#yeah he's only been here for a few days BUT STILL

[bsturnzmtts]

Off limits p. 1 - Matt Sturniolo

Pairing: older sisters bf!Matt x innocent!reader

Summary: You’ve always had a small crush on your sister’s boyfriend. But you never acted on it, not until this summer, after you found out some things that changed everything.

Warnings: long plot?, cheating (I don’t condone cheating this is all fiction), teasing, age gap (Matt is 22 reader 18), virgin!reader, oral, lowkey mean!sister, kissing, first orgasm, fingering, pet names, almost caught.

A/n: idk why this took to long sorryy, I hope you guys like it! There will be a part 2! Maybe a bit more spicy…

Word count: 4209

You’ve always had a small crush on Matt Sturniolo. Not in a serious way, just one of those quiet, innocent feelings you keep to yourself. He’s your sister’s boyfriend, after all. Off limits. But still, he’s the only one who’s ever really paid attention to you. He remembers the little things, asks how your day is going, actually listens. Your sister barely does any of that. She’s distant, cold, always annoyed, with you, with him, with everything. So yeah, maybe deep down, you wished Matt was yours.

You’re heading to the cabin early just you, your sister, and Matt. Your parents won’t be arriving for a few more days, so it’ll just be the three of you for a while. It’s supposed to be a relaxing start to summer, until you find out something you weren’t supposed to.

A few nights before the trip, you overheard your sister on the phone where she mentioned she cheated on Matt. She doesn’t know you heard. And Matt still has no clue. Since then, you haven’t been able to act the same around Matt. Everything feels different and confusing.

Later

The cabin is quiet, the only sounds coming from the chirping birds outside and the gentle rustling of leaves. You're sitting on the porch swing, watching Matt carry in the last of the bags from the car. He looks up and catches your eye, giving you a warm smile that makes your heart flutter.

Matt walks over to you, and sets down the bags. "Hey," he says softly, sitting down next to you on the swing. "You okay? You've been quiet since we got here." He nudges your shoulder gently with his own.

Your sister walks out onto the porch just then, overhearing Matt's question to you. She rolls her eyes and interrupts before you can answer. "She's fine, she's always quiet, Matt. Get used to it."

Matt looks between you and your sister, a faint frown on his face. He seems a bit taken aback by her dismissive tone.

“Yeah… yeah I’m fine, just a bit car sick.” You try to brush it off, not wanting to cause any tension. “I’ll go set up my room” You stand up and leave.

You head inside, the cabin still smells like old wood and summer air. You walk down the short hallway to the room you always stay in.

You set your bag down on the bed and sink into the mattress, letting out a slow breath.

You’re not even sure why you lied. You’re not car sick. You just can’t look Matt in the eyes right now.

Not when you know what you know.

Not when he’s still smiling at your sister like she deserves him.

After a few hours, you get hungry and decide to head to the kitchen.

You open your door quietly, stepping into the hallway.

Just as you do, Matt walks out of the bathroom, fresh from the shower, hair damp, a towel slung low around his hips. You freeze mid-step.

He notices you and pauses, a little surprised. “Hey,” he says, a small smile on his face.

Matt's towel is wrapped around his waist, but beads of water are still dripping down his chest and abs. He runs a hand through his wet hair, leaving it slightly messy.

Your heart races as you take in the sight of him. The way the towel barely covers his hips, the muscles of his chest and arms on full display. You feel a warmth spread through your body, a feeling you've never experienced before. You swallow hard, trying to find your voice.

"Uh..." You stammer, your face turning red. You quickly avert your eyes, not wanting him to see the sudden flush on your cheeks or the way your heart is pounding in your chest. "I was just gonna get something to eat."

Matt chuckles softly, seeming to find your reaction adorable. "Help yourself," he says, continuing to walk down the hall towards the bedroom he shares with your sister.

As he walks away, you can't help but steal one last glance at his back and the way the towel hangs low on his hips. You let out a shaky breath and quickly make your way to the kitchen, your mind racing with thoughts you shouldn't be having about your sister's boyfriend.

You grab a soda from the fridge and some chips from the cabinet, trying to focus on anything other than the image of Matt half-naked. You sit down at the kitchen table, taking a big gulp of your soda. Suddenly, you hear some screaming from the bedroom.

The screaming is followed by loud arguing voices - your sister's high-pitched shrill and Matt's deep, frustrated tone. You tense up, recognizing the signs of another one of their fights. This has been happening more frequently lately.

You sit there for a few minutes, listening to the argument escalate. Suddenly, there's silence. And Matt comes out of the bedroom, now dressed, with a pillow in his hand and shuts the door behind.

He sees you sitting at the table and pauses briefly before walking over to the couch. He throws himself down on it, running his fingers through his hair in frustration.

"You okay?" You ask softly, genuinely concerned. The argument was loud and intense. Matt looks over at you, his expression tired and annoyed. "I'm fine," he snaps, but there's no real anger in his voice, just frustration. He lays back on the couch, staring at the ceiling.

You hesitate for a moment before getting up from your chair and walking over to him. ”You can have these.” You say softly as you leave the chips on the coffee table. “I’ll go get you a blanket”

Matt's expression softens slightly as you hand him the chips and offer to get him a blanket. "Thanks..." he murmurs, seemingly caught off guard by your kindness. He's touched by your thoughtful gesture, especially after the fight he just had with your sister. As you return with the blanket, he sits up and takes it from you, he lets out a heavy sigh. "You shouldn't hear all that shit," he adds quietly, as if realizing you probably caught most of their argument.

You shrug, trying to downplay it. "It's fine…I'm used to it," you admit quietly, looking down. "You two fight a lot lately." You bite your lip, debating whether to say more, but you decide not to. “Goodnight” you softly mumble as you head to your room.

Matt nods slowly, taking in your words. He knows their relationship has been strained, but he didn't realize it was that noticeable. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but then closes it again, seeming to think better of it. Instead, he just nods slightly. "Goodnight," he replies softly, watching as you head to your room.

The next morning, Matt is already awake and sitting at the kitchen table when you come downstairs. He's drinking coffee and scrolling on his phone, but he looks up as you enter. "Morning," he says, his voice a bit gruff from sleep but carrying a warmth that wasn't there yesterday.

You pour yourself a cup of coffee and sit down across from him, trying to act casual. "Morning," you reply softly, taking a sip. The tension from last night seems to have dissipated, but there's still an underlying awkwardness between you both. “Where’s my sister?”

"She left early," Matt answers briefly, running a hand through his messy hair. "Had some errands to run." He avoids your gaze, focusing on his phone instead. There's a pause before he adds, "She won't be back till late." Another silence falls between you two.

You nod, taking another sip of your coffee. The house feels oddly quiet without your sister around, and the tension with Matt is making the atmosphere even more uncomfortable. You set your mug down and fidget with the hem of your shirt, debating whether to say something to break the ice. "So..."

"Mm?" Matt lifts his head up to look at you, those deep blue eyes meeting yours.

"Nothing," you say quickly, feeling your cheeks heat up slightly at the sudden eye contact. You look away, feeling self-conscious. "I was just going to... ask something stupid."

Matt raises an eyebrow but smiles slightly, leaning back in his chair. "Ask something stupid then," he says teasingly, trying to lighten the mood. His expression is more relaxed than it has been since last night.

"Um... nevermind," you laugh softly, feeling embarrassed. You stand up suddenly, grabbing your coffee mug. "I'm gonna go..." You trail off, heading towards the living room before you can say something even stupider.

Matt watches you go, a small smile still playing on his lips. He shakes his head slightly, amused by your flustered reaction. After a moment, he gets up from the table and follows you into the living room. "You know what?" he says as he leans against the doorway.

You turn to face him, holding your coffee mug tightly. "Hmm?" you a, your voice slightly shaky. He looks handsome standing there in his worn-out t-shirt and sweatpants, his hair messy from sleep. You quickly avert your gaze, focusing on your mug instead.

"You get really shy all of a sudden," Matt remarks softly, observing your body language. He's starting to realize that you hardly maintain eye contact, like you're nervous around him. “And you’ve been acting a bit weird around me lately.”

"Have I?" you ask quietly, taking a small sip of your coffee to avoid answering immediately.

"Yeah..." Matt observes your facial expressions carefully. He's starting to wonder if he imagined the fact that you used to laugh and joke around with him easily. Now you barely look at him or talk to him much. "Did I... do something to make you act like this?"

You shake your head quickly, feeling your heart pounding in your chest. "No," you say softly. "You didn't do anything wrong." You finally look up at him briefly before glancing away again.

Matt notices your quick glance and the slight blush on your cheeks. He's starting to piece things together but wants to hear it from you directly. "Then why are you acting like this?" he asks gently, taking a step closer. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

You bite your lip, feeling your heart race as he steps closer. You can feel the heat radiating off of his body. You don’t know if you should snitch on your sister and tell him the truth, or just stay quiet about her cheating.

"Listen..." gentle but carrying a hint of frustration. "If it’s about your sister cheating on me… i already know.”

You freeze slightly, then relax. "So..." you say carefully, testing the waters. "You know?" You try to keep your voice steady, like you're not curious about whether he's heartbroken or not.

"Yeah," Matt confirms briefly, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He watches your reaction carefully. "I’m not blind or dumb you know.” He lets out a small chuckle.

"Does she… know you know?" You ask softly, your curiosity getting the better of you. You set your coffee mug down on the side table, turning to face him fully. You can't help but notice how calm he seems about the whole thing.

"No, she doesn’t," Matt replies, his gaze lingering on your face. "I’ve been pretending like everything's normal between us. But to be honest... I'm tired of it. I'm tired of her lies and secrets. Plus she loves arguing with me about nothing literally, I’ll just let her be. I'm not gonna chase after her this time.”

You notice a hint of relief in his voice, and you can't help but feel a little lighter knowing he's not heartbroken over her. "I... didn’t know if I should’ve told you, I didn’t want to snitch on my sister. I’m sorry.”

Matt smiles slightly, finding your innocence cute. "You don't need to apologize," he says gently. “I know you knew about it too,” Matt says suddenly, catching you off guard “I saw how you were acting around me lately… like something was bothering you.”

"You could tell?" You ask softly, feeling a bit embarrassed that he noticed your unusual behavior.

"Yeah," he says with a small smile, taking another step closer to you. "You've been avoiding eye contact, hardly talking to me... pretty obvious actually." His eyes meet yours intensely, holding your gaze just a little longer than usual. "I mean, we always had a good relationship."

"Yeah," you agree quietly, your heart beating a bit faster as he steps closer.

Matt's smile widens slightly as he sees your reaction. He decides to take another step forward, closing the gap between you two. "You know..." he continues softly, his voice carrying a tone that makes you feel slightly nervous and flustered. “We could make our relationship even better… while she’s out.” He says, looking at your lips briefly before meeting your eyes again.

"But..." you stammer slightly, feeling your face flush. His closeness is making it hard to think straight. "You..." you try to form a coherent sentence but your voice comes out quieter than intended. "You’re my sister's boyfriend…”

"I know…" he murmurs softly, his presence almost deliberately invading your personal space. His hand gently finds its way to lean against the wall behind you, effectively trapping you there gently but intentionally. "But she cheated on me." He adds with a hint of a teasing smirk, his eyes searching yours.

"Yeah… I know," you whisper softly, trying to keep your voice steady despite the butterflies in your stomach. Your eyes flicker down to his lips briefly before meeting his gaze again. "But..." you hesitate, feeling torn between guilt and desire. “You’re still my sister’s boyfriend…”

Matt's smirk grows wider, understanding your internal struggle. He leans in just a fraction closer, his breath mingling with yours. "Yet you still have a crush on me," he whispers, his lips almost brushing against your ear as he speaks.

You blush deeply, feeling heat spread across your cheeks. "I..." you try to deny it but the words catch in your throat. You look up into his eyes, seeing the desire mirrored there. "How do you know?," you a softly, your voice barely audible.

He pulls back slightly to look into your eyes directly, his hand coming up to gently cup your cheek. "Because I've seen the way you look at me," he says honestly, his thumb lightly brushing over your bottom lip. "The way you blush when I'm around..." He chuckles gently remembering how nervous you always get. “How flustered you got yesterday when you saw me walk out of the shower.”

Your face turns beet red at the memory of seeing Matt half naked, his muscular body dripping with water. You can't help but get more nervous as he continues to tease you, his thumb pressing softly against your lips. "You..." You swallow hard, his thumb still on your lip making it difficult to speak. "You can't... You can't just say stuff like that." Your voice comes out breathy and weak.

Matt laughs softly, finding your innocence adorable. "You always get like this” He muses, realizing how innocent you really are. "Have you…kissed before?”

You hesitate before shaking your head softly, your eyes flickering down to his lips briefly. "Never," you admit quietly, your voice barely audible. You swallow hard, feeling even more nervous now that he knows you have no experience.

Matt's heart races at your admission. He can't believe how innocent you are - no kisses, no boyfriends... He leans in slowly, giving you plenty of time to pull away if you want to. His lips brush against yours softly at first, testing the waters. “Fuck…” he whispers under his breath before pressing his lips gently against yours. It's a soft kiss, testing the waters while giving you plenty of opportunity to pull away if needed.

You freeze initially, shocked by the sudden kiss. Your eyes widen slightly before closing instinctively. You part your lips softly without even realizing it, giving him better access. Matt deepens the kiss gently, his hand moving from your cheek to the back of your neck to hold you closer.

The kiss is gentle and exploratory, unlike anything you've ever experienced. Your heart races in your chest as you feel his lips move against yours, his tongue tracing your bottom lip softly. You whimper softly, unsure of what to do but unable to pull away.

Matt takes your whimper as encouragement and slips his tongue into your mouth, gently exploring. He kisses you deeply, passionately, pouring all his pent-up desire and frustration into it. His hand moves from your neck to the back of your head, holding you in place as he kisses you breathless.

Matt breaks the kiss, breathing heavily as he stares at you with heated eyes. A smirk plays on his lips as he sees your flushed face and parted lips.

“Did you like that?” Matt asks, his voice low and huy. He leans in close, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks. "I know I did." His hand moves to your waist, pulling you closer to him.

You're too stunned to speak, your mind reeling from the intense kiss. All you can manage is a soft, breathy "Mm-hmm" as Matt's hand on your waist sends shivers down your spine.

Matt smiles softly at your response, finding it cute how innocent you are. He tests another question, "Do you want to learn more things?” His voice drops lower.His thumb brushes your hipbone, making you squirm slightly.

You bite your lip nervously, unsure if you should ask but too curious to stop now. "More... things?" you repeat softly, your cheeks flushing an even deeper shade of red. Your eyes flick down to his lips briefly before meeting his gaze again. "Like... what?"

Matt's smirk deepens, enjoying your innocence and curiosity. "You'll see," he says softly, his voice laced with promise. He takes your hand gently and leads you towards the bed. His movements are slow and deliberate, giving you plenty of time to change your mind if you want to.

Matt gently pushes you back onto the bed, following you down so that you're lying underneath him. He props himself up on his elbows, caging you in between his arms. "Open your mouth." He says, his voice low and huy.

You hesitate for a moment, unsure of what he wants to do. But the curiosity and excitement in your chest wins out over your nerves. You open your mouth slightly, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes.

Matt swallows hard, finding your obedience incredibly sexy. He lowers his face to yours and slips his tongue into your open mouth again, this time kissing you deeper and more intensely. His hand moves to your thigh, slowly hiking up your skirt as he kisses you.

As Matt kisses you deeply, his fingers trail up your inner thigh, getting closer to the hem of your underwear. You whimper softly into the kiss, one of your hands gripping his shirt tightly stopped his hand.

Matt freezes, his tongue still exploring your mouth. He pulls back slightly to look at you, watching as you unconsciously tighten your thighs together. "Trust me, I’ll make you feel good." His voice drops lower, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your thigh where your hand stopped him.

"But..." you whimper softly, biting your lip as your legs press together tighter. "It's just..." You bite your lip again, hesitating. "No one's ever touched me there before." You admit softly, your cheeks burning red.

"Shhh..." he hushes you softly, his other hand gently stroking your hair. "I just wanna make you feel good" he whispers against your lips. His thumb traces the edge of your underwear, making you shiver.

He kisses you deeply again to distract you as his fingers slowly slip underneath your underwear. You gasp into his mouth as he touches you there for the first time, his fingers gentle and exploratory. He breaks the kiss to whisper,"Shh, just relax..." His fingers start to move slowly over your clit.

You let out a soft whimper as his fingers start to move, your back arching slightly off the bed. It feels strange at first, but also really good. You bite your lip to stifle a moan as he continues to touch you, your legs falling open unconsciously.

Matt watches you carefully, seeing your innocent reactions. He adds more pressure to your clit, his fingers moving in slow circles. He swallows hard watching how responsive you are, completely untouched before. "Spread your legs wider for me," he whispers huskily against your neck, placing soft kisses there.

You spread your legs wider as he asks, feeling shy but also wanting more. He slips a finger inside you slowly, watching your face closely. You're so tight and wet for him that he has to go slow. He kisses your neck again to calm you down.

"Fuck, you're so fucking tight." He whispers against your neck. He starts to move his finger slowly in and out of you, stretching you. You whimper softly, gripping the bedsheets. It feels weird having something inside you, but it also feels really good.

He adds a second finger, stretching you gently. You let out a soft cry into his shoulder as he kisses you deeply to muffle the sound. His fingers curl inside you, hitting a spot that makes your whole body jerk. "Shh shh shh..." he whispers against your lips, kissing you softly.

You clench around his fingers tightly, panting heavily as he continues to touch you in all the right spots. You wrap your arms around his neck, holding him close as you bury your face in his chest to muffle your moans. "M-Matt..." you whimper his name, "It feels so...weird, but good..." You bite your lip, your face flushed.

Matt smiles softly at your words, pleased by your innocent reactions. He continues to move his fingers inside you slowly while rubbing your clit with his thumb. "I know baby," he whispers, kissing your forehead gently. "Let me make it feel really good..." He picks up speed slightly.

Without warning, he starts moving down your body, placing kisses along your stomach. You blush deeply, trying to close your legs but he gently keeps them open. He looks up at you with hooded eyes. "Just trust me, okay..." He slowly starts taking off your skirt and panties.

He throws your clothes aside and spreads your legs wider, settling between them. He looks at your innocent pussy, completely bare and untouched. He swallows hard before diving down and pressing his mouth against you. You let out a loud gasp as he starts licking and sucking on your clit gently.

His tongue moves expertly over your clit, his hands spreading your legs wider to give him better access. He keeps his movements gentle and slow, knowing you're a virgin. You start squirming underneath him, your hands gripping his hair as you whimper and moan softly.

You pant heavily, your voice trembling with pleasure. "M-Matt...what...what are you doing...it feels so...good..." You arch your hips up slightly towards his mouth trying to get more pressure from him.

He looks up at you briefly, his eyes dark with desire. "Just enjoying you..." He says before going back down to lick your pussy more eagerly now that he knows you're loving it. He slips two fingers inside you again while continuing to suck on your clit.

"Oh my god..." you gasp out, your body tensing as his fingers move in and out while his tongue works its magic on your sensitive clit. "It's...it's too much..." Your legs shake slightly, and you can feel yourself getting closer to something you've never experienced before.

He feels you getting closer and starts moving his fingers faster, curling them inside you to hit that spot that makes your eyes roll back. He sucks hard on your clit, wanting to make you come undone. "That's it baby, let go for me..." he murmurs against your pussy.

Suddenly, you break apart. Your back arches off the bed and you let out a loud moan that turns into a series of whimpers as you come for the first time. Matt keeps his face buried between your legs, lapping up your release gently as your body shakes with pleasure.

He kisses his way back up your body once you've stopped shaking. He looks down at you with soft eyes filled with love and desire. "Did that feel good baby?" He asks, kissing your neck gently.

You’re about to answer as you hear the front door opening.

"Matt?" Your sister's voice calls out from the front door. You both freeze, your eyes wide with shock and panic. Matt quickly pulls up your skirt to cover you, but you can still feel the wetness between your legs and the lingering sensitivity.

Matt quickly kisses your forehead and jumps off the bed, and helps you get up "Go hop in the shower real quick, okay?" He says quietly, giving you a soft smile to calm you down. "I'll deal with her."

Taglist pt 1:

@blahbel668 @bernardsbendystraws @sturnzsblog @deffonotjae @suyqa

@mattsturniololover1 @mattsturniolosgf @annsx03 @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @strnzzvsp

@mattsfavbitchhh @yourenogoodforme-blog @mattshighway @lauren-222 @slvtformatts

@megamorgan44 @xaristhings @ariestrxsh @sucretwin @tisiablack

@nelxoxo14 @miasturn1ol0 @mattssslutbby @sophsturns @sturnberrys

@sturniololover69 @wakeupitschrizz @jessie-essie @freshlov3 @sturniolofreakk

@lydi2718 @chrisstvrns @le4hsblog @pip4444chris @chris-hallelujah

@esioleren @namelesssav @ilovemenwithlonghairr @ribread03 @valkatriee

@sturniolofreakk @izzylovesmatt @lolastrniolo @pip4444chris @idrk2292

@strnilolover @2prcntmilkluvr @chrissbows @chrissweetheart @strvnolin

[catherinnn]

Sharp Tongue

Eddie Munson x Fem!reader

summary: Eddie gets his tongue newly pierced and it becomes your weakness.

warnings: SMUT (+18), oral (f & m), overstimulation, piercings and descriptions of the healing process, afab! reader.

words: around 4k

masterlist

The group is at Steve's. Pizzas are already on the way and the beer is chilling in the fridge. The only thing missing was Eddie. Well, not actually missing. He probably took too long in the shower or stayed listening to his favorite album on repeat and the time flew.

He arrives an hour late, everyone scoffing at him.

"Alright, alright. I have no excuse. But I do have a little surprise" he smiles.

"What is it?" Jonathan asks. Eddie simply sticks his tongue out, showing the little metal bar on his tongue. "What?!"

"Holy shit! Is that real?" Steve looks at his tongue surprisingly.

"Of course it is, Harrington" Eddie smirks. "I got it last week. Hurt like a bitch but it looks sick, right?"

"That’s so cool, let me see it again!" Robin agrees. Eddie sticks his tongue out again.

You don't say anything. You stay frozen, just looking at it amazed.

Eddie wiggles his tongue a little before wincing. "Still sore, no unnecessary movements"

"How are you not in pain?" Nancy asks him.

"I mean, I was. The first few days sucked. Living off of soup and mashed potatoes. But now It's not swollen anymore. I can't eat anything that's not soft, and I can't kiss anyone" he explains. "Not like there's a line of girls waiting to kiss me anyway"

"But since when did you want a tongue piercing?" Nancy asks.

"I mean, why not? Looks metal. Plus, it's supposed to be really fun... in some scenarios"

"You mean... like-"

He interrupts her, with a smirk and a wink. "Exactly what you're thinking, Wheeler"

You almost choke on your drink at that image. The idea of what that piercing could do and how it would feel against-

Robin is so kind to interrupt these thought out of your head, as she sees your flushed cheeks and lost stare.

"You've been suspiciously quiet. Everything okay?"

"Huh? yeah, fine" you shrug.

"What's your verdict, princess. Am I pulling this off or does it look weird?" Eddie asks you.

"I think you're pulling it off" you nod.

He smirks. "Good to know"

"Pizzas are here! and uhh... mashed potatoes for Eddie, I guess" Steve interrupts.

As the pizzas disappear, more cans of beer are opened. You're curled in the corner of the couch, finishing your cup, feeling the blush on your cheeks from the alcohol.

Eddie's sitting next to you. Long legs stretched out and he's leaning back against the couch. And his tongue?

You can clearly see the little metal ball peaking out of his pink lips as he absentmindedly plays with it.

"Eddie, stop that. You weren’t supposed to play with it yet" you tell him.

"Didn't realize I had an audience" he chuckles.

"You don't" you playfully roll your eyes, lying.

Robin and Steve are bickering about something you didn't pay attention to. Nancy and Jonathan having their own quiet conversation.

Eddie nudged your ankle with his. "You okay?"

"Yeah, just tipsy" you smile. "How's your mouth? Swollen?"

"Nah, not anymore. The first few days were torture though. I sounded like I had some dental surgery, real charming"

"Did it hurt more or less than a tattoo?" you ask.

"It's a different kind of pain. A tattoo is like... this dragging burn. The piercing was just one sharp stitch, quick and kinda shocking" he answers your questions. "I'm surprised you're this curious. You usually avoid anything involving blood or needles"

"I dunno. This doesn't look too bad"

"Oh great, thanks" he laughs. "Anything else you wanna know?"

If he only knew everything else you want to know. Like how the contrast with the coldness of the metal and the warmness of his tongue would feel against your skin. How would it feel to kiss him? To play with your tongue against his and feel the little ball making everything even hotter.

You've always wondered how it would be to kiss someone with that piercing... and you've always wondered how it would be to kiss Eddie. Ever since you met him.

But now, the thought of killing two birds with one stone, solving both of your questions, was making you dizzier than the alcohol itself.

“You keep looking at me like that” he murmurs, barely audible.

“Like what?”

“Like you want to know something” he tilts his head, a crooked grin forming.

You should lie, laugh it off. Should say it’s the alcohol, the fact that he’s loud and hard to ignore. But you don't.

Instead, you take another sip and lean in a little, the alcohol giving you the courage and guts.

“I guess I’ve always wondered…” you say softly. “what it would be like”

His expression shifts, eyes darkening, his grin faltering at the edges. “What what would be like?”

“Kissing someone with a tongue piercing”

There it is. No flirtation, no sarcasm. Just truth. Eddie doesn’t say anything. He just stares, his fingers tightening around his bottle.

You continue, a little bolder now. “People say it makes everything feel more intense. Maybe the metal adds pressure” Your gaze drops to his mouth. “Makes everything feel even better”

Eddie swallows hard, forgets how to breathe.

Now they're both imagining, picturing, letting your minds run wild. Every place that piercing could go. The heat of his mouth dragging over skin, the pressure of metal.

You're painting a picture, making him your muse. And he's ready to frame it and hang it on his wall.

“You really think about that stuff?” his voice is hoarse.

“Sometimes" you shrug, smirking. “I’m just curious”

“Curious” he repeats, like it’s the most obscene word he’s ever heard. "You know I can't kiss anyone yet"

"No, I know" You lean back against the couch. “I’m just saying, it’s a really interesting piercing”

Eddie clenches his jaw.

"One week” he mutters.

"Until what?”

“Until I can"

You didn't want to overthink what Eddie had said. You were both drinking. Tipsy, flirty. But you've been friends for a while now, there's no way he was really going to throw all that out the window for a hot night together... as hot as that night would be.

By Thursday of the following week, you were going to The Hideout with the group. Eddie was playing with his band and you always came to see him every once in a while.

Once the show is over and the music inside the bar shifts to its usual rock playlist, Eddie comes back down to greet everyone. His cheeks are pink, voice still hoarse from his singing.

You can feel him before you see him. He sits next to you at the tiny table that was definitely meant for less than six people to sit on. So of course his leg is constantly touching yours. Your shoulders brush everytime you lean to grab your drink.

Eddie melts casually into the conversation, like usual. But he still hasn't said a word directly to you since he sat down.

You reach to grab some chips from the table and you bump his arm.

"Sorry" you whisper.

He finally looks at you, grin on. "You keep saying that everytime we touch"

"Maybe we should stop sitting too close" you grin too.

"Maybe I like it" he adds. Then, his hand goes down rest on your thigh. Your heart skips a beat. "You remember everything from last week?"

"I remember a lot of things" you say.

"Oh, yeah?" he hums.

"I remember you were drunk"

"So were you"

"Exactly"

"So you think I didn't mean any of it?"

"I think you wouldn't throw away our friendship just because we drank too much and sat too close"

"Is that was it was to you? A mistake?"

"I didn't say that" you correct him, but your moment of tension is cut off by Steve, not even realizing what he was doing.

"So, Munson, how's the tongue?"

"God, don't phrase it like that" Robin cringes.

"Oh, my tongue? Wouldn't you wanna know, Harrington?" Eddie grins wide and leans back, and arm going behind his head to scratch his head. He doesn't know it (or maybe he actually does) but his shirt lifts up, letting you get a peak of his happy trail. Good God.

Steve rolls his eyes. "The piercing, idiot"

"It's all healed up. No infection. I even checked with my piercer and he gave me the green light"

"Can you eat properly now?" Robin asks him.

"Yup, I've been having pizza for two days straight now. I've missed it so much"

The silver ball appears from between his lips, rolling from one corner to the other. He's playing with it, obviously. Constantly. Like a nervous tic... or maybe a provocation.

"I mean... technically, now I could kiss anyone at this bar if I wanted" he adds. "And even more than kissing"

"Jesus, alright. We get the picture" Nancy groans.

And just like that, your mind is already spiriling again, taking you to a corner in your brain where Eddie's mouth is not talking, teasing, and joking around. It's exploring, tasting, pressing, flicking.

You clear your throat and look away, pretending to focus on anything else.

"Alright, I'm going out for a smoke" Eddie stands up and grabs his cigarettes. He looks up for a second and calls your name. "Could you be a doll and join me outside? You know, so I'm not all alone and defenseless out there"

You hesitate. Something tells you to avoid this. But then again, part of you has been waiting for this moment.

"Back in a sec" you murmur to the rest as you stand up as well.

Outside, Eddie leans back against the brick wall and lights his cigarette.

"Defenseless, really?" you ask.

"I mean, I can't afford a bodyguard yet, so you'll have to do" he jokes.

You roll your eyes. But the joke doesn't last. Eddie takes another drag and exhales, his eyes not leaving your face.

"I meant what I said the other night" he admits. "I only told you that being drunk because sober me's a coward"

"You're not a coward"

"The filter just dropped there, that's all" he pauses. "I haven't stopped thinking about you. About that night and how you looked at me. And you're pretending it didn't mean anything"

"I'm not pretending, I'm trying to protect what we have"

"I know, but what if we miss the chance of something real?" He walks closer to you. "I'm not gonna kiss you. Not because I don't want to. I do. God, I do."

"Then why not?"

"Because I want you to believe me first"

You stay looking at him, thinking. Eddie takes a step back, like the conversation is over, and takes another hit.

He's about to talk but you beat him to it.

"Eddie"

He turns, quiet. And you walk over to him without thinking too much about it.

"I haven't stopped thinking about that night either" you admit. "I keep picturing it. You playing with that stupid piercing like you're doing right now"

He hadn't realized he was. His tongue stops, subconsciously.

"I imagine what it would feel like," you whisper, stepping closer. "against my lips"

"Jesus" he sighs.

"Against my skin. I wonder what it would be like to kiss it. To play with it. with my tongue" you keeps whispering.

He calls your name like a warning.

"What? You wanted honesty"

"This is not fair"

"I know what I want. And I wanted to be sure you wanted it too"

"I do, so badly"

"You said you could kiss anyone you wanted tonight, right?"

"Yeah" he says, jaw tense.

"Then why don't we stop playing around it... and finally see what it feels like?"

It takes him less than a second. He doesn't hesitates and he moves.

Hands on you and he kisses you like he's been waiting months to do it. It's rough at first, urgent. Like he's afraid if he doesn't kiss you now, he'll never get the chance again.

Your back hits the wall softly as you melt into him. Arms around his neck. And it's everything you imagined.

The metal feels a bit cold at first, in contrast with his hot, soft and slow tongue. He deepens the kiss, flicking the piercing slightly against your bottom lip.

A sound escapes your throat at that.

"Well?" he smirks.

"It's... better than I imagined"

"Did you imagine a lot, sweetheart?" he smirks as he hugs you.

You don’t rush back in.

Not when Eddie has you pressed against the brick wall like it’s the only place in the world he wants to be. Not when he’s still kissing you like he can’t quite believe this is real.

Every flick of that piercing, teasing the corner of your mouth, your tongue, dipping down to your jaw.

Eddie pulls back just a little, lips dragging to your cheek, then lower, to the curve of your jaw, then your neck.

And then he mutters against your skin, voice rough and low: “If you want we can keep testing how this thing works later” He pulls back to look at you. “I mean, purely scientific purposes; research, discovery"

“You’re ridiculous” you whisper, chucking.

He kisses you again. Slower and softer.

Then, he pulls away and smooths his hand down your arm. “C’mon, let’s go back before they start missing us”

You walk back in trying to act casual... you failed.

You hadn't notice that your hair was noticeably more tangled, lipstick no longer present. Instead, the tinted red was now on Eddie's lips and the corners of his mouth. His hair a mess...  even more than usual.

And they all notice. Everyone.

Steve spots you first. “No. No way.” He slams his hand on the table. “You two?”

“Oh my God" Robin laughs looking at Eddie's face.

“Do we all need to go outside for a smoke break now?” Jonathan acts scared, jokingly.

Eddie just shrugs and slides back into his seat like nothing happened.

“I mean...” he starts with a grin. “I told you I could kiss anyone I wanted tonight"

You sit down without a word.

“I told you I was defenseless,” Eddie adds, “she just took full advantage”

You roll your eyes.

"So? Does the piercing work?" Robin jokes.

"Oh, it works" you smirk.

The parking lot feels cold. The group spills out of the bar, putting on jackets and still laughing about some dumb joke.

Nancy and Jonathan get to her car, ready to go back home.

Steve grabs his keys and walks up to his car. "Alright ladies, I promised I'd get you two home" he refers to you and Robin.

You dig in your purse for your keys when you hear: "Or..."

You turn to the metalhead behind you, standing by his van.

"You could ride with me" he offers.

"Mmh, pros and cons?" you ask.

"You already know what I'm offering" he gives you a cocky smirk. "I told you we could keep testing things"

"Oh" Robin's eyes shot up.

"Sorry Steve, thanks for the offer though" you walk towards the van with a playful smile.

"Don't worry, Stevie" Eddie smirks, openening the passenger door for you. "I'll make sure she gets home... eventually"

Steve rolls his eyes and sighs, getting on his car.

As Eddie drives out of the parking lot, your friends yell: "Wrap it up, Munson!; Use protection!"

Once you arrive at Eddie's place, the door clicks shut behind you. The trailer is quiet. Eddie tosses his keys on the counter and turns to look at you.

He's like a wolf with its prey. His innocent and pretty lamb just waiting for him to devour her. His eyes raking over you. The silver ball still peaking out in between his lips while he stares at you.

"You look nervous" he murmurs, stepping closer.

"I'm not"

He smirks at that. "You're gorgeous, you know?"

"Just come here and kiss me" you chuckle.

That's all it takes, his hand finds your hair and his mouth is on yours before you know it.

You start making out. That metal ball right where you wanted it, agaisnt your own tongue, making you chase the feeling of it.

His hands sliding down your waist, gripping your hips like he means to leave marks.

He walks you backwards, step by step, never breaking the kiss. Until you hit the edge of his bed and drop onto it.

He just stares at you for a moment.

“Wanna keep going?” he asks, raspy voice. And you nod. “That’s not a yes”

“Yes" you whisper.

He's on you again in a second, kissing you harder, with his hands all over you.

Then, his mouth moves south to your neck. Open-mouthed kisses to make sure you feel the metal.

You can't really register when exactly your shoes came off. If it was before or after your shirt was tugged over your head. Everything blurs around the way Eddie's hands grip you, or his mouth moves lower and lower on your throat, chest, stomach. Until it reaches your thighs.

He looks up at you with those botton eyes and you're not sure if he knows the effect they have on you. His hair brushes over your skin as he settles in between your legs, and the sight of him there —eager, ruined already.

His mouth is everywhere, slow at first, like he wants to savor your reactions —every twitch, every gasp, every whispered 'Eddie' that slips out. And that piercing is not just decoration.

It gets impossibly hot pressed against you in the best places. He flicks it, then drags it slow just to hear you.

You fist on those poor cushions. He grins against you, tongue insistent, fingers gripping your hips to keep you still.

Round one hits like a storm. Your thighs already trembling on his shoulders, his name repeated on your lips as you cum.

But he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even give you time to think.

Round two is worse (or better). He's slower now. "You taste like fucking candy, sweetheart" he mutters, voice wrecked and low, sending you vibrations.

He uses his tongue flat, the piercing catching right on your clit, flicking it every two seconds. You're twitching, begging, already falling apart again.

When you finish for the second time, your mind is blank, eyes glassy.

He nips at the inside of thigh, mutters things against your skin you can't even hear.

And you think he’ll stop now.

He doesn’t.

By round three, you're gasping his name loudly. You're so sentisive that you could just start crying.

And he's not even close to done.

“Still with me, baby?” he murmurs, mouth hovering just above you. “You got one more?”

You nod, enthusiastic.

And he dives in again —addicted.

By the end, you're not sure if you're moaning or sobbing, maybe both. Your hips held tight in his hands while he licks through the waves of your orgasm.

And when he finally pulls back, he's got your slick down to his chin and all over his cheeks, that metal glinting in the low light, his hair wild, and a dangerous look in his eyes.

“Jesus, that was the best” he whispers, licking his lips.

You just reach for him and pull him up to another kiss.

Eddie goes to lie half on top of you, his arms around your waist, hair sticking to his cheeks, and his cheeks are flustered.

He could only describe you as a beatiful mess beneath him, bare and flustered, still catching her breath.

"I could use a cigarette now" he smirks and looks in his nightstand. Your gaze drops to the very obvious state of his jeans.

Tight. Painfully so.

The outline of him is already big.

You reach down and lightly brush your fingers over the bulge. He practically jumps.

He warns, calling your name.

You only tilt your head, voice teasing. "You really thought we were over?"

He groans, hiding his face in your neck. “I'm happy with what we did already”

"Yeah?" you grin, push him back a little, trailing your hand down his chest, toying with the hem of his shirt. “Well… but look at you”

He exhales, jaw clenching. “Don’t do that unless you mean it"

“Oh, I mean it,” you whisper, palming him over the denim now, watching the way his hips twitch towards you. “You’ve been walking around all night with that piercing like you invented sex. Thought we were done?"

He laughs, breathless, then moans as you unbutton his pants slowly, dragging the zipper down. He’s twitching, hard and thick, and so big.

And when you get your mouth on him, he moans louder.

"Fuck, sweetheart-"

You work him over with your tongue, taking your time, teasing, savoring. You want to make a mess out of him too.

Your tongue curls on his pink head, while you stroke the base.

And when you look up at him, mouth slick, eyes gleaming? Eddie loses it.

Groaning, head back, fingers fisting the sheets and your hair with the other hand. He whispers a string of curses and sweet nothings that make you want to ruin him.

"You're so good, baby. You're gonna make me cum, ruin that cute little face and make it mine"

He pushes you down slowly, further, so you're taking all of him.

"That’s a good girl, take all of it. God"

And when he finally comes, thighs trembling, moaning your name, you can only smile, licking your lips, and murmur:

“Now we’re even"

Eddie blinks, dazed. Then laughs, low and panting.

"So did you like the piercing?" he gives you a big smile when you go and lay next to him.

"Like is an understatement" you chuckle.

"Oh yeah?" he grabs your cheeks and gives you a quick kiss.

"Yeah, I might have a few other ideas we could try out"

"Oh, I like the sound of that," he gives you another kiss, "I have some ideas of my own too"

"Then we better get to it, big boy"

"We most definitely will, pretty girl"

[uhuhmaries]

Hi! Could you write a one-shot where Harry is in his current era and in a low-key relationship with Y/N, who’s much younger than him? She’s sweet, gentle, very feminine and obedient. They’ve been together for less than a year and are spending the summer in Italy — he’s on a break from touring and she’s off from university.

Harry is protective, affectionate, and noticeably possessive in a quiet, controlled way. He takes care of every detail of the trip, loves guiding her, and makes it very clear — without needing to say much — that he’s the one in control of the relationship. And Y/N doesn’t just accept that, she craves it.

While in Italy, Harry decides to introduce her to a few of his closest friends, which makes her place in his life even more obvious.

It turned out a little more detailed than I planned, sorry for that hahaha. I just really love your writing and would love it if you’d consider creating something in this vibe 🩷

OOOOOH ITS SO GOOD LET ME COOKKKKK HERES MY BRIEF TAKE ON IT

La Sua Ragazza | H.S. Blurb

The morning sun breaks lazily across the Amalfi Coast, honey-dipped and slow, warming the white cotton sheets tangled at your ankles. You hear him before you see him—ceramic clinks, a soft grunt as the moka pot sputters its final breath, and then the sound of his bare feet against the tiles.

Your eyes flutter open just as he steps back into the bedroom, shirtless, tanned skin glowing, curls damp from the quick rinse he always takes before breakfast. He’s holding two espresso cups, and his rings glint in the light. He eyes you with a smirk that never quite leaves him, even when he’s quiet.

“Finally,” Harry murmurs, setting the cups down on the table by the window. “Was wondering if I’d have to wake you with my mouth again.”

You flush, sit up slowly, stretching. “You wouldn’t dare.”

He walks over, bends to kiss your temple. “Would, actually. But thought I’d give you the chance to open those pretty eyes first.”

You’ve been in Italy for two weeks now—a long, languid escape from London, from paparazzi, from lectures and library deadlines. It’s the longest uninterrupted stretch of time you’ve had together since you met, and Harry’s been savoring it quietly but intensely. Not with chaos or desperation, but with a steady, insatiable hunger. You feel it every time he grips your thigh beneath the table, every time he opens your car door like it’s second nature, every time he gently corrects your Italian for the fifth time that day only to kiss you hard for trying.

He’s usually dated someone his age or older, but this time… somehow, it’s you. The age difference is unmistakable—he was already in elementary school when you were just learning to crawl. Not so wide it feels impossible, but enough to remind you both that you come from very different worlds.

“You didn’t have to make breakfast,” you say, taking the espresso cup from his hand, fingers brushing.

“I didn’t,” he says, sipping his. “Had Lorenzo drop off some fruit and focaccia.”

Right. Lorenzo, the chef-slash-friend Harry seems to know in every city. You still don’t know how his web of connections works, but he always handles everything: food, transport, villas. Your job is just to show up, look pretty, and let him lead.

And God, do you let him.

You didn’t used to. Not with anyone. Even when you were soft-spoken and gentle, there was always a little wall up— something that said I can take care of myself, thanks. But Harry doesn’t fight that. He just makes you forget you ever needed the wall.

Today, he has plans. You can tell by the crisp linen shirt he slips on, the way he’s already got sunglasses hooked into the collar.

“We’re going to the marina later,” he says. “And I want you in something light. Something white.”

You nod, swallowing a sip of espresso. “Who are we seeing?”

He glances over, smile tucked into the corner of his mouth. “Some mates. Keep it simple, yeah?”

You know what that means. Let him lead. Let him introduce you how he wants. Let his hand rest on your waist a little firmer than necessary when they ask who you are.

By early afternoon, you’re perched on the deck of a sleek, low yacht, surrounded by slow laughter and clinking wine glasses. The water is impossibly blue. You’re wearing a white linen sundress Harry picked out in Positano, and you feel it every time he looks at you— the approval.

He’s sitting beside you, hand draped casually over your thigh. Always touching. Never far. Every so often, his thumb strokes over your skin, quiet and grounding.

“Y/N, this is Mitch,” he says, nodding to a man across from you, beard thick and hair tucked into a cap. “And his wife, Elle. We go back years.”

You smile politely, fingers curling in your lap.

“How long have you two been together?” Elle asks warmly, tipping her sunglasses down.

Harry answers before you can.

“Nearly a year,” he says. “Still figuring out if she can put up with me.”

You turn toward him, about to make a playful retort, but he gives you that look. The one that says don’t get cheeky, darling, without saying a word. So instead, you blush and take another sip of wine, letting the group laugh.

He doesn’t always say much, but the message is clear. You’re his. You’re not here to impress them. You’re here because he wanted you here. Because he wants them to see how gentle you are, how quietly you fall in line. How much you trust him, even if it’s still new. Even if sometimes you hesitate.

But the truth is, you like that he takes the reins. You like how everything feels less overwhelming when you let him think for you. Plan for you. Speak for you. He makes you feel like it’s not just okay to let go— it’s expected.

And the way he looks at you when you do? It’s addictive.

Later, when the boat docks and everyone’s slipping into their cars, Harry opens your door and kisses your forehead. “You did well.”

Your heart jumps at the praise.

You drive in silence for a few minutes before he reaches over and places a hand on the back of your neck, thumb brushing your hairline. His voice drops.

“Know you don’t always like letting people in. But I like having them see you with me. Like showing you off.”

You blink out the window, heat blooming in your chest.

“I didn’t mind,” you whisper. “It’s just new.”

He hums. “You’re getting better at letting me take control.”

You bite your lip. “I didn’t mean to.”

He laughs softly, turns to look at you at a stoplight. “Doesn’t matter. You always do. And you like it.”

You don’t say anything. You don’t have to.

Because when he parks at the villa, you’re already moving around the car to his side before he can call you over. Already taking his hand when he offers it. Already looking up at him like he owns you.

And Harry? He always takes what’s his.

Even when you’re only just starting to understand how much you want to give.

La sua ragazza — his girl. Always.

⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹

GOD IM IN MY FEELINGS BC OF THIS I CANNOTTTTT I MISS HIM SO MUCH

[girl-celestial]

What about some angsty post-break up, lingering feelings stuff between Arthur and reader? Maybe they get back together, but who knows!

Just a Handkerchief

Reader Requested ♡ — thank youu so much for sending this. i really enjoyed writing it for you! it means a lot that you took the time to share your idea with me, and i hope yearning arthur is all you wished for!!!!!!

ARTHUR MORGAN X READER, angst and heartbreak. yearning and desire. arthur’s desperate lol. fixing of relationship? sorta. 700+ words

YOU hadn’t even realized Arthur was back.

He’d been gone only a few weeks, sent off on one of Dutch’s jobs. Not so long you could forget him, but long enough to notice the space he left behind.

No one had said a word when he rode in, and maybe that was because he didn’t seek you out. Why would he? You weren’t together anymore.

So you kept yourself busy at camp, quietly tending to small tasks and avoiding the ache of waiting. Pretending you didn’t care.

Later that night, when the fire had dimmed and most had turned in, you found yourself near the horses, breathing in the cool night air.

And there he was—sitting on a log, rolling a cigarette slowly, his silhouette framed by the moonlight.

He didn’t look up as you approached, didn’t move. Just sat there, still and quiet.

“You’re back,” you said softly, folding your hands in front of you, trying to steady your voice.

His eyes met yours then, tired but steady. “Yeah. Dutch sent me out quick after Rhodes.”

You nodded, swallowing the flutter in your chest. “You didn’t have to take that job.”

He shrugged gently. “Not much choice in that.”

“No,” you whispered. “You never do.”

The silence between you stretched, heavy and fragile. Your fingers twined nervously.

“You alright?” he asked quietly.

“Still here,” you replied, offering a small, sad smile.

Arthur shifted, glancing down at his hands. “I brought you something.”

Curious, you raised your brow. “Why?”

From his saddlebag, he pulled a handkerchief—white, edged with delicate blue stitching.

“Saw it and thought of you.”

You took it with trembling fingers, your skin brushing his. His hand was warm against yours.

“You didn’t write,” you murmured, eyes downcast.

“I thought you didn’t want me to.” He paused for a moment and his jaw tightened, “I thought I was doin’ right by you.”

“Yeah,” you said softly, a hint of bitterness in your tone.

He stood slowly, hesitating, but not stepping closer.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he said. “Figured lettin’ go was kinder.”

“Kinder than what? Staying? Trying?”

His eyes dropped away.

“I thought about you every day,” he said, voice rough with honesty. “Even when it tore me up.”

You swallowed hard, your heart fluttering despite yourself.

Then, before you could think, he stepped closer.

You should have moved back. But you didn’t.

He was near enough now to see the lines beneath his eyes, to feel the weight he carried. His gaze flickered to your lips, then back.

“You look real pretty tonight,” he said quietly, rough around the edges.

You said nothing.

His hands found your waist, pulling you close with a sudden urgency. You gasped softly, your hands resting lightly on his chest, but he didn’t let go.

His breath brushed your neck, warm and uneven.

“I shouldn’t…” he muttered, voice thick, before his lips pressed to the side of your throat—slow, firm, tracing your pulse with a hunger that made your knees weak.

Not gentle. Not soft. Like a man wrestling with himself to hold back but losing.

You shivered, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. His stubble scratched tender skin.

“I shouldn’t be doin’ this,” he murmured again, voice trembling with need. “But I can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout you… what you smell like… how you taste…”

His kisses traveled lower, teeth grazing, hands tightening at your waist, pulling you flush against him. His desperation was raw, unfiltered, like he was making up for every night apart.

Your body softened instinctively, leaning into him, hands clutching his back like you never wanted to let go.

His lips moved from your neck to your jaw, the heat of him burning through every wall you’d built.

You didn’t stop him.

Because you missed him just as much.

Tonight, neither of you had the strength to fight it anymore.

[homiesexuallaj]

Sweetheart, who’s this?

Pairing: Mafia! Bucky Barnes x reader

Genre/Warnings: fluff (overall), attempts at a slow morning, your ex (yuCK), kinda proofread

Summary: You get a text from someone that you thought had previously blocked you…

A/N: My ex hit me up the week before valentine’s day and the only thing I’ve been thinking about is what if Bucky was there when it happened :) Also there’s a college!bucky version <3

———

It’s Friday, and you and Bucky decided to just have a nice, slow morning to start off your day.

Bucky, ever the early bird, had woken up just when the sun was about to rise. He had decided to stay in bed with you though, curling and pressing his self against your back with an arm hugging you close. He may or may not have fallen back asleep like this because the next thing he knew was that the early morning sun was drifting in through the curtains of the bedroom and painting a golden path across your face.

When Bucky did decide to get up, he adjusted the blankets and comforter over your body and set his pillow against your back to keep the feeling of him still there. He gave your temple a lingering kiss before stepping into the shower to officially get up for the day. Afterwards, he had gotten started on breakfast for the both of you. He was content in taking his time, knowing that either he’d have to go in and wake you up or the smell of his blueberry pancakes would pull from you from the bed.

Which they did, because here you were dragging your hands under Bucky’s t-shirt and wrapping your arms around his torso. You rested your cheek between his shoulder blades and gave him a mixture of a hum and a grunt in response to his good morning greeting. You stood there for a few moments, living in Bucky’s warmth and the smell of pancakes and his body wash. You only pulled away when Bucky spoke.

“Why don’t you go sit down, sweetheart?” Bucky suggested over his shoulder. “Go get comfy on the couch. I’ll be done in a few.”

“Hmm.. okay,” You agreed after a few short moments.

After being pulled in by Bucky for quick kiss to the lips and another to the cheek, you wandered over to the couch in the living room and sat down. You didn’t turn the tv on, not yet, content on listening to the cooking of food and as Bucky mumbled to himself. You pulled your legs up to yourself and crossed you arms over your chest, laying your head back against the back cushions of the couch as you waited patiently for Bucky.

Just as Bucky began to dish up some blueberry pancakes and bacon, with syrup of course, for you both, you heard one of your phones go off in the kitchen. You could hear Bucky’s movements abruptly stop as he went to check it out.

Bucky and you preferred to keep your phones in the kitchen, away from the bedroom, as you two slept. He’d always said that bedroom time was you and him time, work could always wait for the morning. If they needed him so badly, then they would just have to figure things out. But showing up at Bucky’s doorstep was absolutely not an option, no need to bring you into the mix. You were Bucky’s peace away from work and he needed to keep it that way.

“Sweetheart?” Bucky called out.

“Yeah?” You responded, turning around slightly when you heard Bucky’s hesitant tone.

You could see Bucky standing at the kitchen island that was partially connected to the wall at one end. In his hand was your phone, still connected to the charger. He looked down at the device with furrowed brows before meeting your gaze with a curious one of his own.

“Who’s this ‘Dill’ person?” Bucky asked, looking down at the phone once more before back up at you.

“‘Dill’?” You asked for confirmation, beginning to wrack your brain for anyone you know that has that name.

“Well, it’s a text, but it came through as an email,” Bucky explained, his tone apprehensive as he spoke.

Oh weird.

Then a light bulb flickered on in your head. You desperately hoped it wasn’t the case, but you wouldn’t be too surprised either.

“It could be my ex,” You suggested, hoping it wasn’t.

“Well, what does he want?” Bucky asked like he didn’t have your phone in his hand. He seemed almost offended that your ex would text you so early in the morning, at Eight AM, and you don’t blame him.

“You have my phone, what does it say?” You ask in return, gesturing for Bucky to look back down at the phone and instead of at you.

“It just says ‘hey’,” Bucky told you, still confused at the situation.

You hummed, thinking for a second. Then,

“Well, go ahead and ask who it is, then come over here and eat with me cause I’m hungry,” You pat the back of the couch, offering Bucky to try and continue your try at a slow morning.

“Alright,” Bucky shrugs, obviously not worried if you’re not worried either.

With a quick few taps to your screen, Bucky shut the phone off and set it back down. Then, he was picking back up the plates of still-hot breakfast before making his way to join you on the couch. He handed you your plate once he settled down beside you and turned the tv on to have some background noise going as you two ate.

You gave Bucky a squeeze on his forearm and a reassuring kiss to his cheek before you dug into your homemade breakfast. You practically moaned at the taste of the blueberry pancakes doused in syrup, wanting a cocky brow raised your way.

“Careful, sweetheart,”Bucky teased after he swallowed a bite of food. “I promised a slow morning.”

“I can do slow,” You teased back, giving him a sly smile before you took another bite of pancake.

“After this week I had, I don’t think I can,” Bucky admitted with a low tone to his voice.

You only rolled your eyes and gave a gentle scoff, knocking knees with him as you two continued to eat.

Sometime between you finishing your plate and Bucky halfway through his food, since he always got more than you, your phone had dinged again in the kitchen. You made no move to get it, instead you set your now empty plate on the coffee table and settle back into the couch as a little food coma threatens to overtake you. You catch Bucky almost anxiously glancing back behind you two, so you set a soothing hand on his thigh and rub the area with your thumb to help calm his blatant nerves.

You can see the tension leave Bucky’s shoulders and watch as he turns his head to give you an easy smile. You smile back, giving him a reassuring expression.

When Bucky finishes eating and takes a sip of his orange juice, you pull him in by the scruff of his neck and press a strong kiss to his lips that taste of orange. You pull away after a few moments, giving Bucky a smile still and cupping his scruffy cheek.

“Don’t worry about it, Buck,” You try to reassure him. And it’s apparent that you could read Bucky like a book when you continue, “There’s nothing for you to worry about. You saw my phone. I’m all yours, big boy.”

Despite being the biggest crime boss in this side of the bay, Bucky still had his doubts of being worthy of you. He had always doubted that he was even allowed in the same room as you, much less breath the same air. You were this ethereal goddess in his eyes. Despite Bucky’s intimidating power, you had him wrapped around your dainty pinkie like a lovesick puppy, even after all this time.

Bucky sighed, nodding and kissing you again before taking your plates away to the kitchen to be deposited of in the dishwasher neatly.

You settle down into the couch, but perk right back up as you hear Bucky let out a scoff of a laugh from somewhere behind you. And it almost scares you half to death when Bucky hands you your phone to read whatever he apparently read.

The text thread between your ex and you, technically Bucky, is open. On the screen is a little pity text from your ex in response to your earlier question that reads something along the lines of “I can’t believe you deleted my number. I still kept your number after we stopped talking.”

You can’t decide whether to roll your eyes or gag at the obvious attention-seeking. And you almost want to respond, “That’s what you get for cheating on me, jackass,” but you don’t. Instead, you look up at Bucky, who hovers by the armrest of the chair you rest again, with an amused expression.

“Can you believe this guy?” You ask, appalled.

“Absolutely not,” Bucky scoffs.

Almost as if he’s relieved by your reaction, Bucky finally comes to settle down in his previous spot beside you on the couch. He leans into you to look at your phone screen, and you hold your phone in your lap so Bucky can look. He’s ever so noisy, but you supposed he has the definite right to be in this moment.

After debating what to say for a few moments, you decide on a simple “okay” as a response. And almost too soon is your ex texting back that he had a present for you.

You quirk an eyebrow and meet Bucky’s gaze as you side eye him. You’re amused by the attention seeking, but curious at this supposed “gift”. So, you ask what it is.

“You better no-“ Bucky starts.

You interrupt him, “I’m not going to meet up with him to get whatever this ‘gift’ is, I’m smarter than that, Bucky.” You met Bucky’s stern gaze with one of your own before you relax. “Plus, I have you to spoil me to your heart’s content.”

Bucky loved to spoil you, he certainly had the money to do so. No matter how many times you protested or tried to say you could save up your own money, a gift or something similar was always on your doorstep or waiting for you in Bucky’s home. He had always tried to get you to quit your little job and move in with him too, reasoning that his place was plenty big for the two of you and he had more than enough money to sustain you both.

You always protested, feeling guilty every time Bucky bought you something expensive or when he suggested that he could take care of you. You didn’t want him to spend on his money on you, or spend his limited free time taking care of you. But somedays, some battles will just have to be lost.

With your reassurance, Bucky calms right back down. He looks back at your phone with another text from your ex comes through.

‘It’s a christmas/birthday present for you. I’ve actually had it for awhile,’ The text reads.

“And he’s telling you this now?” Bucky speaks your own thoughts out loud.

“That’s exactly what I was thinking,” You agree with Bucky. “What a weirdo..”

You respond back to the text, telling your ex he can keep the gift and do whatever to it. The response you get is “Alright cool 😎” and quickly followed with “How’s that guy treating you?”

An instant scoff escapes your mouth, and you gape at the audacity of this boy texting you.

You’re not oblivious to the way that, despite blocking you for the first few moments after you and your ex’s breakup, he had unblocked you and then had taken to refollowing you on twitter and stalking your instagram. While, you weren’t one to care about social media drama, you were a bit appalled at the fact that you ex couldn’t leave you out of his life.

You don’t have the chance to reply to the text yourself before Bucky is snatching your phone from your fingers and typing back his own response.

‘I am treating her great, actually. Compared to what I’ve heard about you.’

You gasp as Bucky sends it, “Bucky!”

Bucky holds up a finger in front of your face, “We are being civil, not nice.”

You can’t argue with that, so after a moment of thinking you shrug, “That’s actually pretty fair.”

“Exactly,” And with a bop on your nose, Bucky’s attention is back on your phone vibrates on his hand.

‘That’s great’ The text from your ex reads.

‘Yeah’ Is all Bucky responds before clicking on the contact name to block and delete your ex’s email that came through the messages app on your phone.

“Wait!” You stop him before Bucky can delete the convo. You snatch your phone back for a moment.

With a few quick clicks, you screenshot the texts of your ex and you/Bucky before you’re deleting the messages yourself.

“Entertainment for the ladies later,” You explain, handing your phone back.

“Ah,” Bucky nods, understanding as he takes your phone back. He stands, brushing your hair away from your forehead before leaning down to kiss your cheek. “I’ll be right back. Gotta make a phone call. What’s your ex’s name again?”

You pick up on the implication of Bucky’s words and give a gentle roll of your eyes. Without complaint or hesitation, you give Bucky you ex’s full name before he saunters off towards the kitchen. You settle back down into the couch, focusing on whatever is on the tv as you wait for Bucky to come back into the living room and join you.

Bucky isn’t gone long, practically prancing back to you and joining you on the couch with a proud smile on his face. Bucky leans back in the opposite armrest from you, patting his chest in invitation.

You take it, crawling across the couch to settle down against Bucky’s chest and between his legs. You wrap an arm around Bucky’s back as you lay half against his chest and half on your side, and you sink into the man more as he wraps both of his arms around you to hold you close.

“Well, aren’t you proud of yourself?” You tease, moving your head to look up at Bucky.

“Always, when it comes to you, sweetheart,” Bucky says a little too casually as he presses a smooch to your forehead. “Now, let’s lay here for a bit. I didn’t get to start my morning off as slow as I’d like.”

“Sorry,” You apologize almost out of habit.

“Don’t got nothing to be sorry for, sweet thing,” Bucky soothes you.

You nod, settling into Bucky’s body more.

You two lay there for the rest of the early morning, watching whatever there is to watch on the morning cable tv. One or both of you may have even dozed off until the later morning, but you’ll both deny it if the other one mention it.

[kooppss]

No Big Deal

Sexy Disasters With Feelings masterlist

You were doing so well pretending that night didn’t happen—until Jungkook showed up with a new piercing and a smug smile that ruined everything. Now you’re spiraling, trying to convince yourself this still doesn’t mean anything.

warnings: sex, cursing, mentions of drunk behavior.

word count: 4.2k

a/n: Okay so… it only took me two months (fuck. Is it really been this long?!) and five existential crises to finish this chapter. It’s chaotic, it’s horny—and I really hope you enjoy it. If you’re still here reading, thank you. I was honestly a little nervous about this one, so your likes, reblogs, and little comments mean the world to me. See you in the next chapter (hopefully sooner than two months..)

Now, I've thought it through Crawlin' back to you

You’ve been doing your best to avoid Jungkook for a couple of days now. 

Which is hard, considering you live together.

But after that night—after the stunt you pulled in your kitchen, and on the couch, and then again in his bed—you’ve spent the entire time you’ve been home hiding out in your room, alternating between dying of embarrassment and fantasizing about digging a hole and climbing inside it forever.

You told him you were sorry. Multiple times. 

He said it was fine. 

“You were cute.”

You want to die.

Eventually, once again, hunger wins the war against shame. The apartment is quiet. Maybe he went out. Maybe he’s—

And then you see him.

In the kitchen. Shirt loose. Hair is a little damp. And something glinting above his eye. You stop mid-step. What the hell. Your brain short-circuits. Is that—

“You pierced your face?”

Jungkook turns to face you fully slowly. His eyes flick to yours. For a second, he looks startled. And then he looks smug. 

“Not my face. Just the brow.”

Your brain probably stops functioning because you don’t feel like you have control over your mouth anymore. 

“Why?” you ask like it's a legitimate question. 

“Why not?” he asks with a smile and tilts his head.

It’s small, silver, subtle little dots above his right eye— why does it affect you so much? 

What are you? A crow? Attracted to shiny objects?

Weren’t you over your emo-boys phase in middle school? 

It shouldn’t be allowed. 

He shouldn’t be allowed.

You hate him.

You hate how unfairly hot he looks. You hate how much worse it makes everything. As if it wasn’t already humiliating enough to have tried to undress him with your teeth that night.

“You’re staring,” he says, voice low and smug.

“No, I’m not,” you lie, horribly, like someone caught mid-crime.

His smirk deepens.

“You sure? You’ve been looking at me like that since I turned around.”

“Like what?” you ask, annoyed. You fucking hate him. 

“Like you’re about to do something.”

You cross your arms. You try to look unimpressed. You are not even slightly successful.

“I just didn’t think you were the piercing type,” you mutter.

Jungkook steps closer.

Just a little.

“I didn’t think you were the piercing type,” he says with a pleased smirk. 

“You don’t know me,” you say like he offended you, even though you didn’t know you’re the piercing type. 

“And you obviously don’t know me,” he says, pleased. But there’s something gentle behind his words. A meaning he tries to deliver, and you miss catching. 

His eyes sparkle like he’s about to say something dangerous. Something you’ll think about later, in the dark, alone.

But all he does is reach past you to grab the peanut butter from the cabinet.

“You want toast?” he asks, completely unbothered.

You blink at him, caught in the whiplash of that voice and that stupid piercing and the way your stomach growls.

“Yeah,” you say as casually as possible. “Sure.”

You sit down waiting for your toast. You try not to look at him.

But you do.

Oh, no. 

You’re so fucked.

He brings you the toast a few minutes later, plate in one hand, mug of tea in the other. He doesn’t say anything as he sets them down in front of you. Just moves like it’s the most normal thing in the world, like you didn’t basically try to seduce him and fail a few nights ago. 

Like his eyebrow isn’t now a monumental event in your life. 

You eye the toast. “You put Nutella on it?”

He shrugs, sliding into the chair across from you. “You always want something sweet when you’re pissed. Figured it might help.”

“I’m not pissed,” You say, sounding pissed.

“Okay,” he says simply, “So what are you?”

“I-I’m–” 

You hate him.

“Urghhh, you’re so annoying!” 

He giggles like he finds your meltdown amusing. 

You chew your toast unnecessarily aggressively.

Neither of you says anything after that. You both just chew on your toast and sip from your tea.

The silence isn’t exactly uncomfortable, but it’s heavy. Something is sitting in the air between you—unspoken, obvious. Like both of you are waiting for someone to address this. 

Jungkook’s watching you.

You try to ignore it.

You fail.

“You didn’t have to take care of me that night,” you mutter eventually, eyes on your plate. “I was acting like a drunk, horny idiot.”

“I mean,” he says with a soft chuckle, “you were.”

You shoot him a glare. He holds up both hands in surrender, still grinning. “But I didn’t mind.”

You roll your eyes. “You minded a little.”

He tilts his head. “Only because I didn’t want you to regret it.”

You pause.

You don’t look up.

“I wouldn’t have,” you say quietly.

Jungkook goes still.

You feel it in the air more than you see it. 

You finally meet his eyes.

It’s subtle, but something shifts between you—like the conversation just took a step off a ledge, and now you’re both in danger.

He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. His voice is quieter now. The smugness is still there. 

“Then why’d you say it should be a one-time thing?”

You should have seen this one coming from miles away.

You should have known this is what he’s going to say. 

It’s not like it’s the first time he teases or challenges this statement.

He’ll use any chance you give him. 

“Because I meant it,” you say while chewing, trying to deliver nonchalant, but fail. 

“Meant?” he asks with raised brows. 

“Because I mean it,” you try to fix the mistake. 

He’s watching you again, but not smug this time. Soft. Curious. A little disbelieving of the bulshit you say. 

“You know I think about it too, right?” he says, like it’s obvious.

You scoff, taking another bite of toast. Trying to defuse whatever he’s doing. “Congrats to me. You think about the sex we had. That’s not exactly groundbreaking.”

He chuckles, unfazed. “Didn’t say it was.”

“I’m just saying,” you go on, eyes fixed on your plate, “We just did it one time, and that’s it. It was good. My drunk self tried to do it again. And that’s it, it doesn’t have to mean anything.  ”

“Doesn’t have to,” he repeats slowly. “But what if it does?”

You freeze for half a second. Then recover with a small shrug, like he said something about the weather.

“I mean…” You take a sip of tea. “You’re not exactly the ‘meaningful’ type.”

His eyebrows lift, amused. “Wow.”

You meet his eyes for a second, then look away. “I didn’t mean that in a bad way.”

He twists his lips. “You kind of did.” 

You sigh, setting your cup down. “I just meant… You’re you. You flirt with everyone. You’re hot and you know it, and I’m not stupid.”

Jungkook tilts his head, watching you a little too closely.

“So what, you thought that night was just about sex for me?” “I wasn’t just being nice the other night,” he adds. “When I said it was better if we didn’t–”

“Isn’t it always just about sex with you?” you say before he continues. 

“I liked being with you,” he says quietly. “It’s not like my whole purpose in life is to fuck you.”

It’s weird. The crude words with the gentle voice. You scoff, trying to brush it off.

“Sure.”

“I’m serious. You're nice, and fun, and funny.” He continues and smirks, “And I always like defeating you.”

“Shut up,” you try not to smile, and you toss the little crust from your toast at him. 

He smiles. 

“I didn’t want to have sex with you like that because I didn’t want to ruin this.”

You cock a brow, “To ruin what?” 

“This,” he gestures between the two of you.

“Us.” 

You blink at him. The word hangs in the air, too loud and too soft at the same time.

“Us?” you repeat, voice flat—like you’re not letting it land the way he wants to.

He nods once, slow. Sure.

You look away, start fidgeting with your mug. “There’s no us, Jungkook.”

He doesn’t react. Not visibly.

“I mean,” you continue, forcing a light tone, “we’re just roommates. Friends, maybe. Occasionally… disastrous.”

“Right,” he says, too casually. But there’s something tight in his voice now. Something he’s reining in.

So you stand up and gather your dishes. “Thanks for the toast.”

He doesn’t answer at first.

Then, as you’re rinsing the plate at the sink, he says, “You always do this.”

Your hands pause under the water.

“Do what?” you ask, careful.

“Try to run away when something is about to happen.”

There is roughness in his voice. Yet, he says it differently. He doesn’t sound hurt, or pained. It’s something else. Something raw and electric. 

Before you manage to process that you’ve heard this before– seen this mask, this persona– you hear the chair slide on the floor as Jungkook stands up.

He comes to stand behind you, almost touching, but not really. 

He lowers his head, lips ghosting your ear. You can feel his breath fanning on your cheek. 

“Do you really want to run away?”

You try to swallow the lump in your throat. 

You want to say something. But you can’t find words. 

Do you want to push him away? Or do you want to pull him closer?

You don’t know anymore.

And you can’t blame alcohol this time.

“I know this is all you think about from the moment you enter the room.”

You hate that he’s not wrong. 

“You’re not as hard to read as you’d like to think.”

He sounds so smug that it infuriates you. 

Yet, you don’t move, don’t deny. 

He reaches his hand past your waist and closes the faucet. You blink a few times. You didn’t even notice the water still running on your hands. 

He rests his hand on your waist, like it’s natural, like it belongs there. It’s warm and heavy. And it dizzies you. 

“Do you still mean it?” 

“W-what..?” You’re not sure if it’s really unclear or if it’s him obscuring your mind. 

“That we should be a one-time thing.” 

He says and lands a soft kiss behind your ear. 

“I-I-wh–” you mumble incoherently.

And the bastard chuckles, dark and low, “I see.” 

You should say something.

Anything.

But your mouth has forgotten how to form words.

His lips are still close. You can feel the echo of that kiss behind your ear.

His hand hasn’t moved from your waist. If anything, his grip tightens—just slightly. A silent question.

You don’t answer.

Not with words.

But without consciousness, your body reacts. Suddenly, your back pressed to his front. 

Was he pressing closer to you, or were you leaning back into him?

You don’t know.

And you’re not sure that you care at the moment. All you can feel is a fire and a need building to an almost unbearable height.

He hears your answer.  

You feel him exhale, slow. Controlled. And then he isn’t.

His free hand rises, fingers brushing your hair aside, exposing more of your neck.

He leans in again, slower this time.

His lips press to the skin just below your jaw. 

Then lower. 

Then lower again.

Each kiss burns.

Your breath hitches. 

You’re still frozen, your hands gripping the edge of the sink like it’s the only thing anchoring you from fainting.

Then his voice, low and right against your skin.

“Tell me to stop.”

But he knows you won’t.

You can’t.

Instead, your head tips just slightly to the side—an invitation you don’t want to speak out loud.

He pulls you back from the counter, turns you in his arms.

Your eyes meet, and everything in his is fire and restraint. Lust and fear. You don’t know what he’s scared of. You don’t want to know.

“This doesn’t have to mean anything,” he says, repeating your words back to you—but his tone makes it clear he knows they’re bullshit.

And maybe that’s why it makes your stomach flip.

You answer him by gripping the front of his shirt and pulling him down to kiss you.

This time, it’s different. It’s not tentative or fueled by alcohol. It’s sharp and sure and deep.

He groans into your mouth and walks you backward, toward his room, like he’s known this was coming. Like he’s been waiting for you to finally cave. 

Maybe you also knew.

“This time I’m doing this properly,” he murmurs between kisses. 

You don’t know what he means, but you’re about to find out. 

You pull back just slightly, enough to look at him, breathless. 

“You’re way too smug right now.”

He grins, cocky and infuriating, “What, can’t a guy be smug when he’s proven right?”

You blink at him, “Proven right?”

He leans closer, “Knew it wasn’t gonna be a one-time thing.”

You roll your eyes, “God, you’re such an asshole.”

He smiles wider, returning to kiss you as he says between your lips, “Maybe.”

You’re in his room, and he starts to pull your shirt over your head. The stupid smile is still on his face. 

“You’re enjoying this way too much.”

He hums against your jaw, and he trails down the side of your neck, “I told you. I knew you’d come around.”

You scoff, “I didn’t come around. I just—”

He gives a wet kiss behind your ear. One that sends a shiver down your spine, and he leans back. Eyes meeting yours, dark and lustful, but glinting with mischief. 

“You just what?” he asks with a smirk.

“You’re insufferable.”

He returns his lips to the skin of your neck, hands hot and certain on your waist as he leads you towards the bed.

You stumble back until the backs of your knees hit the mattress, and you sit, breath hitching, thighs slightly parted. He looks down at you with dark eyes and a crooked one-sided grin. Like he’s plotting something. Your demise, maybe.

He drops to his knees.

You blink at him, startled.

He smirks up at you.

His hands glide up your bare thighs, spreading them gently, and he leans forward, kissing the inside of your knee.

He kisses higher. 

And higher. 

Until your breath is ragged and your spine is arching and your fingers are gripping the sheets.

He looks up at you, more gentle this time. Less like a predator, and more like… like.. A lover boy? 

Your answer is a shaky exhale and a hand in his hair, tugging just enough to make him grin.

“Lean back for me,” he commands, but it’s soft and breathless.

And you obey, starting to lean back slowly. 

Before you fully lie on your back, he tugs your shirt, “Wait.” 

You help him pull the shirt over your head. He puts his palm flatly on your bare stomach, eyes big and unblinking, taking in your bare top. 

He pushes slightly, but you resist, “You too.” You say weakly, your mouth dry. 

“Gladly,” he smiles and pulls the shirt with one swift motion.

He returns his hand to your lower stomach, pushing you a bit. And you comply, lying on his bed, legs dangling over the edge. 

His hand goes to the waistband of your shorts, and he starts to pull them down with your panties, slow. Very slow.

Your breath hitches as the air hits your skin. Cool against the heat.

Jungkook’s eyes stay locked on yours for a beat too long as he slides the fabric down your legs. 

As if to say this isn’t just sex, and you know it.

He drops your clothes to the floor and runs his hands slowly up the insides of your thighs again, fingers dragging, teasing, warm. His palms settle at your hips.

You look at him, and he looks at where his hands are touching.

You catch the glimmer of his new piercing, and a shiver goes down your spine. 

He notices, and he lifts his eyes to see you looking at him before you avert your gaze. 

You expect him to say something stupid, something cocky and so very him. 

But he doesn’t. 

He dips his head, moving your right leg slightly above his shoulder. 

Oh, shit.

His mouth is on you, and his tongue is warm, slow. Like he has all the time in the world to savor this moment, and he plans to take every second of it.

Your hips jolt, and his hands tighten on your thighs, holding you steady, grounding you with a soft groan against your skin.

You’re already panting, gripping the sheets, breath breaking.

He doesn't say anything. Just keep going. Keep devouring, like you’re his favorite thing.

You moan louder when he flicks his tongue just right—when he sucks at the spot that’s already making your vision blur.

He pulls back for a split second, looking up at you with a wet mouth and hooded eyes.

And when he goes back in, he slides his hand as well.

He doesn’t go in yet, he just lets his fingers be there, linger at your entrance. Let them be coated with slick as he puts a little pressure, moving them gently around. 

He starts pushing them in, not all the way at first. He starts shallow and goes deeper with each few thrusts, like he’s testing, like he’s studying where he should stop. 

And he finds the spot easily. As if he already knows. 

He notices right away that he’s got it. 

And then he starts being serious. 

He puts work and intentions into his movements. 

Fuck.

You can barely breathe.

Every muscle in your body is on fire, straining toward him. Your hips buck again—helplessly—and Jungkook just hums against you, sounding entirely too satisfied with himself. 

Or just satisfied.

That piercing glint again as he glances up, catching your eyes with a mix of focus and cockiness.

"You good?" he asks with a raspy voice, lips brushing against your thigh.

You can only nod, frantic, barely able to form words. His fingers curl inside you again, and your mouth drops open in a silent cry.

He keeps going, steady and sure, unrelenting in the way he’s touching you like he already knows your body better than you do.

You’re unraveling. 

Fast.

And you hate him for it.

And you need him for it.

You reach for him blindly, fist curling in his hair, not sure what you’re trying to do.

But apparently, Jungkook knows what you need because his mouth is back on you.

Your head flops back onto the bed, breath stuttering. 

His name slips from your lips, quiet, broken.

He hears it. You know he does. Because his grip on your thigh tightens, his pace shifts, and suddenly it’s all too much.

Your hand is still tangled in his hair. You grip harder, pulling without direction. Your thighs start to shake.

“Fuck—K-kook,” you gasp. 

You don’t know if you want him to stop or never stop.

He keeps going, steady and relentless, fingers curling perfectly in time with his mouth, pushing you closer, deeper.

Your spine lifts off the mattress. Your breath catches.

And then you break.

It hits hard, like a snap. It rips through you in pulses, your thighs clamping around his head as you gasp his name again. 

Louder this time.

Your fingers dig into his hair and shoulder, and anything you can reach.

You’re vaguely aware of your own sounds, too raw, too real, but you’re too far gone to stop them.

He keeps going through it, holding you down with strong hands. He doesn’t stop until you're twitching, oversensitive.

When he finally pulls back, his face is flushed, his hair a mess, strands stick to his glistening forehead, his lips slick, and that piercing catches the light again.

He looks wrecked.

You are wrecked.

You cover your face with one arm, breath still jagged, skin buzzing.

You feel him laugh against your thigh, quiet, smug.

He moves back, dragging his palms down your legs before letting go completely. You hear the mattress creak as he sits beside you, his breathing just as uneven.

You’re still staring at the ceiling, still trying to remember how to exist inside your own body.

Your legs feel like jelly. Your face is burning.

You let your arm drop just enough to peek at him. He’s looking at you like he just won something.

Like he knew exactly how this would go.

He reaches out, gently brushes a strand of hair from your sweaty face.

“Lie down prettily for me, babe.”

Then he stands, shoving down his sweats and boxers in one motion.

With one stride, he’s at the nightstand, pulling a condom from the drawer.

He tears the foil open, but before slipping it on, he glances back over his shoulder.

“You good?” he asks with a sweet smile..

You blink, realize you’re staring. Frozen in place.  It snaps you out of it.

“Ye—” Your voice catches. You clear your throat. “Yeah.”

You shift across the bed, lying back properly now, and seconds later, he’s crawling over you.

You meet his eyes, and he dips his head for a kiss.

He guides himself in, and while your mouths are still connected, he pushes in slowly.

You groan against each other’s lips when he bottoms out, fully seated inside you.

He lifts his head, just enough to look down at you as he begins to move—slow, deep, steady.

And fuck, this feels good.

No—but like, too good.

You’re moaning. Gasping.

He just got in there. 

What is going on?

He picks up the pace slightly. Nothing wild, just a steady rhythm.

But nothing about you feels steady.

You grab at his shoulders, arms winding around him like you’re trying to stay grounded.

You pull him closer, bury your face in his neck. Trying—failing—to muffle the sounds coming out of you.

This can’t be real.

This shouldn’t be happening.

You’re close. Way too fast.

It hasn’t even been two minutes. You’re almost sure.

Fuck.

You bite his shoulder—hard—desperate to hold it in, to hold yourself together.

But it doesn’t work.

It crashes over you, sudden and sharp.

You’re shaking.

Your whole body pulses around him. You feel your walls clench around him, hard.

You can barely breathe.

This never happened to you.

Not like this.

Not this fast.

What kind of sorcery is he doing?

What kind of spell did he put on you? Put on that dick?

Jungkook doesn’t slow. That same rhythm carries on—only faltering for a second as he presses a single kiss to your shoulder.

He shifts, one hand braced beside your head, the other grabbing your thigh to tilt your hips.

He picks up the pace. Louder now.

His hands are everywhere. One moment, he grabs a boob, fingers closing around your nipple, then squeezing the flesh. Another moment, his hand on your jaw, pulling you into a kiss. Then he settles back on your thigh, giving himself a better position to go deeper. 

Your hands also wander. You feel the muscles of his back working under the hot sticky skin. You try to hold onto his biceps, but your fingers can barely wrap around half of it. You go to his thigh, sliding over to grope his ass. 

Everything about him feels good.

And it still feels too good, even through the sensitivity. Even through the aftershocks.

His movements turn sloppy. Thrusts losing rhythm. Both of you moaning like you’ve lost any shame.

Maybe there wasn’t much to begin with. 

And with a forceful final thrust, he buries himself deep. 

“F-fuck.”

You can feel him twitch inside of you, and you feel yourself pulse against him. 

With a loud grunt, he crushes back onto you. Sweaty, hot skin stuck to each other. 

He’s still jerking, his body still tense, and he breaths quickly. 

It takes both of you a few long minutes to calm down. 

He pulls himself out of you with a grunt, plopping by your side, making your body jump off the mattress a little. 

He’s rolling off the condom, tossing it towards–what you hope is– a trash can near his bed. 

He lies back with a sigh. 

And you can feel his gaze on you. 

You scowl. “Stop looking at me like that.”

You sneak a look at him. 

He smirks, unfazed. “Like what?”

You look back at the ceiling, “Like you’re so fucking proud of yourself.”

You feel him shrug, way too casual. 

“You seemed to like it.”

You sit up slightly, groaning, you look down at him, “I hate you.”

He grins wider, “I know.”

You pull the sheet up over your chest and flop back down, pretending like this was no big deal. 

Like it didn’t just wreck you from the inside out.

Like this was just sex.

Just really, really good sex.

And maybe it was.

Maybe that’s all it is.

You don’t look at him again.

But you feel his arm wrapping around you. 

Holding you in place.

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[harrywavycurly]

Soulmate Smells: A Harry Styles Soulmate AU 💕

Based on this post right here

CW: Obsessive and possessive Harry, intense feelings of attachment, smut, explicit dirty talk (Harry actually just talks a lot and can’t be bothered to filter himself okay?), lastly some light embarrassment and tiny moment of insecurity.

Tag List: @umadirectioner @styleswithaseaview @sunflower-tia @tulips4harry @gmikaelson @fangirl509east @howling-wolf97 @outofthisworl-d @namoreno @blckburd @triski73 @mema10 @angeldavis777 @maudie-duan

Word Count: 8K

A/N: You can all thank @likea-silhouette for this because they wanted more and said they’d never say no to smut so like…yeah enjoy Harry being obsessive but in a fluffy sweet and filthy way💕

Summary: A day at the farmer’s market has you leaving with way more than just some flowers and a few trinkets💕

You hum to yourself as you look at a few necklaces that are being displayed on a table in a booth located right in the middle of the farmer’s market you go to every Sunday. The man working the booth gives you a smile that you politely return before reaching for a small silver chain that has a flower pendant hanging on it, but when you go to look in the mirror and place the chain around your neck to get a look at where the pendant will hit your eyes catch something or more so someone in the reflection.

A man.

A handsome man.

You don’t know this man because surely you’d remember meeting a man with a face like his, a jawline that’s looks perfect for nibbling on while his lips look as if he’s been biting them all day but still soft enough that you imagine they’d feel like plush little pillows when pressed against yours. He has a grin on his face that would make you feel slightly uneasy at how big it is if he didn’t have a dimple popping out making him seem almost boyish and charming, his brown curly hair is a mixture of styled and messy that you can only assume is from him running his hands through it. But it’s his eyes that have your skin buzzing, they are so green and practically have hearts swirling around in them as they stare into yours and it has you deciding it might be time to head home for the day having bought a few little trinkets already.

You swallow down the sudden bundle of nerves you feel brewing in your tummy as you slowly place the necklace back down on the table offering the man working a warm smile before turning and heading further down the row of booths. As you walk past a booth selling flowers you can’t help but stop once you see the prettiest bouquet of red and pink roses, the main reason you even came to the market was for some new flowers for your kitchen so you bite the inside of your cheek before looking over your shoulder, letting out a small sigh of relief when you don’t see the green eyed man.

With the coast clear of creepy men you reach a hand down to grab them out of the white bucket filled with water but just then you see someone come and stand next to you out of the corner of your eye and soon a ring clad hand with a small faded cross tattoo between the index finger and the thumb beats you to them. A small gasp falls from your lips when they gently brush the tips of their fingers over yours in the process of grabbing the flowers making a tingling sensation run down your spine all the way to your toes.

“Do you like these?” A man with a British accent asks, the roses in his hand. When you look over you feel your eyes go wide and your heart begin to beat a mile a minute when the same pair of green eyes that you saw in the mirror are staring right at you.

“Uh yes they-they’re lovely.” You answer as you slowly back away from the man who only seems to be able to grin while looking at you, just nods quickly before turning and handing the bouquet to the woman working the booth. You take the opportunity to turn and walk towards the exit, not wanting to be visible by the time he’s done paying for his flowers.

“Wait!” You don’t look back as the same British accent is shouting for you, instead you take an abrupt right going past a few random booths on the aisle before making a left and then another immediate left, hoping that was enough to have the green eyed British man the run around as you reach the last row of booths near the exit.

“Thank go-”

“Jesus you walk fast.” You freeze as an out of breath but still very familiar British accent comes from behind you. “I have to-”

“Leave me alone. That’s what you have to do.” You tell him as you turn around so you can face him, and instead of the confused expression you were expecting he’s just grinning and running a hand through his hair as if he didn’t register the words that just came out of your mouth in as harsh of a tone you can manage while also trying not to panic.

“Actually I have to-well I guess I can start by just saying I love you.” You nearly choke on the air you take in to try to calm yourself down as the words fall so casually out of the man’s mouth. “Like proper madly in love with you. I just-I had to tell you before my heart exploded or something because that’s what it feels like right now-like I’m gonna explode if I don’t just tell you how much I love you. And I do you know? Love you. So much.” He goes on to explain as he reaches the hand with the small cross tattoo out towards you, the red and pink rose bouquet it in.

“I don’t know you.” You say slowly hoping maybe it’ll help the words sink in, but to your shock the man just lets out a chuckle as he gives the roses a small little shake making you stare at him as you quickly reach out and take them from him.

“I’m Harry.” He says warmly a smile still on his face as you give him your name in return, taking a step towards you that has you instantly backing up two steps wanting to keep some distance between the two of you. “You’re-you’re my soulmate.” You blink a few times trying to take in the words he just said and Harry takes full advantage of the moment and closes the gap between the two of you, grabbing your hand in both of his so he can bring it up to his lips to place kisses to your knuckles.

“Excuse me.” You watch a pout form on his face as you snatch your hand out of his grasp. “We are not soulmates that’s not-” your words get caught in your throat as Harry falls to his knees right in front of you, grabbing at your hand once again and bringing it up to his lips and then suddenly his nose is running up and down the inside of your wrist and you feel your whole body stiffen when you hear what you swear is the softest, faintest moan come from him as he takes a big inhale.

“Fuck you smell absolutely divine. Like-like oranges dipped in sugar that were left in the forest.” His words have the wheels in your brain turning, he lets out a small pathetic sounding whine when you once again free your hand from of his grasp. You shove the flowers into his face, his hands instantly coming up to grab them so you can dig around in your tote bag, your eyes narrowing when you find the small roller ball floating at the bottom of it. “Please don’t walk away again. I love you so much I can’t-I won’t survive if I have to watch you walk away from me again.” Harry’s voice is borderline begging as you grab the small roller ball from your bag so you can take a look at it.

“Okay just get up and,” you let out a sigh as you look around to see if anyone is paying that much attention to the fairly dramatic scene the two of you are causing in the middle of an aisle at a semi crowded farmer’s market. “Follow me.” You tell him making him let out a sigh of relief as he stands up, still holding your flowers and now supporting an even bigger grin on his face than when you first saw him.

“Okay. I’ll follow you anywhere.” You roll your eyes at how serious he sounds as you turn so you can lead him towards the exit, the roller ball securely held in your hand and you nearly let out a shriek when you feel Harry slide his hand over your lower back before sliding it into the back pocket of your jean shorts pulling you into his side.

“What the hell?” He stops walking making you do the same as he quirks a brow at you, his jaw tightening as he looks around the market, completely oblivious to the way you’re glaring at him.

“What’s wrong? Someone bothering you?” The way his voice goes deeper and has a rough edge to it has your heart doing a weird flip, he pulls you even closer to his side as his eyes continue to scan the crowd. You watch the way his eyes go darker and you have to shake off the oddly comforting feeling you get knowing this random man named Harry that you’ve known for five minutes looks as if he’s ready to murder anyone who dares to bother you.

“Yes. You.” You say annoyed making him look down at you as you roll your eyes and start walking again making him have no other choice but to do the same.

“I’m bothering you? I’m sorry.” His voice is full of regret as the two of you walk through the exit, you stop walking once the two of you reach the edge of the parking lot. “I don’t-god baby bothering you is the last thing I want to do. I’m sorry please forgive me. I’ll be better just tell me what you need from me and I’ll give it to you.” Harry tells you with nothing but pure emotion in his voice, his hand sliding out of your pocket and up to your hip as you turn so you’re now facing him.

“You’re fine I just-I need a moment okay? Do you mind giving me some space?” Harry’s face looks almost pained as he gives you a small nod before he takes a step backwards. “Uhm maybe a little more? Like five steps backwards?”

“But-but then I won’t be able to reach you?”

“Uh yeah-but you’ll still be able to see me.”

“That’s true.” The hand that’s holding the flowers falls down to his side as he lets out a sad sigh. “I’ll miss you.” You have to rub your lips together to hold off the small laugh that wants to bubble up from your chest as you watch Harry’s frown get deeper and deeper with every step he takes backing away from you. He lets out a sad sounding whine when his hand finally has to fall from your hip and land at his side as he takes the last few steps away from you.

“Perfect.” You tell him with a smile that he returns eagerly while giving you a little wave. With a little chuckle you look away from him and down at the bottle in your hand, your eyes squinting when you read the hand written label on it. “Soulmate smells? That’s an odd name.” You mumble to yourself as you try to think back to when you bought it an hour or so ago right when you entered the market. You close your eyes as the memory starts to replay in your mind.

“You like it?” You smile and nod at the man behind the small table of perfume oils. “That’s a special blend.” He tells you as you look at the small bottle, liking how it smells a little like fresh citrus but also a tiny bit sweet all blended with a slightly musky scent.

“It smells amazing.” He smiles and nods as he gently takes the bottle out of your hands, he gives you a look that has you nodding before he rubs a bit of it onto the inside of your wrist.

“It’s a soulmate smell so only you and whomever your soulmate is will be able to smell it the same way.” You just nods as you bring your wrist up to your nose to get a whiff of how it smells on your skin. “It might have them acting a bit-obsessive but that’s because it’s a potent blend but they’ll be fine after a few hours or so.” He explains with a laugh as you just grab the bottle from him and rub a few more dabs of it on your wrist.

“Careful not too much okay? If your soulmate is anywhere near here they’ll be very determined to prove their love to you.” He warns as you hand him your card so you can purchase the perfume from him.

“If they’re my soulmate I’ll feel the same though right?” You ask making the man just laugh and nod his head as he hands you back your card.

“Yes you’ll feel the same-eventually.”

“Holy shit.” You bring a hand up to your forehead as you start to understand why this green eyed British man named Harry is suddenly confessing his love to you, he really is your soulmate. “You’re my soulmate.” You mumble making Harry get a giant goofy looking grin on his face as he starts to walk back over to you.

“Isn’t it great?” He asks once he’s right in front of you. “I’m going to be so good to you baby-I promise.” And for some odd reason you believe him, so in a moment you can only describe as either a brief bout of insanity or genuine curiosity you reach your free hand out and grab his, interlocking your fingers with his.

“I guess this means we should get to know each other?” You question making Harry nod and before you can say anything he is turning and leading you towards a black Range Rover. “Uh where are-”

“My place.”

“Your place?” Harry just nods as he opens the passenger side door for you after placing your roses on top of his center console.

“Is that okay?” He asks in a worried tone as he helps you into the car, taking your tote bag from you after you slip the roller ball back into it. “God I’m already fucking this all up aren’t I? I’m sorry I swear-”

“No-no your place is fine.” You tell him deciding that maybe for right now it’s best he doesn’t know where you live just in case he turns out to be a special brand of crazy you don’t ever want to deal with again. Harry smiles and you feel your cheeks get hot as he leans over and places his lips to your cheek before gently placing your bag in your lap and closing the door. “This is going to be interesting.” You mumble to yourself as Harry rounds the front of the car and climbs into the driver’s seat.

“Pick whatever radio station you want sweetheart what’s mine is yours.” He says with a genuine smile as he picks up the roses and puts them on the seat in the back so he can reach over and place a hand on your thigh, as if it’s the most natural thing ever and he’s done it a thousand times. You look down at it and have to bite your bottom lip at how nice the weight and warmth of his hand feels on your skin.

“I love you.” His voice is soft and smooth as he gives your thigh a little squeeze before he pulls out of the parking lot. You place a hand over his and give it a small pat, your silent response since you’re not really sure what to say. He turns his head to look over at you, his bright eyes meeting yours briefly so he can flash you a dimpled grin before turning his attention back to the road as if he knows you’re not ready to say it back but you swear there’s a certain glint in his eyes that tells you he knows you’ll say it eventually, but the fact you’re sitting in his passenger seat is good enough for him right now.

It’s been an hour since you got the “welcome to your future house” tour from Harry and since then you’ve managed to learn quite a bit about him. One of the main things is that he’s in the music industry but that’s all the information he really gave you time to process before he practically dragged you onto his lap after plopping down on the couch and began telling you random facts about himself. Such as his birthday, favorite color which just so happens to be the exact same color of your eyes, where in England he grew up and how he talks to his mom everyday and has a sister he wishes he could spend more time with. In return you gave him the basic rundown on yourself, he quite enjoyed learning your job lets you work remotely because in his mind that means you’ll be able to work from his home, but you ignored that and continued to tell him things you thought he might want to know about you, but it turns out he wants to know everything.

One of the main things you’ve figured out about your soulmate is that he is extremely handsy and he will actually pout if you get too far away from him making it impossible for him to be touching you in some way. You think that maybe it’s just due to the odd reaction he’s having to the perfume you put on almost two hours ago but something deep inside of you thinks that this probably is just a Harry thing. You let out a sigh as you stand in front of the sink in the kitchen, you don’t know how you managed to pry Harry’s hands off you long enough to walk out of the living room but he didn’t seem to mind that much after you fed him the excuse of wanting to get a glass of water. He did mumble something about not taking too long due to how much he’ll miss you but you just ignored it and continued on your way down the hall until you came up on his very white and very clean kitchen.

“I have a soulmate.” You whisper to yourself as you grip the edge of the counter in front of the sink. “He’s a little-odd but he’s nice right? Yeah yeah he’s nice he just-he’s just drugged or like high off the smell thing so-so we can’t judge him too harshly right?” You begin pacing as you talk yourself through the weird mix of emotions you’re starting to feel about the green eyed man that’s currently lounging on his couch being your soulmate. “He’s cute so-that’s a bonus. He’s attentive and uhm he opens doors-that’s rare these days and he has soft hands which is nice because he likes to hold hands-and really any part of the body he can reach and uh-uhm he seems sweet and-”

“You think I’m cute?” Harry’s voice coming from behind you makes you jump but before you can turn around to face him he has his hands gripping your hips pulling you into him until your back is flush with his chest. “And attentive?” He asks as his lips brush against the side of your neck making you let out a soft gasp when you feel one of his hands slide under the hem of your t shirt, resting on the soft skin of your tummy right above the waistband of your shorts.

“Y-yes.” You stutter as Harry’s grip on your hip loosens just enough so he can turn you around allowing him to grin at you as he stares into your eyes.

“Are my hands really that soft?” You don’t hear any hints of him teasing or messing with you hidden in his voice as his hands gently cup the sides of your face. “I use a special rose oil lotion every night before bed.” He explains as the pads of his thumbs softly run over your cheekbones, you let out a quiet chuckle at how genuine he is as he continues to divulge random facts about himself to you.

“Oh that sounds nice.” He smiles as he takes a small step closer to you, completely crowding your space now as he tilts your head upwards just slightly.

“If I don’t kiss you now I-I think my heart is going to give out because your lips look like they taste like heaven and I just need to feel them on mine.” You barely get to bring your hands up to grab onto his worn out t shirt before his lips are crashing into yours, his hold on your face sliding down to the sides of your neck as he walks you backward until you’re pressed up against the door of his refrigerator.

His lips are soft as they move against yours in a kiss that has your heart hammering in your chest and your lungs burning as they beg for air but you don’t want to pull away, not yet because you’ve never felt anything that feels the way Harry’s mouth feels on yours. You pull away making a whine leave Harry as one of his hands travels down to your hip, you let out a small squeal when you feel him grab at your thigh and hike your leg over his hip allowing him to take half a step closer to you. You take a few deep breaths and try to gain some sense of composure but then Harry’s lips are on your jaw, kissing and nipping their way down the side of your neck.

“You drive me fucking crazy baby.” His words are muffled as he presses his lips to the spot below your ear. “So perfect.” He says before he places a kiss to the sensitive skin of your neck. You close your eyes and instinctively tilt your head letting his have more access making him smile against your skin. “So pretty.” His breath is warm against your neck as he drags his lips across your skin as they make their way back up to your jaw. “And all mine.”

Your eyes snap open at his choice of words but before you can even think of arguing his lips are back on yours in a hungry kiss. Harry’s tongue slides into your mouth and you just swallow down his moan as you let him lick into your mouth. It’s the kind of kiss that’s full of want and a deep need, the kind of kiss that leaves you panting as you try to catch your breath when he pulls away.

“Harry we-”

“Say it again.” His voice is low and rough as he rests his forehead against yours, a hand still holding onto the side of your neck, his thumb pressing gently at the spot just below your ear. You feel a moan work its way up from deep in your chest as Harry’s hand gives your neck a small squeeze. “Please baby say it again. Say my name again.”

“Harry.” He lets out a groan as his name rolls off your tongue, his hand on your thigh moving to grab one of yours that’s gripping onto his shirt.

“This is what you do to me.” You feel your face get hot as he places your hand over the very prominent bulge in his jeans. “Been ready to burst since the moment I saw you-god you just came out of nowhere and suddenly it was like no one else in the whole world existed besides you and you looked so fucking pretty and-and fuck I fell in love with you right then and there in the middle of that market.” His words are a bit jumbled as you watch him try to maintain some sense of control, but you can tell he’s close to losing the battle he’s fighting with himself because the hand that’s pressing yours against his crotch presses your hand down harder until you’re fully palming him over his jeans.

“You really think you love me?” Your question sets something off in Harry, his eyes turn dark as he pulls back just enough so he can look you right in the eyes with the most serious face you’ve ever seen him make.

“Think?” He questions as his hands cup the sides of your face as he lets out a laugh and shakes his head making you swallow thickly. “No baby I don’t think I love you.” His voice is husky as he leans in so his lips are only a breath away from yours. “I know I do.” And with that his lips are pressing against yours in a kiss that’s no longer hungry and desperate but now just full of passion and a deep emotion and you know it’s Harry’s attempt at trying to make you feel just how much he loves you with every swipe of his tongue against yours.

Without warning Harry grabs your other thigh and hikes it over his hip so he can get a firm grip of your ass making you wrap your arms around his neck for support. You let out a small shocked noise that makes Harry laugh as he backs up, adjusting his hold on you so he’s sure he won’t drop you as he walks you out of the kitchen and down the hallway to a bedroom all while placing quick little kisses to your lips. He smiles at you when he pulls away leaving you feeling breathless as he gently places you onto his bed, your legs hanging off the end as he stands between them so he can lean over you and place a sweet kiss to your forehead.

“Feel this?” You feel him grab yours hands and watch as his face softens as he places them on his chest, you feel the steady beating of his heart under your palms. “It beats for you-it’s yours just like everything else I have. It’s all for you because-because that’s how much I love you.” For the first time in your life you can’t think of anything to say, Harry’s eyes are locked on yours and you can not only hear the emotion in his voice but you can feel it in every word that comes out of his mouth. So when all you can do is nod, your way of trying to tell him you understand he gives you a grin in return and drops his hands from holding yours to his chest so he can once again lean over you.

“You get it now don’t you love?” He asks as he places a hand on either side of your head holding himself up. You bring your hands up to cup his face making him turn his head so he can place a kiss to the inside of your palm before his eyes find yours.

“Yes-I think I get it now.” Harry just playfully rolls his eyes as you pull his face down just a little so you can place a quick kiss to his lips.

“That’s not good enough for me baby.” His words have you feeling a mixture of nervousness and excitement as he stands up making your hands fall to your sides. “Need to show you how I feel about you.” He tells you as his hands reach for the waistband of your shorts. “Can I do that sweetheart? Show you how perfect we are for each other?” His eyes search yours for any signs of disapproval and when all you do is give him a small nod he begins to unbutton them so he can slide them down until they land on the floor next to his feet.

You watch it all happen as if in slow motion, his hands grab the hem of his t shirt, effortlessly pulling it over his head letting your eyes take in his toned stomach and the scattering of tattoos on his chest and he watches as they travel down to the bulge in his pants. He lets out a groan as you lick your top lip before sinking your teeth into your bottom one while bringing your eyes back up to his face, you watch a smile take over as he reaches down to undo his jeans, his eyes never leaving yours as he works them down to his ankles so he can kick them off. He hovers over you and leans down so his lips are right next to your ear as your hands rest on top of his shoulders.

“Can I see you baby? All of you? Need to get a better look at this body that was made for me.” His voice is laced with a deep rooted desire that has your heart racing and an aching feeling for more of him beginning to grow low in your tummy.

“Okay.” You mumble as your hands begin to slide down his chest, feeling every inch of his toned stomach. “Yes you-you can see all of me Harry.” A soft moan falls from him as his name leaves your mouth, his lips kiss the side of your neck before he stands up making your hands fall to his hips. He watches in awe as you sit up a bit so you can take your shirt off followed by your bra that you just toss to the floor, you feel your cheeks get hot as his eyes take in the new parts of your body that you’re allowing him to see. Without looking at him you reach down to the waistband of your panties and lift your hips so you can start to take them off, Harry’s hands quickly taking over to help you slide them down your legs. You hear his breathing turn more rapid and in a moment of bravery you chance a look at him and you feel your whole body light up when his eyes slowly travel up from your exposed center to the curves of your breasts before finally landing on your face.

“Fuck you’re-you’re so beyond beautiful there’s not even a word to describe just how stunning you are.” You try to bring your hands up to cover your face so he can’t see how embarrassed you are under his intense gaze but Harry isn’t having it. “Don’t hide from me baby I’ve gone long enough without seeing your face.” His hands are gently gripping your wrists so he can move your hands, placing them down at your sides. He gives you a warm smile as he leans over and places a sweet kiss to your lips.

“I gotta be honest with you sweetheart if I don’t come soon I’ll be borderline worthless the moment I feel that pretty pussy wrapped around me and-and I can’t have the first time we fuck or make love-or whatever you want to call it only last a few minutes.” You have to bite back a small laugh as Harry shamelessly admits how truly riled up he is and how close he is to coming undone.

“Do you need me to-”

“I don’t need you to do anything besides enjoy yourself okay?” You just nod and give him a silly smile as he makes quick work of sliding his boxers down, a groan leaving his mouth as he wraps a hand around his hard shaft and gives himself a few slow pumps. “I’m gonna make a mess all over you.” He says with a moan as he holds himself up with one hand so he’s leaning over you. “But don’t worry baby I’ll clean you up real good when I’m done.” His voice is deeper and rougher and you instinctively spread your legs a little wider letting him settle between them as he begins to give himself quicker more determined pumps with his fist.

Your eyes can’t help themselves as they travel down his body until they reach his long thick cock he has his hand tightly wrapped around. The sight making the dull ache in your lower tummy turn more intense as you try to imagine what it’s going to feel like when he’s inside you. You let out a soft moan when Harry runs the tip of his shaft up and down your slick folds, teasing both you and himself making him groan and close his eyes.

“So nice and wet for me already-it’s like your body knows who it belongs to doesn’t it baby? who it was made for.” Your response gets stuck in your throat as Harry lets out a loud moan and you feel the first warm drop of his release land on the front of your already soaked cunt. “Oh god-you look so good covered in me baby-fuck you’re so pretty.” His eyes are glued on your wet center as he spills his release all over your pussy, a soft whine falling from your lips as a few spurts land on your clit.

“If I wasn’t so madly and deeply in love with you I’d be a bit embarrassed at how quickly that happened.” He says with a breathy laugh as he tries to calm his heart down a bit and catch his breath. You just giggle and run a hand through his hair, oddly enjoying how honest he is with you even while the two of you are completely naked and partially covered in his release. “Are you okay my love? Do you need anything or can I eat your perfectly delicious looking cunt really quick before I properly fuck you?” Your eyes go wide at his bluntness and he gives you a dimpled grin before he lowers himself down so he’s on his knees, his hands gently resting on the tops of your thighs.

“I don’t-”

“Sorry baby do you prefer to call it something else? I don’t really like the whole making love thing since we don’t need to make love we already have it so-”

“It’s not that.” Harry quirks a brow as he looks up at you from his spot between your legs, your heart swells when you feel his hands soothingly run up and down your thighs. “I just haven’t uhm no one’s ever-”

“I understand love.” His soft voice and hands gripping your knees stop the rest of your sentence from coming out. “I’m not going to lie I quite like the fact no one else has gotten to get a taste of what’s mine-I have a little bit of a jealously issue so knowing I’m going to be the only one that gets to enjoy this part of you is doing wonders for me.” You don’t get much time to respond before Harry is leaning in and placing open mouthed kisses to the inside of your thigh. “I’ll be gentle baby don’t worry and if you don’t like it tell me or-better yet just give my hair a good tug and I’ll stop.” You barely get finished nodding at him when you feel his tongue lick a hot stripe right up the middle of your cunt.

Your hands reach out and grab the sheets as Harry lets out a deep moan that sends a pleasant vibration through your core. As soon as Harry gets his first taste of your arousal mixed with a bit of his own all promises to be gentle get tossed to the side, not that he’s rough but he begins to lick and suck at you like a man starved and you’re the only thing that satiate him. You let out a moan of his name as he flicks your clit with the tip of his tongue, your hands daringly reach down and tangle themselves in his hair earning you a groan of pleasure from him.

“You taste so good baby.” His words are muffled but you hear them and you can’t help but feel an odd sort of satisfaction at the fact he enjoys how you taste. When he pushes his tongue and swirls it inside your soaked opening you feel the pressure begin to build in your lower tummy, he hums against you as you pull his hair making the tip of his nose bump your clit. “You like that? Like the way my tongue feels on your pussy baby? Want more?”

“Yes please-feels so good.” You answer with a small moan that has Harry smiling and kissing the inside of your thighs before he goes back to licking his release off your glistening folds. You arch your back and tighten your grip in his hair when he gives your clit a few well timed flicks with his tongue.

“So good-oh Harry that’s so good oh god.” Your words are a rushed mess as you feel the pressure finally snap making you let out a cry of his name as your climax hits you like a tidal wave. Harry moans against you as he tries to get every last drop of your release on his tongue so he can swallow it down, not wanting any of it to go to waste. You release your grip on his hair and bring your hands up to cover your face as you try to catch your breath.

“Shit baby you might just be my new favorite meal.” You let out a chuckle as you move your hands just in time to see Harry lick his lips as he stands up. “How was that? Be honest okay? We’re gonna be together forever so if there’s parts of that you didn’t like just tell me so I can do it better.” He tells you as he hovers over you, his face still a bit shiny with your arousal covering his chin. “I can’t have the love of my life not fully satisfied by the way I eat her pussy.”

“I mean you had me seeing stars by the end of it so I’d say it was good.”

“Good? Just good?”

“Great-sorry it was great Harry I swear.”

“You know I’d honestly rather die than know you found the experience of my head between your legs and my tongue deep in your cunt as just great-I’m looking for maybe amazing? Other worldly? I’d even take fantastic but great? Baby that’s-that’s not good enough for me.” He furrows his brows as he looks you in your eyes and when he starts to lower himself as if he’s about to give you another round with his tongue you reach out and grab hold of his face with your hands.

“It was so amazing they haven’t invented a word to describe how truly wonderful you made me feel.” Harry can’t help but grin at you as you use his own line on him.

“Fuck I love you.” He says with a laugh before he leans down and captures your lips in a sweet kiss. “I need to be inside you baby-need to feel my big cock spreading your tight little pussy open.” You feel his hips roll into yours letting the tip of his hard cock nudge at your entrance. “Shit baby need it so bad please let me fuck you-please.”

“Okay Harry. Show me how perfectly made for each other we are.” He doesn’t waste anytime before he’s pushing the tip of his thick shaft into your warm wet cunt.

“Oh fuck.” He groans as he slowly pushes into you letting you feel every inch of him. “Oh god baby you-you feel heavenly.” He says with a moan as he closes his eyes once he bottoms out and you’re completely full of him.

“You-you’re so big.” Your words are strained as you claw at Harry’s shoulders making him let out a loud moan as his eyes open up while he pulls out just a bit and slowly pushes back in.

“I know and you’re taking it so well.” He praises before he leans down to kiss your forehead. “Only been inside you for a minute and I’m already addicted to how fucking good you feel-shit baby you’re never allowed to leave this bed.” He grunts as he grabs at the side of your thigh and hikes your leg over his hip. “Please just move in-I need to be inside this tight cunt all day.”

“H-Harry oh god.” You let out a loud moan as his pace begins to quicken.

“You feel that don’t you baby?” He asks as he leans down and places his lips to the side of your neck. “Feel how perfect we are together-how good we are together.” He mumbles against the soft sensitive skin of your neck as his thrusts turn more deliberate as if he’s trying to really prove his point with every swirl and rock of his hips making your mouth fall open.

“So good together.” You moan making Harry smile against the side of your neck as you wrap your other leg around him trying to pull him even closer. In that moment as you feel Harry give you a few harsh thrusts making the tip of his cock hit the spot that has your toes curling you begin to get overcome with a strong feeling of completion, as if being connected with Harry in this way feels like the final piece you didn’t even know you were missing to the puzzle that makes up your heart has been put in place.

Harry was the missing piece.

“I knew you’d feel it eventually baby.” Harry mumbles in your ear as he gives you a hard thrust of his hips. “Knew you’d love me by the end of the night.” He can’t hide the smugness in his voice as his lips kiss up your jaw until they are hovering right over yours. “Come on sweetheart tell me you love me and I’ll have you seeing more than just stars-I’ll have you seeing your whole future with me.” His eyes stare into yours, his hips still for a moment as you give him a smile that tells him exactly what you’re about to say.

“I love you.” Your voice is shaky and you barley get it all out before Harry’s lips are on yours, his tongue slipping into your mouth like he can taste the words that just rolled of your tongue with every brush of his own against it.

“I love you too. So much-never letting you go.” He murmurs as his hips find a new pace, filled with a burning desire to have you come apart for him. “You’re mine aren’t you? Tell me you’re mine baby tell me this pussy is mine-these lips are mine. All of you is mine.” You let out a cry of his name as you feel yourself tipping over the edge, your walls clench around him as you come undone with a harsh thrust of his hips.

“Yes I’m yours-I’m all yours Harry.” You pant as he fucks you through your orgasm, his thrusts turning quick and relentless as he chases his own release.

“Fuck-I’m gonna fill you up so nice you’re gonna feel me dripping out of you for days.” He groans as your name tumbles out of his mouth over and over as you feel the warmth of his release coating your walls deep inside you. “Oh god you’ve ruined me baby-never gonna be able to go a day without being stuffed inside of you now that I’ve gotten to experience it.” You let out a little giggle as he practically falls on top of you, feeling a sense of comfort from the weight of him being firmly pressed against you.

“I guess it’s a good thing you asked me to move in then.” You tease making his chest vibrate as he lets out a chuckle. Moments later you feel him let out a sigh as your hands start running up and down his back, you feel him begin to relax under your touch.

“You’re so perfect.” He whispers as if he’s worried talking any louder might shatter the comfortableness of the moment the two of you are in. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” That’s the last thing you remember saying before you close your eyes and drift off, sleep taking you quicker than you expected.

You let out a soft sigh as you stretch your limbs, the feeling of a velvety soft set of sheets under your hands has your eyes snapping open and your head lifting up from the pillow you were sleeping on. Your eyes dart around the room, a room you know very well isn’t yours but then you roll over to your side and you’re met with something solid, a chest to be exact. You stare at the butterfly that’s in front of your face and slowly reach out and place your hand on it, as if testing to see if it’s real life or still a dream.

“M’ticklish so watch those hands baby.” A deep sleep coated voice mumbles making your cheeks get warm as the arm that you just now realize is draped over you pulls you closer making you have no choice but to rest your head back down on the pillow so you’re now face to face with the green eyed man you spent the night with.

“Uhm good-good morning.” You say shyly making Harry let out a soft chuckle.

“Good morning love-I said a lot of crazy stuff to you yesterday didn’t I?” He asks and when you just nod he lets out a groan as he turns his head to hide his face in his pillow. “I can’t be held responsible for everything I said you-you had this weird power over me.” You laugh and reach over to brush some hair out of his face when he turns to face you again.

“It actually was a uh perfume oil that I-”

“Oh god the sugary forest oranges-can’t think about how good you smelled or we’ll have a big problem to deal with.”

“So you uhm didn’t mean-any of it then?” Harry quirks a brow at you as you try to hide your disappointment, suddenly feeling very vulnerable as you lay in the arms of a man that you felt such a strong and loving connection with who is now possibly telling you it was all because of the perfume you had on.

“Oh baby no no that’s not what I meant.” You feel him pulling you into his chest as he rolls over to his back. “I meant everything I said I just normally wouldn’t have let all that out the first night we spend together that’s all.” He reassures you making you let out a sigh of relief, Harry places his lips to the top of your head. “You’re my soulmate love. The reason my heart beats-the air in my lungs and the one I’ve been secretly writing all my love songs about.” You smile against his chest as your hand draws mindless patterns over the skin above his butterfly tattoo.

“So you really love me?” You ask as you tilt your head so you can look at him.

“I love you so much I don’t even like it when you’re asleep because it means I can’t talk and love on you.” The way he’s staring straight into your eyes tells you he’s not joking but you can’t help but feel a small little giggle bubble up from deep in your chest making him let out a huff. “I sound fucking obsessive don’t I? But really I can’t help it. It’s just how I feel when it comes to you.”

“It’s okay Harry.” You give him a smile and it’s like he knows exactly what you want so he leans down until his nose is bumping into yours. “I love you too.” Harry smiles before you press your lips against his and you have to laugh as you pull away at how just a simple twenty four hours ago you were walking through a farmer’s market hoping to find some new little trinkets and some flowers but you ended up leaving with the person you’re meant to spend the rest of your life with.

[ackermanrage]

ᴍɪꜱꜱ ᴍᴀɪɴᴛᴇɴᴀɴᴄᴇ

janitor!levi x professor!fem!reader warnings: slow burn, expilct language, academic setting, power dynamics, flirting via insults and eye contact, smut, levi being the inpatient levi he is, some name calling (baby, babygirl) wc: 6.8k an: oof this is long. genuinely i have no idea what im doing i just start writing and then i dont stop so it might feel all over the place but DONT WORRY. because this is for all the girlies that love dom!levi.

summary of chapter: Levi being a freak? You didn't know he was capable of that. And then Hange had to go create a whole discord server that half the university joined in less than a minute. You got assigned an intern a few days later, then things a get a bit heated and who even expects Levi to be patient about this? About you?

masterlist to this series

He stood in your doorway like a mirage—silent, solid, all shadows and sharp lines. Cargo pants slung low on his hips, black gloves tugged snug over his hands, and a dark gray t-shirt clinging to his torso in the way fabric only does when it's been worked in. His hair was tied back today, a few damp strands sticking to the side of his face.

And for a moment, you just... stared.

Maybe it was the heat frying your nerves, or maybe it was the way his presence felt like a cold slap to your overheated senses—but either way, you couldn’t look away.

“Fan broken?” he asked flatly, his voice low and rasped with the edge of someone who hadn’t talked all day.

You blinked, your hand still hovering near your water bottle like you’d forgotten how to function.

“Uh—yeah. Fan. AC too,” you managed, already feeling the fabric of your blouse clinging tighter the longer he stood there. “It’s... sort of like sitting in a greenhouse. But with more body heat and less photosynthesis.”

He stepped into the office without a word, letting the door close behind him with a soft click. You were suddenly very aware of how small your space was. The room felt even more claustrophobic now—his presence swallowing the air.

Levi walked past your desk, straight to the corner where the little system that made the fan run sat like a crime scene. You watched as he crouched beside it, back muscles shifting subtly beneath his shirt. His gloves moved with clean, practiced ease—unplugging wires, pressing buttons, flicking switches.

You weren’t looking at his hands.

Well—you were. But not in the way that made sense.

And then he said, still facing away, “You gonna stand there and sweat or sit?”

Your brows lifted.

“...You talk to all the faculty like that?”

He glanced back at you, the faintest arch of an eyebrow giving away that bone-dry humor he kept buried beneath all that grump.

“Only the ones who put ‘send ice’ on a work order.”

You tried to bite down a smile, walking slowly toward your desk, heels clicking softly against the tile. You sat back in your chair, letting the leather stick to your thighs as sweat continued to bead along the line of your collarbone.

“I wasn’t exaggerating, by the way,” you muttered, fanning yourself weakly with a stack of papers. “It’s actually disgusting in here.”

“Yeah,” he said, pushing a loose wire into place. “You're sweating through your shirt.”

Your body stilled. Head tilted.

“Excuse me?”

“I mean it’s hot,” he added quickly, tone neutral. But he still didn’t look at you. And his ears—just the tips—were a little red.

You leaned forward, resting your elbow on the desk. “Didn't realize how long you were looking at me.”

“I’m wasn't,” he said shortly, standing on a stool to check the ceiling vent. “Just not blind.”

Your heart kicked up.

You leaned back slowly, crossing your legs with deliberate slowness. “So... you were looking.”

That made him pause.

Just for a second.

Then he turned, got off the stool, and walked back toward the fan. “Do you want this fixed or not?”

You smiled, letting your gaze drag lazily across his form. “I’m just trying to keep the conversation going while you crawl around on your knees in front of me.”

His head lifted sharply.

And this time—he looked at you.

Fully. Directly.

Eyes raking over you like he was finally letting himself. Like he wasn’t just tolerating your presence, but taking you in—how your shirt clung to your chest, the sweat glinting along your neck, your crossed legs shifting ever so slightly under the desk.

He didn’t say anything.

But the air felt electric.

“Something wrong?” you asked softly, voice just above a whisper.

“Yeah,” he muttered, dark eyes unreadable. “I forgot how fucking loud professors can be.”

That made you laugh—soft, low, and dripping with something just shy of flirtation. You didn’t break eye contact.

“Loud, huh?”

“Yeah.”

Silence stretched between you.

You could feel it now—the shift. The change in atmosphere. It wasn’t just hot because the AC was broken. It was hot because he was standing in your space, breathing your air, looking at you like you were a problem he didn’t want to solve.

“Guess we all make noise in different ways.”

He said nothing.

Just stared.

Until the fan suddenly sputtered back to life behind him with a soft whirrrr.

You both blinked.

Levi rolled his eyes, muttering, “Figures.”

Then—without warning. he turned, gathering his stuff and brushing past your desk to your door.

You followed his motion with your eyes, head tilting again. “No ‘you’re welcome’?”

He paused in the doorway.

“Not my job to be polite.”

You smirked. “What is your job, then?”

He looked over his shoulder—eyes sharp, mouth set in a tight line.

“To clean up other people’s messes.”

And then he was gone.

Door swinging shut behind him.

Leaving you alone in a room that was finally cool… but somehow, you were still burning.

---

3 days later.

Late afternoon. The halls were quiet, most of the students long gone, with only the occasional sound of footsteps echoing off stone and tile. Your lecture had run long again, something about cellular respiration turning into a spontaneous tangent on trauma responses and human biology. It didn’t matter—you were too deep in your own rhythm to stop. But by the time you finally dismissed the few stragglers, your office had turned into a storm of clutter. A toppled stack of lab models. Papers everywhere. A broken glass frame you’d been meaning to replace since Monday.

You sighed, squatting down to gather the mess.

And then—you heard the cart wheels.

That low, rolling sound that had started to feel... familiar. Predictable, almost. You didn’t even have to look to know it was him.

Levi.

You glanced up as he passed, mop slung over one shoulder, clipboard tucked under his arm. He paused by your door, eyes narrowing faintly at the scene inside.

“Didn’t take you for the messy type,” he said, voice deadpan but not unkind.

You huffed a laugh. “I’m not. My students are. You ever seen what twenty teenagers can do to a stack of flashcards?”

He didn’t reply. Just stepped inside, calm as ever, and crouched down beside the broken frame like he did this for a living. (He did.) Gloved hands reached out, collected shards of glass with movements that were methodical, precise. His sleeves were rolled to the elbows. Veins shifting beneath his forearms. Wrist flexing with every pick and motion.

You watched, unable not to.

The air between you felt heavier with every second.

And you—stupid, impulsive, maybe heat-drunk off how absurdly composed he looked—let the words slip out before you could stop them.

“You’ve got really nice hands.”

He froze.

Just for a second.

Fingers stilling over the last jagged shard of glass.

He turned his head slightly, his eyes dragging toward you like they didn’t want to. You couldn’t read his expression, not fully. Something sharp edged into his silence—something unreadable and still and aware.

You cleared your throat. Tried to play it off with a careless tilt of your head.

“I mean—steady. Not what I expected from someone who works with bleach and mop buckets.”

You saw his mouth twitch.

“You look at everyone’s hands that close?”

Your breath caught.

You swallowed. “Only when they’re in my office. On their knees. Touching my stuff.”

His jaw shifted. A flicker of something—heat? irritation?—passed across his face. His eyes dropped back down to the glass, and he set the final piece aside with more force than necessary. Then he stood slowly.

But when he spoke, his voice had dropped an octave.

“You really shouldn’t say things like that.”

Your heart thudded. “Why?”

He looked at you now. Really looked. Not just passing glances—this was a look. The kind that stripped things bare. The kind that knew.

“Because I’m not good at pretending I didn’t hear them.”

The words lingered.

You sat there, still crouched, your breath stalled in your throat, the heat in your body shifting from surface-level irritation to something deeper. Needier.

You opened your mouth. Nothing came out.

He broke the moment first. Bent down, picked up the small trash bag he’d brought in, and turned toward the door.

Before he left, he paused. Didn’t look at you this time—just stood with his back to you, hand resting on the doorknob. His arm flexed as he gripped the doorknob a bit tighter.

“They’re not the only steady thing about me, you know.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

And you— You sat there in silence, absolutely ruined.

---

The University of Paradis cafeteria was less of a dining hall and more of a chaotic ecosystem.

Today, you were sandwiched between Erwin and Hange, picking at a croissant and sipping watered-down iced coffee while trying not to melt. The AC in the cafeteria was working fine, but after your week from hell—and that one specific janitor still taking up way too much real estate in your brain—you’d been in a semi-permanent state of distraction.

Across from you sat Miche, unreadable as always, and next to him, Petra was talking softly with Nanaba about the logistics of next week’s campus conference.

It was almost peaceful.

Until a group of students two tables away decided they had no concept of volume control.

“…I’m telling you, she smiled at him. Like actually smiled. The janitor, dude.”

You blinked. Head tilting slightly.

Hange perked up immediately.

Another voice chimed in—someone you recognized as Connie.

“Nah nah nah—it’s more than that. Sasha said she saw them alone. In her office. Door was closed.”

“Shut up,” Armin whispered, clearly trying to do damage control. “You guys are way too loud—”

Jean’s voice cut through. “I mean, look at the guy. He’s always around. Like… suspiciously around. The mop cart’s never that far from her classroom.”

“Maybe he likes biology,” Eren offered.

“Or maybe he likes Professor [Last Name] in those pencil skirts,” Sasha laughed.

You froze.

Beside you, Erwin set down his fork with a slow blink.

Hange’s head snapped toward you like a dog that just spotted a squirrel.

Miche didn’t even look up. Just calmly stirred his soup.

You cleared your throat. “They’re just kids.”

“Kids with working eyes, apparently,” Hange said brightly, leaning across the table toward you. “You know, I did wonder why Levi suddenly started fixing things so promptly when your name’s on the work order.”

You blinked. “My fan broke.”

Erwin smiled faintly. “Did it also break your common sense?”

Petra gasped softly into her palm.

Nanaba sipped her tea like this was the best lunch she’d had all month.

You huffed, leaning back in your chair. “Okay, first of all, there is nothing—”

“Door was closed,” Hange sang, wiggling their brows. “C-L-O-S-E-D. Oh my god, do you think he’s a wall-pusher?”

You choked on your coffee.

Miche finally lifted his head just enough to murmur, “He does have strong hands.”

“Miche!” you hissed.

Erwin rested his chin on his fist, smirking. “I do find it fascinating. We always thought you’d end up with someone from your department. You know—someone who publishes in Nature.”

“Levi’s definitely not submitting to Nature,” Hange muttered. “But he is a natural.”

You were one bad joke away from setting fire to the cafeteria.

“Can we not talk about my imaginary sex life at work?”

“Imaginary?” Hange whispered like they were taking notes. “So it hasn’t happened yet. Interesting. But you want it to.”

“Can I eat my croissant in peace?”

“No,” Erwin and Hange said in unison.

Just then, as if summoned by sheer bad karma, Levi appeared.

He entered from the side hallway, pushing his cart toward the industrial trash bins, clearly unaware he had just walked into a war zone. His sleeves were rolled up. Gloves tucked into his belt. That usual scowl etched into his face like it belonged there.

Your stomach did something very stupid.

He didn’t look at your table. Not once. But you could tell—he knew you were there.

Hange whispered under their breath, “Look at him. You’re telling me that man hasn’t bent you over your lab table yet?”

You kicked them under the table so hard Erwin’s coffee sloshed.

Levi dumped something in the bin. Adjusted his gloves.

And—finally—glanced your way.

Brief. Just a flicker.

But it was enough.

Your throat went dry. Your mouth parted. Your hand, still holding your fork, paused halfway to your plate.

And just like that, he turned and walked out.

Like nothing had happened.

Like he hadn’t just made you remember every single thing about the last time he’d looked at you like that.

The table was quiet for a moment.

Then Hange leaned back with a sigh, folding their arms behind their head.

“God. If you don’t kiss him soon, I will.”

---

It was the end of the day—nearly seven o'clock, and the campus had fallen into that calm, post-sunset hush. The halls were dimmer now, painted in soft orange light from the last bit of sun bleeding through the high glass windows. Most students were gone. The classrooms were empty.

Except for Lecture Hall E3.

The hall was quiet except for the low buzz of the building’s old lights and the faint clink of something metal in your hands—a broken microscope clamp, one of the dozen things still malfunctioning in your lab since midterms ended.

You sat on the edge of your desk, legs crossed, one hand gripping your cold coffee while the other held the offending clamp. Across from you stood Levi, tool belt low on his hips, sleeves rolled up.

Hange hadn’t meant to go there, not really. They were looking for a dry-erase marker Petra claimed she'd left during her last guest talk. But as they wandered toward the room, humming under their breath, they paused in the doorway—stopped cold by what they saw through the crack in the half-closed door.

You. Levi.

Too close to not be suspicious.

You were sitting down, arms crossed, head tilted in that way you got when you were poking at someone on purpose. Your voice was low, but Hange could feel the tone of it—even from outside the room. It was teasing.

And Levi?

He was standing directly in front of you, one hand resting on the edge of the desk, head dipped low, voice a rumble.

You said something—soft, laughing under your breath—and Levi stepped closer. Just a fraction. Just enough to make it absolutely inappropriate.

You weren’t touching. But you might as well have been.

His hand brushed the desk next to your thigh. Your knee shifted. His fingers tapped. You smiled like you were about to say something stupid.

That’s when Hange gasped.

Too loud.

You both turned sharply, your conversation shattering on impact as you spotted Hange standing frozen in the door like they’d walked into a porno.

“Oh shit,” you blurted.

Levi didn’t move. Didn’t even flinch.

He just blinked. Slowly.

“...You lost?” he asked Hange, deadpan.

“Uh-huh. Yep. Marker. Dry erase. Important. OkayBYE—”

And then they were gone—bolting down the hallway, nearly tripping over their own feet as they pulled out their phone mid-sprint.

You and Levi stared at the empty door in silence.

Then he looked at you, jaw tightening. “Next time we talk, we do it somewhere with a fucking lock.”

---

8:12 a.m.

You stepped into the main faculty lounge, and instantly felt the shift in the air. Like the energy had turned radioactive.

Erwin looked up from his tablet. Petra was pretending to read an article. Nanaba had the most serene smirk on her face, sipping her tea with both hands.

Your phone kept buzzing. Constantly. You just hadn't checked it yet.

You unlocked it and pulled up the source of hell itself, thinking you should check it out before putting it on Do Not Disturb.

Whispr. Paradis University’s unofficial gossip forum. Anonymous posts. Zero filters. All chaos.

anonymous:

Just saw Professor [Last Name] in a lecture hall w/ THE janitor 👀

horseface:

Pls they're always standing SO CLOSE…

anonymous:

he leaned in and whispered something. 🫣

connie_69:

Nah bc my friend said she saw him leave her office TWICE last week after hours. 😏

sashasandwich:

I saw them chit chatting during breaks...

Seriously?! A discord server?!

You scrolled down, horrified.

There it was. The new "nickname". Burned into your corneas like a curse.

“MISS MAINTENANCE.”

And the top-liked comment?

“If I were her, I’d risk it all for those hands too. #MissMaintenance”

You groaned, slamming your phone face-down on the table in the faculty lounge.

Hange was already there, sipping coffee like they hadn’t ruined your life 12 hours ago.

“Oh good—you saw it,” they chirped, grinning wide. “What was it again? Miss Maintenance?”

You glared. “They made a hashtag, Hange.”

“I think it’s cute! You’ve got fan pages now!”

“I’m going to bury myself under the supply closet.”

“You’d have company," they winked, “Better make room for Levi.”

"Hange—"

---

The science building’s break room was barely functional—fluorescent lights, burnt coffee, a sad little fridge that buzzed like it was haunted. You only came in here when absolutely necessary, and today, unfortunately, was one of those days.

You were mid-sip of what barely passed as coffee, leaning back against the counter and scrolling through lecture slides, when you heard it.

The door creaked open.

Footsteps. Deliberate. Slow.

You didn’t even have to look up.

“Levi.”

He didn’t answer at first. Just let the door click shut behind him, the silence stretching in that way he was infamous for. When you finally lifted your eyes, he was standing a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest, expression unreadable.

There was something… off. Not angry, but something close. Tight around the mouth. Focused.

You arched a brow. “Is this a social call, or are you here to fix the refrigerator that’s been humming like a possessed gremlin for three weeks?”

Still, nothing.

Then, after a pause.

“What the hell is a ‘Whispr’?”

You blinked.

“…What?”

His jaw tensed. “Don’t play dumb.”

“I’m not—wait.” You straightened. “You saw it?”

“I didn’t know about it until ten minutes ago when Yeager and Kirstein nearly killed each other laughing outside the janitor’s closet.” He paused. “One of them was reading a post out loud.”

You rubbed your temples. “Please don’t say which one.”

“Miss Maintenance.”

You physically recoiled. “God. That’s so much worse when it comes from your mouth.”

He took a step closer.

“You gonna tell me why half the campus thinks I’ve been sneaking into your lecture hall to screw you over?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Are you mad about the gossip?”

His gaze pinned you. Sharp. Flat. So perfectly Levi.

“I’m mad that everyone’s talking like they know something I don’t.”

That shut you up.

Because—holy guacamole.

You’d been fine joking about it. Teasing Hange. Rolling your eyes at Connie’s fake whispers in your class. But hearing him say it like that?

Possessive?

That did something dangerous to your spine.

You cleared your throat. “We didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I know,” he said simply.

“But?”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t mean I liked hearing Sasha say she wants to ‘switch majors and watch us make out.’”

You choked on your laugh, mouth flying open. “She said that?”

“She said it to Miche, of all people.”

“Oh god—no wonder he couldn’t look me in the eye.”

Levi stepped closer again. Just a little. He wasn’t touching you. But the way his eyes lingered now—on your mouth, your neck, the edge of your blouse—it was definitely not neutral.

“I don’t care about the app,” he said. “I care about the fact that I didn’t get to hear you say half that shit to me.”

Your breath caught.

“You wanna flirt? Don’t do it where everyone else gets to enjoy it first.”

Your stomach dropped straight through the floor.

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Then you spoke, quiet but steady.

“Then let me say it now.”

Levi’s expression shifted. Slightly. A slow blink. A twitch of his jaw.

You stepped forward, until only a foot of space separated you.

“Every time you walk into a room...” you murmured, "I forget how to act right..."

He didn’t smile. But his breath hitched—just once.

Then he muttered.

“Still not enough.”

Then he turned and walked right out. The door clicked shut. You inhaled then exhaled.

"UGH—"

---

You were halfway through explaining protein synthesis when you saw. the unmistakable posture of students not paying attention.

Connie Springer and Sasha Braus were hunched over a shared notebook in the back row, heads tilted together like they were plotting world domination. Their pens weren’t moving. Their eyes definitely weren’t on the projector screen. And every few seconds, Sasha would nudge Connie and cover her mouth to stifle a laugh.

You paused for a moment mid-sentence, chalk still in hand.

“…which brings us to messenger RNA,” you continued, your voice calm. Measured. Like you weren’t mentally calculating how much detention you were legally allowed to assign in a university setting.

“mRNA is transcribed from DNA in the nucleus—”

Sasha wheezed. Loudly.

Your eyes flicked toward the back row.

She slapped a hand over her mouth. Connie was vibrating in his seat like a child who just discovered what sex is.

You exhaled slowly and turned back to the board.

Be mature. You’re the professor. Don’t let the gremlins win.

You tapped the chalk to the board, continuing, “—then exits into the cytoplasm where ribosomes begin translating the sequence into proteins—”

Behind you, a faint whisper.

“Do you think they’ve kissed yet?”

You froze.

You didn’t move, didn’t react—but your brain slammed into a wall.

Was that… Connie?

Another voice, “Nah. Levi looks like the type to suffer in silence.”

Sasha.

Your grip tightened on the chalk. You weren’t even breathing anymore. Just listening.

“So like…depressing love?”

You closed your eyes for half a second. Steady. Controlled.

The scrape of a chair leg. The rustle of Sasha’s notebook.

Then Connie again, gasping softly. “I bet he doesn’t even know he’s in love yet. He’s probably just like—‘Why do I want to mop this one person’s floors extra good?’”

Oh my god.

You turned around slightly, just enough to glance at them, but they were in full ship-mode now, completely oblivious to how loud they were being.

Sasha leaned in dramatically. “What if they roleplay?! Like—she pretends to spill something and he’s like ‘Tch. Messy,’ and she’s like ‘Clean me, Levi.’”

Your entire body tensed.

The marker slipped from your fingers and hit the floor with a loud clack.

The room went silent.

You turned around slowly. Calm. The picture of professionalism.

“Everything okay back there?” You smiled tightly.

Sasha’s eyes went wide. Connie turned red—like full-face, sunburn-level red.

Sasha scrambled for an excuse. “Yup! Just… mitochondria.”

Connie nodded, doing his best “I’m innocent” face. “They’re the powerhouse of the cell.”

A slow blink. “Right.”

You leaned down, picked up your chalk, and straightened your blouse with a sigh.

“Let’s keep the roleplaying to your dorm rooms, yeah?”

Half the class gasped. The other half laughed way too hard.

Connie and Sasha looked like they were ready to sink through the floor.

You turned back to the board and continued the lesson like nothing had happened.

But internally?

You were screaming.

Because now you were thinking about the mop. And the look Levi had given you the last time he was in your office. And the way his hands looked when they were wrapped around—

“Anyway,” you said louder than necessary, “translation occurs when ribosomes read codons in the mRNA strand, starting with AUG—”

You did not survive a doctorate for this.

But god, were they kind of right.

---

Then you got assigned an intern.

Liam, second-year biology major, GPA solid, energy borderline annoying. He was eager. Bright. A little too eager, honestly. Always volunteering to carry your books, lingering after hours to “go over lab protocol,” asking you questions that had nothing to do with class.

At first, you brushed it off. "He's just trying to break the ice.", you told yourself. You would try your hardest not to seem too interested in what he was doing, but you could tell by his body language, and that grin he always had on his face. Most interns were awkward. Some tried too hard. But Liam? Liam tried really hard.

He’d show up early—armed with coffee, compliments, and a smile so polished it had to be practiced.

“I hope this isn’t weird,” he said once, handing you your preferred iced drink. “But you have, like, main character energy. You know that, right?”

You gave him a bland look. “This main character is grading 37 terrible lab reports on a Friday night.”

He grinned. “Then I’m clearly the love interest.”

You nearly choked on your straw.

But the real problem wasn’t Liam.

The real problem was that Levi saw it all.

You hadn’t known he’d been cleaning the floor outside the lecture hall that day. Or that he’d passed by your office just as Liam leaned across your desk—too close, holding out a folder with a smirk like he was offering more than just extra credit.

Levi had paused outside your door. Stood there. Watched for a beat too long before walking away—fast, stiff, eyes dark with something cold and irritated.

He didn’t say anything. Not then.

But the next time he showed up in your office—under the pretense of "dusting your shelf"—you knew.

“Didn’t know interns came with complimentary flirting now,” Levi muttered, taking out his duster, tools clicking in his hand.

You raised a brow from your seat. “Is this about Liam?”

He didn’t look up. “Tch.”

You smiled. Innocent. “What, jealous of a sophomore?”

“I’m not jealous,” he snapped quickly—too quickly.

You tilted your head, studying him.

“He’s just a kid,” Levi continued, tone clipped. “Doesn’t need to be in your office every damn day.”

“He’s learning,” you said mildly.

“He’s learning your coffee order. And how you laugh. And what perfume you wear.”

That made you pause.

You set down your pen slowly. “Excuse me?”

He finally looked up. Straight at you. His expression unreadable—but his jaw was set, eyes sharp.

“He asked about it,” Levi said. “Two days ago. When you left the room.”

You stared. “You were there?”

“I was working.”

You exhaled through your nose. “And eavesdropping.”

His mouth twitched like he wanted to deny it—but didn’t.

You stood, crossing the room, arms folded.

“And what if I like having someone around who notices those things?”

Something flickered behind his eyes.

“I don’t care if he notices,” Levi said, standing slowly. “I care if you let him think it matters.”

The air thickened.

Your heart thudded.

“You think I’d let a student get that close?” you asked, stepping forward.

He stepped right in front of you. “I think you don’t always see what they’re trying to do.”

“And you do?”

“I’ve seen enough.”

You were close now. Inches away. Tension crackling between you like static.

Then you smiled, slowly.

“You could just say you want to be the one noticing.”

His breath caught.

You leaned up slightly—close enough to whisper:

“Or are you too busy cleaning to care?”

For a second—just one—his control cracked.

Levi’s hand braced the wall beside your head. Not touching you. Not yet. But claiming space.

“I notice everything about you,” he said lowly. “I just don’t say it like some idiot kid trying to impress his TA.”

Silence.

You looked up at him, heart hammering, lips parted—

And then—

A knock.

The door opened an inch. Liam’s voice, cheery as ever.

“Professor? Just dropping off the inventory sheet—”

Levi didn’t move.

His hand still very much cornering you against the wall.

Your face was flushed. His was unreadable.

“Come in,” you said, voice steady.

Levi stepped back, slowly.

But the heat in his eyes hadn’t left.

And Liam? Liam took one look at the tension in the room and called it quits.

“Uh… I can leave it on the desk.”

Smart boy.

---

Liam hadn’t meant to break the internet. He just had a mild panic attack and made the worst possible decision: he posted in the Whispr Discord.

It happened less than twenty minutes after he walked in on you and Levi.

You’d been calm. Unbothered. Professional. Levi, on the other hand, had looked like he was one half-breathed syllable away from pinning you to your office

He dropped the folder and left like the room was on fire.

Which, in a way, it kind of was.

So naturally, he went to the only place a confused, mildly scared intern would turn to in a moment of crisis: The Whispr Discord. Specifically: the #rumors-and-sightings channel.

liambiology02:

i didn’t know Professor [Last Name] and the janitor were like… together???

The server exploded in under 30 seconds.

horseface:

EXCUSE ME????????????

sashasandwhich:

TOGETHER TOGETHER OR “I’M JUST HELPING HER FIX HER FAN AGAIN” TOGETHER???

humanitiescommander:

Please use factual language and avoid libel 🙏

aruminated:

WAIT. WAIT. WAIT. BACK UP. LIAM. WHAT DID YOU SEE.

liambiology02:

idk! nothing happened!! he was just like… really close??? i just felt weird and left i don’t KNOW if they’re together omg

e_revenge:

this is how scandals start and I, for one, am READY

connie_69:

bro Levi prob gave him the look THE look the "I’ve imagined killing you and you wouldn’t even make a sound" look

Meanwhile… you hadn’t seen the chat yet.

You were finishing up your last lecture. Calm. Composed. Unaware.

Until Hange sprinted into your classroom, phone raised like a torch.

“Professor!” they gasped. “You’re trending on the Whispr Discord again. And you didn’t even do anything this time!”

You blinked. “What now?”

They flipped their screen around. Showed you Liam’s message. Then the reactions. Then the floods and floods of messages from basically the WHOLE university.

You stared. Slowly sank into your chair.

“I told you to delete that server...”

“Too late,” Hange grinned. “You and Levi are officially the gossip of the entire STEM department.”

You dragged a hand down your face.

“Does Levi know?”

“No. But he will,” Hange smirked. “Give it about five minutes.”

---

You were heading to your office when you heard it—

“Professor.”

You turned.

Levi was standing in the middle of the hallway like he’d been waiting. Arms crossed, face unreadable, dark eyes locked on yours like he wasn’t letting you pass until you gave him what he wanted.

You blinked. “Hey.”

He didn’t respond at first. Just stared. A muscle jumped in his jaw. His fingers flexed at his sides. You noticed the way his shirt clung to his shoulders, the dust streaked across one forearm, the slight sheen on his skin like he’d just come from fixing something.

“Have you seen it?” he asked finally. Voice low. Controlled. But his eyes? oh you knew you were in for a long one.

Your heart hiccuped. You didn’t need to ask what he meant.

“…Yeah.”

“Liam’s little confession.”

You nodded.

He stepped closer.

“Everyone thinks we’re—” He cut himself off. Jaw clenched. Swallowed the words like they tasted bad.

You tilted your head. Calm. “Together?”

His breath hitched. Just a flicker. But you saw it.

“They’re saying you’re sleeping with me,” he muttered. “That you’re using your position. That I’m just—the janitor.”

You stayed quiet. Let him talk.

“I’ve been hearing it all day,” he said. “Hange, Miche, all of the damn students. Like they know anything. Like they get to decide what this is.”

You folded your arms slowly.

“And what is this, Levi?”

His eyes narrowed. “That’s the problem. You never say.”

“Neither do you.”

Silence.

Then he stepped in. Close. One foot between yours. Voice low. Heat just beneath the surface.

“If you’re not serious, tell me to walk away.”

You inhaled.

“If you don’t want this—me—say it.”

Your lips parted.

But nothing came out.

He searched your face. Tension pulsing off him like heat. Like gravity.

Then—so quietly it barely touched the air—

“But if you do..."

And that broke you.

You reached out. Hand at his collar, fingers brushing the edge of his throat.

“Levi,” you breathed, steady now, “I’m not interested in pretending.”

His jaw twitched.

You stepped closer. So close he had to tilt his head to keep your eyes.

“If they’re going to talk anyway…” Your fingers curled lightly into the fabric at his chest.

“…we might as well give them something to talk about.”

A long beat.

Then he said, rough and low—

“Finally.”

His hands gripped your waist, pulled you flush. His mouth was on yours before the next breath—hot, hungry, all the things he’d been holding back slamming into you at once.

It wasn’t neat. And it definitely wasn’t soft.

It was a week of stolen glances. A month of silent tension. A semester of wanting and not saying a damn word.

The kiss had barely ended, and Levi was already reaching behind you—one hand sliding over your waist, the other twisting the lock on your office door with a quiet click.

It was instinct. Automatic. Like he knew exactly what he needed to do before either of you had the chance to second-guess this. You didn’t pull away. You didn’t blink. You just watched him, your chest rising and falling too fast, heat blooming low and thick under your skin.

“Levi,” you breathed, half-warned, half-melted, “we shouldn’t—”

“You want to stop?” he asked, voice hoarse, already slipping his hand up under your blouse.

You hesitated.

He smirked—barely. “Didn’t think so.”

Then his mouth was back on yours, hungrier this time, less controlled. His hands? Unbelievable. Rough in all the right ways. Not fumbling, not frantic—just confident. Like he knew what you wanted before you could ask for it.

Your back hit the edge of the desk, and Levi didn’t even pause. He lifted you onto it like it was nothing, like you didn’t weigh a damn thing to him. His gloves had been tucked into his back pocket; now they hit the floor with a soft thud as his bare palms slid over your thighs, up under your skirt, dragging heat everywhere they touched.

“You know I’ve thought about this,” he muttered against your neck. “Way too much. Couldn’t stop.”

You gasped as his teeth grazed your skin. “When?”

“First day I saw you,” he said. “Walked right past me after asking me where your lecture hall is. Like you weren’t setting my whole fucking brain on fire.”

You laughed breathlessly, curling your fingers into his shirt. “You glared at me.”

“Yeah,” he said, dragging his hands up your hips, “because I was panicking.”

Then—fabric shifted. Buttons slipped loose. Skin met skin.

You reached down, impatient, undoing your belt. He watched you, eyes dark, jaw tight, like he was barely holding it together.

“We’re really doing this, huh?” you said, teasing.

He leaned in, voice low and brutal in your ear.

“I'm not leaving this office until you can't fucking walk straight.”

And that was it.

Your clothes didn’t come off all at once. They were pulled aside. Pushed up. Wrinkled and messy in the places that mattered. He tasted like mint and frustration and something darker—something needy. Like this wasn’t just lust. Like he’d been starving.

He was rough in the way that made you dizzy, then gentle in the way that made your stomach flip.

You said his name once—softly, breathlessly—and he swore under his breath, pressing his forehead to yours, fingers gripping your thighs like they were the only thing grounding him.

“Say it again,” he whispered. “Say it like your mine.”

"Levi..."

His hands were already on your cilt, rubbing soft but fast circles around it. Your hands slid down to his pants tugging at his belt.

"You want it, baby?" He said, clicking his belt open and pulling it off. You just moaned in response. Could you really help yourself? He was beautiful, long and pink. And the girth was out of this world.

You swear you were a hero in your past life because what the fuck could you have possibly done to deserve this dick?

"Dirty girl..." Levi smirked.

He spun you around, your chest flat against the desk. His hands were on your ass, giving it a few light slaps. Then out of nowhere, he shoves his whole cock right in.

"Oh fuck—"

His thrusts were fast. Levi had waited for this moment, he had dreamed of fucking you, touching you, holding you...and right now he was doing just that.

"So fucking tight f'me babygirl" he grunted.

He can feel you getting close, he was too. Your warm cunt wrapped around his cock was just too much for him to handle.

His eyes flutter shut. he’s always been so weak for you—it was such a contrast to his usual demeanor, but god, he just couldn’t help it.

And when you finally came—shaking, breath caught in your throat, his name tangled in it—he didn’t let you go. Not for a second. He kissed you through it, slow, warm, grounding.

“‘m gonna cum,” he grunts, “tell me to pull out.”

“inside.” you clench around him, milking him of everything he has. and for you, he’d give you the whole world.

"fuuuck..." he says as he fills you up with his cum.

You two just stayed like that for a few moments, panting, in each other arms. Then you started laughing. And Levi looked completely and utterly confused.

"I-....I cant believe I just did this HA!"

"What."

"Like—you know. Me and You."

He raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"Whateverrr"

"Your fucking crazy."

"Says the one that just fucked me on the desk I grade lab reports."

"Thats different—!"

You guys cleaned up, and you couldn't stop giggling, the color in your cheeks hadn't faded away.

"Im....gonna go now." Levi said.

"So soon?"

But not without pulling your skirt back into place, brushing a kiss against your temple, and muttered something that had definitely sounded like,“Next time, we don’t stop at your desk.” Before saying,

"Yeah, I have better things to do than rage baiting janitors."

"Levi!"

By the time Levi slipped out the hallway, shirt rumpled, cheeks slightly pink. A smudge of lipstick on his neck. Some classes had just ended, students were filing out.

Someone saw Levi outside your office door, looking dazed.

Of course someone saw.

And a picture was posted to Whispr by morning.

Caption?

“The janitor definitely took her to church.”

---

You woke up feeling sore in a way that should’ve been inconvenient—but wasn’t.

There was still a faint ache between your legs. The kind that made you sit a little differently. Walk a little slower. Smirk a little too knowingly when you slipped on your silk blouse and saw the subtle fingerprints blooming across your hips.

You were still thinking about it as you stepped into the faculty lounge with your coffee.

And that’s when it hit.

The energy.

Everyone turned.

Everyone looked.

Sasha’s eyes were the size of dinner plates. Connie dropped his croissant. Jean looked like he’d seen the Virgin Mary herself.

Then—Erwin, seated at the far end of the table, took a long sip of coffee and cleared his throat.

“Morning, Professor.”

You blinked. “Morning.”

Another deliberate sip. Another throat clear.

“Everything… work okay in your office yesterday?”

Hange howled.

You didn’t even blink. You just sipped your coffee and slid into the nearest seat.

“Fine, thanks. Though someone should really check the thermostat. Things got a little warm.”

Erwin coughed. Loud. Nearly choked.

Miche arched a brow like he knew exactly what you were doing.

And Hange? Hange was fully sliding their phone across the table toward you.

📸: A blurry screenshot from Whispr. anonymous: “Maintenance? More like mating-nance 😏”

You blushed furiously.

You just handed the phone back and said, “People need better hobbies.”

Hange grinned, eyes practically glittering. “I mean, you’re a hobby now.”

“Don’t,” you warned.

Miche snorted. Jean cackled.

"Get a life..."

---

Levi was in the library, restocking the cleaning supplies.

He didn’t look up as Armin passed by with a cautious nod. Didn’t react when Eren and Connie peeked around the corner and whispered, “That’s him. That’s himmm.”

But his ears were pink.

Just slightly.

The librarian walked by. Gave him a look. Said, deadpan.

“Rough night?”

Levi stared at her, unimpressed.

“Tch. Shut up.”

taglist: @lvstyangel @alebrasil0101 @creati-bunny @porcelain-soupspoon4 @r4td0lll @wedypopcytragedy @nxcxllxsevens @levkuna @glads-stuff @bnbaochauuu @maskedbunni @auriuswolve @obsessionprofessional @maeviees @wakasaswifeysblog @fromsaltandsea

©ackermanrage - please do not copy, translate, or plagiarize my work!

[fromiftowhen]

hey i saw your anon post about abbot and mel headcanons, do you have any for fluffy kingdon?

like proposal & wedding day vibes?

Oh, I absolutely do!!! Here are just a few fluffy Kingdon headcanons, specifically about their proposal/engagement/wedding day.

Frank knows he loves Mel fourteen minutes into their second date, when Tanner FaceTimes him crying about a lost stuffed animal and Mel not only insists he answer but then spends twenty minutes of their dinner date helping Frank find a replacement on eBay.

(That's a lie. He realizes he loves her, and maybe has for awhile, five days before he asks her out, when she tells him no one else could have saved the patient they were working on together and then repeats herself very clearly, "no one else could have," when he scoffs. It's not true, because she did the actual saving, but he's not sure anyone else has ever believed in him like Mel does.)

He knows he wants to marry her during their first argument, if you can call it that, which is about whether or not Frank can say he's read a book that he actually just listened to an in-depth podcast about. The answer is no, even he can admit that, but the ferocity that Mel levels at him, like it's an insult to the book itself, is so sexy he actually forgets his half-assed argument. He wants to not even actually argue with her for the rest of his life.

He knows Mel doesn't like surprises in her personal life. And an engagement is a pretty damn big one. So he plans to bring the idea up slowly, which is unusual for him. But she beats him to it, late one night while they're getting ready for bed after a long, hectic shift. "My patient today, he's been married for 53 years. He and his wife were so sweet together." "That's really nice," he tells her, carefully. "It is. I think I'd like that, being known so well for so long," she whispers.

He takes Santos ring shopping with him. He picked Abby's ring out alone, because it was the height of COVID and she was ridiculously pregnant, and she always not-so-secretly disliked it. Santos and Mel are close enough that he knows she knows Mel, but Santos also still dislikes him juuust enough to tell him the god's honest truth. The salesperson asks if the ring is for Santos, and she fakes puking on the glass case, and then tells him that none of the rings are Mel. He'd think it was just to annoy the salesperson, but she's right. None of the rings at any of the stores are right.

He can't find the right ring or figure out the right way to propose with a nonexistent ring, which honestly, with anyone else, would feel like a huge flashing field of red flags to him. But then... Mel's halfway into her scrubs on a Thursday morning, calling out "don't forget to take your vitamins!" to Becca in the kitchen, as she ties her scrub pants, and excitedly telling him about this paper that Abbot asked her to coauthor, and it's just such a normal, happy morning and he thinks, fuck, I want 53 years of mornings just like this, and it just comes out. "I want to marry you," he says, and it's not a question, it's just a statement of utter fact, and it takes her a full fourteen seconds to stop what she's doing and stare at him. "I... well, okay. It's Thursday... Are you asking me to marry you while I'm half-naked on a Thursday?" "I didn't technically ask," he laughs. "But yeah. Do you want me to ask when you have your top on?" She shakes her head and his heart sinks, but then she's kissing him, kissing him, kissing him in a way she never has half-dressed on a Thursday morning, and when she finally pulls back, they're both teary-eyed and laughing. (He never actually asks. She never actually says yes. They don't need formalities like that. He doesn't need to ask a question she's already silently answered a thousand times. Forever is forever no matter when or how it starts.)

He does kinda feel bad about the ring though, but it just takes one quiet conversation later that night to figure it out. "I don't want you to spend money on a fancy ring. I wouldn't wear it at work anyway. But my mom... she left me her engagement ring from my dad" — he reluctantly lets her up and watches her sift through a small jewelry box on her dresser. "This," she says, crawling back next to him in bed, a small solitaire on a simple gold band between her fingers. "This is all I need." It's the first ring he's ever seen that so clearly embodies Mel. He takes it from her and slides it on her left ring finger, and yeah, that's all he needs too.

"I don't want to wait a year to marry you. Things happen, I don't want to wait at all," she tells him a few weeks later, after a particularly emotional shift from hell. "I just want you, and Becca, and the kids, I don't want a big ceremony. We can have dinner at that Japanese place you like in Shadyside, the one with the nice patio? We can invite everyone to celebrate with us there." He doesn't need any convincing.

They get married at the courthouse, which is a step above his first wedding, held over Zoom, and absolutely perfect. Mel wears an off-white jumpsuit and Frank lets Tanner pick out his tie and Becca wears a cardigan their mom knitted for her years ago, which he's pretty sure makes Mel cry harder than anything else that day. Millie refuses to toss the few flower petals they give her, which honestly probably just saves them some cleanup time, and then proceeds to hug Mel's leg all through their vows. It's messy and quick and Mel smiles into a laugh as he tries not to cry, and it's all absolutely fucking perfect. (They don't write their own vows. He thinks he could, and could spend hours reciting them, there are a thousand things he wants to promise her. But he waits, and whispers them in the dark, closer to a prayer than he's ever felt, more praise than promise against her skin. He repeats them every night until they're memorized actions, silent words they both know by heart.)

Mel's something old is her mom's ring, sized just right for her ring, sitting next to her something new, a delicate gold wedding band that she'll occasionally wear to work. Her something borrowed is a gold hair comb, its twin in Becca's hair, that she tells him their grandmother used to wear on special occasions. Her something blue is secret, she tells him a few days before the wedding. It takes him about five minutes into their make-shift honeymoon, aka a kid and sister free night alone before a leisurely day off, to learn that it's a matching bra and panty set (the first lingerie she's spent more than $30 on in her life, she tells him seriously) in a pale ice blue. It's only her pride in her purchase and a whisp of manners that keeps him from ripping it off her.

I think I could write fifty more of these just about their wedding day alone, but I'll stop here before this turns into more than it should be.

[camficdiner]

I’ve been having a rough and emotional past few days and reading your fics has provided me with so much comfort

Could I get [1.1], [2.12 w/ slow burn sleepover], [3.1], [4.3]

☕️ cams fic diner — order 123

🍒 thank you:

to the girls who dreamt of meeting him once — and somehow ended up in his kitchen, in his hoodie, drinking coffee like it was always meant to be.

💬“And neither of you moves”

✨ description & prompts:

character: Jack Hughes

prompt: you’re a fan — but he’s the one acting like he’s obsessed.

type: fan x Jack, slow burn, hurt/comfort, protective Jack, emotional rescue

🍒🛼✨🧁

You meet him at a fan event in Montauk. Late afternoon. The sun’s dipping behind the crowd, tinting everything orange-gold and unreal.

You’re not even sure why you came — your friend dragged you along, said, “Come on, it’s Jack fucking Hughes, maybe he’ll sign your phone case.” You’d laughed. Didn’t think it would mean much.

But now he’s in front of you, pen in hand, smile crooked like the sun got caught on his mouth.

And for a second, you forget how to breathe.

“Want me to sign your pass?” he asks, soft and amused.

You nod, sliding it over. Your hands brush. You feel stupid for noticing.

He looks up again. Tilts his head. “You local?”

“Jersey. Visiting.”

“Cool,” he says. Then — “You okay? You seem a little… I don’t know. Quiet.”

You shrug, embarrassed. “Just tired.”

“Me too,” he grins. “I’ve been pretending to like small talk for an hour and a half.”

You laugh, finally, and he smiles at the sound like he wasn’t expecting it.

It’s nothing, really — two minutes, maybe three — and then the line moves on. Your friend is squealing beside you, texting your group chat: “He totally liked you. I swear. He stared.”

You’re about to tell her she’s insane when you head back toward the food tent and someone grabs your arm.

A guy — older, drunk, entitled — says something about how pretty you are, how you should smile more, how he’s been watching you. His hand closes over your wrist. You freeze.

You pull back.

He doesn’t let go.

And then Jack is just—there.

“Hey,” he says, sharp and low. “That your girlfriend?”

You barely nod. Jack doesn’t even look at you. He looks at the guy, cold and calm.

“She’s with me,” Jack says. “Let go.”

The man grumbles, backs off. Jack waits until he’s walked away, then turns to you.

“Hey,” he says again, softer this time. “You okay?”

You’re not. You’re shaking, adrenaline burning out in your fingers and knees. You nod, too fast.

“Come on,” he says. “Let’s get out of here.”

—

You sit on the passenger seat of his SUV, hands in your lap. He’s silent while driving, only glancing over every few minutes to check if you’re breathing.

You don’t say much. He doesn’t push.

At his house — some rented place with glass windows and driftwood furniture — Luke pops his head out of the hallway and stops dead.

Jack says, “Don’t,” and Luke just nods and disappears.

Jack brings you tea, a hoodie, something to sit on.

“You don’t have to talk,” he says. “Or explain. But I didn’t wanna leave you there.”

You blink. “Thank you.”

His gaze drops. “I… wish I got there earlier.”

You shake your head. “You got there.”

And that’s what matters.

—

He gives you his bed. You argue. He wins.

“I’ll take the couch,” he says. “Seriously. You’ll sleep better.”

You curl up in his hoodie, in his sheets, in a bed that smells like clean cotton and something you think might be him.

And in the dark, after everything, you say:

“Do things like that happen often? Like… people coming up to you?”

He’s quiet. Then: “Yeah. Sometimes. It sucks.”

You roll to your side. “How do you deal with it?”

He exhales. “I have brothers. A team. Security. I’ve got… backup. You were alone.”

“Not after you showed up.”

Silence. Then a soft laugh from the living room.

“Night, Jersey girl.”

“Night, Hughes.”

—

In the morning, he’s already in the kitchen, sleeves pushed up, hair a mess.

You pad in, sleepy. Still in his hoodie. Barefoot.

“You sleep okay?” he asks.

You nod. “Better than I thought I would.”

He hands you a mug. Coffee. Perfectly sweet.

And then, quieter: “I know last night was scary. But I’m really glad I was there.”

You look at him.

He looks like he means it.

So you smile, and take a sip, and don’t say anything else.

Because for the first time in a while, you feel safe.

And that’s more than enough.

[evansbuckle]

tattoo!artist!reader X Bucky Barnes

I've been thinking about this trope for a hot minute, and part of me wants to write more specific drabbles for these two, but we'll see. Hope you enjoy! Likes & reblogs always appreciated <3

word count: 1k

Warnings: little to no proofreading, maybe swearing? Reader uses she/her pronouns, and is referred to as 'the girl'. Mentions of Bucky mentalling struggling (very vague allusions to self-harm desire) Some mentions of body parts, but no specific body descriptions.

Bucky struggles and his brain is constantly crying out for distractions. He tried the journaling, and the knitting, and the rubber bands on the wrist but nothing quiets his mind. Until he stumbles upon a reddit post of some user sharing that body modifications (tats, piercings,) help still things, even for a brief moment.

So he walks into the first tattoo parlour he finds; it’s small, filled with sketches and people covered in borderline scary ink head to toe. He sticks out, badly. He doesn’t know what he wants or what he's doing there, but quickly figures his dead best friends birthday is a good place to start, so he makes an appointment and comes back.

He sits on the chair, and watches a girl prepare a fresh needle and ink with quiet grace. He appreciates that she doesn’t push him to talk, only asking if he’s ready, and telling him when she’s going to start. He barely registers the needle touching the skin on his flesh bicep, too entranced by the way her gloved hands control the vibrating thing. He takes his time looking over her tattoos, the black lines on her fingers visible through the blue gloves. He barely registers her question.

“Sorry, repeat that?”

A quiet chuckle, then “is this your first one?”

“Yeah.”

A brief nod, the hair in her ponytail moving slightly, “any special meaning?”

He’s quiet for a moment. “friends birthday.”

She briefly glances up at him, but doesn’t push the topic, putting the tattoo gun down. Cleans it efficiently, wraps it in second skin, and walks Bucky over to the counter. He pays, tipping generously because he doesn’t know how to tip tattoo artists, and silently decides he’s coming back soon.

Two months pass before he walks back into the same shop, and is met with the same buzzing sound that seems to cover up the soft rock in the background. Half hour later he’s laying down on the same chair, the same girl working on the same arm. It’s a phoenix, rising from the ashes. Symbolic for sure, but Bucky mainly just really likes the birds. 

The girl hums as she tattoos, pink gloves instead of blue this time. 

“New gloves?”

“What?”

“I-just- the last time I was here you had blue gloves.”

A soft chuckle, kind eyes meeting his nervous ones, then “yeah, i fancied a switch up. feeling pink, i guess.”

Three hours go by, and it’s only half done. Bucky’s sent home and told to come back in two weeks. 

So he does. 

He walks back into the same shop, same buzz, same soft rock, same sweet girl. 

He decides to talk this time. He tells her his name, about his recent inclination for body art, his backstory (or at least a modified version). He even asks her out for a coffee. She’s a bit resigned, but his traumatised-yet-still-beautiful eyes end up convincing her. He doesn't stop smiling the whole walk home.

Three days later, Bucky walks into a cute little coffee place downtown, his gaze immediately landing on the girl focused on her sketchbook, decorated hands moving with skill. He spots two coffee cups in front of her, walks over, and sits down. 

It’s awkward at first, small silent gaps, and Bucky stumbles over his words a fair few times, yet each time he’s met with the amused glances of the girl in front of him. When she starts talking, his heart stills. Her stories put a smile on his face, and the rest is soon forgotten. 

A week later, he starts bringing her flowers at work, always paired with “they were pretty, reminded me of you.” Persian lilies, carnations, daises even, whatever first catches his eye when he walks into his local florists. Her co-workers start teasing about the man who’s sweet on her, but glimpses of the flowers never fail to make her smile through long days. 

Weeks after that, Bucky sits in her apartment while she finishes cleaning, or laundry, or whatever housework she needed to do. The girl walks over to sit next to him when she’s finished, artwork covering her arms, hands, parts of her legs and feet. Bucky rarely takes his eyes off the ink, downright enamoured at the way they accentuate her soul, each little drawing showing the world a glimpse of her personality.

“Do you want to try?” Her voice cuts through the silence.

“What?” His gaze snaps up to her. She smiles, grabs his arm, leading him to her spare room. He looks around as he walks in, not having been in there before; it’s fairly empty, mostly a storage room he notes, save for a desk with something that looks like squares of flesh, and ink bottles. She sits him down, quickly gathering everything needed. Tattoo gun plugged in, fake skin in front of him, a small ink cap next to that.

She perches on his lap, showing him how to hold the gun. He listens, obviously, but every fibre of his body is hyper aware of just how quiet this moment feels - someone he cares for, is growing to love, living life with him, willingly. He smiles to himself, wondering how the hell he got to this place when everything was dark two months ago. 

The gun buzzes to life in his hands, and her smaller ones hold him tighter as she guides his movements over the silicone skin. They laugh, and after a while she lets go, letting Bucky freehand it. He tries to focus on the task at hand, he really does, but the warmth of the body on top of his engulfs him, wrapping around his heart like a safety net.

He quickly decides life isn’t quite so bad when there's someone to share the stillness with.

[dissolved-g1rl]

its a guy thing

cw: younger leon

A younger boyfriend was just something you and your friends joked about at brunch. A guy with stamina and eager to prove his masculinity. It was all just something to laugh about, till a certain blonde happened to join your precinct. He’s fresh and new, eager to make a difference in the world. He should focus on making better fucking coffee.

“I brought you a doughnut.” Leon is almost timid, like a dog that’s yet to sniff your hand. He sets the little baggie on your desk, standing there waiting for you to acknowledge him. You contemplate not giving him the time of day, you could say Hello in the morning and he’d take it as a sign from the universe that you’re meant to be. “Uhh thanks Leon, that was nice of you.” You say with a stiff smile. Leading him on is really your last intention. "It's pretty late you know. Even the Sargent went home." He informs like you weren't already aware. "Yeah well paperwork's a bitch." You say sarcastically, Leon snorts, giggling boyishly as if your joke really was just that funny. "Why're you here?" You ask somewhat suspiciously "I just finished all my paperwork!" Leon chirps, the real reason is that he wanted to walk you to your car or something. "I can help if you want." Leons already dragging a chair to situate next to yours, looking at you with his dumb big eyes, he's like a stupid little dog that just doesn't stop nipping at your ankles. "Fine..." You murmur, sliding half of your stack to him so he can work on it.

Leon takes advantage of this time he has with you. Where he the opportunity to brush the back of his hand against yours, to feel your skin against his is such a lovely thing. He feels like he's getting high of the scent of your perfume, he wishes you were his, then he could dip forward slot himself against you, and just inhale and get high the addictive substance that is your scent. You squint at the sheet in front of you, a desperate front to pretend as though you don't feel him sneaking glances towards you.

Leon thinks he's being sneaky , it's easier to stare at you when he's across the bullpen, now that he's sitting next to you it's a lot more obvious. It's starting to become compulsive, to steal glimpses of your face, the small likes forming beside your eyes, or the furrow that is slowing etching it's way in the space between your brows. He doesn't mean to be a sleaze, but you really would be prettier if you smiled more often. He's just biased, because anytime he does happen to see your mouth upturned he swears his heart beats so fast out of his chest it's like he's dying.

You hadn't noticed he's finished his stack a few minutes before you, you stretch and sigh softly, Leon focuses on how your shirt strains against your chest as you pull your arms back. You yawn organizing the things on your desk, "Ready to get out of here?" You ask glancing towards him, Leon swears he's never perked up faster, he nods eagerly. He's on your heels, following you around as you tidy things up before clocking out, he helps you into your coat, buttoning each on till the one on the very top is fastened. He's surprised with himself that he was able to keep his hands from shaking too much from being in such close proximity to you.

He walks you to your car, the only one still left in the lot, and you blink, “Do you walk?” You ask incredulously, he looks a little red under the dim street lights. “No, uhh I carpool, I couldn’t bring my car with me when I moved, but everyone’s been really accommodating.” He shifts, shrugging his hands into his pockets. And you suddenly feel a little more empathetic towards him, “I can give you a lift.” He shakes his head at your offer, it would be nice to be enclosed in such a small space with you, but he doesn’t want to impose, “No ‘s fine, I probably live far from you.”

“Leon, shut up and get in.”

“Okay.”

Leon hums along to every song on the radio, tapping his fingers against his knee, it almost makes you regret giving him a lift, almost. You arrive to your place and he unbuckles, shyly thanking you like some schoolgirl after her first date, you want to smack him upside the head. Mainly because you feel a pang of affection swirl in your stomach, is he batting his eyelashes at you? This has to be unethical. “Anyways…I’ll see you tomorrow.” He says like he’s pained at the thought of waiting a whole night to see you again (he is.). “Err right, goodnight.” You bid each other goodnight, and for the entire duration of the drive back home you think about the mole on his neck, his pretty eyes and cleft chin, the sandy blonde of his hair, oh god, you’re a pervert, worse, its Leons fault.

dividers by @uzmacchiato

a/n: (dumb) yearner leon

p.s im going on holiday…so i dont plan on writing for a little, sorry for the inconvenience

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Sunstroke - Part Six.

The final part is here, guys! Thanks so much to you all for your engagement. I really enjoyed writing this, and it was lovely to see the enjoyment reflected back through those of you in the comments :)

Summary: As tour manager for Sleep Token, you're naturally close with the lads whom you're employed to look after. Then, there's your closeness with Vessel, the lines between manager and artist seeming to blur into something more meaningful... if you'll let it.

Words: 2,735

Warnings: 18+ content. Minors DNI!

Previous chapters - Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five

“Is the duchess alright, mate?” iii asks, sitting backstage with a few other members of the band and crew ducking in and out during set up. “She’s been a bit quiet for a few days.” 

“Yeah, yeah I think she’s just tired.” It’s a lie, but he hopes it works as a pacifier. 

“Ahh, I get it. Works hard, doesn’t she?” 

“Mm. She really does.” 

It’s left there, much to his relief, Ves glad of it since it’s been a little prickly thorn of a thought for him, ever since the night where you couldn’t sleep as the bus rattled along the highway. He’s noticed the shift in you, feeling himself start to panic over why you’ve been pulling away from him a little bit. He reasoned why where intimacy was concerned, since you currently have your period.  

Still, that didn’t stop you from making sure he was catered to where his desires were concerned. He’s still buzzing from the thrill of being dragged into a private space and given the kind of blowjob that virtually made his knees buckle earlier that morning, before you had to head off to oversee maintenance work needed on the bus.  

That aside, though, the little change in your temperament has concerned him, the way you seem to be closing off. He’ll catch you deep in thought, looking glum, and naturally ask what’s wrong, only to be met with the statement of you being totally fine. He knows it because he does it himself; except he’ll come around to reasoning and actually talk after a couple of hours. You? Not so much.  

“Where’ve you been all morning?” he then asks, iv strolling into the room, whistling happily.  

“On the bus, then went for a walk.” 

He’s about to ask why he looks so thoroughly pleased with himself when the door comes crashing open, his heart doing a little skip to see you there. But oh, that face. That’s not the happy visage he’s used to seeing. 

“****!” You yell, watching iv virtually jump out of his skin. 

“Oh, shit the bed!” he exclaims, knowing he’s in trouble as he flies out of his seat.  

“Come back here!” 

“Nope!” he calls, scuttling away at speed, “It wasn’t me!” 

“Come here!” you state again, watching him wince. 

“Ahh, shit! Somebody, hide me!” 

iii is almost doubled over with laughter. “Brought this on yourself, didn’t ya? Upsetting the duchess with whatever it is you’ve done now.” 

His eyes dart around, his escaped blocked by you closing the door and leaning against it, his focus landing on Ves. “***, mate, call you girl off.” 

“I can’t,” he smirks, “she’s not a rottweiler, you know.” 

“YES, SHE BLEEDIN’ IS!” 

In the end, and much to the chaotic laughter of his bandmates and few assembled crew members, he vaults the sofa, landing in a heap behind it in his attempt to hide. You calmly cross the room, kneeling on his hiding place, leaning over the back. “****, what did we agree?” 

“Erm... things?” 

“What things?” 

He grimaces, still lying flat on the floor. “Things and stuff.” 

“Do not flush anything other than liquid down the bus toilet,” you speak, watching him cringing. 

Ves leans over the sofa then, seemingly in the dark. “What did you do? Haven’t taken a T-Rex sized shit in it, have you? You know that’s universally banned.” 

No shitting in the tour bus toilet indeed is the universally known no-go. “Not telling. I have wrath bearing down upon me!” 

The howling laughter fills the room, even you by now are smiling. “Being a dirty little tart, is what he did. Flushed a load of condoms down the loo and blocked it, to the tune of four hundred dollars to call a bloody engineer out and get it working again!” 

“Hang on,” Ves states, “how many are we talking?” 

“The poor guy who had to dismantle the pipes counted eight,” you confirm. 

Immediately, your man is leaning over the sofa again. “Eight?! You were only on the bus by yourself for three hours! How the fuck did you manage to use eight?”  

“I’ve had a busy morning!” 

“Busy?” he yells, “is the poor girl even still intact, that you went through eight condoms in three hours??” 

His head pops up then, his grin wide. “Nobody said it was just one girl. You know, gotta be hygienic when you’re going from one lady to the other.” 

The roar his bandmates and various crew let out is deafening, whistles abounding, Ves reaching to pull him into a headlock playfully, kissing his head. “Dirty boy. Well done.” 

“Don’t you encourage him!” you exclaim, pointing a finger, turning then to the still beaming guitarist. “I have no objection to you shagging yourself silly, but really, use a bin!” 

“Sorry,” he eventually says, “I was all sex befuddled, man!” 

Sex befuddled. Oh, he’s too much. To be honest, you’ve dealt with a lot worse in your time as a tour manager. 

Climbing back over the sofa, you’re met with a man who’s all sheepish smiles and puppy eyes, iv sitting down beside you and hugging you tightly. “I’m sorry, (Y/N).” he speaks, leaning to kiss your cheek. 

“You get those lips away from me, I don’t even want to know where they’ve been!” you cry, wiping your face, fending him off when he tries to do it again. A small battle ensures, everyone in the room avidly watching, with you grabbing his head and licking his cheek.  

“Getting licked by a pretty woman isn’t a deterrent, you know,” he chirps, and immediately you smirk. 

“No? Guess where my mouth was an hour ago?”  

Immediately, his head turns rapidly to Ves, who just winks smugly. “I feel violated.” Wiping his cheek, he eventually joins the rest of the room in the roaring laughter. 

“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again,” iii speaks, taking a seat opposite, “don’t fuck with the duchess. She’ll get you back!” 

Life on the road. It’s a hell of a lot of hard work, but also perhaps the most fun you’ll ever have, too. Once everything calms down, you sit and catch up with a few phone calls, Ves resting his hand casually on your thigh as he reads his current book. You’re at his side for all of ten minutes before excusing yourself.  

You don’t leave without being followed, though.  

“Oi, come here a minute,” he speaks, gently catching your wrist in his clutch and pulling you back as the door closes behind him. “That little comedic moment in there is the first time I’ve seen you be yourself and smile in days. Something’s up, and you need to tell me.” 

“I’m fine,” you state calmly, not able to meet his eyes until he touches a hand beneath your chin, tilting your head back gently.  

“Rubbish. Tell me.”  

Your heart begins to hammer, swallowing hard, saved quite literally by the bell of your phone beginning to ring. “It’s the rig guys, I think I’m needed out front.”  

Pulling from his grasp, you leave him there to lean against the corridor wall, sighing with irritation and dejection gnawing at him in equal measures. Is this it? Two months and you’re getting tired of him already? 

He can’t help it, where his mind naturally wanders to, what the darkened shadows that lurk beneath his usual rationality and pragmatism begin to whisper. They speak the lies he tries not to believe, that he isn’t good enough, that you’ll find someone better than him and ultimately, he’s powerless to stop the wheels of fate moving in such a decimating motion. 

Love, it seems, follows a distinct pattern for him. He allows the protective barrier around his heart to fall, just enough to let someone in and then when he least expects it, wham. He’s left with the injuries of loving unguardedly. Every fucking time, the barb pierces a fatal strike and leaves him bleeding. Except this time, it’s happening much quicker than before, and he doesn’t understand why. It’s like you’re calling time on it before the relationship clock has even truly begun to tick.  

Ticking; his brain does this for the rest of the day, driving him to irritation, his mood bordering on morose. True to form over the last few days, trying to find a moment alone with you is nigh on impossible, too, meaning by the time he hits the stage, the only thing he’s pouring into his performance is all the energy of a man trying desperately to ignore that fate, once again, is coming to kick at him.  

Looking to the side, he can’t spot you in your usual place, and it vexes him. Once the show is over, he smiles thinly for the obligatory picture, only hoping his sullen mood didn’t lead anyone in the crowd to feel disappointed, the usual on-stage hijinks a little lacking that night.  

Tension coils through him as he makes his way back to his dressing room, looking all around for you. “Anybody seen (Y/N)?” he asks to the various people surrounding him. The resounding answer is no. He feels his chest tighten unpleasantly to let himself into the space and see it empty, hoping he might’ve found you waiting for him in there.  

“We need to talk. Come to my dressing room xx.”  

He types out that message with aggressive punches of his thumb onto his phone’s screen, placing it down before going through the process of de-Vesseling himself, as he’s come to call it. As the water from the shower beats down over him, he finds a little catharsis in the cleansing, hands washing away the black paint, grey-tinged foam cascading down his lean bulk.  

Once he’s dried and dressed, he picks up his phone, irritation tightening his jaw to see you’ve read the message but haven’t replied. 

“Nah,” he hisses on a low breath, “I’m not having this crap.”  

Packing up his personal items, he goes to the bus first to throw his bag into the rear lounge area, eyes taking in your little trinkets scattered around, but finding the space otherwise free of the lovely woman he so enjoys sharing it with.  

Back out he strides, dodging the crew in the middle of their strenuous load out duties, cases being wheeled around left and right, beginning to walk. Searching within the backstage area itself firstly provides no clues to your whereabouts, Ves once again venturing outside. Casting his eyes around as he walks, he finally sees a familiar shape huddled at the bottom of a long set of iron steps, the gravel crunching beneath his feet as he approaches.  

“This has got to stop.” 

Looking up at him, you know he’s right. You can see it there, in those lovely, huge Bambi eyes. He’s reached his limit with your bullshit. “I know, Bambs. I know.” 

Crouching before you, he takes your hands in his. “If you’re going to finish with me, please, don’t leave me hanging,” he breathes, his voice shaking just a little bit with the emotion the thought alone stirs within. Even thinking it and he’s barely able to breathe. “Just tell me now, save me feeling any fucking worse than I do presently.” 

You never meant for that. Not at all. “I don’t want to finish with you, I really don’t,” you begin, Ves cutting you up. 

“Yeah? Well, if you keep acting like this instead of telling me what’s wrong, you’ll be leaving me with no choice but to finish with you. No matter how much I don’t want that. I need you to be honest with me and stop bloody fobbing me off with crap. You’re not okay, and you have to tell me why.” 

Your heart is crashing against your chest like a war drum, your palms beginning to sweat as you grip his hands, lips thinning, biting onto them. “Why are you with me? You could do so much better than me, and I don’t understand why, out of every woman you could get with, I’m the one you want to be with.” 

Immediately, his eyebrows rise, eyes widening. “Really? This is where we are, you asking me why I’m with you?” he questions, sounding a little incredulous. “Because I’m in love with you, you bloody daft knob! In love with you and scared out of my mind I’m about to lose you, because you’ve gone cold on me.” 

“I didn’t mean to, Bambers. I just... I’m...” you begin, panic churning your insides. “Intrusive thoughts.” 

“Yeah, I’ve been having a few of those lately, too,” he offers, smiling a little lopsidedly, thumbs stroking the backs of your hands. “This is about your ex, isn’t it? That twat who strung you along.” Your nod confirms, Ves continuing. “I’m not him. I’m about the furthest thing from him, too. I get why you’re scared because of him, but when you feel like that, fucking tell me, eh? I’ll be right there to reassure you. Listen, I’ve got shit like this in my past, too. I know where you’re coming from.” 

A long pause follows, with him leaning to you, placing a tender kiss upon the tip of your nose. “I’m not going to string you along and then drop you. I’m not.” 

“How do I know that for sure?” you blurt out. As if the man hasn’t let you know that enough already, but he’s patient enough to embellish further. 

“Okay, I’m going to share something here with you that I... well, I wasn’t going to. Out of fear of embarrassment eating me alive to be so vulnerable with someone,” he begins, taking a deep breath. “If I’m asking that of you, though, then I have to meet you with the same. If you ever want to know how I feel about you, how I’ve felt about you for the last three fucking years aside from my direct words or actions, you can hear it in my music.” 

Your head shoots up, meeting his eye as he continues. “Provider is written about you. Dangerous is written about you. I poured all my longing for you into those lyrics. I mean fuck, you even pop up in part in others, too. And I kept silent, all because I was too scared after Kate to make a move.” 

Your eyes become glassy, swallowing a lump in your throat. “Really?” 

“Yes, really,” he affirms, hands moving to cup your cheeks.  

Shaking your head, you return his gesture, thumbs stroking over his high cheekbones lovingly. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“Because I saw this amazing, confident woman who everyone adores and respects highly for being such a tenacious force, and I sat there being a gutless dickhead who was too messed up in his heart to tell her he was in love with her. But now I have, don’t you ever, not even for a fucking moment, doubt my love for you.” 

Standing, he pulls you up into his arms, cooing softly when you begin to cry. “C’mon, love. No need for tears,” he soothes you with, hands stroking you lovingly. 

“I’m such a dickhead!” you gasp, sniffing hard. 

“Yeah, not going to disagree with you there right now,” he chuckles, “you are, getting yourself so worked up about something I could have reassured you over days ago.” He leans to you then, kissing you softly, sending your heart soaring. “Dickhead I don’t ever want to be without, though.” 

Still crying, you hang onto him tighter, eventually making your way back to the bus and getting ready for bed as soon as you’re there, curling up under the covers with him.  

“Are you still bloody weeping?” he snorts, holding you a little tighter as he laughs softly. 

“Yes,” you sniff, drying your eyes, lifting your head to look at him. “I feel like such a twat.” 

He smiles, kissing you fondly. “Yeah, but you’re my twat, so stop bawling on me. It’s fine, just tell me if you’re feeling insecure in the future and we’ll work through it. You know you can. All I want is for you to feel loved and safe, darlin’.” 

For the first time in for as long as you can remember, that night as you rest your head down against the thick muscle of his chest, safety is finally within your grasp. Or rather, you’re held tightly in his, all night long and beyond. 

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[separatist-apologist]

heaven and hell were words to me

no grave could hold my body down, i'll crawl home to her

Summary: When Elain finds herself unexpectedly divorced, she makes a spontaneous decision to buy a run down farm house outside the city. Elain expects to find the pieces of herself among the rubble- she doesn't expect love in the form of her next door neighbor and his eight year old son.

Chapter 1 | Read on AO3 | @elucienweekofficial

“This was a mistake.”

Arina looked around at the empty living room, hands on her hips. She was wildly out of place in her heels and her sundress, though pretty all the same. It was nice to see her after months of avoiding her—Elain didn’t want to hear about what an asshole Graysen was. Arina hadn’t made a secret of her hatred, and though she’d been Elain’s maid of honor, she’d never warmed up to Graysen. 

Elain was too afraid to tell Arina Gray’s last words to her. There would be no coming back, no getting back together if Arina found out. She’d never forgive him for it. Elain didn’t know how she’d managed to forgive him, either. Some small part of her was growing angry—not angry enough to stop watching his stories or dreaming about him, but angry with how he’d discarded her like trash.

He’d promised her forever. Ten years was barely anything. It frustrated her sometimes. She’d catch herself writing out long paragraphs of texts, knowing damn well he had her blocked and would never read them. He’d never really explained why— why had he fallen out of love. Elain still half expected to see a woman, revealed as his long-term girlfriend.

That would have hurt less than the reality that he just woke up one day and wanted to be single again. Arina had speculated he felt like he missed out, having married so young, and was having a mini-midlife crisis. Maybe. If he’d just told her, she would have given him the freedom to go out and travel and party, so long as he came home to her.

Was that pathetic? 

She didn’t dare ask Arina that question. 

“The bones are good,” Arina said, touching an archway that led from the living room into an empty dining room. “Right?”

“Yeah,” Elain agreed. “The inspector said the foundation was good—it’s not sinking or anything. Everything else, though…”

“Well, that can be fixed. Are you hiring contractors?”

Elain nodded. “ A few. The neighbor offered to help me out a little, too, but I don’t know if he knows what he’s doing.”

That captured Arina’s attention. “Oh? You’ve been here twelve hours and the neighbor is already offering to help?”

Elain said nothing, following her friend into the dusty kitchen. The black and white tiles beneath her feet were peeling and cracked, the faucets rusty and the cabinets missing doors and hardware. She dreaded the kitchen as a project because she knew it’d be expensive—just like the bathrooms. The house was going to need new electric and plumbing, and contractors had quoted her an astronomical price. Maybe Lucien Vanserra would negotiate on her behalf, if only to bring them down by a couple grand? It felt awkward to ask a stranger to intercede on her behalf just because he was a man, and she was fairly certain she was being scammed because she was a woman.

“Is he hot?”

There it was. Elain turned to look deadpan at Arina. “Don’t.”

“That’s an objective question,” Arina complained. 

Elain sighed. “He’s good looking, yeah. He’s got a kid.”

Arina frowned. “Married?”

“I didn’t interrogate him. It was a two minute conversation,” Elain told her with exasperation. “I’m not looking for love.”

“Who said anything about love? Graysen is out there, probably contracting syphilis as we speak. Why not get under someone. A little meaningless sex never hurt anyone.”

“Until I get syphilis,” Elain grumbled.

Arina was cheerful in her response. “They make antibiotics for that—not that I have experience with it, don’t look at me like that. All I’m saying is that Gray is moving on and you should, too. It doesn’t have to be forever.”

“He’s the only man I’ve ever been with. I wouldn’t even know how to be with another man.”

“Men are forgiving,” Arina dismissed with a wave of her hand as she attempted to turn on the faucet. “You can lay there and they’re just grateful you’re letting them touch you at all.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Elain said. Maybe it was for Arina, who was so beautiful it defied belief. She’d seen men stop on the street and turn around just to try and talk to her. Arina could have modeled if she’d wanted given her tall, willowy build. She was a runner, keeping herself lean as a consequence. Elain had never been jealous—she thought she herself was quite pretty, and didn’t begrudge Arina the attention she got.

It had never gone to her friend's head, besides. 

“It is. Trust me.”

Maybe it was true for Arina, but Elain suspected men would at least want a little enthusiasm, and, if nothing else, self-confidence. As it stood, she wasn’t convinced she wouldn’t start crying if someone attempted to undress her. It would feel too much like cheating. 

The pair of them stepped back out into the early morning humidity, squinting as they stared up at the house. 

“I don’t think this was a mistake,” Arina told her. “This is the kind of place you grow old in.”

“It was impulsive,” Elain admitted, though some part of her warmed beneath Arina’s words. “I always wanted a house in the countryside.”

“Think of the vegetables you could grow out here,” Arina told her with a smile. “And when the pool is up, I might just move in for the summer.”

“There are enough bedrooms—I counted five.”

“Turn the basement into a little apartment for me,” Arina said with a grin. “I can help rip up that floor, too.”

“The more we can do, the less money I have to spend,” Elain agreed. She would have said more, but at that moment, Lucien appeared over the hill. She only noticed them because the little boy, whose name she could not remember, was racing toward her.

“Is that him?” Arina whispered.

“Yeah,” Elain agreed. Lucien Vanserra had tied his long hair off his face, leaving only a few wind-swept pieces of frame a rather lovely face. She knew what Arina was thinking—that Elain was both blind and stupid. Lucien was a good looking man, with flawless golden brown skin and auburn stubble gracing his strong jaw. High cheekbones and full lips, alongside big, brown eyes framed with dark lashes certainly didn’t hurt.

And he was in good shape. Tall, broad, and built like a lumberjack, Elain had a hard time imagining him single. Surely he had a wife back home who thought him willing to help was rather sweet of him.

“Oh, wow,” Arina whispered moments before Spam came crashing into Elain’s middle. She ruffled his mop of red curls with a smile. She’d never been one for children before. It wasn’t that she disliked them—on the contrary, Elain harbored fantasies of one day being a mother. It was simply that she didn’t know how to interact with them, and their quick, sudden movements made her a little nervous.

“Hey Spam,” she said.

“Spam?” Arina asked, green eyes wide with disbelief. 

“I’ve never had Spam before,” Spam told her. “Elain let me try a piece. It was gross.”

“It was uncooked,” Elain explained. “It’s better when its warm.”

He stuck out of his tongue, little button nose wrinkled with disgust. 

“My name is Rowan,” he told Arina, though Elain intended to continue calling him Spam, if only because he seemed to like it, and she liked it too. Lucien didn’t mind, either, gaze bouncing from Elain to Arina as he arrived. 

They did quick introductions, and Elain wondered if he was as taken with her friend as everyone else was. Arina was single, currently, having ended things with her semi-long term boyfriend that Elain had disliked. Arina hadn’t looked back. She’d ended things in one five minute conversation and that was that.

Elain wished she could be more like that. 

“I came to help,” Lucien told her. “Though, I don’t know how much help I’ll be.”

“Better than just the two of us alone,” Elain said cheerfully, beckoning him toward the groaning stairs. Lucien followed her up and into the house, taking it all in with fresh eyes.

“Just so you know, I’m blind in one eye,” he admitted, gesturing to the eye that had a couple long scars raking through it. “So if I’m little off on something, just let me know. It doesn’t hurt my feelings.”

“Of course,” she agreed while Arina trailed behind. Neither of them asked what had happened. It looked old, but she knew wounds that seemed healed could often be fresh. 

“Which room is mine?” asked Spam when they began walking up the stairs to the second floor landing. Lucien started to protest, telling his son that none of the rooms were his, but Elain thought it might be nice if he spent the night every once and a while. Maybe they could be friends.

“Whichever one you like,” she declared. After all, he was helping, and why shouldn’t he be allowed to have a room? 

Lucien gave Elain an unreadable look—was he annoyed or grateful? She couldn’t tell.

“We should start downstairs with the floors,” he decided. “Let’s rip it up and see what’s underneath.”

“Seems a shame to rip up all that nice hardwood,” Arina murmured, following them down the steps. “Can we salvage any of it?”

“Some, maybe,” Lucien agreed. “With a really good sander from Home Depot. If you rent one, I can go through the rooms and do that for you.”

“Thank you. How much does real wood cost?” she asked, not wanting to put laminate down next to wood that was likely a century or more old.

“A lot.”

“I owe you a gift,” Arina declared, turning to face Elain. “Let me buy it.”

“I—”

“It’s my dads money. Come on,” she added in a plaintive voice. “It would piss him off so much knowing I did nothing useful with that stupid trust.”

“Flooring is pretty useful,” Lucien countered, not understanding the dynamic. Arina’s father had died a billionaire thanks to his invention of some piece of technology he sold for millions and then reinvested. Arina had inherited a small chunk of it when he died in a freak accident. She’d sold his businesses for parts, making her even wealthier, and her only goal was to spend as much of it as she could.

She’d donated a good half to various charities, and refused to ever let Elain pay for a meal when they went out together. Birthdays had become extravagant affairs, all to spite her dead father. He’d never wanted her to receive any of it but without a will in place, Arina inherited all of it, and had made it her mission to make him miserable, even in death. 

“Consider it a housewarming present. One housewarming present, anyway. I assume you’ll need a cool chandelier, too.”

Elain only sighed. “C’mon. Let’s get to work.”

LUCIEN:

He had splintered in his hands and his knees ached, but Lucien felt good. Useful, even. He had more time given it was a three day weekend, and woke up early on Sunday to return to Elain’s. Rowan was already up if the noise coming from the television down the hall was any indication. 

Rowan was already dressed in his usual style—of which he had none—in bright blue swim trunks emblazoned with neon green sharks, and a red tank top that featured a dinosaur on it. 

“Ready?” he asked as Lucien plopped onto the leather couch, shirtless and still struggling to pull himself out of sleep. His muscles ached from the day before. It was a good ache, at least, and a reminder that he was getting older. 

Maybe he ought to bring the knee pads he used when he was rollerblading with Rowan. After breakfast, Lucien did try them on in the mirror before deciding he’d just suffer. It was just…Elain and her friend Arina were stunning women, and even if he told himself it meant nothing, he still had a little pride.

He found the two of them on the front lawn talking to a contractor. Elain had asked him to help her negotiate a price—but Arina seemed more than capable. She didn’t seem to care if people liked her or thought she was polite or sweet. As Lucien came closer, he could hear that bossy tone that had dominated the previous day's work.

“Maybe this scam works on other people—”

“Lady, I can take my business elsewhere—”

“Drop the price by three thousand and you can start right now,” she said, hands on her hips. Elain stood beside her friend, eyes wide like a doe. The man blinked, sighed, and then began furious scribbling something on the paperwork attached to his clipboard. 

“Fine,” he groused.

“Thank you so much,” Elain said, offering him a smile so blindingly lovely that even Lucien’s heart skipped a beat. She turned then to face him and Lucien swore his knees wobbled a little. He needed to get himself together. Guilt and need warred within him—Elain Archeron didn’t seem like the kind of woman you took to bed for a fun night, only to never call her again. She looked like she was born to be someone’s wife.

And he already had a wife. Lucien had sworn off love, marriage, and everything else. He’d get used to it, he told himself sternly. She’d do something that put her firmly in the friend zone in his mind and he’d be able to look at her with nothing but affection. Like a sister, he decided, well aware there was no universe and no circumstances in which he wouldn’t be attracted to her. 

“Well,” Elain was saying, pulling Lucien from his slack jawed musings, “we probably shouldn’t be in the house while they’re rewiring it.”

“No!” Rowan immediately complained, his face collapsing with disappointment. “I wanted to paint today!”

“Oh, buddy, we’re a long way away from painting,” Elain told him with sympathy. “We could do something else if you want, though?”

Lucien noticed another van pulling up—one with a distinct pool logo on the side. Was that her priority? Getting the pool up and running before she ever got all the windows replaced? Why? Lucien understood the need for electricity and plumbing—it probably sucked sleeping on the floor in the house you bought and not being able to charge your phone.

“Where are you sleeping?” he interrupted just as Elain offered to take Rowan on a picnic. 

Her eyes drifted toward her car as Arina made her way to the pool guys. With a smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes, Elain lied and said, “I have a place back home.” If he’d known her better, he would have called her out. Niceties won the day, however, which was why Lucien said, “So. A picnic?”

It wasn’t much of a picnic given there was no food—it was more of a hike through the woods behind her property. Rowan was ecstatic, however, because he loved being outside almost as much as he loved bugs and birds. As it turned out, Elain did, too. He’d expected her to scream when Rowan put a caterpillar on her arm, but Elain had smiled, extending the limb outward so they both could admire it. 

“Sometimes dad takes me fishing,” Rowan told her, lightly stroking the insect crawling up Elain’s slim, freckled arm. “He can catch them with his bare hands!”

Elain glanced at Lucien, who felt strangely embarrassed. “If they’re really big,” he said, trying to downplay something he was genuinely proud of. 

“I’d like to see that,” she told him.

“You should come with us the next time we go!” Rowan said, clearly enamored with Elain. Maybe he had a little crush? That would explain his eagerness to spend time with her. Elain was sweet, too, without making it into a big deal. She gently put the caterpillar on a leaf—of which she knew the name of—and continued on their journey. Elain knew a lot about plants, which surprised Lucien.

If he’d had to guess, he would have thought she was more of an indoorsey type of person. She very much gave off daddy’s little princess, coddled and spoiled right up until you got to know her. Maybe she had been that, or maybe Lucien was merely projecting how he would act if he had a face half as beautiful as hers. 

When they emerged back into her yard, Arina was ordering the pool people around like some kind of formidable general. She remembered him of his eldest brother, though far more charming and likable than Eris had ever managed. She smiled and waved at them both when she saw them, brown skin glistening beneath the warm summer sun.

Inside, Elain and Lucien walked about the house, examining the holes the electricians had made in order to pull wiring through. Elain frowned. “Do you think I need someone to put walls up?” she whispered as Lucien’s son bounced ahead to pull at some peeling old floral wallpaper. Keeping one eye on Rowan, Lucien shrugged.

“How hard could patching up walls be?” he questioned. “Surely there’s a youtube video floating around somewhere.” “We’ll do all this ourselves and it’ll come crashing down on me while I sleep,” she joked, offering him a weak smile.

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to say thanks,” he told her, following her from the hall into that massive living room. It would be stunning when it was finished—half circular, with large, bay windows that let in tons of natural light. They’d pulled all the floors out the day before, leaving several large gaps in the subflooring where they’d found suspicious looking stains. Arina had immediately declared it to be blood and decided the house was haunted. Lucien was pretty sure it was animal urine. Elain had merely laughed without offering her own opinion. In truth, Lucien wasn’t sure it wasn’t blood—the stain was awfully dark and lacked the kind of rotting, wet smell that came from animal urine. 

But he was a lawyer by trade, so what did he know about construction, truly? 

From where he stood, he could see the dusty cellar beneath. Elain had dreams of turning it into another gathering area with its own little bar, and for some strange reason, Lucien wished he was better at woodworking. It would be neat to make it for her. 

“Thanks for what?” Elain asked, once again pulling him from his musings. He’d spent so much time living in his head that he’d forgotten how to have a conversation with another person.

“Hanging out with Rowan. I know kids aren’t for everyone.”

“Oh, he’s sweet. Little Spam,” she added affectionately as he raced by, ruffling those ruddy curls as he went. “Honestly, I like the chaos.”

“Oh?” he questioned, trying not to pry. 

Elain didn’t offer him anything helpful. “Before I came here, I was living alone. I figured I’d be alone out here, too, so it’s nice that he feels so comfortable coming around.”

“You don’t really have to give him his own room,” Lucien told her, though some small part of him hoped she would anyway.

“Don’t be silly. There’s so much space in here, why shouldn’t he have a room or two?”

“You’ll have your own kids soon enough,” Lucien said without thinking about it. Not everyone wanted kids, and judging by the way her face fell, maybe she didn’t either. Or, maybe she couldn’t have kids and he was rubbing his fertility in, or—

“Some day,” Elain interrupted, silencing his inner turmoil. “Not soon, though.”

Lucien let it drop. He went to supervise the electricians while Elain went to the kitchen, hands on her hips as she surveyed the empty, dirty space. He offered to make her dinner before he left for the day, to which she politely declined. It didn’t seem like there were any hard feelings between them, at least, which eased some of the guilt he felt. 

“Dad, how come Elain didn’t want to eat dinner with us?” Rowan asked through a mouth full of crispy potatoes and peas. 

“Maybe she has her own dinner plans,” Lucien replied, giving Rowan the look that told his son to chew with his mouth closed.

Rowan pointedly ignored him. “Did you know she’s divorced?”

Lucien choked on his water. “No. How do you know that?”

“I heard Arina talking about it. It means Elain is single.”

Lucien narrowed his eyes. “Thinking of asking her out, are you?”

“I would if I was older, but I’m only eight! You should ask her out.”

Lucien choked again. “Ask her out? Why would I do that?”

“You’re single,” Rowan replied, shrugging slim shoulders. He put one elbow on the wooden table and leveled a look at his dad. “You’re lonely.”

“What do you know about that?”

Rowan shrugged again. “Nothing, I guess. I like Elain.”

“You keep saying that. What about mom, though?” It was a topic Lucien had never once dared to broach with his son, partly because there had never been any reason to. However, with Rowan urging Lucien to ask out the neighbor, Lucien wondered what he thought about potentially replacing his mom.

“Do you still love mom?” Rowan questioned.

Lucien set his fork down gently. “Of course I do. I’ll always love her.”

“Even if you married someone else?” Rowan asked, eyes big and wide. He looked so much like her, it was almost as if Jess were speaking to him.

“Even then,” Lucien murmured softly. 

“Then I think you should ask out Elain,” Rowan declared, as if that settled it. Lucien dropped the subject, turning to the upcoming school year and Rowan’s friends. He let his son chatter about Charlie S. and Charlie B., two boys he saw fairly often during the summer from his class, his mind still on Elain and Jess.

Jess wouldn’t have wanted Lucien to spend the rest of his life mourning her—she’d want him to move on, just as Lucien would have wanted her to be happy rather than spend her life mourning him. But knowing what she’d want and doing it were two entirely different things. There had been a time when Lucien knew how to talk to women. 

Now, he wasn’t certain what to say. He thought about it long after Rowan had been tucked into bed and Lucien lay awake in his own bed, staring upward at the fan spinning in rapid circles. Just ask her.

He would—tomorrow.

[s6rine]

WORK TWO ♥︎ : YOU MAKE ME GO BANANAS .ᐟ

CW: f!reader, cursing, miscommunicatiooonnnn, childhood bsfs to lovers implied, NOT proofread, use of y/n, fluff (wc: 987)

kuroo can tell you almost everything—almost.

you’re the first person he calls when he flunks a test, the first one he describes in detail how he ate shit on the way to school. hell, he even tells you first when there’s drama at home.

but the one thing he can’t bring himself to say?that he’s been in love with you since elementary. 

he was planning on putting it off until the two of you graduate college (for some reason), but hearing you casually mention you’re going out with the new transfer kid from class 3-2 next week? yeah, that’s what sends him spiraling.

what was he even supposed to do?

the two of you have never talked about dating, not even once, so it’s not like he has any clue how to go about asking you out. actually—now that he thinks about it—he doesn’t even know what your type is.

so, when the bell rings, indicating lunch time, he somehow manages to snag your other best friend before anyone.

"hey! what the hell is your issue?" she says, shrugging his hand off her shoulder. "are you here to ask me out? i'll get y/n to kick your ass, y'know,"

“what?! no! it’s just—” he groans, standing up straighter and raking a hand through his hair. "what the hell does y/n see in that transfer kid compared to me?"

“i dunno, maybe he doesn’t treat her like she’s one of your homeboys.”

“huh?”

“are you dense? do you wrestle with any other girl like that?”

“...i thought letting her win was enough,” he mutters, scratching the back of his neck. “and she starts it most of the time anyway!”

“okay, and what about yesterday? you shoved your whole bento in her face.”

“she dared me! said i was too much of a pussy to do it.”

“kuroo. this is why she doesn’t like you. anyway, i gotta go. y/n’s waiting.”

she quickly says before scurrying off. kuroo simply stands there for a few moments before sluggishly making his way to the spot him and kenma usually eat at.

the next morning goes like usual. he finishes last night’s homework, brushes his teeth, throws on his uniform, and waits outside your house. but not the walk to school, it’s weirdly quiet.

“hey, say something. you always have something stupid to start my morning off,” you say, nudging his arm. all you get is a grunt in return.

“i’ll laugh at your stupid cat jokes,” you say, shoving his arm. “are you okay?” kuroo lets out a long sigh, running his hand over his face. “yeah, yeah– i’m just exhausted.”

he sighs, dragging a hand down his face. “yeah. just tired.”

“i can tell. you didn’t even try to race me.”

“maybe it’s time i grow up.”

“okay, now you’re just being weird.”

you figure maybe he just needs rest. but it doesn’t stop. it’s been a week. he’s been weirdly distant—still the same with everyone else, but not with you. and every time you try to get it out of him, he shuts down.

it’s friday, 9:47 PM when kuroo hears banging on his door. the only reason he memorizes the time is just in case it’s a murderer banging on his door—if he makes it out, at least he’ll know what time to tell the cops.

but instead, it’s you.

“aren’t you supposed to be on a da—”

“what is wrong with you?” you snap, pushing past him. “you haven’t joked with me in days. you’ve been avoiding me—but you’re perfectly fine with everyone else! did i do something?”

“no, but—”

“if i did, you’re supposed to tell me, dumbass! i should hit you the same way you hit me when i ignored you! and what’s with not fighting back anymore?”

“i–”

“you’re so boring now, it’s like—”

“can you just come inside already?” kuroo says slightly louder than intended. the two of you walk up to his room before he flops down on his bed. he lets out a long sigh before looking up at the roof. 

“i’m not mad,”

you sit beside him, knees pulled to your chest as you look down at him. kuroo doesn’t think he can handle looking back at you—not right now, at least.

“i’m jealous.”

“of what?”

“of the fact that there are... better guys out there. ones you might actually like. i forgot i’d have competition,” he mumbles.

“what are you even saying—”

“y/n, i like you. i like you so much it’s been driving me crazy. i tried to ask your friend—whatever her name is—what you liked, and she said you’d never go for someone like me ‘cause i don’t treat you the right way or some bullshit like that.” kuroo finally admits, sitting up, but not quite facing you yet. kuroo starts to sweat. “sor—”

“you idiot!” you yell, smacking his arm before yanking on his ear.

“ow!” he whines.

“what the hell did i tell you about letting others speak for me, huh? if your dumbass had told me this in the first place, i would’ve told you i like you back!”

“y-y-what?” kuroo stammers, letting out a grunt when you release his ear—only to get smacked on the back of the head right after. “how the hell am i supposed to know that i-if you’re talking about going on dates with other dudes?!”

“well, if you would stop cutting me off, i would’ve told you i was just joking. idiot,” you say, shoving his arm again as you scoot in closer to him. “how about you take me on a real date to apologize for your actions, yeah?”

“...fine,” he says, not being able to stop himself from grinning like an idiot before he finally looks at you.

“and if you change for anyone else, i’ll kill you, ‘kay?”

“that’s if you manage to get me first.” (which earns him another punch)

a/n: dear user livteracts i finished this right after i told you about it also guys should i do taglist (i tried to go for the corny theme ngl)

© S6RINE 2025, please do not translate, copy, or republish my work anywhere else otherwise i will give your voodoo doll blunt force trauma!

[akiisp]

Girlll I love the nerd Draco but if you ever make a part 2....maybe if he stutter and idk like do nerd stuff because I can definitely see it😩😩😩

"Dare, Deny, Draco" D.M || PT 2

Nerd! Draco x Popular! Reader

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Summary: Part 2 of "Dare, Deny, Draco" Here is PT 1 if you haven't seen it

Draco starts to fall — hard — but insecurities and cruel whispers convince him he’s just another joke to you. When he pulls away, you track him down under the stars to finally come clean. Yes, it started as a dare — but it’s real now. And so are your feelings.

Warnings: Self doubt, insecurity, emotional vulnerability, kinda angst? other than these fluff

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Draco knew it was stupid.

He knew who you were — hell, everyone did. The girl who could shut down a corridor with a look, who made professors sigh in both awe and exhaustion. You moved through Hogwarts like it was yours. And maybe it was.

You were loud, radiant, maddening. A walking contradiction to everything he thought he liked.

But gods, when you laughed? It messed with his concentration for the rest of the day.

So yeah. He damn well knew you were a heartbreaker. You probably had half the castle tangled in your charm already. This was nothing new for you — just another casual flirtation, a sparkly distraction in a string of stories you’d tell over Butterbeer with your friends.

And yet.

Yet there you were. Sitting beside him, not flinching when his words got sharp. Not pulling away when he fumbled, which he was increasingly doing because—

Well.

Because you smiled at him like he wasn’t just Draco Malfoy: snarky, awkward, vaguely tragic. You smiled like you saw something else. Something he didn’t quite believe in yet.

So yeah. He was a little screwed.

You were late today. Only by a few minutes, but Draco noticed. Of course he did. He’d been sitting there, pretending to read the same line of Arithmancy for a full five minutes, ears half-trained for your voice.

When you finally plopped down beside him — makeup perfect, scarf tossed like an afterthought — Draco tensed before he could stop himself.

You smirked. “Miss me?”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re not that unforgettable.”

Your grin just widened. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Draco tried not to smile. Tried to look unimpressed. But when you leaned a little too close, quill tapping against your chin, he felt it — the heat crawling up the back of his neck.

He cleared his throat. “So, um. I—I was actually… thinking.”

Your eyes lit up immediately. “Aww. He thinks.”

“Shut up.” He looked down, hating how his voice wobbled. “I just. I—er—there’s a—a new exhibit in the Astronomy Tower this week and I thought maybe—”

You blinked at him, head tilted. “So you liked my company. Malfoy… are you asking me out? ”

His ears flushed pink. “N–not if you’re going to say it like that—”

“Astronomy Tower?” you repeated sweetly. “Draco, are you trying to get me under the stars?”

He nearly choked. “Merlin— I—No—I mean—yes? But not like that!”

You laughed, full and delighted, reaching across the table to flick his tie. “You’re adorable when you glitch.”

He scowled, but it lacked real bite. “I don’t glitch.”

You nodded solemnly. “Of course. Just… minor system updates.”

He groaned, burying his face in his hand. “You are the worst.”

“Malfoy.exe has stopped responding,” you added, giggling.

He peeked at you through his fingers. “Stop giving me nicknames.”

You leaned forward, absolutely not stopping. “But Glitchy MrSmartyPants fits you so well.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew this wasn’t sustainable. This game. This softness. You were too bright, too wanted.

And the whispers didn’t help.

“Her? With him?”

“Maybe it’s a joke.”

“She probably just lost a bet again.”

“Malfoy? No way she actually likes him.”

It shouldn’t have bothered him. He knew how people talked. Knew how you had a reputation for reckless flirting and low-stakes dares.

But still. Every time someone said it out loud — that he was just another challenge to conquer — it burrowed under his skin like a splinter he couldn’t dig out.

So he did what he knew best.

Pulled away.

You noticed immediately. You always did.

“Hey.” You cornered him outside the greenhouse one morning, lips pressed into a suspicious frown. “You’ve been weird.”

Draco blinked. “I’m always weird.”

“Don’t deflect.” You stepped closer, arms crossed. “You barely looked at me in Runes, and don’t think I didn’t notice you leaving early yesterday.”

He stiffened, jaw tight. “Maybe I just didn’t feel like playing the joke anymore.”

You froze.

“…What?”

Draco swallowed hard. His voice came out lower, quieter. “You don’t have to keep pretending. I know it started as a dare. And I’m not stupid. Everyone’s waiting for the punchline.”

You stared at him, all your usual smugness stripped away.

Then: “You think I’m pretending?”

He didn’t answer.

So you stepped forward again, slower this time. “Draco. I like you.”

He let out a shaky breath. “Yeah, well. You’ve probably said that to—what—twenty blokes this semester?”

You frowned. Not angry. Just… hurt.

And something about that made his chest ache.

“I don’t flirt with guys who make me nervous,” you said quietly.

His head shot up.

You shrugged one shoulder, like it didn’t cost anything to admit. “You make me nervous. And not just because you’re hot in a tragic poet kind of way.”

His brow furrowed.

“You’re different,” you said simply. “And I know I’m not. I’m… sparkly lip gloss and spotlight and too much everything. But this thing between us? I wasn’t pretending.”

Draco’s throat felt too tight to speak.

So you leaned in, like it was the easiest thing in the world, and kissed his cheek. Light. Soft.

“Still glitching?” you whispered.

He blinked.

Then nodded.

You smiled. “Good. Means you’re still mine.”

As you walked away from the greenhouse, heart racing and lips still tugged in a triumphant grin, the confidence started to slip — just a little.

You hadn’t expected him to actually agree.

You hadn’t expected your heart to do that stupid flutter thing, either.

And now, as you wandered through the corridor, suddenly alone, you felt it: the tiny, creeping knot of guilt you’d been ignoring all week.

He knew it started as a dare.

Of course he did. He was too clever not to connect the dots — the sudden interest, the teasing, the sugar quills and “help me with Runes” routine. Draco Malfoy wasn't oblivious.

But what if he didn’t know it stopped being a dare?

You paused by a window, watching students below stroll through the courtyard. Your fingers played with the end of your scarf, tugging thoughtfully.

He knows it was a dare… but how do I come clean?

Because somewhere between Pansy’s laugh and that first sugar quill… you’d started actually liking him.

Not in the way you liked winning games, or having attention, or knowing every room was yours.

No.

You liked the way he smirked like it hurt him. The way he pretended not to care but still remembered your favorite flavors. The way he listened. Quietly. Fully.

And now the game didn’t feel like a game anymore.

You liked him.

It was late.

Not curfew-late, but quiet-late — the kind of hour where the castle felt softer. Dim candlelight flickered along the stone walls, and you found him exactly where you expected: at the top of the Astronomy Tower, alone, his back to you, arms folded over the railing.

“Figured I’d find you sulking up here,” you said gently.

Draco turned at the sound of your voice, startled at first, then defensive — but tired, too. You could see it in the slump of his shoulders, the pinch between his brows.

He didn’t say anything. Just gave you a look — guarded, unreadable.

You stepped closer, heart pounding, arms wrapped around yourself like a shield. “You’re still avoiding me.”

He looked away. “I’ve been busy.”

You rolled your eyes, but there wasn’t any bite to it. “Right. Hiding in towers and skipping meals? Very productive.”

A beat of silence.

Then, quieter: “I just figured you got bored. Or came to your senses.”

That one hurt.

You took a breath, crossing the final distance between you until you were standing just beside him, close enough to brush his sleeve.

“I didn’t. Just thought you needed time. And I know that you know the truth, but..”

He glanced at you — cautious, skeptical.

You looked up at the stars instead, voice softer now. “I know how this started. A dare. A game. I know how it must’ve looked. Like I was just... collecting another reaction. Another smirk. But that’s not what this is anymore.”

He said nothing, but he didn’t pull away either.

You turned to face him fully, placing your hand gently over his where it rested on the cold railing. “Draco, I like you.”

His breath hitched. You felt it more than heard it.

“I don’t mean in the flirty, ‘look how charming I am’ kind of way. I mean the real kind. The kind that makes me nervous. The kind that keeps me up wondering if you’ll sit next to me tomorrow or vanish again.”

Finally, he looked at you

And you saw it there, plain as day. Hope. Fear. Longing. All of it tangled up behind those storm-gray eyes.

“I like you,” you repeated, voice almost a whisper. “Not because you’re mysterious or smart or secretly hilarious when you forget to be guarded. I like you because you see me. The me that isn’t always performing.”

Draco swallowed hard, blinking quickly like he was trying to find the right words.

“I know you probably think this was all fake,” you added. “But it’s not. You’re not a joke. Not to me.”

For a long moment, neither of you said anything. The breeze lifted your hair. A quiet night wrapped around you both.

Then — carefully, almost like he wasn’t sure if it was allowed — Draco reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You really mean it?” he asked, voice low.

You nodded, smiling just a little. “Every word.”

His mouth twitched — not quite a grin, but something close. Then, without warning, he leaned down and pressed his forehead to yours.

“I-I.. like you too,” he said, barely above a whisper. “Terrifies the hell out of me.”

You smiled, breathless.

“Good,” you whispered. “So can I be your girlfriend?”

And under a blanket of stars, with the wind brushing past and the whole castle asleep below, Draco Malfoy kissed you — slow, unsure, and full of every feeling he’d spent the last month pretending not to have.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

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Here's my masterlist if you want to read more!! I was thinking about making PT 3?? Based on the song by "Still into you" By Paramore. What do yall think??

You can request some stuff too!! HOPE U ENJOYED!! <333 Don't be shy just follow me <33