ASnowFern

There’s a giant UHaul parked in Cassian’s driveway. 

To be fair, it’s not only his driveway; he shares it with the townhouse next door. Luckily there’s enough space on the curb for him to parallel park his truck, before going inside with Azriel to have their post-workout protein shakes.

The townhouse next to his, at the end of the row, went on sale just over two months ago, and proceeded to go under contract in under three days. If the interior was anything like his, he can understand why. The architecture is stunning, designed before the first World War, and his master suite also has a walk-in closet and a porcelain claw foot tub in the bathroom.

“New neighbor?” Azriel asks.

“Seems like it.” Cassian only hopes that whoever bought the place next to him is decently normal. The last owner rented the property, which led to an interesting assortment of neighbors over the five years that he’s lived here. He remembers one particular instance, the quiet neighbor from two years ago, with the much louder dogs. They would keep him up well past midnight with their barking. 

They head inside and make their drinks. He can see Azriel is gearing up to turn on the baseball game, so Cassian says instead, “I’m going to go see if my new neighbors need any help.”

Expecting Azriel to leave, he’s pleasantly surprised when he says, “Yeah. Sure, why not.”

Before they settle in too much, they make themselves get off his couch, and return to the humid, not-air-conditioned outdoors. Moving during the summer must be actual hell. He’s barely started walking, and already his entire body wants to sweat. Luckily he’s already dressed for the occasion, in a tank top and athletic shorts.

He’s glad he made the decision to help as soon as he knocks on the door, and the new owner of the house opens it. A woman, about the same age he is, with honey-blonde hair tied on top of her head. He’s instantly drawn to her eyes: a stormy gray-blue that narrows on him instantly, a question already in them.

“Can I help you?” she asks.

“I was just about to offer that, actually. To help.” He combs his hand through his hair. Fuck, she’s pretty. “I’m Cassian. I live right next door.”

She hums, her expression not changing. “Nesta.” A glance over his shoulder has her spotting his brother. “And who’s this?”

“Azriel,” his brother says, speaking up.

Nesta opens her mouth to say something further, but is interrupted by footsteps coming down the stairs. She turns her head over her shoulder to look at the newcomer.

“This place is so cool.” Another woman slides into view, her hair dark like his and braided over her shoulder. 

Nesta says, “I was thinking we could do girl’s night out back. There’s a patio.”

“So we don’t have to fit on Gwyn’s apartment’s couch anymore.” The woman’s eyes land on him, and she cocks her head. “Who’s this?”

“Cassian. My new neighbor,” Nesta says. “He said he’s here to help.”

“Emerie,” she returns, before glancing back at her friend, amusement dancing in her eyes. “Isn’t that sweet, Nesta? You’re so lucky to have such a helpful neighbor.”

He can almost see the glare that threatens to take over Nesta’s face, before she pushes it away, behind a fortress of steel. “Right. So neighborly. Now that I think about it, Gwyn did say she needed help getting the table out of the truck.” 

“It’s no trouble at all,” Azriel says, in that polite way of his. Leave it to his brother to show off his charm, in front of a group of girls that he’s trying to impress. Cassian will tease him about it later, even though he knows the sentiment will be returned right back to him. 

All four of them return to the moving truck in the driveway. “What do we have next, Gwynnie?” Emerie asks.

Gwyn, he assumes, is maneuvering boxes in the back, deciding what to bring out next. “Oh, good, you’re back. Let’s get this table inside—oh.”

She catches sight of them, perhaps a little surprised by the sight of two strangers in the driveway. 

“They’re getting the table,” Emerie supplies. “That’s Cassian, and…I’m sorry, but I didn’t get your name.”

“That’s Azriel,” Nesta supplies. “Now that all the introductions are out of the way, can we get started?”

Gwyn looks over the pair of them, especially noting the muscles in their arms. He can’t tell if it’s the heat, but her pale skin is slightly tinged with red on her cheeks. “Right. Yeah.” She clears her throat. “If you two get the table, then the rest of us can bring in boxes.”

With that, they get to work. Between the two of them, they get the table inside to the kitchen quickly, before seeing what else they can help with. Gwyn soon has Azriel bringing in boxes to the kitchen, while Emerie brings boxes upstairs, which leaves Cassian with Nesta.

He has no complaints about the circumstances.

Nesta points to a group of boxes. “All of these need to go to the room on the first floor. They’re books, so they’re too heavy for me.”

“I’m on it.” He grabs a box, faltering a little under the weight of it, the muscles of his arms flexing. Nesta, he notices, pretends like she’s not looking. “Damn. How were you planning on getting these inside before?”

She shrugs, and says, “Two of us carried them out to the truck.”

He makes it to the room she designated as her library, and sets it in the middle of the floor. Only…ten more to go.

Before he goes back out, Nesta comes in behind him, and leans on the door. She’s studying him, similar to the way she did before, but less apprehensive this time. 

She says, “I appreciate what you’re doing, by the way. I know I didn’t exactly make that clear.”

He pauses in his tracks. “It’s not a problem. It’s the neighborly thing to do.”

“Right,” she says, unconvinced. “Still. You should let me get you dinner. Or help yourself to one of my bottles of wine. Or…something.”

“It’s alright, truly.”

“If you say so.” Her arms are crossed in front of her chest, but her face is softer, and her lips are tugging upwards into something that almost resembles a smile. “Come on, let’s get back to it. I don’t want to keep you here all afternoon.”

Cassian doesn’t think he’d mind that very much, in all honesty.

The rest of her books go faster than he anticipates, and by that point, the rest of the boxes have been brought inside as well. So Emerie and Gwyn leave to return the UHaul, while Cassian offers to stay and help unload some boxes.

Azriel leaves as well, claiming he needs to go home, but Cassian swears he sees his brother’s lips rising in a slight smirk.

Bastard.

Cassian opens the first box of books, intent to be as helpful as he can for the next hour before he has to leave.

“You can just put them anywhere on the shelf,” Nesta says. “I’ll organize them later.”

The first book he pulls out has a couple on the front, a winged man wrapping a cloak around the woman. ‘Romance reader, huh?”

“Amongst others,” she says. “Some of those are fantasy, and I have a box of crime books, too.”

"The Witch who was Wicked” he says, looking over the cover.

She raises an eyebrow at him, almost daring him to make any further comment about her reading tastes. The intelligent man that he is, he decides against it.

“That’s one of my milder ones, actually,” she says. “They’re both close to being human in this one.”

He glances up at her before returning his attention to the book. On the endpages, there’s more art of the main couple. He flips it open to read the description. “A Merchant Prince’s daughter teaches the Night Court’s General a thing or two about love and war.”

“But be really careful with it. Sellyn Drake rarely does signings, I waited in line over two hours for it–”

Crack.

Horrified, he looks up at her, and her jaw is already dropped, and there’s no hiding what’s just happened.

Her voice drops nearly an octave. “You didn’t.”

“I didn’t, what?”

“Did you just crack the spine of that book? Were you not listening when I told you to be careful?”

“I didn’t…”

“You didn’t, what? Think? That must be a rare occasion for you.”

Curse his ability to make a bad situation ten times worse. He should just apologize. That would fix this.

He doesn’t do that.

Cassian flashes his signature grin, the one that’s all teeth and charm and has gotten him out of countless skirmishes in the past. “And here I was, thinking I was making a good impression on my new neighbor.”

Just like that, any softness remaining on Nesta’s face disappears entirely. What appears in its place terrifies him. Excites him.

She gets in his space, and she’s so close, that he can see how the colors dance together in her irises. The lines of frustration etched into her forehead. “Well, try not to break my books next time.” She’s scary, and he can’t help but be drawn to it. “Thanks for the help. Take one of my wine bottles, but then stay the hell away from me.”

With that, Nesta storms from the room, properly pissed off. 

Fuck. So much for first impressions.

***

Nesta is still fuming hours later.

Her new neighbor took the hint after she snapped at him, quickly making himself scarce to leave her to her unpacking. 

Most of the boxes of her bedroom and her bookroom are now fully unpacked, leaving the items for her kitchen as the last major task. Tonight, before bed, she just wants to determine the placements of her paintings.  

There’s a whole box of art that she’s collected since college. A whole box, and it still won’t be enough — the square footage of this place is almost double the size of her last apartment. 

Her attention lands on the paintings that Feyre made for her. One is of a mountain peak, from the time they visited Katahdin, and the other a landscape of the sunset along the James River.

Maybe she’s feeling a touch homesick. Out of place, missing her sisters, even though she’s been living in Virginia for half a decade. Maybe she’s still upset from earlier. 

She decides that those paintings will go up tonight.

Her tool box is a dusty, untouched inherited piece of plastic from her father, but it has the essentials: a hammer, and plenty of wall anchors and screws to fix all of her artwork to the wall.

Right before she picks up the hammer, a text notification comes through her phone from Emerie, making her see the time displayed on the top of the screen. It’s well past eleven, and way past the noise ordinance of this neighborhood at ten pm. 

But, she’s the last house on the street, and the only wall she shares is with Cassian. Gritting her teeth, she tells herself he deserves it after what he did this afternoon. He destroyed her book, so he can deal with the temporary lack of sleep.

He destroyed it, and didn’t even seem to care. The rational part of her brain is asking how he could possibly know that Sellyn Drake was the author that got her out of her no-reading-slump. That she stared at the wall, flooded with emotions, the first time she read one of her books. That she’d been dying to meet this author for over a year, until it was announced that she was having a book signing just half an hour away.

That the book he cracked wasn’t just a book at all.

She’s still thinking of this when she drives the first anchor into the wall. It goes in without interruption, but when she’s halfway done with the second, she hears a knock at the door.

Nesta opens it, scowling. 

Cassian’s leaning against the porch wall. There’s a grin plastered across his face, but his eyes tell her that he’s anything but amused.

Earlier, Cassian was wearing a tank top that showed off the muscles in his arms, but it’s since been replaced with a dark blue tee, paired with a pair of sweatpants. Just like this morning, though, he’s all rugged beauty, with deep hazel eyes that have her frozen in place. Locks of stray curls escape from where he has it tied in a bun on top of his head. 

She knows how she must look herself, after a day of sweating.  That’s what moving does to a person, she tells herself, even though she wants nothing more than to jump in the shower and scrub every ounce of this day from her skin.

“Evening, Nes.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Sounds like you’re being productive.” He looks over her shoulder, to the paintings leaned against the wall. “If you want to wait until tomorrow, I can hang anything you want.”

“See, I don’t want to wait until tomorrow,” she says. “I also don’t know why I would trust you with any of my belongings again, when you’ve already demonstrated how careless you are with them.”

“I’ll replace the book, Nes. I wasn’t trying to be an ass–” he cuts himself off, then sighs. “Just let me help you. Please.”

“Do you think I can’t do it on my own?”

“Hardly.” His body shifts forward, so that all six foot five of him is nearly at eye level. “But some of us need to sleep, sweetheart.”

“Don’t let me stop you. Sweet dreams.”

“That hammer is going to keep me up. How much are you hanging tonight, anyway?”

She shrugs. “Haven’t decided yet. Until I run out of energy, I imagine.” A lie. It’s just these two paintings, but he doesn’t need to know that. Let the poor man squirm a little.

“So that’s how it’s going to be,” he says. His face shifts, and she can’t tell why the sight of him going distant puts such a pit in her stomach. “Well. It was a pleasure meeting you. I hope you enjoy living here just as much as I do.” With a final glance over her, he turns, heading back to his own place. “See you around, neighbor.”

***

The last thing Nesta wants to deal with on a Friday is a call from her tech startup, informing her that the server hosting half the websites in the country is fucked.

So Nesta leaves home at four in the morning, well before the sunrise, and doesn’t return until after seven.

The sky isn’t dark yet as they still have the July daylight, which preserves a small spark of happiness as she pushes open her door. She has a bottle of wine in her hand, a central coast Sauvignon Blanc that she’s excited to open once she changes into her silk pajamas.

Finally, once she’s out of her work clothes, she settles on her couch and clicks the power button on her TV remote.

Her phone buzzes: a text from Gwyn.

Gwyn: You sure you don’t want some company?

Nesta: I’m sure. It’s been a long day, I just want some time to myself.

While her phone is in front of her and while she remembers, Nesta places her order for Thai food, which her app says should be at her house within an hour. 

She gets Pride and Prejudice pulled up, and is cuddled under her blanket, ready to finally relax.

She’s on her second glass when the infamous Darcy hand flex scene shows up. Is it too much to ask for, to have an idiot that suffers from foot-in-mouth disease that’s already half in love with her? Apparently so.

Her thoughts are interrupted by the sound that comes from her shared wall.

“Cassian.”

Said in a breathless sort of way, so that there’s no doubt in Nesta’s mind what, exactly, is happening on Cassian’s side of the wall.

But instead of the feminine voice that she expects, it’s low. A man.

Interesting.

Whatever. It’s his house, and Cassian is allowed to have over whoever he wants. Even if the low chuckle she hears through the wall sends shivers down her spine. 

It means nothing, she tells herself. Just a natural reaction to an…attractive man. An attractive voice.

Nothing more.

Curling her lips into a small sneer, Nesta reaches for the remote and turns up the volume of the movie, intent to drown out the noise. 

It works, for a time, until the movie falls into a lull. She’s torn out of focus by the loud thump on the adjoining wall.

Nesta pauses the movie, and narrows her eyes on the wall.

“Shit,” the voice hisses, panting. “You’re good at that. Can’t believe you’re on your knees for me–”

The voice breaks off into a high-pitched noise, and Nesta can only imagine what’s happening on the other side.

“You liked that?” Cassian’s voice, this time.

“Yeah.” There’s a short pause, before the voice says again. “Don’t you have a neighbor? Should we go somewhere a little more private?”

“Oh, she doesn’t mind. Trust me.”

Nesta narrows her eyes at the wall. Asshole. He must have seen her car parked in the driveway, and decided to return the favor from a few weeks ago by causing an obscene noise violation.

She’s done with this bullshit.

Gathering her blanket and her nail kit from the bathroom, Nesta grumbles all the way to her front porch, and takes a seat on the first step. Underneath the porch light, she files at her nails, intent to at least accomplish some self-care tonight. She tells herself that she needed to do her nails anyway. That she wasn’t driven out of her own home by her ridiculously hot neighbor.

The man of the night emerges an hour later, hair tousled and freshly-fucked. 

Whoever he hooked up with is attractive, she’ll admit, with a muscular build just like Cassian, and deep onyx hair. On his right ear, a singular golden earring hangs.

She waits until after Cassian gives the man a final kiss, sending him on his way.

“Have fun?” she asks.

It’s only then that he sees her, file in hand as she adjusts the shape of her left thumb nail. 

Instead of appearing shamed like she might expect, his chest seems to puff out instead. “Yeah. Nice guy. You’d like him, I think, if you didn’t tear him to shreds first.”

Funny. 

“What’s his name? I didn’t hear you say it. You know, when you were fucking against the wall.”

“Helion,” he says, eyebrows raising. “What, Nesta? You think I don’t remember the names of people I bring home?”

Redirecting, she says, “I didn’t know you were into men.”

“I’m bi, so I like both.” He takes a step forward, now noticeably on her property. “Is that an issue for you?”

“I’m not biphobic. And it’s not my business who you spend your time with.”

“It’s just, you seemed invested for a second.” A moment later, and a revelation shines on his face. “Oh. I get it now. You’re jealous.”

“If you mistake neighborly courtesy with jealousy, then there’s not much I can do for you.”

“Neighborly courtesy,” he mutters, lips ticking up. “Sure, Nes.”

“And what do I possibly have to be jealous of?” she says, looking over his entire body. “I assume all that cockiness is overcompensating for something.”

She expects her words to hit their mark. Most of the time, with men that aren’t worth her time, they do. But instead, Cassian’s eyes only gleam with a newfound challenge, and he folds his arms over his chest. 

“Overcompensating,” he repeats, with a small smile. “Well. Let me know if you ever want to test that theory.”

“And why would I ever get within five feet of you?” For some reason, Nesta feels as if she’s walked into a trap. Like she’s a fly that’s flown directly into a spider’s web.

She realizes why, exactly when Cassian hits her with, “You know why, sweetheart.” The low tenor of his voice, the slight gravel, has Nesta tensing in her chair. “The question that I have,” he says, hazel eyes trained on her, and she almost feels his next step towards her, “is whether that scowl will melt away if I get you into my bed.” When he reaches the base of her steps, he does one last, lingering look over her, noting her every curve. “And I don’t think I’d mind very much if it didn’t.” 

With that, he turns back to his own door, leaving Nesta frozen for a moment before she shakes herself out of her stupor.

No way in hell, she tells herself. There’s no way she’ll ever consider sleeping with Cassian.

He’s entirely too obnoxious, for one. Doesn’t know when to admit that he’s wrong. It doesn’t matter how pretty he is, how deep his hazel eyes are. It doesn’t matter how much she wants to wrap her hands in those curls and tug, how much she secretly loves this fighting between them–

No. No, she’ll never do it, she tells herself, finally pushing from the stone step and retreating back inside.

***

One of the things Cassian loves the most about Saturdays is that it’s the one day of the week that’s truly quiet. 

Dinner with the family takes up most of his Sunday afternoons. So he likes to take a few hours on Saturday mornings to himself, with a cup of coffee and whatever book he’s reading, and enjoy this back porch while the summer allows it. Today, it’s a book on Alexander the Great. He’s just gotten settled in when he hears Nesta’s porch door open, and she’s clad in a black silk robe.

“Morning,” Nesta says cheerfully, but he notes the smugness in her expression. 

He knows what that look means. He’s become familiar with it over the past weeks.

In retrospect, it’s no surprise how the two of them devolved into this full-on war. After his hookup with Helion, Nesta ensured one night that he could hear exactly what she was doing with her vibrator in her bedroom.

Then, when her sister was helping her plant hydrangeas in the garden, Cassian made the neighborly offer to mow her lawn at the same time as his.

Without a shirt, of course.

She was furious. She wasn’t able to take her eyes off of him, and he lived for her watching his sweat bead on his chest, and his arms pushing the mower across their grass.

This whole thing is petty. Stupid. 

They can’t stop.

And, if he’s guessing correctly, today she’s planned her revenge.

He dips his head in greeting, before returning to the book. But all chances of his attention remaining on the story die when Nesta steps out further, dropping the robe to reveal her cherry red bikini. He doesn’t know where to look first: at the bottoms that leave half of her ass uncovered, or the top that ties around her neck, pushing her breasts together. He’s rendered mindless for a few moments until he realizes that he’s staring, and she’s staring right back.

“It’s a lovely day to work on my tan,” she says with a raised eyebrow. “Is that a problem?”

“Nope,” he says, emphasizing the end of the word with a pop of his lips. A complete and utter lie. 

“Good,” she says, looking like a cat that’s cornered a mouse. “I figured you wouldn’t mind, given your … display a week ago.”

What a fool he’d been, if this was how she planned to torture him in turn. “Of course not.”

She has a ceramic bowl and a book in her hand, which she places on the side table right by the lawn chair on her patio. When she bends over to flatten her towel on the chair, her tits press against the red fabric of her top. Fuck, if she isn’t the hottest woman he’s ever seen. And he knows she’s just getting back at him for that stunt with the lawn mower, but still. He can’t help where his thoughts go next. He imagines pulling her into his bed and shoving his face into her chest until he can barely breathe. 

In order to stop himself from looking like a total creep, he clears his throat and turns his face the other direction. He tries to go back to his book, but the words swim on the page in front of him, and his eyes dart back up to Nesta. She’s sat down on the chair in the time that he’s been looking down. Her book is open in one hand, and with the other, she reaches into the bowl beside her and picks up a slice of mango between her fingers. 

Transfixed, he doesn’t realize he’s been staring until she slips the piece of fruit between her lips, and lets out a perfect little sound. It sends a jolt through him, and he thinks of the sounds that she would make if he ever got her between his sheets. If he ever got his mouth between her legs–

Stop.

She’s his neighbor, and no matter how hot he finds her, hooking up with her would be…complicated. And he’s almost one hundred percent certain that Nesta Archeron would never touch him like that. This is solely to get a rise out of him, nothing more.

“Is that…good?” he asks, overly invested in her answer.

“Yeah. You want a piece?”

Yes.

But he can’t risk her seeing the tented fabric of his pants. Can’t give her the satisfaction of knowing the effect she has on him.

“Not a mango person,” he lies.

She hums, fighting a smile, and her fingers dip back into the bowl. Like she knows she’s already won.

“More for me, then,” she says. 

He can’t tear his eyes away, not as she places the second piece of fruit in her mouth as well. Nor the third.

By the fifth, he manages it. Then, loses control once more as she makes a small sound in her throat, and he looks up to find her settled deeply into her chair. Fingers softly curled around the edges of the chair. She’s relaxed, cheeks tinted red, ready for a nap.

God damn it.

He tries to read his book again, but for five minutes, he doesn’t turn a single page.

That’s when he realizes, he is absolutely fucked.

***

The bikini threw Cassian off of his game for a while, which isn’t a surprise. What’s more of a surprise is the fact that he’s baking, at close to midnight.

Cookies, probably. Or…muffins. It doesn’t matter, really, except now Nesta’s hungry, and it’s all his fault.

Insufferable man.

Pushing down the plush blanket on her bed, Nesta slides her feet into her slippers before stomping down her steps. Then she’s knocking on his door, and she hasn’t thought of a single thing to say, other than she wants to pick a fight and–

‘Hey, Nes.” His eyes trail her, noting the pink pegasus pajama set, with a matching shirt and shorts that just cover her ass. “Cute,” he says. 

“What are you making.”

At that, he opens the door wider, beckoning her inside. She hasn’t been in his house yet, telling herself that it’s most likely a grown-up-frat-boy house, but it’s surprisingly clean. Not as decorated as her own place, but still nice.

“Muffins. You should try one.” He leads her to the kitchen, motioning to a bar stool by the counter. He’s been hard at work, a variety of muffins littering his counter. 

Cassian takes one of the cooling muffins and places it on a plate, then puts it down in front of her. Blueberry, from the looks of it, and frustratingly delicious-looking. At her scowl, his grin only widens.

“Problem?” he asks. 

Not able to think of anything to snap back with, Nesta reaches for the muffin. She almost moans into it as her teeth sink down, but restrains herself, if only to prevent his ego from inflating. It’s good, too good, and she’s sure that he already knows it.

Cassian picks up a muffin of his own. He breaks a piece off the top with his large hand, before popping it into his mouth. She pretends that she doesn’t notice the way his tongue darts out to catch the crumbs on his lips, or the satisfied hum he makes as he swallows it. 

“I guess these are passable,” she admits, taking another reluctant bite. “Why are you baking this late, though?”

“Trying to perfect the recipe,” he says. His fingers place another piece in his mouth, and he chews for a few seconds, thinking. “Say, I’ve got a question. What would you think, if you woke up to these? Would it be enough to impress you?”

She frowns, and tries to ignore the way something in her heart sinks. “Did you really just get me to try your post-hookup breakfast?”

He shrugs, nonchalant. “You didn’t answer the question.” He steps forward, placing his forearms on the counter. It’s attractive, unfairly so, the way he has his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, leaving his muscled forearms on display. “So, Nes? Would you be impressed?”

“No, because I can’t even imagine getting past all of your other qualities in order to sleep with you.”

“Is that so?” he asks, voice low and curling something in her stomach.

Everything about this man is stupid. From the way his hair is haphazardly tied behind his head, leaving stray strands to fall down and frame his face. From the way his shoulders are so broad they could swallow her whole. All the way to his lips, that look so plush and kissable, but are being wasted on that infuriating smirk.

And so, it’s a perfectly reasonable reaction when she leans forward and kisses him on those stupid lips, if only to shut him up for good. It happens before she can think better of it, before she can talk herself out of the impulsiveness of it all.

If he’s shocked, it’s only for a moment, because afterwards he’s kissing her right back. His mouth opens readily for her, lips sweet from blueberry. When he shifts forward even further, to settle into the kiss, she’s worried he might lose his balance and topple over the counter entirely.

Nesta feels Cassian’s grin on her mouth. “Thought so, sweetheart.”

He’s moving, going around the counter to join her on her side. He swivels the barstool so that she’s facing him, before hefting each of her thighs beneath an arm and pulling them around his waist.

She barely remembers leaving the barstool, but soon she finds the wall of his kitchen digging into her back. One of his hands is beneath her shirt, inching closer and closer to one of her breasts, which doesn’t have a bra covering it.

“Bed,” she gasps, pushing away from his lips only long enough to speak. “Now.”

Cassian is all too happy to oblige. It’s all a frenzy after that, and they end up in his bedroom, Nesta’s thighs bracketing his body from where she straddles him. His shirt comes off in the fray, and her hands are against his bare skin, his firm lines of muscle on his stomach. It’s like magnets draw them together as she leans down to kiss him again, and again.

He wraps his large hands around the strands of hair cascading down her back, tethering her to him.

“I’ve been wanting to do this with your hair ever since you had it up with that damn bikini,” he murmurs. “I love seeing it down like this.”

She groans into his mouth. Whatever she told herself she was trying to accomplish that day, she’s almost convinced that this has been on her mind the entire time. Cassian, nearly desperate beneath her. His hands gliding through her hair, across her body.

“Is that all you wanted to do?” she asks, almost purring.

“No.” His mouth trails kisses down her neck, then her collarbone, where his lips are blocked access to her skin by the fabric of her shirt. Parting his hands from her hair, they slide up her bare stomach, her sides, and pull her shirt up over her head. “I’ve been imagining that, too.”

In a move that’s strangely hot, he pushes from the bed to flip himself over her, now settled in between her thighs. With gentle fingers, he trails underneath the waistband of her shorts, and she lifts her hips so that he can pull them down her legs. “And this.”

Her fingers wrap around the curls atop his head. She knows what she wants already, knows what will get her off properly, and guides his head towards her legs. 

“With the amount that you run your mouth, I hope you know how to use it,” she says, almost out of breath.

He doesn’t resist her direction. Instead, his eyes lock with hers, suddenly a molten hazel that has warmth blooming in her stomach. His fingers hook around the edges of her underwear, and then they’re thrown behind him, forgotten on the floor.

“You seem to pay an awful amount of attention to my mouth, sweetheart,” he says back.

She opens her mouth to protest, but is cut off by the first drag of his tongue. He brings it firmly up her center, sending any further remark scattering from her brain, until all she can say is, “I – oh.”

“What was it you were worried about, again?” he asks innocently, pausing to speak. 

Needing him to do that again, she presses her fingers into his head, and pushes his face where she wants him. “Shut up and do what you’re told.”

“I love it when a beautiful woman orders me around.”

His tongue is positively sinful. When he lays his forearm across her stomach to keep her hips from lifting up, she squirms in his arms, causing him to chuckle and increase his efforts. Before she knows it, she’s shattering against his tongue, her hand unwillingly reaching for his. Their fingers interlocked, he gives her hand a small squeeze as she tightens around empty air, desperate for him inside of her.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, cheek pressed to her thigh.

“I need–” she says, hips lifting off the bed. She tugs at his hand, trying to pull the hunk of a man up where she wants him.

“I know, sweetheart.”

Instead of heeding her direction, Cassian shifts to grab a metal wrapper from the bedside table. He pushes his pants down to his ankles, stepping out of them one foot at a time.

He makes quick work of rolling the condom on, then he’s right back on top of her, his weight settling on her body in the most perfect way.

His hand guides his cock towards her entrance, and he pushes into her. He goes in and in, past where she thinks she can take it, until finally his hips come flush with hers. There’s nothing to do but whimper, and grip onto his biceps, as a shudder rolls through her.

“Oh my god,” she breathes, and then he’s pulling his hips back, and thrusting into her again.

“Fuck, baby,” he says. “You feel so perfect, wrapped around me.”

Each drag of him inside of her riles her up, making her putty in his arms. He knows it, too, from how his eyes gleam as he watches her take him. It’s unfair, how his hips box her in on the bed and keep her from moving anywhere. It’s unfair how the rasp of his voice in her ear has her melting for him, until all she can do is drag his mouth down to hers for another messy kiss.

Nesta comes again a few moments before he does. Then his weight is pressing into her stomach, his damp-to-the-touch hair tickling her cheek. His breath comes in shuddering 

“That was…” she says, unable to fill in the rest.

“I know.” The muscles of his arms flex as he pushes himself off of her body. Hazel eyes look down to meet hers. They’re intense, staring at her with an emotion that she can’t name. Can’t place. It has fear crawling into her stomach, crawling through her veins.

Does he regret what just happened? 

She flees for the bathroom, murmuring some fact about UTIs, but really it’s to stop the fluttering of her heart.

In the mirror, her hair’s a mess, disheveled from Cassian’s large hands. Her eyes are blown, from possibly one of the best hookups she’s ever had.

Because that’s what this is, right?

Maybe it’s best if she leaves. Dating a neighbor is messy, after all. Maybe they can say the tension was released and call it that. Just two hot people finally getting it out of their system.

She returns to the room, searching for where he tossed her pegasus pajamas earlier. She only glances at him for a second, and he’s propped up on an elbow, still shirtless, but underneath his blanket now.

He’s watching her, face careful.

She starts, “I should–”

“Stay,” he says, more sincerely than she expects. It has her halting in place, considering his offer. He tacks on, “Please.”

Of all things, she didn’t expect to hear her six-five, overly cocky neighbor beg. It’s a touch endearing. Maybe she likes the sight of him like this, cast in the light from his ceiling. Fingers clutched around his navy comforter from nerves. It’s…cute, which isn’t a word she ever thought she’d use to describe Cassian.

The corner of her mouth lifts, decision made. “You’re making me breakfast to go with the muffins in the morning.”

“Mhmm.” He wraps a hand around her wrist to pull her back into bed, face nuzzling into her neck. “Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

He’s warm, surprisingly so, and even though it’s the end of summer, she can’t say that she minds it. Something melts in her heart, and she thinks that she might be able to get used to this.

Tag List:

@unlikelypersonalknight1 @c-e-d-dreamer @theteaqueendom @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @xxvalkyriesxx @wishcamper @podemechamardek @moodymelanist @burningsnowleopard @scarlettrose80 @underneath-the-sidras @allchaosallthetime @jmoonjones @bobanna81 @shortandcrass @presskmewleroux @theemfingbleachgotmic @misswonderflower @pham-tastical @lavendergoomsltd @cozycanon @marrass @vern0268 @acourtofbatboydreams @superflurry @anon1227 @twilighttether

What originally began as an azris sketch inspired by BMTH's Die4U- completely switched tracks to our autumn brothers having a moment 👀🍂

Tag list! Lmk if you want on or off babes💋