#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

[duskcowboy]

“What if,” I jerked my chin toward the window, to my sister and the shadowsinger in the garden, “that is what she needs?”

♡ 🎨 by @/tortellini.arts on insta ♡

♡ commissioned by me ♡

@sjmromanceweek Day Two — Love Languages

Azriel and Elain have shown their love for others in many ways, but one love language I think they share with each other is quality time. From quietly enjoying each others company in the garden, to staying up into the morning hours deep in conversation on solstice, they seem to find joy and comfort spending time together 💓 this art reflects that quiet comfort they find in each other’s presence. Please enjoy!

[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

[panicatthenightcourt]

Let Me Show You

@sjmromanceweek​​ Day Two: Love Languages

Pairing: gwynriel

Summary: Gwyn begins to notice how much Azriel needs to be touching her. She realizes how much she needs to be touching him as well.

Warnings: none

wc: 1.1k

Read on AO3

Gwyn felt a large warm hand feather along her waist as she stretched herself to shelve a book on the highest shelf. She could feel the heat through her robes and a shiver twinkled down her spine. Their relationship was so new she was still getting used to it all. Although, if she was being honest, she hoped to never get used to it. She quite liked the giddy feeling he gave her and the shivers caused by his touch.

“Don’t distract me, shadowsinger,” Gwyn called over her shoulder.

In response, Azriel took the hand on her waist and trailed it up her extended arm. The brush of his fingers against her almost had her dropping the book. His fingers clasped around it, taking it from her hand, and he placed it carefully into the spot Gwyn intended for it.

His hand trailed back down her arm until it found her waist again. The priestess was sure she had lost the ability to breathe. Turning to face the Shadowsinger, she found her own hands reaching up to rest on his chest. They stood for a while, in silence, reveling in the proximity.

“Did you need something?” Gwyn whispered, as if speaking any louder would burst the bubble they had formed.

Azriel hummed and leaned forward. The hand on her waist moving up to cup her face. “Just this.”

His lips met her own in an unhurried, gentle kiss. Gwyn felt his thumb rub affectionately against her cheek. The scars against her skin felt like home. Her knees wobbled from the tender pressure of Azriel soft lips on hers.

Slowly, so slowly, he pulled back from her. That hand, still on her cheek, trailed to her mouth. Gwyn felt her breath hitch at the contact. She flicked her gaze to his and found Azriel’s gaze glued to her lips. He leaned forward so quickly, placing a quick peck on her mouth. Gwyn let out a small squeak and Azriel's mouth quirked up in an amused smile.

He stepped away from her, turned toward the cart piled high with books, and grabbed an armful. He began shelving the titles silently, leaving Gwyn to slowly return to the task at hand.

And as he walked further down the row, Gwyn could feel his touch still on her. The phantom feel of his hands on her body burned into her skin. She deeply craved for his touch to return.

Quickly picking up her own pile, she roamed closer to the Spymaster. Taking up a spot next to him, she slotted book after book onto the shelves. The comfortable silence that blanketed them calmed Gwyn thoroughly.

It wasn’t long before she felt the back of Azriel’s hand wisp across the back of hers when he pulled his hand back from the book he had just shelved. Gwyn stole a quick glance towards the Shadowsinger, searching for a hint of a smirk to showcase he wanted to continue what they started earlier. His face had not changed, relaxed and content. Her brow furrowed softly, perhaps the touch had been an accident.

Gwyn turned her attention back to the shelves just as she felt Azriell turn. He walked back toward the overflowing cart to gather more texts. As he walked by her, the left side of his body floated against her back. A shiver danced down her spine. She turned her head, following Azriel’s form with her eyes.

But his demeanor hadn’t changed. His shoulders remained without tension, there was no shift in his scent. He was just Azriel.

Walking back to the spot he was in, the Shadowsinger tapped Gwyn’s hip. A silent request to move down a bit. The touch lingered and it had the Priestess stealing a large breath. But another glance revealed, yet again, no indication from him of anything more.

Azriel stepped in so close, his hip pressed against Gwyn’s. She was coming out of her skin. She wanted to know what these sorts of touches meant from Azriel. She wasn’t afraid to speak her mind, to ask questions, but there was a certain apprehension in this new phase of their relationship. Gwyn had not yet learned all his tells, all his ways of being a lover.

Slowly working through the large pile, with Azriel’s frequent touches, Gwyn found that she loved those touches from him. She loved the closeness, the reassurance that he was there and that he wanted to be near her. It fueled her love for him and satiated that need to feel him.

So when she shelved her next book, Gwyn pressed her side flush against his and slid the text onto the shelf. She felt Azriel practically melt into her. A soft smile spread across her lips at the sensation. She took a small step back, but the Shadowsinger was quick to close the gap between them. That was all the indication Gwyn needed to continue.

The brush of her fingers against the siphon on his hand. A tap on his wrist telling him she needed the text in his hand. She bumped her hip with his when he slid a book into the incorrect spot.

Gwyn was positively giddy. She could tell the Shadowsinger was, too, if the enthusiastic touches he returned were any indication.

Suddenly, Gwyn realized the tomes she held were the last ones to be shelved. At this point, Azriel was all but clinging to her form. Arms wrapped firmly around her waist, face pressed against the top of her head. Once her hands were empty, she turned in his arms to face him. His eyes were blazing, showing her the adoration he felt for Gwyn. The priestess was sure her eyes were a mirror of his.

Gwyn brought her hands up to the Spymaster’s cheeks. Azriel tilted his head and pressed hard into her hand. She let out a giggle, “I like touching you.”

Azriel hummed. She felt the arms around her waist tighten as he tugged her in. Gwyn released a squeal at the abrupt movement. A squeal that was cut short when his lips scraped the shell of her ear and murmured, “I like touching you, too.”

A second passed. Two. Azriel tightened his grip on her and nuzzled his face in her hair. Slowly, Gwyn’s arms raised to wrap around his neck. They were pressed so close it was hard to tell where she ended and he began. And at that moment, Gwyn knew she never wanted to be without the constant feel of Azriel just as much as she knew he never wanted to be without the feel of her.

[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

[talkfantasytome]

Small Steps

Cassian has a rough day that really shakes him. Nesta meets him where he is, using physical touch to try help him.

Warnings: Mild Angst | Word Count: 2,717 | Read on AO3

Nessian Masterlist

a/n: Based on this ask. I took to heart the "change anything". 🙈 So no smut, friends, I'm just still not there, and I wanted to get more to the heart of the love language.

Written for Day 2 of @sjmromanceweek: Love Languages.

The massive sigh that escaped Nesta's lips practically echoed through the sitting room.

She rarely read in that room. Then again, despite the book in front of her, she really couldn't say she was currently reading, either. Not as her eyes flicked to the floor-to-ceiling windows and glass door every other second. Checking on the balcony, making sure she didn't miss it when he got back.

As if she could. Who could miss someone of that size?

Thump.

Her eyes snapped back to the balcony, but nothing was there. It took her a minute before she realized the sound had come from the book that slipped from her lap.

She must be getting tired. It was rather late. And with how dark it was, she could actually miss it. Perhaps she should just go to bed, wait for Cassian there. Nesta would likely wake up when he got in…he was never particularly quiet getting ready for bed.

With a yawn, Nesta closed her book and stood from her seat, jumping as she heard the door open behind her.

"Finally!" she sighed, placing her book on the table and turning to see Cassian standing in the threshold, his hair wet and clinging to a forlorn face. It must be raining outside. "Where have you been?"

Nesta padded over to Cassian, pulling him further into the House and shutting the door behind them. The wind was harsh, blowing against her efforts, but she got it closed and locked before too much water came in. And what did was magically dried away by the time she heard the lock click.

Cassian didn't answer her. He just stood there, a few feet away, eyes distant and unresponsive.

"Cassian?" she questioned. Nesta kept her voice soft, tilting her head to try and meet his gaze. But even when she made contact with his hazel irises, that's all she was doing. There was no recognition that he was seeing her, meeting her eyes. She brushed a hand up his arm and asked, "Is everything all right."

He turned his head away, as if he couldn't look at her, and then pulled his arm back. It wasn't the response she wanted, and she couldn't pretend it didn't cut like a knife, but at least it was some type of reaction. "Cassian," she tried again, taking his hand. "What happened?"

Still no answer.

A pit began to emerge in Nesta's stomach as she watched her husband and mate remain still and cold. It wasn't like him. Cassian was all warmth and openness, jokes and laughter. He didn't fluster. Nothing ever shook him. Not like this. The worst Nesta had ever seen him before was in times when she was in danger, and even then there was something more than this.

She didn't know what to do. How could she? Five years together, and this was a first. She should know how to comfort him - she did know, typically. But this wasn't the same as sad Cassian or worried Cassian or pissed-off Cassian. And she doubted some sarcastic insults or gentle kisses would pull him out of the stupor he was in.

But Nesta had to do something. Cassian was always the strong one. For her…for everyone, really. It's what he did, constantly. And now she had to do it for him.

Holding back the tears that were begging to be set free, Nesta quickly requested a meal for Cassian from the House as she led him to the table. A plate full of steak, fried potatoes, and broccoli appeared just as she got him into a seat - his favorite meal. She sent a silent thank you to the House for that. The House didn't always seem to like Cassian, but clearly it could tell that now wasn't a time for whatever grudge it held.

Cassian sat there, hands at his side, staring off into the distance. She wasn't sure he even realized the food was there, but that was fine. He'd eat it, anyway. She'd make sure of that.

Nesta picked up the silverware and cut a piece of steak, cooked perfectly between rare and medium-rare, exactly how Cassian liked it. She then brushed some of his hair behind his ear and lifted his face to meet her gaze again.

This time, something registered in his eyes. The faintest twinkle that said he did see her. And for a moment she let the relief flood her, but only a moment. Because as quick as the twinkle came it faded again.

"Please, Cass," she breathed, holding the bite of steak up. "Eat for me?"

He lifted a hand and placed it over hers, guiding the steak into his open mouth. After that first bite, he took the fork in his own hand and began to work on the meal.

Nesta let out the breath she'd been holding and then sat beside him, keeping one hand on him at all times, her fingers curved around his broad shoulder. She stayed clear of his wings for the moment, unsure how he'd react in his current state to even an accidental brush against them.

It was quiet as he ate, only the sounds of his bites and chewing filling the room. And the inconsistent clicking of his jaw. The sound usually grated on Nesta a bit. Tonight, however, it was music to her ears.

His hair began to fall into his face, and Nesta pushed it back behind his ears, stroking him for a second with her thumb. Once again, no reaction from Cassian, but Nesta was too busy noting how cold his cheeks felt to worry about that. It felt as if he'd been out in freezing temperatures long enough for it to chill his very bones.

Turning her face toward the ceiling, Nesta asked, "Could you start a hot bath, please?" A gentle breeze caressed her face in response, and she added a whispered, "Thank you."

Cassian set his fork down a couple minutes later. He didn't move beyond turning to look at Nesta. He seemed to be asking 'what next', and it broke Nesta's heart and healed it at the same time. One step at a time, that's all she needed from him. She took his hands and stood up, pulling him up with her, and thanking the Mother that he registered it enough to help. She wasn't actually strong enough to move him without his help.

Keeping one of his hands in hers, she led him down to their suite. The bathroom was warm with the steam from the bath. Cassian followed Nesta into the room and stood in the center of it as directed by Nesta. She didn't bother waiting to see if he'd start to ready himself for the bath.

Nesta started on his jacket. She had to walk around him as she slid it off his arms and wings. And then she was on her tiptoes, peeling his shirt off of him, grateful he was present enough to lift his arms and duck down a bit to help her. Once the shirt was on the floor, Cassian straightened. It gave Nesta the chance to look over his torso. Not in admiration, as was so often in the case, but instead Nesta found herself scanning his body for injuries.

She couldn't imagine that was what was getting to Cassian. He typically played off injuries as if they were nothing, only resting to get Nesta to shut up. But that didn't mean he couldn't also be physically injured, along with whatever had happened to affect him emotionally.

There wasn't much, however. Just her husband's extremely toned chest and those entrancing tattoos that never ceased to astound her. She trailed her hands up and down his arms, hoping the touch would offer him a bit of comfort, or at least some warmth. He slanted toward her a bit, as if he were leaning in to the touch, but when Nesta looked up his face was still vacuous, even as his eyes followed her.

Nesta gave him a small smile anyway, giving his chest a quick kiss before she moved on to his legs. She knelt down to get off his shoes and socks. They were dirtier than she'd realized. He must've been tracking mud through the entire House. And the socks, too, were damp. But the worst part was the pinkness of his toes. How long had he been in his wet clothes? Nesta hadn't realized how wet they were. She was pretty sure Az had gone with him that day, so he shouldn't have needed to fly home. Just the quick flight from beyond the wards to the balcony of the House. They should've been lightly damp.

Based on the feel of his socks, they'd likely been drenched hours before. Dried enough they wouldn't drip, but not so much that they weren't still wet and cold. She should've had him bathe first.

With this new realization, Nesta was quick to remove his pants and lead him toward the tub. Whorls of steam danced across the calm water. She tested the water quickly and it was perfect. Hot, definitely, but not so much it would burn his skin.

She looked back up at him, meeting his blank stare. "Cassian, can you get in the tub for me?"

His eyes shifted to look at the tub and he gave her a solitary nod of his head. He was slow to move, but he climbed into the large bath. He always commented on how it was too big for him alone when Nesta didn't bathe with him. Seeing him in it without her, Nesta actually believed him.

Cassian sat down in the water, everything but his shoulders and head submerged. Nesta knelt beside the tub once he was situated, surprised to find a pillow on the floor waiting for her. She didn't reflect on it too much. Just accepted the plush object and reached to grab the soap and a loofah.

She didn't scrub too hard. He wasn't noticeably dirty, nor did Nesta want to hurt him. But still she made sure to wipe down his arms and torso, and did her best to get to his legs as well. And then she worked on his hair. She poured a large dollop of the hair cleansing concoction they kept into her hands and then lathered it into his hair.

Letting off a soft groan as she massaged his head, Cassian leaned into the touch and something lightened in Nesta. She let out a sigh of relief and smiled to herself as she continued to rub the soap in. Nesta took her sweet time with it, making sure she got every inch of his head, hoping to prolong his enjoyment. She then began to scoop water up to rinse the mixture out of his hair. It was slow work, but it was better than asking him to dip his head.

Once all the soap was off him, Nesta reached into the water and grabbed Cassian's hands, standing up and leading him to do the same. He followed, a waterfall cascading off his body as he did. Nesta grabbed a towel and wrapped it around him before she carefully helped him out of the tub. He held the towel around himself as Nesta patted it against his body, attempting to soak up as much water from his skin as possible.

Cassian watched her as she did. Something in his features scrunched, his eyes focusing on her chest.

Nesta couldn't hide her shock. She doubted Cassian was actually interested in doing anything that night. And she wasn't sure he was in a place for it anyway. Following his gaze and looking down, Nesta realized it wasn't actually her chest that was drawing his attention, but the fact that her dress was entirely soaked. She hadn't even noticed. "It's fine. I'll be out of this soon enough."

He didn't respond, but Nesta didn't care. It was a tiny step, and that was all she needed.

They walked into the bedroom and Nesta began to turn down the bed before going to the closet and pulling out Cassian's favorite pair of lounge pants.

"Do you want to wear these tonight?" she asked, holding them up for him. He looked them over, taking a minute before finally nodding. Nesta held them open and helped him into the pants.

Her hands met his waist as she let the pants go around him, and then they were trailing up his stomach and landing on his chest. It was a soft touch, not the kind that was meant to lead to something else. Just to comfort.

Cassian watched her. And when she looked up into his face, she found his hazel eyes staring back at her. They weren't as distant as they had been earlier. There was still something vacant about his face, but it wasn't entirely blank anymore. She smiled and lifted one hand to caress his cheek.

"I love you, Cassian," she breathed. Cassian tilted his head against her hand. All the response she needed. "Do you want to get into bed? I'm going to get into my nightgown, and then I'll join you."

Despite her words, Nesta didn't move her hands until Cassian had moved far enough away that she wasn't touching him anymore. He climbed into their bed as Nesta got on one of her nightdresses, and then she was joining him.

He stayed on his side, his back to her, and it took all the strength Nesta could muster to not finally break down. As much as she wanted to, Cassian still needed her. Even if he wasn't turned toward her with his arms open like he was most nights.

So Nesta scooted toward him, wrapping her arms around his waist and nestling her face between his wings. She left a soft kiss on the center of his back and made sure her entire body was up against his, mimicking his position.

Lifting one arm, Cassian rested it on top of Nesta's. His hand curled around hers and she nearly burst into tears. He was there, somewhere. Tomorrow would be for talking. Or the next day. Or whatever day he was ready. Tonight, she would hold him and stay close. And his hand grasping hers was enough to know that's all he needed.

She nuzzled as close as possible and held him tight. It wasn't long until his breathing evened out, his body relaxing in sleep. Nesta was able to drift off soon after that.

Nesta awoke to a room so bright, even with her eyes closed it was blinding. She groaned slightly to herself, squeezing her eyes shut and curling into the body that was holding her.

A deep, soft chuckle sounded beside her and Nesta's eyes shot open.

Cassian was there, smiling down at her, his arms tight around her waist.

"Cassian?" she whispered.

He lifted one hand, bringing it up to cup her cheek. "'Morning Nes," he breathed before leaning in and kissing her on the forehead.

"Is everything-are…are you okay?" she asked gently.

He nodded, pulling her closer to him and resting his head on top of hers. "It was a bad day, yesterday."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

She could feel him shake his head as he replied, "Not yet. I just want to stay here a bit longer."

Nesta nodded and tightened her arms around him. "We can stay as long as you like. And we can talk when you're ready."

"Thank you. For that and…for last night."

Nesta brushed her nose against his chest in response and said, "I'm sorry I couldn't do more."

"No," he stated quickly. "It was exactly what I needed. You were perfect." Nesta buried her face into his chest, hoping to hide the tears that were finally breaking free. "You are perfect."

They stayed like that for most of the day, neither wanting to move or be far from each other. There wasn't much talking, but Nesta knew Cassian would share when he was ready. For now, she took joy in the small steps. The conversations they did have, the touches Cassian initiated, the way his eyes finally sparkled again as he looked at and laughed with her.

It was more than enough.

a/n:I hate that last line but I literally couldn't think of anything better, so...😬

@live-the-fangirl-life @generalnesta @secretlovelybeauty @julemmaes @boredserpent @autumnbabylon @moodymelanist @sv0430 @nesquik-arccheron @gwynrielsupremacy @katekatpattywack @moonstoneriver77 @deedz-thrillerkilller16 @swankii-art-teacher @lemonade-coolattas @emily-gsh @my-fan-side @champanheandluxxury @sayosdreams @simpingfornestaarcheron @perseusannabeth @clemidansleschoux @meher-sumedha @labetenoir @vinylcryes @shinya-hiiragi @starryblueskies7 @a-court-of-milkandhoney @pintas3107 @embersofwildfire @superspiritfestival @aks18 @thewayshedreamed @lunabean @xstarlightsupremex @mis-lil-red @wannawriteyouabook @dealfea

[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.”

[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

[moodymelanist]

Never Lost in Translation

Happy Day 2 of @sjmromanceweek, everyone! keeping it short and sweet for today, hope you enjoy<3

PS: if you want to find out your love language, you can do the quiz Nessian did here!!

Summary: Nesta and Cassian learn about each other's love languages.

Read on AO3 here!

♡♡♡♡♡ Cassian

“Come on, Nes,” Cassian wheedled, reaching down to tickle Nesta’s feet from where they’d been resting in his lap. She tried to jerk them out of his grip, but he was just too fast. “Let’s just fill them out already.”

They’d been relaxing on the couch after a long week of classes, enjoying the rare emptiness of the townhouse Cassian shared with his brothers. Azriel was working a shift at the record store near campus like the pretentious asshole he was, while Rhys was out of town doing some family thing with Mor. Cassian had been quick to invite Nesta over to hang out, and he’d had the idea to fill out one of those love languages surveys after learning about them in his psychology of relationships elective he was taking this semester.  

“Fine,” Nesta replied through gritted teeth. She shifted so she could reach for her phone and unlocked it, elegant fingers moving quickly on the screen so she could pull up the website. “Let’s just get this over with already.”

Cassian stopped his assault on Nesta’s toes long enough so that he could fill out the questionnaire. He wasn’t particularly surprised when he saw his top result was physical touch; he’d always been a pretty tactile guy where the people he cared about were concerned. With Nesta, he found he couldn’t go more than a few minutes without touching her somehow — a squeeze of her waist there, a kiss against her temple there.

“What’d you get?” he asked, returning his hand to its spot on her ankle now that he didn’t need to hold his phone anymore.

“Words of affirmation,” she answered. She looked up from her phone and cocked an eyebrow at him. “What did you get?”

“Physical touch,” he told her. He wasn’t totally surprised about her answer considering their bedroom habits, but he was a little surprised. “No acts of service, sweetheart?”

“Last I checked, I perform several of those for you on a regular basis,” she retorted, pulling a laugh out of him before they both grew serious. “No, I just… you know how I am. I’d rather do stuff on my own and get it right the first time than rely on someone else who might fuck it up.”

Not for the first time, Cassian had to tamp down on his anger at the way Nesta had been forced to become so self-sufficient. He wouldn’t ruin the peace of this moment with that, though, so instead he just took a deep breath. “I know. So, words of affirmation, huh? 

“Physical touch, huh?” Nesta said back, teasing him. He just rolled his eyes and quickly shifted their positions so he was laying on top of her. “Cassian!”

“Love me how I’m supposed to be loved, dammit,” he said into her ear with a laugh.

“I will hug you back for one minute in exchange for words of affirmation,” she responded. 

That was his Nesta — always ready to negotiate like the kickass lawyer she was going to be. “Fine. Start the clock.”

Nesta heaved a dramatic sigh as she wrapped her arms and legs around Cassian, clinging to him like she was a koala, and he happily burrowed his face into her neck while trying to keep most of his weight off her. He knew she wasn’t nearly as touch-happy as he was, but he appreciated her making the effort anyway. 

“Well?” she asked, her voice slightly muffled. “Where are my compliments?”

“You have very shiny hair,” he told her. He wasn’t surprised when she managed to kick him in the thigh, and laughed before he decided to take it seriously. “Fine, fine. Uh… I mean, I tell you all the time how gorgeous and smart and funny you are, but you make my day better just by being around me. I still can’t believe this isn’t a fluke.”

“Cassian, we’ve been dating for over a year,” she replied, exasperated. It thankfully didn’t stop her from shifting her arms higher so she could play with the curls at the nape of his neck. “It’s not a fluke.”

“I know,” he responded. He’d just needed a way to break things up; he didn’t want to overwhelm her with the depth of his feelings all at once. “I love how safe you make me feel. You’re my best friend, and I can trust you with anything, even when I know you’ll laugh at me first. I’m so fucking proud of how you take on the world everyday and I just…I’m so in awe of you, Nesta. I can’t believe I got so lucky.”

Nesta made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a sniffle, and Cassian couldn’t help but smile into the smooth skin of her neck. “I love you, Cassian.”

“I love you too, sweetheart,” Cassian replied, his insides going all kinds of warm and fuzzy at those three little words. He pressed a kiss to the side of her neck before moving so he could press one to her lips. “How was that?”

“I guess you can have a few more minutes of cuddling,” she said. He made a happy little noise and was immediately gratified to see the corners of her lips turn up in response. “But we’re going to have to switch positions so I can actually breathe.”

Cassian was more than happy to oblige, but they ended up moving upstairs to his room so they’d have enough space to cuddle properly on his bed. Nesta ended up falling asleep within a few minutes of them getting situated, and he made sure to tighten his grip around her waist so she knew he wasn’t going anywhere, even subconsciously. 

I should look up questionnaires like this more often, he thought. If the end result was more cuddling with his girlfriend, no Buzzfeed quiz would be safe from him. 

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

[houseofhurricane]

Ficlet ask: Nesta and Eris

Funny story, I have been looking for an excuse to write Neris for months. Thank you (and @sjmromanceweek ) for giving me an excuse to write them! Here goes nothing.

Nesta knew when they danced in the Court of Nightmares. She felt the weight of Eris' amber eyes on hers and something had gone heavy in the pit of her stomach. Stronger than love or the promise of happiness.

Once they returned to the House of Wind, she made her excuses to Cassian and shrugged out of her dress. On the floor, it looked like a spill of ink.

Nesta did not think of blood or swords. The House offered her a romance novel and she set it aside. She looked out into the darkness beyond the window and she thought of the way Eris' hands had felt on hers, the weight of his grip on her waist. The way, for long enough to be some intricate choreography, he had run his fingers down the length of her arm, following the curves of her new-forged muscles.

You could destroy us all, couldn't you? He'd murmured the words close to her ear. She could hear the appreciation in each syllable. As if she were not monstrous, not even terrifying, but glorious.

She let the thoughts come over her as she looked over Velaris.

There were ten thousand steps between Nesta Archeron and the city, but Rhysand had offered Eris a room on the other side of the House of Wind. He'd said something about diplomacy, so sure and silver-tongued that Cassian seemed to believe it.

Then again, Cassian believed the things that Rhys said.

The darkness around Nesta was still and expectant. Thick enough that she reached out, it would wrap itself around her fingers. She could feel it waiting to see what she would do, and yet there was no judgement.

When she finally opened her bedroom door, she felt the smallest sigh.

Still, she continued through the House on silent footsteps. She could not hear Cassian's voice or the his sleeping breath.

Eris' door is already open and he stands in the open space, watching her. While she'd been in her room, wrapped in the darkness, he'd laid aside his jacket and unbuttoned the top button of the crisp black shirt beneath. She was not staring at the lines of his throat, the thin gold chain around his neck.

No, she was only tilting her head upward to meet his gaze. His amber eyes glittering from the faelights. Again, the weight of his regard.

She could feel it against her skin, that look of his, and she wanted to shiver even as she stared at him.

"Why did you come?" he asked. He didn't close the distance between them.

"You know I can destroy you," she said, bracing her hands on the doorway. Not to steady herself, exactly, but to remind herself that she was here with Eris Vanserra. She was making a choice. "You know I could destroy everybody. And it doesn't scare you. Why?"

"I think that neither of us has much to fear from oblivion." He said the words as if they were mere ballroom gossip. Except for the glittering of his eyes, the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. The look of someone who could rend the world in two, if he wanted.

She looked at him and, thought, here I am, with you.

Around them fell an expectant quiet. The sound of a held breath.

"Do you want me to kiss you, Nesta Archeron?" He asked as if he did not know the answer. No one spoke to her like this. They always wanted something; they always knew better.

Nesta shook her head.

"I think I'd like to fuck you," she said, enjoying how the word exploded in her mouth.

Eris smiled with all his teeth. His fingers wrapped tight around her wrist and she stepped over the threshold to meet him.

"We're in agreement, then," he said, and covered his mouth with hers.

She did not think. She only opened herself to him, his breath on her lips and his hands on her waist and his skin against hers. Firelight and ashes and the darkness beyond.

She waited to feel regret but instead there was something else. Something new-forged and so bright she could only consider it briefly.

Nesta, Eris whispered against her skin. It did not sound like a curse.

Okay...I might be a Neris stan now? I might also be able to write in past tense?! @damedechance and @velidewrites, please let me know what you think. (And also, @iftheshoef1tz, I borrowed Eris' gold chain from OBPBL. I promise he can have it back soon.)

[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?”

—

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[vanserrass]

acotar ships as songs from midnights for @sjmromanceweek day seven

thank you so much @moononastring for all your help 💕