cassian takes a deep breath to steady himself and carefully pulls his hips back, slipping out of her. Nesta lets out an adorable whine at the loss, her brow furrowing.

"Shhh, don't worry, baby," Cassian soothes her, turning her back around and hoisting her back onto his desk. "Daddy's going to take care of you. I just want to see your beautiful face."

Nesta wraps her arms around Cassian's shoulders, pulling him into a kiss, and they both moan into each other's mouths as he lines himself back up and slides back home. He grasps Nesta's thighs, securing her legs tightly around his waist before settling his hands on the desk, using it to both steady himself and provide leverage as he fucks back into her with earnest, quickly re-finding a pace that has Nesta keening against him, that has them both moaning.

"My baby wants me to put a baby in her, doesn't she?" Cassian asks, snapping his hips hard and fast. "Wants me to fill her up until she's full of my come?"

"Yes," Nesta shouts, her head tossed back as she moans. "Gods, yes."

"Going to fill you up until you're absolutely dripping. Going to put a baby in you. And then everyone will know you're mine, won't they? There won't be any doubt. They'll all know who this cunt belongs to. Whose cock keeps it full."

Cassian's hips start to stutter, and he knows his own orgasm is looming, glittering just out of reach. He reaches a hand between them, finding Nesta's swollen clit and rubbing it in tight circles while he continues to rock desperately against her.

"You're all mine, baby. Mine to fuck. Mine to keep nice and full of my come. Until your stomach's swollen with my baby. But I need you to come for me again, baby. One more time. I know you can do it. You're my good girl. Come all over daddy's cock again and he'll fill you up."

One last press against her clit, one last snap of his hips, and Nesta finds her release. Her whole body shakes with this one, her lips parting on a near silent scream. She clamps down tight around him, and Cassian barely lasts for a handful more of thrusts before he presses his hips deep and spills inside her.

They both go collapsing against his desk, Nesta's legs still snug around his waist and keeping him close. Cassian rests his forehead against her collarbone, taking a few heaving breaths and trying to bring his heart rate back down to normal. He can feel her own heart beat racing away where they're pressed together, two souls thrumming in time. It has him smiling softly against her skin.

He's not sure how long they stay like that before he pushes himself up onto his forearms. He reaches a hand up and brushes the sweaty strands of Nesta's hair away from her face, trailing his fingers down along her temple, her cheek. Her eyes flutter closed at the gesture, and Cassian shifts his hand so his palm is cradling her jaw, leaning in and pressing a sweet kiss to her lips.

"All good?" Cassian asks when he pulls away.

Nesta pulls him in for another kiss, a happy, sated smile on her lips. "More than good."

Cassian chuckles softly, grinning as well. "We should probably clean ourselves up."

He scoops Nesta up properly into his arms, carrying her out of the office and down the hall to the bathroom. He sets her down on the lip of the tub, leaving her to clean herself up while he does the same. He steps over to their adjoining closet after he's finished, slipping on a fresh pair of sweatpants and grabbing one of his tees.

When he steps back into the bathroom, he tugs the tee over Nesta's head. She smiles up at him as she slips her hands through the sleeves, standing up and going up onto her toes to kiss him. She tries to step back after, but Cassian snags his arms around her waist, keeping her close. He leans in and kisses her again, soft and languid.

"I love you," Cassian murmurs against her lips.

Nesta lets out a quiet huff of amusement, the twinkle in her blue eyes betraying her. "I love you too."

Cassian reaches down to grasp at Nesta's thighs, hauling her back up and into his arms. She lets out a squeal of surprise, her own arms quickly locking around his neck, but soon she's laughing at his antics. His favorite sound. It has warmth pooling in his chest and flooding his veins, his grin wide enough his cheeks start to ache.

He carries Nesta into their room, gently tossing her onto the bed before diving right in beside her and pulling the blankets over them both. He wastes no time tugging her back into his arms, burying his face into her hair and breathing her in.

"I didn't ruin your work, did I?" Nesta asks after a few moments of silence, shifting slightly so she can peer at him over her shoulder.

"No," Cassian assures her, pressing a kiss to the skin peeking out from her collar, his tee oversized on her frame. "If anything, you gave me the motivation to finally get all those reports done."

"Good," Nesta says, laying her head back down comfortably against the pillow. She settles her arm over Cassian's that's wrapped securely around her waist, slotting their fingers together. "So, you're done working for today?"

"All done working. I'm all yours for the rest of the day, baby. And I vote that we take a nap, order food from that Thai place you love, then go for round two."

"Now, that sounds like a perfect plan."

—

Updated Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog​ @lifeisntafantasy​ @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl​ @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld​ @isterofimias @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust​ @a-trifling-matter​ @blueunoias​ @kookskoocie​ @cassiansbigwingspan​ @unlikelypersonalknight1​ @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian

[harperbrynne]

SJM Romance Week: Anniversaries

Gwyn and Az would have unique moments they kept track of:

Gwyn: Hey, remember when you were helping us train to be Valkyries?

Azriel: *looks at her fondly* Of course. You were so determined and brave.

Gwyn: And you told me there was no way I would pass the Blood Rite Qualifier?

Azriel: …yes?

Gwyn: Well that day was eight years ago today. Happy anniversary of the first and last time you underestimated me.

@sjmromanceweek

[whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk]

Hold You Till Forever

For @sjmromanceweek day 5 💕. Cassian made Nesta a promise on the battlefield. In the immediate aftermath of the war, Nesta goes searching for him to make him a promise of her own, having realised a few things in their brush with death. (Title taken from, and partly inspired by, the song Die Together by Amanda Tenfjord) (ao3)

...

I will find you. In the next world—

We’ll have that time—

I promise—

***

Nesta didn’t know what she had expected the aftermath of a battle to be like.

In all of the stories, all of the legends… there was silence in the moments after the fighting faded. Something sombre and weighty, heavy and sorrowful. A stunned kind of quiet as the world slowly knitted itself back together.

This was not that kind of healing. Not that kind of peace.

The world had, instead, descended into chaos. Had been sinking further and further into desolation as the sun made a slow path across the sky, golden light glancing off of broken shields, discarded swords. Even with the battle over, bloodshed reigned still as healers called for water, called for linen, called for bandages, and with the sun gilding the bloodiest parts of the battlefield, limning the pain…

Nesta searched.

Searched for the tent she needed— the warrior she needed.

She had walked away from the spot where she had driven a knife through the neck of a king. Where she had twisted and twisted, pushing until she could push no more, until she felt bone and sinew both yield beneath the edge of the blade. She had walked away from the place her father had died, the grass beneath her feet stained with so much blood it was difficult to tell if she stepped over the lifeblood, spilled, of friend or of foe— of the king she had murdered or the father who had given his life.

She felt an aching kind of sorrow. A heavy, breathless kind of grief as she walked slowly through the camp, through the debris— the scattered pieces of lives given, lost, saved. Past overturned water buckets, cast off shields. Nesta picked her way past the tents that housed the desperate, the dying, searching for just one in particular.

One close to the centre of the camp, one made of rope and black canvas. 

One that the men passed with whispers of the general, that’s the general’s tent.

Nesta made her way there, her every step so agonisingly slow, as if she couldn’t force her limbs to move anymore, as if even breathing were becoming an exertion. Her hands were thick with blood, her soul heavy with loss, and yet…

She thought of his chest, of his breaths that had been ragged, rasping. She thought of his wings, thrown wide to protect her— then snapped, broken. She thought of how he had barely been able to stand, his leg broken too, how he had barely been able to walk as the healers took him away from that clearing where his blood still lingered, still seeped into the earth.

Nesta needed him. 

Needed to find him.

Needed to make a promise of her own. 

***

Even the healers had departed by the time Nesta slipped into that tent, the sun falling beneath the horizon as the day of battle came to an end. As dusky twilight descended, Nesta took a breath and let the tent flaps close behind her, all but sealing her in.

A small brazier burned in one corner, a single candle still lit. The air tasted of salt and soap, of healing ointment and starched bandages, and yet, beneath it all… there was him too, the comforting scent of him beneath it all.

Cassian.

She had realised something, on that battlefield today. Realised that even as fae, life remained fragile and there were so many things she hadn’t said, hadn’t told him… 

The healers had left him sleeping, and he didn’t wake, not as Nesta took another step forwards into his tent. His eyes were closed, his golden skin like burnished bronze in the dim light, eyelashes fluttering as his sleep grew uneasy. He lay on a camp bed, on his back with his wings pinned beneath him, wrapped and mending, his hands resting gently on his stomach. 

But the rest of him—

The rest of him was a mass of bandages, his chest wrapped so tightly from the bottom of his ribs to his sternum. The king had snapped his wings, had broken his leg, had inflicted so, so many wounds that they had cut through even the toughest parts of his armour. He had been broken and bloody, dying, and Nesta had thrown herself over him, guarded his life with her own, and she remembered the feel of his hand on her back, the briefness of his kiss as he used what little energy he had left to tell her - to show her - how much, in the few months they had known one another, his life had somehow become defined, encompassed, by her.

A sob threatened to break from her lips as she looked upon him now, as she remembered his voice, broken, telling her to go, to leave, to let him die.

I can’t, she’d said. The closest she had gotten to telling him that she regretted it too, hated that their time had suddenly ran short. 

Someone had cleaned the blood, had washed it from his skin, and as Nesta spied a clean pail of water in the corner, she moved to do the same. She sloughed the blood from her hands, the water cold and piercing, removing all trace, all evidence, of battle. And when she was done, Nesta dried her hands on a towel before coming to kneel at his bedside, finding no stool to sit upon.

It didn’t matter.

She had knelt with him in the mud and the dirt only hours ago, had cradled his head in her lap as his life slipped between her fingers, and even then… Even then she hadn’t told him. Hadn’t said all the things she needed to, all of the promises that had lingered on her tongue.

I’ll find you, he'd said. I promise.

She hadn’t realised until that moment how much she had needed to hear those words fall from his lips. How much she had longed for it, for the kiss he had so briefly given her. She watched the rising of his chest now, focused on it, counting his every breath. Alive— he was alive, and she could tell him now, could voice all of those things she hadn’t been able to as he lay dying—

“Why are you on the floor.”

His voice was thick with sleep, heavy with pain. Nesta looked up, finding his face lined with worry as his eyes opened, as consciousness returned. Stupid bat, she thought. I’m not the one who lost all that blood. I’m not the one lying wrapped in a mile of bandages.

“Nes.”

Cassian frowned, a crease forming between his brows as he glanced down at her by his bedside. He pushed up onto his elbows, hissing as the movement stretched the wounds over his chest, and even though, briefly, his eyes shuttered against the pain… He tilted his head and offered her a small smile.

“Why are you on the floor?” he asked again, softer this time, a question that had a gentle kind of bemusement rounding out its edges.

“There’s no chair,” Nesta pointed out flatly, waving a hand at the tent around them, gesturing at the decided lack of any real furniture. Just a camp bed, a wash basin, and a chest with the lid propped open, flying leathers and weapons inside. 

Cassian patted the space beside him on the bed. “So?”

“So there was no room on the bed, what with your great hulking wings—”

His grin stopped her short, blooming even in the wake of agony. A hand went to his ribs, eyes darkening as pain flared, but then he was grinning again, a rakish curve to his lips.

“Tell me more about how big you think my wings are,” he said, his voice dropping, kicking low and sultry as he raised an eyebrow.

Nesta scowled. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Mhm,” he said dryly. “And you’re still on the floor.”

Nesta rose to her feet, brushed herself off. Slowly, as if second-guessing, she settled herself on the edge of his mattress.

He’d almost died for her.

Almost died, all but told her he loved her as she held on to him, as she all but begged him to stay, to live. In that clearing, when his life was a moment from winking out, when hers wasn’t far behind, Nesta had found herself suddenly so certain of… everything. Clarity had settled over her as she heard his breathing grow shallow and his heartbeat start to slow.

She didn’t want to lose him.

She didn’t want to live without him. Even if she was only a handful of moments behind him, even if she took her last breath only a minute after his heart stopped… It would be a minute too long, she realised in that clearing. A minute of agony she didn’t want to endure. 

And she needed to say it, needed to tell him, but she couldn’t quite find the words, didn’t know how to start.

I have no regrets but this, he’d said. That we did not have time.

And she should have said, I love you.

She should have said, I’ll wait for you. In whatever world we find ourselves in, whatever lies beyond… I’ll wait for you.

She should have told him all of it, as he lay dying in her arms, but the weight of her grief, her sorrow, her pain, had been too much to bear, too much to breathe around much less speak, and he had been dying as her father’s blood stained the ground and—

“You’re hurting,” he whispered, bringing her back to the present, where he was breathing and the war was over. Lifting a hand, Cassian let his fingers graze her cheek, the back of his knuckles soft against her skin.

“So are you,” Nesta answered, glancing pointedly at the bandages that covered him, that masked the wounds he’d gained throwing his life before hers.

“Different kind of hurt,” he pressed, his voice as soft as the candlelight that bathed them.

Once, Nesta would have pulled away.

A matter of days ago - hours ago, even - Nesta would have turned away from that softness, ran from the look in his eyes. She would have scorned the touch at her cheek, would have spit some insult and left that tent with her heart racing. 

She didn’t want to run, now. She hadn’t ran as he’d lay dying, as the king had advanced and prepared to send them both into the darkness. Hadn’t turned from him as he kissed her with blood on his lips. She hadn’t ran, not even when Cassian had begged her to leave. So— she wouldn’t now, either. 

“Take it away then,” she said, her lips barely moving as the words slipped out— so quiet, so soft. Her eyelids fluttered closed for the barest of seconds as his thumb grazed her cheekbone. “The pain. Take it away for me, Cassian.”

His eyes closed at the sound of his name on her tongue, a shaking breath leaving him as his chest continued to rise, his heart continued to beat. His hand moved, fingers straying into her hair, gripping and twisting in her tangled braids. He pressed their foreheads together and Nesta kept her eyes closed, shut tight, guarding against the horror still saturating the world beyond this tent. 

“I would,” he answered, hoarse. “You know that I would.”

His eyes opened, his gaze lined with the same kind of grief and anguish that was tearing apart her own chest. Nesta only swallowed, letting her fingers rest against one powerful shoulder. 

Her eyes dropped once more to the bandages, white and fresh, but her breath caught as her mind conjured all the images of him on the battlefield— as she heard the snap as the king’s booted foot came down hard on Cassian’s wing. She almost trembled, almost mourned, as she remembered how he had cradled her face as he almost died beneath her hands. 

“I can’t lose you too,” she said, her voice cracking. “I can’t.”

“You won’t,” he answered quickly, his voice firm but not harsh, still soft at the edges. “Never, sweetheart.”

“I need you,” she admitted— the truth she’d been hiding from all along. She’d realised it as he’d kissed her, as she’d felt his blood run over her fingers. She hadn’t said it, hadn’t been able to speak in that clearing as he vowed to find her in the afterlife, in whatever world was next. And oh, how she would have regretted it. If he’d died before she had to chance to tell him— if he’d died without knowing. If she had died, before finding the courage to voice it aloud.

Her fingertips were tight on his shoulder now, grasping at his bare skin as if searching for something to hold on to. One of his hands found hers, caught her fingers and wound them together, giving her the hold she needed. He was silent, but as Nesta closed her eyes again, she felt soft lips against her cheek, across the bridge of her nose, on her forehead. Soft, fluttering kisses, little more than a brush of bruised lips against her skin, but her heartbeat began to calm, the waves of anguish in her chest receding. 

Cassian cradled the back of her head, fingers brushing the nape of her neck, and when Nesta twisted her head, his lips fell to her jaw. His other hand came to her waist, a soft gasp leaving him as the movement shifted his wings, a hiss of pain as the broken membrane, shattered bones, stretched. He didn’t stop— his nose grazed her jaw, his hands pulling her closer as Nesta felt herself plummeting towards him, falling down, heading right to the safe haven he offered.

“I love you,” she breathed. “Don’t die without knowing that.”

“I’m not going to die, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice low against her skin. He pressed another kiss to her neck before his lips climbed higher, skating over her jaw before reaching the corner of her mouth. He paused, waiting for her eyes to open as he held her face between his palms. “But I love you, too.”

“I thought you were gone, I thought—”

“I know,” he whispered. His face turned sorrowful, a bittersweet smile pulling at his lips as his brow rested, once more, against hers. “I told you. There is only one thing in my life that I regret. That I didn’t tell you sooner, that I wasted so much time.”

“We’ll have that time,” Nesta breathed, an echo from earlier. Her own promise, one that was infinitely less grief-stricken, filled with hope and light and love, not death and grief and regret. “Now. We’ll have that time now.”

He hummed, the sound low and warm and echoing in his chest. His hand brushed her spine, came to rest at the small of her back, pulling him closer to her, as though his chest weren’t covered with wounds and bandages. As though his pain was suddenly rendered meaningless, suddenly healed, when he held her in his arms. 

“Now,” Cassian agreed— vowed.

He claimed her lips at last, his kiss sweet and lingering and filled with promise. Slowly, at first. Slowly, he kissed her, as though taking the time to learn every inch of her, to savour it while he had the chance. His palm cupped her cheek, holding her there, and then his fingers were wandering to the nape of her neck, the kiss growing fervent and fevered and desperate— as though making up for lost time. Nesta leaned into it, weightless, as she let his kiss engulf her. There would be no more waiting, no more hiding or running or pretending. She had almost lost him, and now every touch, every kiss, was one she might have lost, might have missed. 

And oh, what a crime that would have been.

To have left this world without knowing the taste of him, the feel of him, the warmth of him.

His hands mapped out the skin of her collarbone, over her shoulders, falling to her waist. Her own hands were slow, barely moving for fear of brushing his wounds, for disturbing the bandages that wrapped his middle. She kept her fingers buried in his hair, holding him against her, deepening the kiss until she was drowning in it. 

I love you, she whispered in the silence, in the candlelight. Breathed it against his lips, murmured it whenever his kiss moved to another part of her— her throat, her ear, the curve of her jaw. 

I love you, I love you, I love you.

Spoken at last— and with every kiss he pressed against her, every pass of his hands, he whispered it, too.

I love you.

[the-lonelybarricade]

Till Death Do Us Part - SJMRW

Here is one of my contributions to @sjmromanceweek for Day 4: Feelings Realization.

Summary: Feyre is sick on Valentines Day, throwing her Grim Reaper husband's plan into disarray

Read on AO3 ・Till Death Do Us Part Masterlist

-

Feyre’s mouth was uncomfortably dry.

She groaned, rolling over onto her back with a wince. It felt as though someone had jammed a tambourine into her skull, the way it rattled as she moved. Her entire body felt stiff, a wrung-out towel left too long to dry in the sun. Absently, her hand sought the other side of the bed. She didn’t realize until her hand hit the cold fabric that she had been searching for someone. And that finding the space beside her empty left her feeling oddly disappointed.

Odd, because it wasn’t as though she shared a bed with her husband. He usually slept on the sofa—if he even slept at all. The life of a Death God was a busy one, though he’d explained to her once that he didn’t need to be present for every death.

“Then why do you bother?” She’d asked him, at a time when she’d still felt bitter about the ring cemented to her finger.

He’d had that look in his eye, that underlying sadness she’d identified on the day she met him. “Because so many innocent souls die every day, Feyre. And I don’t think they deserve to die alone.”

It was something she thought about often. How she had been brought back to life because the one thing the God of Death was willing to barter for was companionship. How he found loneliness so harrowing that he devoted his life to ensuring innocent mortals wouldn’t need to touch it in their final moments. Though he didn’t go to every death, he went to many. Particularly the most tragic. And sometimes he returned looking so burdened that Feyre could only imagine the things he’d witnessed.

Children, heroes, activists—so many good people died every day and she was the one the Grim Reaper had decided to bring back. Sometimes she felt so embarrassed about the days she gazed upon her ring with resentment.

Suffice to say, their marriage was complicated.

Today, she looked at the empty side of the bed and digested this strange, unexpected sadness. It was many things, she decided. Not all to do with wanting to share a bed with her husband. Today was Valentine's Day. A day that was supposed to be meaningful in a conventional marriage but to Feyre, was just another day. Another day where she felt like absolute shit.

Feyre shifted upwards, again jostling that tambourine in her head. The clamor was so intrusive that she had to clench her teeth while she raised her body through the pain. A glance at the clock showed she’d woken up an hour before her alarm, likely from the pressure threatening to burst behind her eyes. Feyre sniffed, finding the passageway blocked. Today was definitely going to be a sick day.

Except her phone was not on her bedside table where she usually kept it, which made it very difficult to call her boss. Feyre searched the floor, wondering if it had been knocked off the table in the night, but there was no sign of it.

With a huff, Feyre dragged her body out of bed and slung on a dressing gown. She felt remarkably fragile, her shoulders hunched as she walked into the kitchen like every step fell upon shattered glass.

Her husband was awake, back turned to her as he manned a crackling stove, his elbow angled in to flip the contents without a spatula. For some reason, he wasn’t wearing a shirt. It was an effort for Feyre not to pay that fact notice, particularly when she could track the way his muscles shifted with the movements of the pan.

Now her mouth felt dry for an entirely different reason.

“Rhys?” she croaked. “What are you doing?”

Rhysand turned, wide grin fading when he caught sight of her. Suddenly, he vanished from his place at the stove, causing Feyre to jump when he reappeared before her.

“You’re unwell,” he said, sounding dismayed. The cool back of his knuckles pressed against her forehead, assessing the severity of her condition. Rhysand frowned. “You have a fever.”

“I’ll live,” she said dismissively.

Rhysand’s lips twitched. “That’s not something I can typically assure mortals.”

“Would you let me die from a little fever?”

“And let you out of our bargain so soon? Of course not.” He grinned, leaning closer to whisper, “Though if you keep throwing yourself at my mercy, I’m going to begin to think you enjoy it.”

There was a sensual note to his voice that turned her insides molten. Feyre shivered, but she assured herself that was because of the fever and not the impact of his words. Rhysand, whose infinite flirtations were rarely successful, seemed to think so as well, because the amusement faded.

“C’mere,” he murmured, and then he was lifting her into his arms.

“Rhys!” Strong arms swept behind her legs, heaving her upwards so that she was bundled against him in a mockery of a bridal carry. She pounded her fists contemptuously against his hard chest. “Put me down!”

He didn’t listen. Each weak fist only spread his smile wider, so irritatingly endeared by her defiance that it only enraged Feyre more, until she was beating at his torso incessantly and Rhysand was tipping back his head in outright laughter. It was becoming another vicious cycle of their marriage.

“My legs work fine,” she grumbled once she was deposited on the couch. Rhysand ignored that too, in favor of producing a pile of blankets from God knows where to tuck them around her.

She wondered, once she was subdued in the makeshift cocoon of blankets, if it wasn’t so much an act of nurturing as it was a means of restraining her. Rhys was staring at her, head tilted to the side so that his black hair flopped every-so-slightly across his forehead.

“I don’t know how to look after sick mortals,” he admitted. “It’s usually too late by the time I have anything to do with them.”

“You don’t need to look after me.” Feyre craned her head back towards the stove, wary of the smoke rising from the pan he’d abandoned. “If you’re in need of something to look after, try the food you were cooking.”

Rhysand sighed, drawing Feyre’s attention back to his face. For a moment, she thought he looked truly disappointed. “I was trying to make you breakfast in bed.” His voice carried across the room as he returned to the sizzling pan. “According to the television, that’s something that a husband should do for his wife on Valentine's Day.”

“And your shirt?” She asked incredulously, craning her head to sneak another peak of his toned, brown skin while he wasn’t paying attention.

“The husbands are usually shirtless on the television. I thought it was customary.” He frowned thoughtfully. “It seems like a strange tradition. Human skin is so sensitive to hot oil, so I don't understand why they would expose so much of it while cooking.”

Feyre couldn’t help a small giggle at the realization that he was being serious. “Is the concept of eye candy unfamiliar to Death Gods?”

“Oh, certainly not,” Rhysand said. She could hear the smile in his voice. “I believe, being married to you, I am intimately familiar with the concept. But why should I be shirtless, if you are asleep and therefore not around to appreciate it?”

“Mortal television isn’t always… practical,” she admitted.

Rhysand chuckled. “Nor are mortals themselves.”

He came around the sofa then, balancing a bed tray that carried a plate of browned, richly seasoned vegetables topped with two eggs that had been fried in the shape of a heart. “Eggs and vegetable hash,” he declared proudly, setting the tray securely in her lap. “I learned it from an angry man on the food channel. Though, now I fear that I should have made you soup.”

Steam wafted from the tray, caressing Feyre’s cheek with its heat. She was certain it would smell incredible if her nose wasn’t stuffed. It certainly looked incredible. The eggs shaped in hearts… it was a detail he hadn’t needed to commit to. She’d never received breakfast in bed before, she would have been ecstatic with a piece of toast.

“Are you not feeling up to it?” He asked. If he was bothered by her reserved reaction, it was overridden by the concern drawn plainly on his face. “I can get you something else. I know your sister used to buy you ginger ale when you were unwell.”

Feyre made an odd sound in the back of her throat. He said that he had seen her life on the day she’d died, and now he had a knack for calling forth memories she was unprepared for. “That was for nausea,” she said. It was all that twelve year old Elain had been able to afford at the time.

“Humans experience such a variety of ailments,” he said, clearly displeased by how little he knew of the subject. “Do you not have an appetite? I could make you some tea—“

“This is perfect, Rhys.” Her voice was strained, spilling out of a crack in a dam she’d built long before she’d met the Grim Reaper. She hoped he would dismiss it as part of her illness. “Thank you.”

“I’ll make you some tea as well,” he decided, before disappearing back into the kitchen.

“Have you seen my phone?” She called, still staring at the breakfast he’d made for her. “I need to call in sick.”

“Already done.”

“Done?” she echoed, wary of what that meant.

“Yes,” he hummed, reappearing on the sofa beside her, her phone pinched between a pair of long, elegant fingers. She promptly took it from him, finding to her dismay that there had been an outgoing call an hour before she’d woken up. “I called your boss and informed her that your doting husband has a very romantic day planned. Unfortunately, now my plans might need to take a, how you say, rain check?”

Feyre could only imagine how his early morning phone call was perceived. As the Grim Reaper, he commanded an unsettling presence, and his unusual—and often subtly threatening—behavior hardly helped.

“Rhys.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, taking a deep breath through her mouth. “You can’t just call my boss and demand I have the day off. There’s a process for these things, I need to get days off approved ahead of time.”

“She didn’t seem to mind,” he said, entirely unconcerned that he may have breached convention. Feyre thought hopelessly that the rules of human etiquette would never be able to confine her husband.

“She thinks you’re a crime lord.” Feyre shook her head, smothering her exasperation in an effort to recognize the intent behind it: he had planned them something special for Valentine’s Day. Had gone out of his way, and exerted far more effort than she’d ever been the recipient of. Her eyes swiveled, again, to the heart shaped eggs. “You really planned an entire day for us?”

“Of course I did.”

So simple, so absolute.

Feyre sniffed. Rhysand probably thought it was because of the congestion.

“I took the day off too,” he continued. “I booked us a private dining room at Searcys.” Feyre nearly choked. It was best for her blood pressure not to inquire as to how he’d managed that. Or what he’d paid. ”And I was going to—well, nevermind.” Rhys seemed to have only just gauged her expression. He assured her quietly, “We can do all of that another day.”

But her eyes weren’t stinging because they couldn’t go. It was that he’d even bothered. Without fully registering the motion, Feyre reached for his hand. Rhysand looked surprised that she was initiating touch, even moreso when she choked, “Thank you.”

Agitated by the sight of her tears, Rhysand squeezed her hand, almost pleading, “What can I do?”

Nothing. She caught herself before the words came out, taking a moment to reassess why she was so hell bent on pushing him away. It was true their marriage had been far from anything she’d planned. When they’d made their bargain, she hadn’t known it was what she was agreeing to. But even if he had stated his terms more plainly, would she have refused him?

He’d brought her back to life.

And on top of that, he had been nothing but loving and patient and kind.

Rhysand had tricked her, certainly, but she had gotten far more than she’d given. And maybe… Maybe he hadn’t been the only one suffering from loneliness all those years. Maybe he had chosen her because he’d stared into her soul and seen a kindred spirit.

“Come here,” she said, setting the tray on the armrest so she could unwrap the blankets from around her body, opening them up to make room for him.

Her husband stared, brows pressing together as he tried to dissect her meaning.

Feyre felt more than a little guilty that it was such a foreign gesture to him. Using their entwined hands, she tugged him forward, until he hesitantly climbed toward her.

“This… is what you want?”

She assured herself it was the fever making her face hot. “Mortals call it cuddling.”

“Cuddling,” he repeated. Feyre knew he was familiar with the word, just not the action. Despite how she had once promised to show him what she could do with her “pretty mouth”, she had so far treated him as nothing more than a platonic roommate. And despite his constant flirtations, he had let her.

Rhysand maneuvered himself on the couch until he was settled behind her and Feyre was practically sitting in his lap. “Like this?”

His warmth was somehow more soothing than the blanket, which had not possessed the scent of citrus and the sea. Even through her block nose, she could smell it, could feel it surrounding her. Who would have thought that the God of Death would smell like a stormy day on an Atlantic beachfront? She could almost close her eyes and imagine the seagulls overhead, hear the tide chopping against the shore, feel the wind stirring at her hair with gentle curiosity.

“You smell good,” she whispered.

A moment of awed silence. Then, “What do I smell like?”

“Holywell Bay, in Cornwall.”

His arm slid around her chest, pulling her tighter against the front of his body. “Yeah?”

“My aunt took my sisters and I there once, when we were kids.”

Rhysand hummed. “My scent is meant to be comforting to mortals. To remind them of their favorite memories.” He paused, then added, “Your scent evokes the same for me.”

“It does?”

His nose skimmed the curve of her neck. “You smell of lilac and pear. Of my wife. Every memory with her is my favorite.”

Sweet talker. It was nothing new, but somehow the words felt more intimate when she could feel his breath coast over her shoulder—warm, like he was truly a living being. Feyre shook her head. “Even though I have been so… so covered in thorns?”

“I do not mind thorns,” he said simply. Soft lips found the juncture between her neck and shoulder, testing. Waiting for reproach. When there was none, he kissed her skin again, so sweetly she thought she might burst into tears. “Though this memory, in particular, is my favorite. I like cuddling my wife.”

She liked cuddling him, too, but that seemed too far a step to admit to just yet. Rhysand readjusted the blankets around them, then pulled the tray of food back into Feyre’s lap, gently urging her to eat. It was an effort. The food was lovely, but every swallow scraped past her sore throat. She knew Rhysand noticed her wincing. Judging by the way his grip gradually tightened, each bite seemed to spiral him into increasing distress.

Feyre had made it about halfway through the meal before her husband and the tray disappeared entirely.

“Rhys?”

The kitchen was devoid of her fretting husband. Feyre frowned, uncertain where he could have gone so suddenly. She folded the blankets back around her shoulders, noting that she already missed his touch.

Soon he returned, materializing from thin air in the center of their living room. He clutched a brown paper bag in each of his hands, which he set down on the coffee table. “I went to New York City,” he said, fishing out large plastic containers. “I heard on the television that they have good soup there. I didn’t know which kind you’d like, so I got as many as I could. Chicken noodle. Lobster bisque. Chowder. Leak and potato—”

“Rhsyand.”

“I picked up some stuff from the pharmacy, too,” he said, retrieving a box of lozenges and paracetamol. He paused. “Why are you laughing?”

Shoulders shaking, Feyre held up her hand in response. She required a moment to catch her breath, especially once her laughter fizzled into a cough that had Rhysand looking miserable. Eventually, Feyre wheezed, “I didn’t realize I was married to such a mother hen.” He pouted. The God of Death actually pouted. “Give me the chicken noodle soup.”

At this, he perked up, handing Feyre the carton of soup and a biodegradable spoon. Because not only was the Grim Reaper a doting mother hen, he was also environmentally conscious. He watched with overbearing interest as she raised the first spoonful to her mouth, obnoxiously hopeful that he had pleased her.

The warm liquid was instantly soothing and like all the gestures that had come before, it softened her to him. “Thank you,” she said, meaning it more than she accurately knew how to express. “Why don’t you come sit with me? We can cuddle and watch movies together.”

“You want to cuddle again?” he asked, like he couldn’t believe it. Feyre nodded. “And… staying at home, watching television… this is an agreeable Valentine's Day to you?”

Feyre nodded again, moving aside on the couch to make room for him. “That is a perfect Valentine’s Day to me.”

The sofa shifted with her husband’s weight as he sat down beside her. They arranged themselves until she was against lounging upright in his lap, sipping on the soup from New York City while they watched romantic comedies together—which he found to be a fascinating study on human culture. His hands traced slow, lazy patterns over her skin, effective in making Feyre wonder why she’d denied his touch for so long.

At some point, she fell asleep with her face nestled into the nook of his neck and when he carried her into the bedroom to tuck her into bed, Feyre sleepily grabbed at his shirt and asked him to stay.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get you anything,” she murmured. Her fever-ridden sleep had lowered her inhibitions, and now there was nothing to stop her from nuzzling into her husband's chest. She could hear her own heartbeat in her ear and imagined that it was his, though the God of Death did not have a heart. Not one that beat, anyhow.

“What do you mean?” His hands slid into her hair, cradling her head as his fingers provided slow, soothing strokes against her scalp. “You gave me everything I could possibly want.” Feyre muttered something unintelligible into his chest, and he laughed. “Happy Valentine’s Day, wife.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Rhys.”

[moodymelanist]

Day 6: Take All Of Me

happy day 6 of @sjmromanceweek, everyone! hope you enjoy this one because the smut is finally in the building!!

Summary: Nesta and Cassian had big plans for their first wedding anniversary… at least, that was the intention.

Read on AO3 here!

♡♡♡♡♡

Nesta

“Nes, have you seen my tie?” Cassian yelled from their bedroom.

Nesta didn’t even stop applying her blush to call back an answer. “I left it out for you on the bed!”

Nesta and Cassian had gotten married in a gorgeous ceremony last year on the beach, surrounded by all the people who loved them, and today was their first wedding anniversary. They were no stranger to celebrating anniversaries — they’d dated for three years before getting engaged — but celebrating their first wedding anniversary felt important. It didn’t stop them from running late for their dinner reservations as usual, but they were doing their best.

“How much longer do you need?” he asked. She could hear the clink of his cologne bottles moving around as he searched for one to wear, and she hoped he picked one of her favorites to wear tonight. “We should’ve left five minutes ago!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming, hold on,” she replied, reaching for her setting spray before frantically putting on her jewelry. She’d at least had the foresight to bring her shoes into the bathroom, so she slid her feet into her heels before reaching for her own perfume and walking into the living room to meet him.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Nesta,” Cassian said once he saw her, his eyes practically bugging out of his head. “You’re gonna kill me.”

Nesta just smiled. She’d gone all out for their dinner tonight, making sure her makeup was perfect and that her lipstick matched the exact red of her dress. Red has always been her husband’s favorite color, and judging by the way he was staring at the way the corset dress was pushing up her breasts and the slit in the fabric over her left thigh, he was going to have a hell of a good time taking it off her later.

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” Nesta replied, thoroughly appreciating the way he looked in his all-black suit. It contrasted nicely with the dark red tie she’d laid out for him, and between the care he’d taken to style his hair and the way his muscles pulled at the fabric… well. It was doing things for her.

The longer they stood there looking at each other, the more heat began pooling in her gut. There was no way she was going to be able to sit through a dinner and make idle conversation, not when she already wanted to rip that perfectly tailored suit off him, and judging by the way he was looking at her he felt the exact same way.

“Cancel the reservation,” she said suddenly.

“You sure?” he asked, though he didn’t sound too torn up about it.

“Cancel it.” She kicked off her shoes and walked the few steps separating them, taking the opportunity to feel him up through his slacks before reaching into his pocket to hand him his phone. “Don’t make me say it again.”

“Yes ma’am,” he replied. She kept palming his hardening length through his pants while he pulled up the restaurant’s phone number, and thankfully it didn’t take long for him to let the host know they wouldn’t be able to make it.

“Fucking tease,” Cassian said the second he was off the phone. He reached down and wrapped his arms around Nesta’s thighs, pulling her into his arms with ease so they could be as close as possible. “I should teach you some patience.”

Nesta just smirked as she wrapped her thighs around his waist, grinding down against him as best she could at this angle. “It might take a few tries.”

“Lucky for you, I’m in this for the long haul,” he replied. His eyes went a little soft around the edges before he finally closed the distance between them and kissed her, their tongues moving together in a well-practiced dance.

“Table?” he asked as they walked toward the kitchen, effortlessly supporting her weight as they kept kissing.

“Island,” she countered, panting as she tried to get her hands on as much of him as she could reach. His hair felt so good against her fingers even though it was still a little damp with product, and she gripped as tight as she dared while she had the chance. “More… mhmm, more structurally sound.”

“I love it when you talk technical to me,” he said, squeezing her ass through her dress. “So fucking sexy.”

“I’ll show you sexy,” she mumbled against his mouth.

Cassian just pulled back and chuckled before setting Nesta gently on the counter. The granite was cool against her overheated skin, and she squirmed at the change in temperature as he hiked her dress up her thighs to reveal the lacy underwear she had on underneath. “All this for me?”

“It is our anniversary,” Nesta replied dryly. They both knew how much she enjoyed dressing up just for him to unwrap her like his favorite present, and tonight had been no different.

“I’m a lucky man,” he told her with a grin. He leaned forward to steal another kiss before yanking her underwear off, the red lace disappearing to a random corner of the room without a second thought.

Cassian took his time studying her, hmming low in his throat at the sight of her spread bare for him. “My favorite dessert.”

That was all the warning Nesta got before he sank to his knees and dove in tongue-first. She leaned back onto her elbows and let her head fall back for a few moments as pleasure spread through her body, her husband far too good at his favorite activity, before she raised it back up again so she could watch him in action.

“Fuck, you taste so good,” he murmured. He looked up at her as he tongued her clit, and she couldn’t keep her moans in even if she’d wanted to. “That’s it, sweetheart. Let me hear you.”

The sight of him kneeling before her always made her hot, but seeing him all dressed up was really doing something extra for her. Still, her core was only so strong, so she eventually had to lie all the way down so she could rock her hips into his face properly. It was a shame she couldn’t keep staring at him, but he was working her over so well her eyes couldn’t help but flutter shut anyway.

“Fuck, you’re so good at this,” she moaned. She felt more than heard his rumble of laughter, but then his tongue was moving against her clit again. His ability to rile her up so quickly was downright miraculous, and the day she stopped appreciating that would be her last day on Earth.

“Oh my God don’t you dare stop,” Nesta demanded in a breathy rush, her body teetering on the precipice of what she knew would be a good orgasm. She reached down and gripped his hair tightly, her hips bucking wildly into his face, and he thankfully didn’t change a thing about what he was doing. It didn’t take long after that for her to shatter with a loud cry, the pleasure nearly overwhelming as she kept thrusting her hips toward him.

“You’re so gorgeous when you come,” Cassian said after a few moments. He pressed a few kisses to the inside of her thigh before yanking her down to the edge of the counter and flipping her over. She scrambled to spread her legs as wide as she could manage in the new position, trying to give him as much space as possible so he could take her from behind.

She heard the sounds of him undoing his belt and pulling down his zipper, and him being mostly fully clothed only made the entire thing hotter. She loved knowing they wanted each other so badly they barely wanted to waste time fully undressing, but the thought of him standing there fully clothed while she looked a debauched mess made her clench around nothing.

Damn, she wished she could see the picture they made right now. If only they had a mirror in here. Nesta made a mental note to add one to her wishlist, but then Cassian was rubbing the head of his cock against her entrance and she lost her entire train of thought. They both groaned as he finally pushed inside her, the stretch almost too much even after all the years they’d been together. He took his time bottoming out inside her, knowing she was still a little sensitive, and she appreciated those extra few breaths even as she wanted him to fuck her senseless already.

“God, you’re so fucking wet,” he groaned. He hiked her dress up even higher, leaving one hand on her hip while the other wrapped her hair around it, and slowly started to thrust in and out. “Is that all for me, sweetheart?”

“You know what you do to me,” she gasped. “I want you all the time.”

“I know.” She didn’t need to be looking at him to tell he was smirking. “I should just keep you tied up and ready for me to fuck you anytime of the day.”

“Yeah, I bet you’d like that,” Cassian continued as though Nesta wasn’t moaning her head off at his words. “Pretty little slut like you? I bet you’d be fucking begging for it.”

If she’d thought the image of putting a mirror in the room with them had been hot, the vision he was painting in her head was downright filthy. Still, not one to be outdone, she forced her mouth to form a reply. “Not as much as you’d like having a hole to use.”

“I would like that, wouldn’t I?” he asked. He suddenly tightened his grip on her hair and yanked her head back, pulling a surprised moan from her lips as he timed it with a particularly hard thrust. The pain felt so good mixed with the pleasure, and he was an expert in finding just the right balance. “My gorgeous wife all laid out for me, ready to let me fuck her stupid any time of the day. What’s not to like?”

“Fuck,” she moaned, her breaths coming faster as she thought about all the things he was saying.

“That’s the idea.” He gave her hair one more vicious tug before releasing her altogether, and she fell forward like a marionette whose strings had been cut. “Don’t hurt yourself, sweetheart. That’s my job.”

Cassian suddenly leaned forward until Nesta’s front was completely pressed against the counter, her hands scrambling for something to hold onto so she didn’t go flying from the force of his thrusts, but her husband seemed to be one step ahead of her for once. He let go of her hip so he could tangle their fingers together above their heads, caging her in while also being incredibly sweet about it.

“Love you,” he grunted into her ear. His thrusts went from fast and hard to slow and deep, and the way he had her pressed against the counter made it hard to breathe in the best way. “Best fucking thing to ever happen to me.”

“Love you too,” she managed to say back. The way he had her positioned gave her the perfect leverage to rock back and forth between the counter and the hard muscle of her husband’s torso, the pressure against her clit just enough to start getting herself off.

“You gonna come like this?” he asked, still grinding into her from behind. At her frantic nodding, he started planting sloppy kisses onto the side of her neck while he matched the new rhythm she was setting. “Love it when you come on my cock. You milk me so fucking perfect — fuck, sweetheart, that’s it—”

Nesta shot off like a rocket at his words, clenching hard around Cassian mid-sentence and yanking him right over the edge with her. He thrusted home one last time before coming inside her, squeezing her hands hard as their bodies shook, and murmuring whatever half-thought out dirty things he could think of right into her ear.

“Happy anniversary, Nes,” Cassian said after a few minutes. He pressed a kiss to the back of her neck before releasing her hands and sliding out of her with a hiss. “Jesus, that was good. You wanna order some pizza and cuddle on the couch?”

“Hell yes,” Nesta replied. She turned over and kissed him thoroughly before finding her bearings enough to start walking toward the bathroom for a shower. “I knew I married you for a reason. Happy anniversary, baby.”

tag list: @perseusannabeth | @bookstantrash | @charming-butt-insane | @oversizedbats | @melphss | @sv0430 | @podemechamardek | @autumnbabylon | @live-the-fangirl-life | @julemmaes | @that-little-red-head | @jmoonjones | @sayosdreams | @thewayshedreamed | @hiimheresworld | @brieq | @houseofcalores | @swankii-art-teacher | @nerdperson524 | @snickerdoodlechittybangbang | @imsointobooks | @nesquik-arccheron | @sweet-pea1 | @champanheandluxxury | @dustjacketmusings | @mrs-shadowsinger04 | @unlikelypersonalknight1 | @goddess-aelin | @arinbelle | @talkfantasytome | @simpingfornestaarcheron | @duskandstarlight | @letstakethedawn | @vidalinav | @c-e-d-dreamer | @dealfea | @katekatpattywack | @burningsnowleopard

[gwynberdara]

acotar ships as songs from midnights for @sjmromanceweek day seven

thank you so much @moononastring for all your help 💕

[panicatthenightcourt]

Treasure

@sjmromanceweek​ Day Seven: Free Day

Pairing: Nessian- Modern AU

Summary: Nesta surprises Cassian with some special jewelry.

Warnings: SMUT, p in v, body worship, body piercings, vaginal fingering

wc: 1.6k

Read on AO3

Cassian was effectively living out his own personal hell. He and Nesta had officially gone a full month without sex. The pair of them were insatiable, taking each other all the time and everywhere. But one day, after coming home from a girl’s day with Gwyn and Emerie, Nesta had declared they were going on a cleanse. A sex cleanse. She claimed benefits to their relationship. Talking about how it would strengthen their bond, without sex they could focus on other things about each other.

Now, a full month later, Cassian was pent up and frustrated. He’d taken himself in his own hand countless times, bringing himself his own release. But he agreed to it the second she proposed it and never once complained. Never asked Nesta to relent. He would do this for her and he would do it with a smile on his face.

Tonight he laid in bed, back pressed against the headboard, with a book in hand and Cassian knew he had made a grave mistake. His eyes hungrily devoured every single word on the page. His breathing turned heavy, chest expanding with every breath. He became restless, shifting his weight from side to side. The length in his pants stirred and began to harden. His hand trailed down his own body. Slowly, he made his way to where he ached the most. Cassian’s fingers ghosted over his clothed cock and-

“What are you doing?” came Nesta’s voice from the door of their bedroom.

Cassian snatched his hand away. He sat up straighter and willed his breathing to even. Willed his cock to settle. His eyes snatched on Nesta’s form as she creeped towards him. She looked like a predator who had just caught its prey.

A hum left her lips as her eyes dipped to the book in his hand. “I see you helped yourself to my bookshelf,” she commented. Cassian was utterly silent, unmoving. Nesta drew nearer, coming to stand at the side of the bed. He felt the book leave his hands when Nesta plucked it from them. “ ‘The Queen and Her Knight’, a good choice, Cassian.”

He felt himself come back enough to crack a cocky grin, “It’s a very interesting read.”

A sharp, perfect brow raised. “Is it now? And which part was interesting?” Nesta set the book on the nightstand. She raised a hand and placed it on his bare chest. Raking her hands against his pec, Cassian felt his cock twitch. “Is it the part when she tied him up to the bed?” Cassian swore he stopped breathing as she trailed her hand down to his abdomen. “The part where she sat on his face and didn’t let him come up for air until she came twice?” The image of the pair of them recreating that scene had his cock weeping already. “Maybe it was when she rode him, using his cock to get off, not letting him come until she had her fill.”

Cassian’s hips bowed off the bed as her hand reached his clothed length and squeezed. The images filling his head, coupled with the feel of her hand around him, forced a loud moan from his mouth.

Through clenched teeth and with a voice so strained he said, “The cleanse, Nes. What about the cleanse?”

Nesta exhaled a laugh through her nose. She let go of his cock and Cassian almost cried at the loss. But then all thoughts eddying from his mind as she climbed onto the bed and straddled him. The press of her warm cunt against his length felt heavenly. Their position had him looking up at her, an acolyte ready to worship his goddess.

“Oh, Cassian, I thought you would have caught on by now.” She raised her hands to grip his hair, forcing his gaze onto hers, as if he had any will to look anywhere else. His face was level with the large swell of her breasts. “There is no cleanse.”

In his daze, Cassian managed a strangled, “What?”

“I said there is no cleanse.” In one swift motion, Nesta pulled her shirt off. The sight that beheld him knocked the very breath from his lungs. His weeping cock strained even further against the fabric of his sweats. God, he was going to lose his fucking mind. “I just had to let these beauties heal.”

Two delicate piercings now adorned the dusky peaks of her tits. They twinkled in the low light of their bedroom. Twin barbells ending with small silver spheres on either end.

A choked noise escaped his throat. “Nesta.”

“Go on, then,” she told him. Her back arched, pressing her breasts further into his face. He tore his eyes from her tits and connected them with hers. His gaze never left hers as he leaned forward and closed his mouth over one of her nipples.

A sigh left Nesta’s lips and a groan left his as he flicked his tongue over the cool metal. Nesta began slowly canting her hips against his in sensual rhythm. He took his time playing with the new piece of jewelry before moving to the other breast.

“Fuck, Cass,” came Nesta’s breathless cry. Her eyes were still on his, a blazing passion shared between them. In a flurry of movement, Nesta moved off him to kick off her shorts and panties. Quickly, she pushed down Cassian’s bottoms as well. She climbed back over him, hands on his shoulders, and settled herself atop his now naked cock.

Matching sharp intakes of breaths came from them at the feel of each other. Cassian felt like he was coming out of his skin. The wet slide of Nesta’s folds against his cock threatened to do him in. His hands came up to press against her back, urging her forward once more. His mouth found her breasts again, worshiping them with a new fervor as Nesta resumed her grinding.

“Feels so good, Cass,” Nesta panted, head thrown back. “Doing so good for me.”

Cassian preened at the praise, letting out a small whimper. He doubled down on his efforts. He kissed between the valley of her tits, using his hands to palm at the generous swells. He flicked his thumbs over the piercings, reveling in the stutter of Nesta’s hips and the short breaths falling from her lips.

One of her hands left his shoulder and came to wrap around one of Cassian’s wrists. She guided his hand between her thighs. His knuckles brushed against his own cock and he hissed a breath at the contact. Understanding the command, he began to rub circles against her clit.

At first the pace was slow, languid. The slide of their bodies laid back. But soon Nesta was bucking her hips fervently against him and Cassian’s thumb was pressing and swirling quickly on her clit. Her pace was stuttering, breaths coming quicker. He was gritting his teeth, steady grunts escaping him, and clenching his abs to keep from heading right where Nesta was going. She leaned down and pressed a searing kiss against his lips just as he felt her tumble over the edge.

Small shivers wracked her body as she came down from her high. “Holy fuck,” Nesta breathed with a laugh. She was rubbing against his aching length softly. Without preamble, she lifted her hips gently and sank back down. Cassian swore he blacked out when he felt the tight heat of her wrap around his cock. A loud, wanton moan exhaled from him. He almost wept at the sensation.

The pace Nesta set was ruthless. She lifted her hips and fell back onto his cock  with determination. Cassian moved his hands to her hips and squeezed hard. He was retraining himself from planting his feet onto the mattress and snapping his hips up to meet her thrusts, allowing Nesta the control. Allowing her to use him as she pleased.

Every exhale of his lungs was a sharp pant. Everything in his body was tight in a desperate attempt to stave off his orgasm. He could feel the rhythmic pulse of Nesta’s cunt around his cock, she was close again.

Cassian brought his hand to her clit once more and began rubbing to match her pace. He tried to ignore the sweet squeeze of her, focussed on pulling one more orgasm from her. Roving his eyes over Nesta, Cassian immediately wished he hadn’t. The sight of her almost had him spilling his release.

A sheen of sweat covered her whole body. Her eyes were screwed shut, head thrown back. Nesta’s hands were gripping his shoulders so hard, he hoped it would bruise. And her breasts. Her beautiful breasts bounced with every thrust, the jewelry at their peaks glinting when they caught light.  

“Nesta,” he panted. “Nesta, I need you to come for me, baby.”

A weak huff left her at the command, ever the stubborn woman. Cassian thanked the stars that she was too drunk on pleasure to protest further. Her hips began to move erratically. The hands on his shoulders tightened until he felt the sting of her nails. Nesta’s mouth opened in a silent scream. The walls of her pussy clenched down on him so hard he saw stars.

With an errant thrust of his hips, Cassian spilled his seed up into Nesta, joining her in her orgasm. A deep groan reverberated from his chest.  

Nesta crashed against him, spent and panting. He shivered when he felt his release trickle out of her and back onto his length.

“Holy fuck, Nesta,” he huffed a laugh. Nesta snorted in agreement. Cassian pressed a kiss to her head and told her, “They look beautiful, by the way.”

Nesta ducked her head into the crook of his neck and pressed a kiss there. “Thank you.” Another kiss. “You could pay it forward and get your dick pierced.”

A startled laugh clawed its way from Cassian’s throat. He wrapped his arms around her and pressed her to him. “I’ll consider it.”

[velidewrites]

Sarah J Maas Couples for @sjmromanceweek

➴ HELION & THE LADY OF AUTUMN

"You saved her. You found her, didn't you?"

"I tore the beasts apart with my bare hands."

[jmoonjones]

the couple that slays together, stays together

[shadowriel]

“And you whispered to me, love is the only thing that time cannot touch.” — Lang Leav

For Valentine’s Day, I was inspired by @headcanonheadcase to write a poem from Azriel’s POV. It was an interesting exercise, getting into his head, seeing how he’d write a poem, finding out why he would be writing poetry in the first place. And so, here we have a poem that Az wrote about Gwyn for @sjmromanceweek.

Day 7: Free Day

He can still feel the press of her fingertips against his wings, can still smell her sugar-sweet scent as if cloaking him like perfume. It’s late, and Azriel should be asleep. He knows that Gwyn awaits him in their shared bed, but as he puts his reports away, he finds himself staring into the soft glow of the fireplace and twirling a pen between his fingers. He doesn’t think, only shifts to take a piece of parchment, smoothing it over his desk with the palm of his scarred hand.

He is not a writer, nor a poet. He speaks in battle strategies and shadows—not rhymes. Some would call him a monster, and where Azriel once would have believed the sentiment, now he focuses on the emotions working their way through him.

He is not unfeeling. Not monstrous. Not wrong.

She helped teach him that.

He presses the tip of his pen onto paper. For a moment, all he does is breathe.

He knows that one day, he’ll take his last breath. One day he’ll be ashes, and the world will no longer remember the Night Court and its infamous Shadowsinger. He will be lost to the past, but he wants every creature of the future—needs them—to know this.

So, Azriel writes. Let’s dark ink spill across ivory. There's a metaphor there, somewhere, but he can’t string it together.

He hasn’t done this before.

For the first time in over five centuries, he doesn’t just resort to poetry, he revels in it.

What Time Cannot Touch

If you ask me about love,

just know there were no stars in the night sky

until she named them with her breath

as my fingers traced her skin,

connecting freckles and mapping constellations.

There was no music that fae ears could hear

until the sound of her voice

wove words into melodies

that could make the darkest of shadows sing.

There were no battles worth fighting

until the blade of her tongue clashed against mine,

every arch and precise cut

a dance of two souls woven together.

There were no prayers to recite

until she guided me to my knees,

speaking of reverence and devotion,

making an acolyte of the worshipper at her feet.

There was no sunlight

until I saw it shining in the teal of her eyes.

No possibility for solace

until her hands clasped mine.

No love

until there was.

And so.

If you ask me about love,

I’ll tell you about her:

my Valkyrie,

my Carynthian,

my Priestess.

My Gwyn.

[c-e-d-dreamer]

I Still Remember the Taste of Your Lips

A/N: So, I can't lie, I think this is my favorite of the drabbles I've written for @sjmromanceweek so hopefully everyone equally enjoys! A different type of Anniversary for Day Six, but hopefully still fun and of course, full of fuff :)

“Nesta Archeron.”

Nesta turns at the sound of her name, meeting a broad chest before her eyes flick up and connect with a pair of hazel ones. Somehow, despite the years that have passed, they look the exact same as Nesta remembers them. All golds and greens blurring together into a kaleidoscope of warmth and light. There’s still a scar slashing through the eyebrow above the right one. But where Nesta remembers smooth skin and baby fat still clinging on, there’s now the hard line of a jaw and stubble.

“Long time no see,” Cassian continues, the left corner of his mouth ticking up in a smirk. That’s something that hasn’t changed.

“How long has it been again?” Nesta asks, finally stepping away from the large vase of flowers she was helping Elain to arrange.

“Ten years give or take,” Cassian offers with an easy shrug. “Who’d’ve thought after all those years your baby sister would be marrying my baby brother.”

“I doubt Rhysand appreciates that description considering he was only a grade below us.”

“That’s what makes it more fun.”

Cassian tosses Nesta a wink, his hazel eyes twinkling with mischief, and Nesta can’t stop her amused snort. Before she can say anything else, though, the doors to the hall swing open, Feyre practically skipping inside, her hand clasped tightly with Rhysand’s. Nesta doesn’t miss the way Feyre’s white sundress is a bit more wrinkled than when she last saw her sister, but Feyre and Rhysand’s smiles are wide, so she keeps any comments to herself.

“Is everyone here?” Feyre asks, looking around at the small group assembled.

A final head count and a nod from Feyre, and the wedding planner they’ve hired starts giving out instructions. She pairs everyone off and lines them all up, so they practice walking down to their places. Elain and Amren walk down first, then Nesta and Cassian, Mor and Azriel taking up the end of the wedding party. Finally, Feyre and Rhys practice their walk down, the two having decided to walk in together, a symbol of their equal relationship.

Once everyone is standing in their places, the wedding planner starts going through what everyone can expect tomorrow. When Azriel will need to hand over the rings. When Mor will need to take Feyre’s bouquet and when she’ll need to give it back. Nesta tries to pay attention, to listen to everything that the woman is saying, but her eyes drift. She’s surprised to find Cassian already watching her, and when their gazes meet, his grin grows until crinkles appear beside his eyes.

He glances quickly to his left, raising his eyebrows in some sort of silent conversation. Nesta looks to his left as well, her brow pinching in confusion when all she finds is Amren standing proudly next to him as she should be. Nesta can admit it’s a bit comical, the five foot even woman standing next to Cassian’s tall and broad frame.

When Nesta’s eyes dance back to Cassian, he makes a face, raising his arm and miming resting his elbow atop Amren’s head. Nesta has to press her lips together to keep her face neutral, but then Amren takes notice of Cassian’s actions and digs her own elbow into Cassian’s gut in retaliation. Cassian lets out a pained gasp and doubles over, earning looks from everyone else in the group, but Nesta presses the back of her hand against her lips, desperately trying to keep her laughter in.

By the time the rehearsal ends, Amren is still glaring daggers at Cassian, and he backs away from her slowly, his hands raised in a mock surrender.

“You’re going to have to sleep with one eye open after that stunt, you know?” Nesta informs him once Cassian is close enough.

Cassian spins around to face her, his grin still wide and unperturbed. “Maybe, but it made you laugh, so it was worth it.”

It’s such an odd thing to say, and a blush cascades across Nesta’s cheeks before she can stop it. If Cassian notices, he doesn’t say anything, just keeps looking at her with that sincere stare that takes Nesta all the way back to biology class all those years ago. And yet, somehow it’s even more intense than back then, some new emotion Nesta can’t quite put her finger on swimming amongst the greens and golds of his eyes, and Nesta has to look away, turning her attention instead on everyone still gathered and waiting while Feyre and Rhysand chat through the last things for tomorrow with their wedding planner.

“Looks like we’re the only single ones,” Cassian comments.

Nesta looks at Mor and her girlfriend laughing with Elain, at Amren and Varian chatting with Lucien, at Eris straightening the collar of Azriel’s shirt while Azriel looks on with faux annoyance that does nothing to hide the fondness. She tries not to think too hard about the sad little pang that echoes between her ribs, turning instead to offer Cassian a small smile over her shoulder.

“It looks like we are.”

~ * * * ~

Despite a crazy morning of trying to make sure everyone’s hair and makeup was done, getting Feyre into her dress, and getting everyone to the venue on time, the wedding goes off without any hitches. They take photos and head to the reception, everyone anxious to get the party started and to take full advantage of the open bar. The wedding planner has them all line up again in front of the large double doors leading into the ballroom, and already Nesta can hear the other wedding guests, feel the bass of the song the DJ is currently playing.

“We have to do something fun for our entrance,” Cassian tells her, dragging her attention to him. “I could dip you.”

“If you dip me and drop me, I will kill you,” Nesta shoots back, narrowing her eyes for good measure.

“Still threatening violence? Have you ever actually followed through on that threat in the ten years since we’ve seen each other? Actually… don’t answer that. I don’t want to be complicit.”

Nesta rolls her eyes, even as she has to bite back an amused smile. “You’re an idiot.”

“You wound me, Nesta Archeron,” Cassian says with faux solemness, pressing a hand to his chest.

The double doors are pulled open and cheers ring out from inside before Nesta can say anything else. Elain and Amren step inside first, and then it’s Nesta and Cassian’s turn. True to his word, Cassian pulls her close, dipping her dramatically.

The rest of the evening seems to go by in a blur of first dances, speeches, and food, and soon, Nesta finds herself three glasses of wine deep and on the dance floor with Cassian. Cassian has since abandoned his suit jacket, the sleeves of his button down rolled up to his elbows and the top two buttons undone, showing off a tease of golden skin and the dark lines of tattoos hiding just beneath. He’s let his hair down from the neat bun he wore for the ceremony, the dark curls flying around her face while he shakes his shoulders in a dramatic shimmy along with the beat of the song playing. One of many atrocious dance moves that has Nesta’s side aching from all her laughing.

“You are an embarrassment to the entire wedding party with those moves,” Nesta calls over the music.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cassian dismisses, grabbing Nesta’s hand and spinning her. “I’m clearly a professional dancer.”

The song changes over to something slower, so Nesta steps back, prepared to head back to her seat or maybe get another drink from the bar. Instead, Cassian’s arm slides around her waist, tugging her back and close. His other hand captures her own, and all Nesta can do is blink in surprise as he starts to sway them to the beat. His hand spans almost the entirety of the small of her back, and it seems to radiate warmth along with the rest of him, seeping through the fabric of her dress and leaving her skin blazing in the best way. He tilts his head down to keep Nesta’s gaze, and it causes stray strands of his hair to tumble along his temple, casting shadows across his cheeks and hazel eyes. Nesta’s heart trips over itself between her ribs, and it takes her a moment too long before she finally slides her free hand to Cassian’s shoulder, following his steps.

“I haven’t had a chance to ask you yet what you’ve been up to. Since we last saw each other I mean,” Cassian says, moving them in a slow circle.

“You mean since ten years ago?” Nesta asks dryly, raising an eyebrow.

Cassian chuckles, Nesta feeling the way the sound rumbles in his chest where they’re pressed together. “Something like that.”

“Well, I don’t have much to report. Went to college. Went to law school.”

“Proud member of the high school debate team became a lawyer. Why am I not surprised? Where’s your firm?”

“I was in Adriata, but I just relocated back to Velaris. Made partner actually.”

“That’s amazing, Nes.”

The nickname prickles along Nesta’s skin, awakening something simmering in her blood until she has to swallow hard. “And what about yourself?”

“I’m a business owner. A gym specifically. It’s great. I especially enjoy teaching self defense classes. You should stop by sometime now that you’re back in Velaris,” Cassian tells her, the sincerity in his tone and in his expression seeming to hide some deeper meaning behind the request.

Before Nesta can even begin to dwell on what he could mean, the music once again changes back to something upbeat and bass heavy. She and Cassian continue to stand there for a moment, holding each other, watching each other, even as everyone else around them returns to dancing. Fire crackles and sparks through Nesta’s veins, and she has to pull away from Cassian. She offers him a small smile before retreating toward the bar after all, ordering another glass of wine. She definitely needs a drink. But she only gets a few sips in before she’s pulled back onto the dance floor, this time with Elain and Feyre.

The songs start to blur together as Nesta dances with them, but soon, she needs a break, leaving her sisters in the very capable hands of their significant others. Nesta pushes her hair off her face, her chest still heaving slightly from all the dancing. She tries again for the bar, in desperate need of something to drink now, but there’s a bit of a queue, so she stands behind two of Rhysand’s friends, waiting for her turn.

“Distract the bartender for me,” a voice whispers against her ear.

Nesta turns to find Cassian, a smirk pulled across his face and his hazel eyes twinkling with that mischievous mirth of his. He offers Nesta a wink and backs away before she can even ask what he’s talking about, and she considers shouting after him, but a throat clearing in front of her lets her know the bartender is waiting for her. With a shake of her head, she steps up to the bar, offering the bartender a small smile in greeting.

“What can I get you?” the man asks, already reaching for one of the glasses.

“Um… can I get…” Nesta starts, trailing off when she notices Cassian sneaking behind the bar and reaching for one of the bottles. The bartender frowns, turning to follow her gaze, but Nesta quickly leans forward on the bar, crossing her arms and pressing in her elbows. From the way the bartender’s eyes drop to her chest, she knows it worked. “Sorry. Can I just get some water? I’m so hot from all that dancing.”

Nesta makes a big show of batting her eyelashes and fanning her face with her hand. The bartender swallows hard, stumbling over his words. By the time he's finally coming back to himself and filling Nesta’s glass with water, Cassian has snuck back out from behind the bar.

“So what’s your name?” the bartender asks, sliding the water over to Nesta. “I’m—”

“Sorry, she’s not interested,” Cassian cuts in, grabbing Nesta’s hand in his and all but running away.

Cassian leads them out of the large ballroom the reception is in and out the back door of the building, only dropping Nesta’s hand when they’re greeted by the crisp night air and a blanket of stars overhead. They take a seat on the back steps, Cassian sitting close enough to her that their shoulders brush as he opens the bottle of wine he stole. Nesta knows she should probably scoot away, should try and put some distance between this man she hasn’t seen in ten years, but he’s so warm that she can’t bring herself to. Instead, she watches the way his hands work as he pulls the cork free, watches the way his forearm flexes and his throat bobs as he takes a swig before holding out the bottle for Nesta to take.

“I can’t believe you stole a bottle of wine,” Nesta chastises, even as she takes the bottle and drinks from it anyways.

“Rhys already paid for all the bottles. It was just going to go to waste at the end of the night anyway.”

Nesta hums but doesn’t say anything more. They sit like that for a while, passing the bottle back and forth between them and enjoying the quiet peace of the night. The next time Nesta hands the bottle back to Cassian, he digs his phone out from his pocket, making a surprised sound at whatever he sees on the screen.

“Would you look at the time, Nes,” Cassian says, knocking his arm gently against hers. “Guess what today is.”

Nesta frowns in confusion, turning to peer at him. “The day of Feyre and Rhysand’s wedding…?”

“Technically it’s 12:03 now,” Cassian points out, brandishing his phone and the time displayed there. “So, no.”

“The day after Feyre and Rhysand’s wedding?”

“On this day, ten years ago, we kissed,” Cassian explains, holding up the bottle of wine in a mock toast toward the sky. “Happy anniversary.”

“What are you talking about?” Nesta asks, her tone colored with laughter.

“Ten years ago, we were at a party in Kallias’s basement, and Mor had the genius idea to play seven minutes in heaven. It was me and you in the closet.”

Nesta is full on laughing now, unable to stop the giggles that fall past her lips. “I cannot believe you remember the exact date of that.”

“A man never forgets getting to kiss the hottest girl in school,” Cassian says, his tone matter-of-fact.

“I was not the hottest girl at the school,” Nesta argues, shaking her head in disbelief at this whole conversation.

“You were to me,” Cassian promises, turning his gaze fully toward Nesta. “I was going to tell you, you know. That Monday after, at school. I knew you always stopped at your locker between second and third period, and I was going to tell you and ask you out, but…”

“But that was the week my Mom got sick,” Nesta finishes for him, dropping her gaze to her lap. “We never did go back to that school after everything.”

“I’m sorry about what happened with your parents. Both of them,” Cassian tells her quietly, reaching over and settling his hand over where hers are twisting in the fabric of her dress.

“It’s in the past now. It’s fine.”

“Well, hopefully, it didn’t completely ruin our memorable kiss.”

Cassian’s tone is light, the remark teasing, but his hazel eyes still shine with sincerity, with sympathy, and Nesta knows he’s just trying to make her feel better. It has warmth flooding between her ribs and blooming down her veins, and she offers him a small smile of thanks.

“Memorable isn’t exactly the word I would use,” Nesta teases right back. “Especially considering I didn’t remember it until you mentioned it just now.”

“Wow,” Cassian drawls sarcastically, making a big show of shaking his head in disappointment. “Way to absolutely destroy my self esteem.”

“We were fifteen! Plus, I was blindfolded for some reason for that stupid game.”

“Alright, Nes,” Cassian starts, reaching down and curling his hands around Nesta’s ankles. He pulls her legs up and over his lap, tugging her even closer to him. “Eyes wide open. It’s time for a re-do.”

Nesta lets out a sound somewhere between a surprised laugh and a gasp, eyes widening. “Cassian.”

“Nesta.”

“You cannot be serious right now.”

“Oh, sweetheart, I am completely serious,” Cassian assures her, reaching up to toy with a stray strand of her hair before tucking it gently behind her ear. “We may not be in high school anymore, but you’re still the hottest girl I’ve ever seen.”

Nesta doesn’t even know what to say to that. There’s no denying that she had a crush on him at one point when they were in school together. And there’s definitely no denying that he’s only gotten more gorgeous with age. She can’t deny that in just the twenty four hours they’ve spent together, he’s made her laugh and smile and feel light in a way she hasn’t in a long time, in a way that no one ever has, and all while still seeing her somehow.

And maybe it’s all the wine sitting warmly in her gut and the alcohol thrumming through her veins. Maybe it’s all the excitement and joy of Feyre and Rhysand’s day. But some part of Nesta eggs her on, whispers in the back of her mind, and draws her in in in to Cassian. Some part deep in her soul recognizes him, feels safe with him, wants him in a way that is both terrifying and exhilarating. And maybe it’s all of that or none of that, but before Nesta can talk herself out of it, she reaches up and buries a hand in the dark curls of Cassian’s hair, tugging him into her until their lips meet.

The kiss has electricity firing through Nesta’s every nerve ending. Cassian has one arm secure around her waist, the other hand cradling her jaw, and Nesta can taste the bottle of wine they shared on his tongue when he deepens the kiss. The dark strands of his hair are soft and silky between her fingers and when she tugs, he groans into her mouth. She presses closer still, practically in Cassian’s lap but she doesn’t care and Cassian doesn’t seem to either if the way his arm tightens around her is any indication. When they finally pull back, Nesta keeps her eyes closed, catching her breath, relishing the way her lips still tingle, the feel of Cassian wrapped around and pressed against her.

“I know I’m ten years late asking, but any chance of getting that date?”

—

Updated Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog​ @lifeisntafantasy​ @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl​ @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld​ @isterofimias @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust​ @a-trifling-matter​ @blueunoias​ @kookskoocie​ @cassiansbigwingspan​ @unlikelypersonalknight1​ @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo

[harperbrynne]

SJM Romance Week: Free Day

Gwyn: Are your shadows flirting with me?

Azriel: *stumbles and Gwyn almost nicks him with her blade* What? Why would you think that?

Gwyn: My hair keeps getting pushed back before any strands can fly in my face. *whirls around to avoid Az’s blade and her untucked hair moves out of her line of sight as if by a phantom breeze* And yesterday, when we ended training, parts of my hair were braided that I had not braided before coming out here.

Azriel: I suppose it’s possible. That they’re flirting with your hair. I don’t control their every move.

Gwyn: Well, they flirt much better than you. *she winks before leaving a stunned Azriel behind*

@sjmromanceweek

[labellefleur-sauvage]

DILF in Aisle 3

Summary: Yrene is most certainly not angry and jealous and annoyed that women keep flirting with her husband. When she discovers women are interested in her husband for more than just his good looks, she decides to remind Chaol exactly who he belongs to.

For Day 7 of @sjmromanceweek 2023! This has been such a fun week and I was inspired at the last minute to write a smutty one-shot continuation-ish fic from my Day 2 piece!

Rating: Explicit. Smut - see AO3 link for a full list of tags.

Word Count: 2.5K

Read on A03

Yrene was not jealous. 

She did not feel a sudden surge of annoyance at seeing the group of young, giggling women ogling her husband and daughter as he slipped different pairs of little shoes on her feet to distract her from her latest tantrum, nor did she feel anger rise in her like the sea during a storm at seeing one of those women come up to Chaol and coo at Josie, that little hussy laying a seemingly innocent hand on her husband’s arm. 

Yrene was well aware that Chaol was good looking. Actually, that was an understatement - her husband was ruggedly handsome, six feet of pure muscle with a face that made other men jealous that they weren’t him and would never be him. Perhaps she was a bit biased - what wife didn’t think their spouse was the best looking person they’d ever seen? But while other people had celebrity crushes or joked about having a “free pass,” Yrene never felt that. For her, it was Chaol and only Chaol.

And as she approached the laughing group of women openly flirting with her handsome but admittedly clueless husband, she decided they had had enough fun. 

“Hello dear,” Yrene chirped far too sweetly to Chaol, laying a hand on his lower back and staring daggers at the women around them. Their daughter squealed in delight at seeing her mom, practically throwing herself at Yrene from Chaol’s arms. The women froze.  

“Hey hun,” Chaol said, turning to Yrene with his big trademark smile on his face. “These ladies here were just admiring how well Josie was behaving.”

“You have a lovely daughter, ma’am,” one of the girls said meekly, trying - and failing - to do damage control. Ma’am? How old did Yrene look, for this girl who looked like she could be in college to call her ma’am? Yrene couldn’t help the death stare she sent the woman. Her friends seemed to have a bit more sense; they were slowly wandering away, leaving their cohort to suffer Yrene’s wrath alone.

“And an even lovelier husband,” Yrene snapped, pulling him even closer to him, “who loves his wife and daughter very much.” Finally Chaol sensed something was wrong - he looked between Yrene and the remaining woman with a frown. “Come on, dear,” Yrene said, giving the woman one last glare before placing their daughter in the shopping cart. “Let’s go check out.”

Yrene was silent as they went through the self checkout and out to their car, loading up their SUV while Chaol buckled Josie in her car seat. She giggled the entire time he was buckling her in, laughing in delight as he tickled her and kissed her cheeks and handed her favorite stuffed animal to her.  

Chaol was an excellent father to their daughter: he took nearly all late night feedings for her, changed just as many dirty diapers as Yrene did, and helped around the house without needing to be asked to do something. He had even experimented in making homemade baby puree, insisting that Josie only have the best and most nutritious food available.  

(Did Yrene still make sure to give her her favorite peach flavored rice cereal and fruit puree pouches? Of course - everyone needed their favorite foods, even babies.)

“Is everything OK?” Chaol asked as they buckled themselves into their seats. 

“Yes,” Yrene answered a bit too tersely. It wasn’t Chaol’s fault those women were shamelessly flirting with him but she couldn’t help feeling a little bit angry at him for not realizing they were blatantly coming onto him and stopping them. 

“Did I do something? Do you want me to drop you and Josie off at home or the coffee shop and I can finish the errands?”

And leave Chaol at the mercy of God knows how many untold women thirsting after him? “No, let's just go so we can get her home for her nap.”

“You sure? You still wanna go to Costco?” he asked slowly, clearly trying to determine how bad of a mood she was truly in. 

“Yeah, I wanna go to Costco,” she muttered, turning away to look out the window as Chaol took them out of the parking lot. She heard him give a little sigh of relief at her answer - he knew it wasn’t a complete meltdown if she still wanted to go to Costco.

They fought through the crowds and gathered their usual groceries and stuff they didn’t need but got anyway. Yrene had just talked Chaol out of buying their daughter another Squishmallow - “It’s bigger than she is! And she already has two!” “Yeah, but think about how cute it would be in her nursery!” - when she heard a voice mutter, “Fuck, that guy with the baby is hot.”

Yrene snapped her head around. Two women were staring at Chaol across the aisle as he held a giant stuffed animal up to Josie for her inspection. 

“Look at him,” one of the women said, staring at Chaol with desire in her eyes. “Certified DILF.”

The other woman hummed in agreement. “Dad I’d like to fuck, indeed. Think he wants another kid?”

As the women drifted away, with more lewd comments - “Look at how big his muscles are, he could toss me around and I’d gladly fall on his dick,” “I’d let him absolutely destroy me, make a MILF out of me,” - Yrene stood rooted in place. She was furious that those women were so openly objectifying her husband, but also shocked with the realization that other women found Chaol attractive not only because of his good looks, but because of the fact that he had a child. What was worse, she realized with a small amount of embarrassment and excitement, was that they were completely right: her husband was a DILF, and she had never really thought of him like that. 

Possessiveness, sudden and fierce and unexpected, spread through her entire body. The group of women flirting with him earlier sprang to her mind as she realized they weren’t flirting with Chaol the handsome man, but Chaol, the handsome father. Chaol was hers; how dare anyone, especially another woman, flirt with or lust after her husband while he cared for their daughter? How dare someone openly say they want to fuck him?

Yrene suddenly felt hot and itchy, her mouth dry and her eyelids heavy as she gazed at her husband in an entirely new light. She already thought Chaol was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen, but looking at him holding their little girl, showing her all the brightly colored toys with blatant joy and love for her in his face, made Yrene appreciate her husband in an entirely new way.

Yes, she decided, perhaps it was as good a time as ever to re-stake her claim on her man and show him all the ways she truly valued him as a husband and father.

Yrene cleaned up dinner that night while Chaol gave Josie a bath and put her to sleep. She crept upstairs, peeking into their daughter’s nursery. Chaol was quietly reading Goodnight Moon to her, her little eyes heavy with sleep. Love and a familiar tingle spread through her lower stomach as she made her way to their bedroom to get ready. 

She had just finished her hair when she heard the floorboards outside their room shift as he approached. She threw herself on the bed just in time for Chaol to walk in and stop in his tracks as he took in his wife’s appearance. 

She hadn’t worn her nice lingerie since before she got pregnant and she regretted it, if only to see the wanton desire spread over her husband’s face. “Hello husband,” she said huskily, sauntering up to Chaol and grabbing the front of his shirt to bring his lips to hers. His lips were warm and soft and comforting and for a second she lost herself in the kiss, forgetting about her plan, before she tore herself away from him and pushed him on the bed.

“Hello wife,” he said, arousal and surprise coloring his voice as he helped Yrene tug his jeans off, lifting his hips off the bed so she could pull them down his thick thighs. He grinned. “You’re very eager tonight.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “Am I usually not throwing myself at you whenever we’re together?”

He chuckled before it faded into a groan as she drew his boxers down to reveal his half hard cock, wrapping her small hand around his length and pumping. “No, tonight seems… different. Not that I’m complaining but what’s up?”

“Well, you had an eventful day today,” she replied, squeezing the base of his cock and enjoying his resounding hiss. “You received a lot of attention.”

Chaol frowned, propping himself up on his elbows to look down at her between his legs. “What are you talking about?”

“Lots of women noticed you and how good you are with Josie. How hot you look caring for her.” Yrene licked a broad stripe up his cock from root to tip and Chaol dug his hands into the duvet cover.

“Is this,” he grunted out, “about what happened earlier at the store? I didn’t realize - “

“You didn’t realize those women were flirting with you because they saw a sexy man with his child and couldn’t help coming up to you and throwing themselves at you for a bit of attention? You didn’t even hear what some other women at Costco said later. Know what they called you?” She didn’t wait for him to answer, kissing the underside of his cock and swiping her tongue over the tip. “They called you a DILF. And they’re right. But you know what?”

Chaol didn’t answer; he only groaned and lifted his hips up, the tip of his cock bumping into Yrene’s plush lower lip.

“It’s because of me those women were crawling over you and I’m the only one who gets to fuck you,” she snarled as she took his cock in her mouth.

Chaol moaned through gritted teeth as Yrene bobbed her head on his cock, gradually working down until she could fit all but the last inch into her mouth. He was cursing and praising her quietly, and she felt a rush of victory flow through her - none of those other women would ever get to see Chaol like this. Only her. 

She wrapped her hand around the bit of his cock she couldn’t reach and dragged her tongue over his length. His hand gripped the back of her head, gently guiding her head up and down his cock as she stared defiantly at him, triumph in her eyes. He scrunched his eyes and threw his head back and Yrene forced her mouth off him and scrambled on top of him. She took his hard, wet length in her hand and waited for him to meet her eyes.

“You’re mine,” she growled, slamming her hips down and taking him all in one go. His hands immediately moved to rest under her thighs, helping her bounce on his cock. She moaned low in her throat; fuck, he felt so good, so thick, stretching her and reaching so deep inside her. She dug her nails into his shoulders, needing to mark him in some feral way as hers.  

“Fuck, you feel good,” Chaol groaned, his hands digging so hard into her thighs moving over him that she supposed he also felt the need to leave a memento of this night on her. A wild thought entered her mind, of him leaving another, more permanent reminder of this coupling inside her, and she found herself getting even wetter at the idea, her lower stomach tightening in anticipation. He moaned as he felt her inner walls tighten around him. 

He was so beautiful in that moment, Yrene thought, slowing down as her legs tired out. He bit his lip and squeezed his eyes shut and made the most delightful noises; Yrene felt a brief flash of pity for all the women who would never see Chaol as she got to see him.

“Only I get to see you like this,” she breathed, grinding her hips above him. “Only ever me.” He opened his eyes and grinned before he pulled her off him and flipped them so she was on her back and Chaol was above her. He gripped the back of her thighs and pushed them up so her thighs were touching her chest, her center dripping and open.

“And only I get to see you like this,” he growled, slamming into her. “All mine, so perfect.”

Yrene whined in her throat as his cock hit all new places inside her. Now it was her turn to lie back and let her husband have his say.

“Did seeing all those women flirt with me and want me make you jealous?” he asked, staring intently at her face. She didn’t answer right away, thinking it was obvious, when his thumb grazed her clit. “Well?”

“Yes,” she gasped, circling her hips to try to get him to keep touching her.

“Yes, what?” he asked, hauling one of her legs over his shoulder. The new angle had his cock hitting something sensitive inside her and stars erupted behind her eyelids. 

“Yes, I was jealous and angry and -"

“Needed to show me who I belonged to, hm?” He was still roughly thrusting inside her, sweat beading his temple. He grabbed her chin and forced him to look at him. “You have me. Always.”

Yrene felt tears spring to her eyes as his thumb rubbed her clit and his lips crashed against hers and she was coming, a spark igniting in her core and traveling through her body like the wick on a stick of dynamite before it detonated, leaving her shaking and gasping. 

“Only you,” he grunted, shuddering as his release hit. “Only ever you.”

He rolled over and brought her on top of him. They were both sweaty and sticky and tired but neither moved, too content to be near each other. 

“I’ll have to make sure to take Josie out more often, if it means I get this type of response from you,” Chaol joked, laughing even harder as Yrene smacked him with a pillow. 

“You wouldn’t!”

“If it means you’d fuck me like that, yeah, I most definitely would. What did you say some women at Costco called me? A DILF?”

“God, this is going to go right to your head,” she moaned, slapping a hand over her face.

“Too late,” he quipped. “But maybe we can think about you making me a dad again.” He nipped her bottom lip and rolled them over so he was on top of her. She gasped and couldn’t stop the blush staining her cheeks at his words. 

“Oh yeah,” he whispered, grinding his half hard cock against her thigh and seeing the dazed look in her eyes. “I think that’s something you’d be interested in, wouldn’t it?”

Yrene groaned. “Chaol Westfall, you’re insufferable.”

“Yeah, I am, and I’m all yours,” he said, looking at her so fondly and with so much pride she thought her heart might beat itself out of her chest, and she thought that maybe having a hot DILF for a husband wasn’t so bad after all.