professional bunny corcoran lover

•I'm Salem •

[mrscorcoran]

One more secret won't hurt/ Bunny Corcoran x Reader

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Chapter 22: Exes and Ohs

Morning creeps on slowly and remembering that everyone very likely heard that whole mess from last night, I realize that it probably wasn’t that good of an idea. Now I’ll have to get up and face their teasing. I groaned softly into the pillow, dragging the covers up over my head, wishing I could disappear into them.

Bunny stirred beside me. I felt the bed shift as he rolled onto his back and let out a quiet yawn. “You awake?” he murmured, voice still thick with sleep.

-“Unfortunately,” I replied.

There was a pause. Then he chuckled under his breath. “We probably made the group chat.”

-“Don’t say that. I don’t even want to check my phone.”

“We can blame it on the whiskey. Or you can just tell the truth, say I lost a bet.” His voice was teasing, but I heard it, that little thread of nervousness underneath. Like he wasn’t quite sure what the energy between us was now. I wasn’t either.

I slide out of bed quietly and gather my things. I want to avoid the walk of shame, or, in this case, the walk of “I dared my friend to perform audio erotica while sharing a bed”, at all costs, but there’s no use.

I steeled myself and headed downstairs, dragging my suitcase behind me. Bunny buried his head back in his pillow, still too sleepy to deal.

The moment I stepped into the kitchen, five heads turned.

-“Good morning,” Charles sing-songed, grinning into his coffee mug.

-“Sleep well?” Camila added, one eyebrow arched way too high.

Francis didn’t even try to hide his smirk. “You know, if you two had just hooked up, I’d be less disturbed. But that… whatever that was… and with the mustard…?” He shuddered dramatically. “I feel like I need to go to church.”

Richard, bless him, was already choking on laughter.

I forced a laugh, clutching my travel mug like a lifeline. “Okay, first of all, that was not what it sounded like.”

-“Oh?” Henry leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching me with that mild, unreadable expression he always wore when he was holding back amusement. “And what exactly was it, then?”

-“A dare. A very stupid dare. We were playing truth or dare and Bunny picked dare. But nothing actually happened.” I hoped my tone was believable enough.

There was a collective pause.

Then Charles gasped, clutching his chest. “Oh my god, that makes it so much worse.”

Camila nodded solemnly. “You made him do that for a dare? You’re a menace.”

I pointed at her. “Exactly. I’m a menace. He’s a victim. It was not sexy, it was not romantic, it was performance art and I regret everything. Can we please just move on?”

Francis was already laughing. “You say that like we don’t have a lifetime of material now.”

-“I still think they fucked…” Charles said, sharing a look with Francis.

Before I could throw myself into the sink, Henry stepped forward, mercifully breaking the teasing.

-“We should get going,” he said, checking his watch. “Train leaves in an hour, right?”

-“Right. Yes. Thank you. Let’s go,” I said quickly, grabbing my stuff and heading for the door. “Bunny, I’m leaving!” I yelled up the stairs, as I hugged my friends goodbye.

I heard the thump of hurried footsteps above me, and a moment later he appeared at the top of the stairs, still in the same rumpled shirt from last night, hair wild, eyes puffy from sleep.

-“Hey- wait,” he called, jogging down the steps, barefoot. “You weren’t gonna leave without saying goodbye properly, were you?”

-“I was trying to spare you the shame,” I smirked, but my voice wobbled more than I liked.

He laughed softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve been through worse. Probably. Plus, I’m the one staying here with the jerks.”

I stepped outside as he followed me, stolen slipper’s on his feet,  to the car where Henry was already waiting, leaning on the driver’s side, politely pretending not to eavesdrop.

Bunny came to stand beside me, hands shoved in his pockets, the cool morning breeze ruffling his hair. “Hey,” he said, quieter now. “Thanks for this week. For the chaos. The mustard. Everything.”

I gave him a small smile. “Back at you. You’re a surprisingly good roommate. Loud, dramatic, but dependable.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

A pause. Something hung in the air between us, maybe it was the shared memory of last night, or the soft way the morning light hit his face, or the echo of my own realization that was still rattling around in my chest. But I couldn’t say any of it. Not now.

Instead, I leaned in and gave him a quick hug. I meant it to be brief, but he held on just a second longer than I expected. His hand brushed the small of my back before pulling away.

“Write me dumb texts from your mom’s house,” he said, a hit of pleading hidden in his tone.

“I will.”

He stepped back as I got into the car, and Henry wordlessly pulled away from the house. Through the window, I caught one last glimpse of Bunny standing in the driveway, waving.

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The drive was quiet. The air was thick with early sunlight and leftover awkwardness. Henry didn’t speak for a long time, just focused on the road, the occasional tap of his fingers against the steering wheel the only sound.

I was grateful for the silence, honestly. I needed time to sort through the tangled mess in my head. Bunny’s sleepy smile. The way he had moaned like his life depended on it. How my chest had ached when I realized I didn’t want to leave his side. What an inconvenient time for a life altering realization.

Halfway through the drive, Henry glanced at me.

“You two are close,” he said simply.

I stiffened. “Please don’t.”

Henry didn’t respond right away. He just gave a knowing little hum, then focused back on the road. “He cares about you,” he said after a moment. “He’s a mess, but he’s got a good heart. Loud about it, but still.”

Damn Henry.

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Not with the way my throat tightened.

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The train station was a blur of noise and motion. I boarded with a twinge of reluctance, backpack slung over one shoulder, suitcase dragging behind me,  earbuds in even though I wasn’t playing anything. Just blocking out the world.

Once the train started moving, I found a window seat and curled up beside it, forehead resting against the cool glass.

Outside, the trees and towns blurred together, but inside, my mind was stuck. On Bunny’s laugh. On the way his voice had dropped when he whispered, “Has it been a minute yet?” On how safe it felt to fall asleep next to him.

I exhaled, fogging up the glass, and wrote a little heart in the condensation with my fingertip. Then wiped it away before anyone could see.

Because I was in so much trouble.

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The train pulled into the station right on time, and there she was, my mom, standing on the platform like a movie cliché, arms folded tightly across her chest, wearing her usual smile. Next to her stood Don, her boyfriend and permanent flannel-shirt enthusiast, waving like I was a toddler arriving home from summer camp.

-“Hi, sweetheart,” my mom said as I stepped off the train, pulling me into one of her patented overly long hugs that always made me feel like I was being measured instead of comforted.

-“Hey, Mom. Don.”

-“Look at you, you’ve gotten skinnier,” she said immediately, pulling back and scanning me like a catalog item. “Are you eating enough?”

-“Yup, still believe in food. Hi to you too,” I muttered, giving Don a polite nod as he reached for my suitcase with the enthusiasm of a man pretending it was heavier than it actually was.

-“Good trip?” Don asked as we walked to the car.

-“Yep. Uneventful.”

They didn’t need to know about the truth-or-dare moaning debacle, or the part where I realized I was desperately in love with my best friend.

We drove in silence for a bit, Don humming along to the radio, Mom occasionally stealing glances at me like she wanted to ask something but was holding back. The house was exactly as I remembered it: pristine, quiet, the furniture all color-coordinated like a staged real estate listing. Too clean. Too perfect.

Inside, my old room looked untouched, like a museum exhibit dedicated to my teenage angst. Same posters, same creaky twin bed, same stuffed rabbit on the shelf I’d never admitted was sentimental.

-“Go ahead and get settled in,” Mom called from the kitchen. “Dinner’s going to be special tonight!”

That should’ve been my first red flag.

I unpacked a little, freshened up, and made my way to the kitchen. The table was already half-set, candles and all. I narrowed my eyes.

-“So… special, how?” I asked, eyeing the fancy china on the table.

-“Well,” Mom said, not looking up from arranging the silverware with militant precision, “since we couldn’t all be together for Christmas, I thought, why not a late Christmas dinner?”

-“That’s… thoughtful?” I said, slowly.

-“And I figured it’d be nice to catch up with old friends. You know, people who meant a lot to you.”

My stomach tightened.

She smiled, real pleased with herself now. “So I invited Noah.”

My whole body went cold. “You what?”

-“He’s had a rough time too, you know? I thought it might be healing for both of you.”

-“Mom, we broke up. And not like, friendly coffee and closure broke up. Like ugly, please stop calling my friends broke up.”

-“He’s matured. You’ll see. Besides, it’s just dinner.”

Don awkwardly patted my shoulder on the way past, clearly wanting no part of this conversation. “Turkey smells great, honey,” he said, disappearing down the hall like he was fleeing a crime scene.

I stood frozen in the doorway, heart hammering. I thought this week was going to be hard. I didn’t realize it was going to be war. Seeing Noah was literally the last thing I needed right now.

There was no point making a scene, her plan was already in motion. The tables were set, the turkey was probably already halfway cooked, and judging by her tone, she'd already mentally photoshopped a happy reunion into the family photo album. The smartest thing now was to survive the evening without setting the house on fire and then, when the dust settled, firmly explain to my mother why ambush therapy dinners were not okay.

At least it wasn’t going to be just us. A few relatives and family friends were coming, people who never turned down free wine and overcooked poultry. I could orbit the crowd, fade into the background, and avoid Noah entirely if I played my cards right.

I sighed and resigned myself to the torture. Just half an hour until the first round of awkward smiles and backhanded compliments.

I found Don in the living room and sat down with him, thankful for the calm. We swapped Christmas stories, he told me about their cruise and the tacky live shows, and I told him a heavily censored version of my week at the country house. No moaning dares. No revelations. Just the snow, the fireplace, and my “eccentric friends.” Don laughed at all the right parts and didn’t ask too many questions. Out of all the men my mom had dated, Don was the one I actually liked. He didn’t try too hard, and he always talked to me like a person, not a project.

Eventually, the house started to fill up. My little cousins came charging through the door like sugar-high tornadoes, clinging to my dress and immediately begging for games on my phone. Aunts and uncles arrived in waves of perfume and plaid, dishing out side-hugs and stories I already knew. I helped in the kitchen, poured wine, played the role of the good daughter, the helpful niece, the one who was fine.

Then, three knocks at the door. Firm. Familiar.

Everyone else was here.

It had to be Noah.

I steeled myself, smoothed out my dress, and walked slowly to the door like I was approaching an execution. I took a deep breath and opened it.

There he was.

He looked… annoyingly good. The same thoughtful eyes and sharp cheekbones, but with a new haircut that made him look more mature somehow. Still tall, still lean, still tattooed forearms peeking out from under the sleeves of his flannel button-down. He was holding a bottle of wine and wearing that same bashful, slightly crooked smile I remembered.

-“Hey,” he said, his voice soft and uncertain, pulling me into a brief, lopsided hug. It wasn’t forced. Just… cautious. Respectful.

-“Hey,” I echoed, stepping back. “I’m… sorry about my mom. She didn’t tell me she invited you.”

He gave a little shrug, lifting the wine. “Honestly? I should’ve seen it coming. This feels like a Cynthia move.”

I cracked a small smile in spite of myself. “Yeah. Classic.”

We both stood there for a second, caught in the weight of the weirdness. Then I asked, “How’ve you been?”

-“Good. Busy,” he nodded. “The band’s still going, we got picked up for a couple gigs out of state. I’ve been writing a lot. I teach some music lessons on the side now too.”

-“That’s awesome. Sounds like you’ve got a good thing going.”

He gave me that familiar grateful look, like he actually believed I meant it. “Trying. You look good, by the way.”

I tried not to freeze at that. It didn’t feel loaded. Just… kind. But still, ugh.

-“Thanks,” I said, tone neutral but not cold. “Come on in.”

He stepped inside and slipped off his boots, glancing around the house like it was both familiar and foreign. Like he wasn’t sure if he was still allowed to make himself comfortable.

We were both older now. Different. Still tethered to the same shared past, but no longer living in it.

This was going to be… interesting.

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Dinner was served with the chaotic precision of a battlefield. Dishes passed from hand to hand, children shouting over each other about mashed potatoes, and Don heroically carving the turkey like it was a competitive sport. And yet, beneath the noise and festive lighting, I could feel it, that careful orchestration. My mom’s fingerprints were all over this.

She’d set the table earlier, saying it was “just random,” but now I noticed the pattern. Very specific placements. Cousins clustered at one end. The kids' table by the fireplace. Don at the head. And then, me. With an empty seat to my left. And across from us, a perfectly positioned view for my mother.

I sat down slowly, glaring at my napkin like it might sprout wings and fly me out of there. Noah caught on the second he walked in and scanned the table. There goes my plan to avoid him.

-“Of course,” he muttered under his breath, giving me an apologetic look as he slid into the seat beside me. “I swear, I didn’t ask for this.”

-“I know,” I sighed. “This has ‘Cynthia scheme #47’ written all over it.”

He chuckled quietly, and I hated how easy it still was to fall into old rhythms. The way our jokes clicked into place like well-worn gears.

My mom floated past behind us, placing an extra bottle of wine on the table like a peace offering.

-“Be nice, you two,” she said sweetly, patting both our shoulders before disappearing into the kitchen again.

-“I feel like we’re in a holiday hostage situation,” I muttered, pouring myself a very necessary glass of wine.

-“Stockholm Syndrome starts with bread rolls,” Noah whispered, tearing one in half and sliding the plate toward me.

The first twenty minutes were easy enough to coast through. Noah talked mostly to Don and my uncle about music stuff, and I focused on the kids, sneaking green beans onto their plates while they weren’t looking. But then, inevitably, conversation slowed. People got up for seconds. My mom put on holiday music in the background.

And somehow, it was just the two of us again.

-“You’ve really changed,” Noah said, his voice lower now, more careful. “I mean that in a good way. You seem… lighter. Happier.”

I blinked, not expecting something that sincere. “Thanks. I feel that way too. Getting away helped. New people, new place. It made it easier to, I dunno, breathe.”

He nodded slowly. “I’m glad. I wasn’t exactly the easiest person to be with back then.”

I looked at him. Really looked. And it hit me how rare it is for people to actually admit that. To not dress it up or deflect.

-“You weren’t all bad,” I said. “But yeah. It got hard. And I felt like I was slowly shrinking just to keep things calm. I needed more space than that.”

He was quiet for a moment. “I get it. I think about it a lot, actually. How I could’ve handled things better. I was scared of losing you and didn’t know how to deal with it. So I clung harder, which just made it worse.”

-“That’s kind of the thing, though,” I said gently. “You weren’t losing me until you made it feel like I didn’t belong to myself anymore.”

We let the silence hang there for a moment, soft and heavy like snowfall. Then he exhaled a quiet laugh.

-“You’ve gotten really good at saying what you mean.”

-“College’ll do that to you,” I said with a small smile.

He smiled too. “Well… I’m glad we’re talking. Even if it’s in your mom’s holiday matchmaking trap.”

I snorted. “Honestly? Same.”

We went back to picking at our plates, and for the first time since I’d arrived, the tension began to loosen a bit.

As plates emptied and the noise around the table morphed into the lazy hum of post-feast satisfaction, things between Noah and me had started to shift, just a little. It might’ve been the wine, or the comfort of shared history, or maybe just the exhaustion of holding onto awkwardness for so long.

- “Remember that time we tried to make cookies from scratch with no recipe?” I said, swirling the wine in my glass and giving him a sideways glance.

Noah grinned instantly, his dimples showing. “You mean the sugarless disaster that we tried to pass off as ‘shortbread’ to your mom?”

-“She was so mad. All those wasted ingredients… And then you pretended to choke just to make her laugh.”

- “Worked, didn’t it?” he said, with a mock-pompous tilt of his chin. “Saved the day with my top-tier comedic timing.”

-“You also dropped an entire tray on her foot,” I pointed out, laughing.

-“Minor details,” he said, chuckling with me. “Honestly, I think that was the moment Don started bonding with me. Shared survivor’s trauma.”

I laughed louder than I meant to, and he looked at me, eyes warm, amused. It felt strangely good to laugh with him again. The tension had dulled to something nostalgic, familiar. I caught myself remembering why I’d fallen for him in the first place, and, equally, why it had stopped working. But right now, we were in the sweet spot. No expectations, just… memory.

I leaned back in my chair, watching a little cousin attempt to climb into the fruit bowl.

-“You wanna sneak away?” I asked quietly, glancing over at Noah. “Get some air? Like old times. Balcony’s still there.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You think I’d say no to that?”

Then, with a perfectly mischievous glint, he reached under the table, opened the side cabinet behind him, and pulled out a bottle of Hennessy like it was muscle memory.

-“Really?” I laughed, eyes wide. “Still remember where they keep it, huh?”

-“Some things never change,” he grinned, holding it up like a trophy. “Besides, your mom owes me for the seating arrangement ambush.”

With a glance over our shoulders to make sure no one was paying attention, we slipped out of the dining room and padded up the stairs, avoiding the one step that creaked. It felt like a rewind in time, just the two of us, sneaking around like teenagers again.

My room hadn’t changed much since I left, aside from the dusty bookshelves and an old scarf still draped over the mirror. The balcony doors creaked open like they always had, and we stepped out into the chilly evening air, the lights of the neighborhood soft and scattered like stars below us.

Noah handed me the bottle and sat down on one of the old folding chairs. “So… are we rebels again, or just two sad adults in holiday exile?”

I smiled and took a swig, coughing dramatically. “Why not both?”

He laughed, and we leaned back into the silence for a moment, just breathing in the evening air.

The night was crisp, the cold biting just enough to make the Hennessy feel like warmth in a bottle. We passed it back and forth in silence at first, the kind that felt comfortable rather than strained. The hum of conversation and clinking plates inside the house faded into the background, replaced by the rustle of wind through trees and the occasional distant laugh.

- “I used to think this balcony was the coolest place on earth,” Noah said, tilting his head back to look at the sky. “Like we were above everything. Just… floating.”

I smirked. “You used to? I still think it’s the coolest place. Especially when I’m hiding from dinner-table ambushes.”

He grinned, eyes flicking toward me. “Hey, I was ambushed too. I didn’t know you’d be home til last minute. It was too late to cancel then. But I somewhat salvaged the evening with that bottle…”

I held the bottle up in salute. “You really did.”

He let out a soft laugh and looked around the balcony. “You remember when we camped out here one night after that fight with your mom?”

I nodded. “You brought blankets and that crappy little Bluetooth speaker.”

-“We listened to The National on repeat and tried to convince ourselves we weren’t freezing to death.”

-“And then we saw that shooting star,” I added quietly.

-“You made the dumbest wish,” he said, bumping his knee against mine.

-“Hey, fuck you. I wished for free coffee for life. That’s not dumb. That’s practical.”

-“You were always practical,” he said, smiling. “Even when you were being completely reckless.”

I laughed and handed him the bottle again. “You mean like the time I snuck you into that wedding reception just because the cake looked fancy?”

-“God, yes. You wore a stolen shawl and pretended your name was ‘Sabrina.’ I think about that night at least once a month.”

The memory washed over me, my bare feet on the dance floor, his hand in mine, both of us half-drunk and giddy. My smile softened. “That was a good night.”

He looked at me, his voice gentler now. “We had a lot of those. Good nights.”

I met his gaze, and the weight of his words hit something in my chest. We really did. Between all the messy, broken parts, there were moments that had been golden.

-“You were my favorite person for a long time,” I said, quieter than I meant to. “I don’t think I ever told you that.”

Noah’s expression shifted, something sad, something warm. “You were mine too. Maybe still are, a little.”

The words hung in the cold air between us. My face felt hot despite the chill, and I reached for the bottle again, mostly for something to do with my hands. The Hennessy burned its way down.

-“You look good, by the way,” I added, trying to keep it light. “The haircut’s working for you.”

He chuckled. “You always said I looked like a lost dog. Thought I’d try looking like a dog who has his shit together.”

-“Mission accomplished,” I said with a smile. “A little scruff, a little ink. Very tortured artist.”

-“I do try to suffer beautifully,” he replied, leaning his elbow on the chair arm, his body angling just slightly toward me.

-“You’re unbearable,” I laughed, but it was softer now. Flirting again. Easy.

He passed the bottle back to me. Our fingers brushed, just a graze, but it lingered. The air suddenly felt thinner.

-“You ever think about… us?” he asked, almost tentative. “Like, if things had been different?”

I held the bottle in my lap, eyes fixed on the edge of the balcony. I felt that same pulse of warmth in my chest I’d felt when he smiled at me at the table.

-“Sometimes,” I said honestly. “But I also remember how much of myself I had to quiet down to make us work.”

Noah nodded slowly, eyes distant. “Yeah. I remember that part too.”

But the moment didn’t break. He didn’t pull away. And neither did I.

The Hennessy was doing its job, blurring the sharpness of my thoughts, softening the edges of everything. The past and present started folding into each other out there on the balcony, like no time had passed at all.

Noah was still watching me, his eyes searching, like he was trying to read every version of me he’d ever known, trying to match it with the one sitting beside him now.

-“I used to think,” he said slowly, “that if we just got away from everything, our parents, our town, all the noise, we’d be fine. That we’d make it.”

I looked at him, his features silhouetted by the soft glow spilling from my bedroom window. He looked different. Older. But also, somehow, exactly the same.

-“We were kids,” I said, not unkindly. “We didn’t know what we were asking of each other.”

He nodded. “But I don’t regret it.”

-“Me neither,” I said. And I meant it.

Silence again. But not uncomfortable.

-“You still have that stupid ring I gave you?” he asked after a while, a little grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

I laughed, surprised. “The one from the arcade machine?”

He nodded, eyes lighting up. “The plastic one with the fake emerald. You wore it like it was a goddamn engagement ring.”

-“I still have it, actually,” I admitted. “Buried in my jewelry box. I couldn’t throw it away.”

He looked at me with something soft and unreadable in his eyes. “I don’t know what that means. But I like that you kept it.”

Another long pause. My head was swimming now, but not in a bad way. The cold air, the heat of the liquor, the closeness of him. The way he looked at me like I was still so special to him. It was too much and not enough all at once.

Noah leaned his head back and stared at the sky again. I found myself watching him instead, the curve of his jawline, the slope of his nose, the sharp edge of his cheekbone catching the faint porch light. The way his hands wrapped around the bottle, like they had once wrapped around my thighs or my neck.

I swallowed hard. The air between us had shifted. Warmer. Closer.

He still wore that damn ring, the one with the jagged edge that used to press into my skin when our fingers were interlaced. I remember that pressure like muscle memory, like something my body hadn’t let go of, even if my mind had tried.

He turned to look at me then, like he could feel my gaze, and our eyes locked.

-“God,” he muttered, voice low and strained. “I shouldn’t say this.”

I didn’t move. “Say what?”

He laughed, humorless. “That I’ve missed you like hell.”

The words hit something deep in my chest.

I didn’t answer. Just reached for the bottle and took another long sip, trying to find the right thing to say in the burn of liquor. But when I looked up again, he was already closer.

One second he was across from me, and the next his mouth was on mine.

It wasn’t soft, or sweet, or tentative, it was every unsaid thing, every memory, every fight and every fuck. It was the kind of kiss that came with teeth and history, with the kind of urgency that says I remember exactly how you taste.

I gasped into it, caught off guard, but I didn’t stop him. My fingers were in his hair before I could think about it, pulling him closer. His hand gripped my waist like he’d been dying to do it again, thumb slipping under the hem of my dress to touch bare skin.

His mouth moved against mine like it still knew the rhythm of me, hungry, desperate, searching. We broke apart only for air, panting, foreheads pressed together, and then I kissed him again, harder this time.

I tasted the Hennessy on his tongue, felt the buzz of it in my bloodstream. Everything was spinning. My knees were weak, my heart racing, and all I could think about was how dangerous this was.

In one swift movement, I climbed onto his lap, his back pressed to the back of the folding chair. His hands were on my thighs in an instant, the cool press of his ring digging into my skin like it used to. Familiar. Dangerous. I felt his fingers slip beneath my dress, curling around the small of my back, dragging me closer.

His tongue slipped into my mouth, dragging out a moan from my lips. His hands wandered while mine tangled in his hair. I ground my hips against him like muscle memory.

His lips crashed into mine again, all heat and friction, pulling a low, aching sound from my throat. He stood up suddenly, arms locked around my thighs, lifting me effortlessly. I barely had time to gasp before my back hit the wall, the cool surface pressing into my spine as his body pinned me there.

We were a tangle of limbs and mouths, all push and pull, too many emotions and not enough words. His hand slid up my leg, under the hem of my dress. My legs tightened around his waist instinctively. He groaned into my mouth, and I swore I felt it in my chest.

“Fuck,” he murmured, breaking the kiss just long enough to look at me. “You still drive me crazy.”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t know how. I just grabbed his shirt and pulled him back down, mouths crashing again. This time slower, but deeper. Hungrier. My hands slipped under his shirt, fingers grazing old scars, familiar lines, all the places I used to know by heart. He made a sound at the back of his throat, and then we were stumbling toward the bed, hands roaming, clothes shifting, breathless and buzzing.

He laid me down gently, for a moment just hovering over me, staring like he wasn’t sure if this was a memory or a dream. I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him down. Our lips met again, the mattress sinking under us, his body pressed to mine, heat blooming everywhere.

His hands slid along my sides, thumbs brushing against bare skin, my dress bunched around my hips. I let out a soft sigh as his mouth found the hollow of my throat, his teeth scraping lightly against skin. It should’ve felt like home. Maybe for a second, it did.

But then, without warning, his face flickered into my mind.

I didn’t want it to.

But there it was, uninvited, unstoppable, him.

Bunny.

The way his hand brushed mine on the couch just a little too long. His laugh when I made him choke on his drink. The stupid moaning dare. His sleepy goodnight smile that felt like a hug. That look he gave me when I came back from my mom’s call, eyes full of quiet concern. The way my name sounded when he said it, light, teasing.

I swallowed hard. My body was here, tangled up in a messy knot of nostalgia and heat with Noah. But my heart?

My heart was somewhere else entirely.

I tried to push the thought down. To drown it in brandy and old habits and the weight of someone I used to love. I looked at Noah, at the new haircut, the tattoos I hadn’t seen before, the boy who once made me feel like I was the only person in the world. Noah was everything I used to want, confident, handsome, familiar. He knew how to touch me like he’d memorized me. I knew his rhythm, the way he moved, the way he kissed, the way he said my name. But it felt like a well-rehearsed performance now.

He was still beautiful. He was still kind.

But he wasn’t Bunny.

And suddenly, that mattered more than I knew what to do with.

Because Bunny had crept in when I wasn’t looking. Threaded himself into the quiet spaces of my life. Become a comfort and a chaos all at once. And now, in the arms of someone I used to dream about, all I could think was, I wish it was him.

Not because he'd better at this. He might not be. He might be awkward and clumsy and do everything wrong.

Bu I still wanted his hands on me, unsure but hungry. His voice, shaky but honest. I wanted to see what it looked like when he unraveled for me.

I blinked back the thought like it burned. Because it did. It scorched through me, terrifying and thrilling all at once.

I really was in love with Bunny Corcoran.

And not the gentle, slow kind of love. The all-consuming kind. The kind that rearranges your insides. The kind that makes you realize you’re not who you were anymore, and maybe… you don’t want to be.

Noah kissed me harder, and I let him, but the deeper it went, the more hollow it felt.

Like I was chasing something I’d already left behind.

My heart really wasn’t here anymore.

Noah pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against mine. His breath was heavy, eyes dark and searching.

-“You okay?” he murmured.

I didn’t answer right away. Because no, I wasn’t. I was split right down the middle. Between what was and what is. Between a guy who knew my past, and the guy who suddenly felt like my future. I touched the mushroom pendant resting between my collarbones.

-“I… I think I need some air,” I said softly, slipping from under him, my hands trembling just slightly.

The warmth of his hands left my skin, and the night air suddenly felt colder than it had before as I stepped back out onto the balcony.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

I stood there for a second, leaning against the railing, arms wrapped tight around myself as the breeze cooled the heat still radiating off my skin. I heard Noah shift behind me, the creak of the chair under his weight, the faint clink of the Hennessy bottle being set down.

-“You don’t have to explain,” he said gently, voice lower now, a little clearer. “I felt it too. The moment, it was… nice. But not right.”

I turned around, my eyes meeting his. He wasn’t hurt. Not really. Just a quiet understanding in his expression, like he already knew what I was going to say and had made peace with it before I had.

-“I’m sorry,” I said anyway, stepping closer. “I think a part of me wanted this to still mean something. To feel the way it used to. But it doesn’t. And that’s not your fault.”

He gave a soft, crooked smile, one that almost made me tear up with how familiar it was. “It’s not yours either. People change. That’s a good thing.”

I reached up and gently brushed a strand of hair from his face, a habit I hadn’t realized my body still remembered. “Thanks, Noah. For being cool about all this. The ambush. The kiss. The rest…”

He held my gaze a second longer, then sighed, rocking back in the chair. “So… music? Or are things way too awkward now?”

I snorted. “Music sounds good.”

He stood and ducked back into my room, returning with my laptop under his arm like he owned the place. Just like old times.

-“Same password?” he asked, already halfway through typing.

-“Uh- no, it’s…” I hesitated, heat rising in my cheeks as realization hit me like a ton of bricks. I gave a helpless laugh, half in disbelief, half in embarrassment. His stupid nickname was my password. His nickname. How had I not put two and two together until now?

-“It’s ‘cuniculus’ now,” I muttered, looking away.

Noah paused. “Weird.”

-“Don’t ask,” I mumbled.

He didn’t. Just gave me a little side glance and logged in without another word. We settled back into our folding chairs, passing the laptop between us, taking turns queuing up old favorites. Some tracks we hadn’t heard in years. Noah sang along under his breath, his voice warm and better than I remembered. I sang too, off-key and unapologetic.

It was easy again. Comfortable, now that the ghosts were named and tucked away. With the pressure gone, we slipped back into the rhythm of being friends, of knowing each other, really knowing, without wanting anything more.

Sometime later, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I fished it out and glanced at the screen. Two texts, stacked on top of each other.

‘everyone still alive?’ ‘you cannot imagine the amount of teasing i’ve endured 🖕🏻 ’

I couldn’t stop the smile that bloomed across my face, wide and instant. My fingers moved on autopilot, typing something back before I could even think of a clever reply.

Noah caught the shift in my expression. The corners of his mouth lifted slightly, but his eyes… his eyes looked carefully at me.

-“That spark in your eyes,” he said softly, over the quiet hum of the music. “It’s still the same.”

I looked at him, unsure.

-“It’s just not because of me anymore,” he finished, voice gentle, full of understanding, not bitterness.

I swallowed, throat suddenly tight. There was no guilt. Only clarity. And a quiet ache that felt terrifying and wonderful all at once.

I didn’t know what to say to that. He wasn’t accusing me of anything. There was no weight behind his words. Just recognition. And something like… peace.

I tucked my phone back in my pocket and reached for the bottle between us, giving it a little shake. “There’s, like, a sad inch left.”

-“Pour it out for the ghosts of Christmas past,” Noah said with a grin.

I snorted and took a sip instead. “Nah. I think we’re making peace with them.”

Noah stretched, the chair creaking under him as he leaned back. “We should commemorate it. One last blurry picture for the archives?”

I raised a brow. “You want to take a photo with me? In this lighting?”

He held up his phone, tilting it slightly to catch the soft, yellow glow spilling from my bedroom window behind us. “You look good,” he said plainly. “You always do.”

I didn’t argue. Just leaned in, our shoulders touching like puzzle pieces that once fit perfectly. Noah held the phone out, and we both smiled, not forced, not fake, just honest.

Click.

He looked at the photo and chuckled. “You blinked.”

-“Whatever. That’s how I look now. Emotionally blinking.”

He laughed and sent it to me anyway. “For the record. That we’re cool again.”

I nodded and leaned back in my chair, letting the music fill the silence. The night was cool and quiet, the chaos of dinner far away now, and I felt something settle inside me. A chapter closed.

Not with anger, not with heartbreak, just with a photo, a smile, and the knowledge that I was already somewhere else entirely. My thoughts drifting, inevitably, toward someone who made my heart race in an entirely new, terrifying, beautiful way.

[something-feral]

29.10.25

[holohedral]

[oldwinesoul]

[mrscorcoran]

there’s this one Armin fanfic that i just cant get over, it’s so well written and so chill and Armin is so Armin, i’ve read it like 10 times and constantly think about it and no matter how many armin fics i read, nothing ever compares and i just wish it was longer

[remanence-of-love]

[postwarlevi]

Profile Jean. Yes please.

[mrscorcoran]

Quick Jean for a chapter of the fic i’m writing

[mrscorcoran]

im at around 120k words already and it isn’t nearly close to being done, wondering if i should start posting it x.x

[smetakovec]

saw this meme and immediately thought of him

[musapylsa]

hey bbygirl wacha goin tonight 😜😜😜

[tsukimirecs]

levi ackerman // fic recommendations

note: remember to read the tags! + i do not own any of these works

you’re drunk and ridiculous (and he can’t trust you with anyone else)

gestures

no funny business

as the spark dies

wild card

dust, diamonds

dirty money

nobody's fault but mine

traditions

time

the wife

crush

percolate

petals inked in red

spite

one million to one

power trip

ghost

silent treatment

love hate me

as the world caves in

two faced

bad romance

garden of tulips

plans

and when i see you smile, the clouds will clear

ghostly greetings

safe haven

panacea

sayonara

“may i?”

his wounded heart beats for one

beneath the pages

respite on black waters

galaxies past

overwhelming

[mrscorcoran]

Quick Jean for a chapter of the fic i’m writing

[mrscorcoran]

The night does not belong to god Chapter 6: Euclid

Denji x Reader (Chainsaw Man)

What he deserves. Periodt.

FINAL CHAPTER

Things really do get NSFW from here

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

“That’s… holy shit.” He blinked up at you, mouth slightly open. “That’s so… hot.” The last word came out on an exhale, almost reverent, like it was blowing his mind that he could be the one making you feel like this.

You couldn’t help the smile that curved your lips, equal parts affection and amusement. That stunned look in his eyes. He looked up at you like you were a miracle.

“Hell yeah,” you murmured, brushing your lips to his in a kiss that was sweet but loaded. “Good job,” you whispered into his mouth, your voice quiet and warm.

Denji shivered under you like your praise had gone straight to the center of him. “Holy shit,” he mumbled, more to himself than to you. “I’m not dreaming, right? You’re not gonna vanish or something?”

You chuckled, brushing your nose against his. “Nope. Still here.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “Okay. Okay. Cool. Coolcoolcool.” He blinked like he was trying to reboot his brain, his fingers twitching where they still rested on your skin. “So… uh… now what?”

You looked him in the eyes. “Now you can slip a finger in,” you said gently, trying to keep your voice steady even as the words made your own breath catch. The intimacy of it, the trust, it was dizzying.

He froze for a second, eyes wide. “A finger. In.” He nodded to himself, like he was repeating instructions before skydiving. “Yeah. I can do that. I think. Shit, I really hope I don’t mess this up.”

“You won’t,” you said, your tone reassuring. “I’ll help.”

With your guidance, his hand moved. His fingers were shaky at first, slow, unsure, but careful, so incredibly careful, like you were made of something precious. When he finally followed through, easing a finger inside, he let out a ragged noise that sounded like the wind had been knocked out of him.

“Fuuuck…” he whispered, his brows scrunched like he was trying to do math and feel everything all at once. “You feel… I don’t even know how to say it. Warm. And soft. And- God- I didn’t know it would feel like this.”

His awe made your chest ache. “That’s perfect,” you whispered, brushing your hand down his arm.

You told him to add another finger, and he obeyed without hesitation, mouth parted, eyes locked on you like he was watching a sunrise. Every noise you made lit him up inside, made his hips twitch, his breathing stagger. And when you said, “Try curling them,” he did, and your reaction, how your body arched into him, made his mouth fall open in amazement.

“I did that?” he breathed, stunned. “That was me?”

You nodded, letting out a soft, needy sound that only made his fingers move with more focus, more confidence.

He was watching you like you were the only thing that existed in the world. “God, you’re so hot,” he blurted. “Like, insanely hot. And the noises you make- fuck, I wanna hear those forever.”

You laughed softly, breathless, charmed by how overwhelmed he sounded. His name on your lips made him visibly shudder.

Then, gently, you asked, “Denji, you wanna learn to use your mouth?”

His fingers paused for a heartbeat.

“You mean like…” he blinked, mouth dropping open slightly, “…right now?”

You bit your lip, suddenly unsure. “Only if you want to. No pressure.”

He stared for a beat, clearly stunned. Then he gave a nervous laugh, voice still trembling. “Shit… you’re serious…” He looked a little breathless, a little terrified, but in a good way. “Hell yeah, I- I wanna, I just… I’ve never, y’know, but if it’s you- if you’re okay with it- I wanna try. I wanna learn everything if it’s with you.”

There was that raw honesty again. That softness underneath the chaos. He looked up at you, flushed and breathless and burning with need.

Something in your chest twisted at the way he said it. There was no filter on Denji, no games. Just that unshakable, clumsy, aching need in his voice. And it wasn’t just about the sex. You knew that now. This was him laying himself bare, giving himself to you, no hesitation.

Your breath caught in your throat. Suddenly, it hit you like a punch to the gut, how long had he looked at you like this? How many moments had you brushed past, chalked up to Denji being Denji, too focused on surviving to even stop and see it?

God, even Power had clocked it before you. “Love-struck loser,” she’d said.

You hated that she was right. But more than that, you hated that you hadn’t realized how much you wanted this, wanted him.

Your heart was pounding, your vision blurred. And for once, you didn’t think, didn’t overanalyze, didn’t stop yourself.

You surged forward and kissed him, desperate, deep, real. Not for control. Not for show. Just need. Raw, stupid, unrelenting need. Not for what he was doing to you, but for him. For his stupid, messy heart and the way he looked at you like you were worth the world.

Because this wasn’t about just giving him something.

It was about wanting something, too.

Wanting him.

You pulled back just enough to breathe, nodding once, breathless. Then you slipped off his lap, your body still tingling with aftershocks of the moment, every nerve alight. You moved on instinct, like your body knew what to do even if your brain hadn’t caught up.

You sat at the edge of the bed, your legs a little shaky as you leaned back against the sheets.

“Kneel in front of me,” you said softly, your voice steadier than you felt.

Denji didn’t even hesitate. He slid off the bed and dropped to his knees like… like he wanted to be there. Needed it. His hands found your hips instantly, holding on like he thought he might float away without you to anchor him.

His eyes were wide, his cheeks flushed, and he looked up at you like you were a sunrise and he didn’t want to blink and miss it.

You brushed his cheek with your hand, tender. “Okay,” you whispered. “Just like before… but with your mouth this time.”

Denji blinked slowly, like it was taking a second for the words to reach his brain. “With my- oh.” He swallowed hard. “Yeah. Okay. Yeah, I can do that.”

A nervous laugh bubbled out of him, but his grip on your hips didn’t waver. “Shit, I’ve never done this before. Like, ever-ever. So if I suck, just… tell me. Or, y’know. Teach me again.”

You smiled, your fingers brushing through his hair. “Of course.”

He let out a shaky breath, and then leaned in. Slowly. Tentatively. But with that same open-hearted need in every motion, like he wasn’t sure what he was doing but wanted to do it right- for you.

And god, was it endearing. The way he listened to every little sound you made, adjusted to every twitch of your hips.

No experience. Just instinct. Just you.

Your breath hitched, a sharp jolt of pleasure rocking through your core. “Oh my god, fuck, like that,” you gasped, your fingers threading through his wild hair, tugging lightly to guide him.

He moaned at the sound of your voice- high and wrecked and saying his name like that- and the vibration against your skin made your thighs tense around his head. That one moan from you was all it took. His brain fizzled out. Gone. Erased. The only thing that existed now was you. Your taste, your voice, your body reacting to him. It sent a thrill through him so strong it was like someone flipped a switch inside him.

He didn’t know what he was doing, but hell if he wasn’t going to figure it out.

He kept going, messy and eager, chasing your reactions like they were some kind of secret code. The way you gasped. The way you tugged his hair tighter when he hit a good spot. The way your hips moved without you even realizing it. Every time you responded to him, it was like a fire lit under his skin.

"Now, you can stay there at the top," you managed between moans, voice strained and trembling. "It’s more than enough. But you can also go lower… that feels good too."

There was a tiny pause, like he needed a second to let your words make it through all the white noise in his head. And then, just like that, he got it. His eyes widened slightly, and he gave a quick little nod like, Okay. Got it. I’ll do both.

He adjusted without hesitation, driven by nothing but instinct and this hungry need to make you feel everything. And when your body jerked at the change, when your breath caught in your throat like you couldn’t even form a word-

He nearly lost it.

“Shit,” he breathed against you, more to himself than anything. “This is insane…”

His whole body was tight with heat, hands clutching at your thighs like they were the only thing keeping him tethered to Earth. Your taste, your voice, the way you kept saying his name like it was something sweet, it was making him dizzy, making him drunk on you.

"Fucking hell, you’re good," you gasped, voice raw and wrecked.

Denji froze for just a second, like your words short-circuited his brain. Then a slow, satisfied noise rumbled out of him, half moan, half hum, and he dove back in with even more desperation. That praise? It was everything. It made his whole chest clench with pride, made him want to go harder, better, give you more. He didn’t even realize he was moaning into you every time your fingers tightened in his hair. He was so far gone.

You were trembling under him. He couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to. He wanted to make you come apart in his hands, make you need him the way he needed you- completely, recklessly, stupidly.

And then-

"Alright, alright, come here," you panted, reaching down, gently tugging him back by the hair.

Denji blinked, dazed. Lips wet, face flushed, eyes wide and confused. He looked like he’d just woken up from a dream, one he didn’t want to leave.

“H-huh? Wait… what’d I do? Did I mess up?” His voice cracked, breath ragged as his hands stayed planted on your thighs, like he didn’t want to let go just yet. His face scrunched up, trying to understand. He looked at you like you held the answer to everything.

"Nothing," you said softly, reaching to cup his face, stroking along his jaw. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Denji leaned into your touch immediately, eyes fluttering shut for a second like he was trying to hold onto the warmth of your hand. He looked so relieved.

“I just want to show you something else.”

His breath hitched.

“Something else…?” he echoed, a little breathless, pupils blown wide. There was that look again, equal parts curiosity and desperation. “Shit… okay. Okay, yeah. Yeah- what, uh- what is it?”

You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you opened your arms.

"Come here."

He didn’t need to be told twice.

Denji practically launched himself into your arms, crawling up onto the bed like his life depended on it. He pressed into you without hesitation, melting against your body, burying his face into the crook of your neck. He was still trembling, still buzzing with adrenaline and awe and the leftover burn of desire, but this, this, felt like safety. Like home.

His heart was pounding against yours like a war drum, but his voice was quiet, muffled against your skin.

And then you kissed him.

Not soft. Not sweet. Not like some dumb movie kiss. This one was messy. Desperate. Something wild finally broke loose in both of you. Your fingers twisted into his hair, yanking him closer, and he moaned into your mouth, helpless against it, against you.

And the taste- you. Him. The way it lingered on your lips, the echo of everything you’d just done, it was enough to make his head spin.

You pulled back just enough to breathe, your lips brushing his, your hands already sliding down to the waistband of his sweatpants.

“Remove these,” you whispered.

Denji swore under his breath, voice catching in his throat. The way you said that? Yeah, that was gonna live rent-free in his brain forever. His hands scrambled for the waistband, fingers fumbling like they didn’t know how to work anymore. He barely got them off fast enough, hips lifting off the bed as he shoved the sweats down, kicking them away.

Now he was just… there. Bare. Exposed.

And somehow, that didn’t scare him.

Because when he looked up at you, saw the way you were staring at him, like he was something you wanted, it was like the whole world stopped spinning. For once, he felt seen. Wanted. Chosen.

There was something so gentle in your eyes, even with how wild this all felt.

“I think the next part’s pretty intuitive,” you murmured with a playful little grin.

He huffed out a shaky laugh, cheeks flushed as hell. “Y-Yeah,” he said, swallowing hard, his fingers ghosting over your waist. “I think I can, uh… figure this one out.”

Then you paused, and your voice softened.

“We can stop if you don’t wanna…”

That hit him like a gut punch.

Denji froze above you, arms trembling where they held him up on either side of your head. His whole body was buzzing, from nerves, from the heat pouring off your skin, from the weight of what this meant. He wanted this. He wanted this. More than anything. But you were giving him a way out. That meant everything.

He kissed you, hard, just to say yes. Just to say thank you.

And when he pulled back, he was shaking. His lips were swollen, his eyes wild and searching your face like he needed to make sure- make sure this was still real, make sure this was still okay.

“Can I...?” he asked, voice small, barely above a whisper.

“Yes.”

That one word? It unraveled him.

Denji let out a ragged breath like he’d been holding it in for years. His whole body shook as the tension bled out of him in waves, and something raw cracked open in his chest. You wanted him. You wanted him.

So he let go.

He sank down, pressing himself against you, the heat of your skin lighting him up all over again. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, and he breathed you in like oxygen, like if he didn't, he'd collapse. His voice trembled against your ear.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he whispered, and he meant every damn word. Not just your body. You. The way you looked at him like he was more than a devil dog. Like he mattered.

“I want you so bad…”

The words slipped out, honest and heavy and burning.

You shivered under him. “Go slow, so you don’t hurt me,” you murmured, voice low but clear.

He nodded fast, swallowing hard. “Yeah. Yeah, I got you. I’ll be careful,” he breathed, his voice rough and low like gravel. “I swear.”

He shifted, lining himself up with you, heart slamming so hard in his chest it felt like it might crack his ribs. His forehead pressed against yours, just for a second, just to anchor himself, to feel you.

And then, slowly, carefully, he pushed forward.

His whole world shattered.

A broken, choked moan ripped out of him as his head dropped against your chest. His body shook like a live wire, every nerve ending lighting up at once. He felt everything, the heat, the tightness, the overwhelming sensation of being completely surrounded by you, consumed by you.

And it was you. You.

He wasn’t just inside you.

He was yours.

“F-Fuck-” Denji’s voice cracked, high and broken, a whimper slipping out before he could stop it. His body was shaking so hard it felt like his muscles were coming undone one by one. He was barely inside you, just the start of it, and already he was unraveling fast.

He buried his face in your neck, trying to hide how much this was wrecking him.

Then your fingers slid into his wild, sweat-damp hair, tugging gently. “That’s good,” you whispered against his temple, soft and steady, like you knew exactly how close he was to falling apart. “I’m good.”

Those two little words were what he needed to hear.

He let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been choking on, his whole chest trembling as he paused, just long enough to collect himself, then pulled back slightly and pushed in deeper.

Your body tightened around him, warm and perfect and so much, and Denji let out a strangled moan, his jaw slack as the sensation ripped through him. He was trying. Really. He was trying so fucking hard to keep it together, to go slow, to be good, but control was slipping out of his fingers like sand.

“You feel so good,” he groaned, lifting his head just enough to look at you. His face was a mess, flushed, sweaty, pupils blown wide. He looked absolutely wrecked, and it was only just beginning. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

You gave him that smile, that soft, teasing, knowing smile, as your legs curled around his waist, pulling him in deeper.

“You can go faster,” you murmured, your voice low and breathless.

That was it. That broke him.

A ragged, desperate sound tore from his throat as your hips rocked into his. His hands gripped the sheets like he was clinging to the edge of a cliff.

“Yeah,” he breathed, voice dropping into something guttural. “Yeah, I can do that.”

He started moving faster, his hips grinding into yours with a mix of urgency and reverence. Still careful. Always careful with you. But he was losing it, completely submerged in the heat of your body, in the way your nails dragged down his back, in the way you moaned his name like it was sacred.

“Fuck, that’s so good,” you gasped, clutching at his shoulders. “Shift your weight- go deeper.”

A sharp, needy whine escaped him at that. Your words were like gasoline on fire. He needed them. He needed you to tell him he was doing good, that he was giving you what you wanted. He adjusted his angle slightly, trying to go deeper, more precise, more of whatever you needed.

“Like this?” he panted, voice hoarse and wrecked.

Your head fell back, a long moan escaping your lips like it was pulled from your soul. “Fucking hell, yeah, like that.”

Denji groaned, loud, raw, involuntary. He gripped your thighs tighter, pushing deeper, harder, chasing those sounds like they were his goddamn religion. He was gone. Totally, beautifully gone in you.

“Is it too much?” he gasped out. He couldn’t tell anymore, he didn’t want to mess this up. “I-I’m being too rough, right? I’m- shit- I don’t wanna-”

“No,” you moaned, breathless. “I can take it.”

That was all he needed.

His whole body convulsed with relief. He let go. Stopped holding himself back. His thrusts turned ragged, frantic, a little uneven as the pleasure started to short-circuit his brain. He wasn’t thinking anymore. He was just feeling- drowning in your heat, in your voice, in the way your fingers raked down his spine like you wanted to drag him down with you.

“I’m not gonna last,” he choked out, voice cracking from the strain. “Feels-  too good—I don’t wanna hurt you, I don’t wanna fuck this up- fuck, I-”

“You’re not hurting me, Denji,” you said firmly, threading your fingers through his hair and pulling him into a kiss. “Keep going.”

He whimpered into your mouth, kissing you hungrily, desperately. Sloppy and wet, all teeth and tongue and pure need, like he was trying to crawl inside your skin. Trying to merge, melt, disappear into you.

“You’re so warm,” he whispered, dazed, kissing along your jaw like he was drunk on your body. His hands were trembling as they slid up your sides.

“So are you,” you whispered back, catching his bottom lip between your teeth.

And something snapped.

He bit you. Not hard- but harder than he meant to. Sharp enough to make you gasp.

And that gasp, your gasp, because of him, was like a lightning strike to his core.

Then came the blood.

It hit his tongue like fire and copper and you. His eyes flew wide for a moment, body freezing. And then it hit. That primal instinct that lived deep in his bones- devil and boy all twisted together- yours, marked, tasted.

A low, shaky groan ripped out of his chest.

He pulled back slightly, lips swollen and red, a faint smear of blood staining the corner of his mouth. He looked stunned. A little wild. The sight of your blood on his lips- his lips- flipped a switch in him he didn’t know he had.

“Oh... fuck,” he whispered. His voice was trembling. Completely, utterly overwhelmed.

He kissed down your jaw with shaking hands, dragging his mouth along your throat, your collarbone, leaving smears of red behind like a signature. Like a promise. His tongue darted out to taste the trail he left. The copper tang was still there, but so was your warmth, your skin, your pulse pounding under his lips.

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, panting hard, his moans muffled against your skin.

“Let me hear you,” you whispered, your voice wrecked.

And he did. He gave it all up. No more holding back.

His moans were needy, wrecked, right in your ear. Every sound was raw and honest and full of you. He couldn’t hide it if he tried. You could feel it in every tremor, every gasp, every desperate fuck that slipped out of him like a prayer.

“I’m close,” Denji choked out. His voice was frayed, barely holding together. His body was trembling like a wire pulled too tight. His hands clutched your hips.

His forehead pressed to yours, strands of golden hair stuck to his sweaty skin. His pupils were blown wide, eyes glassy and hungry and so fucking full of you.

“I’m- fuck- I’m so close, please, please, I need you- I need you,” Denji babbled, his voice cracking under the strain. It wasn’t smooth, or sexy, or composed- he sounded wrecked, desperate, like the need was clawing its way out of him. Every word came in a frantic, breathless rush, spilling out before he could stop them.

His whole body was trembling, muscles wound up so tight he felt like he might snap apart. His hips stuttered, frantic now, his chest heaving. He was holding on by a thread- one more word from you and he was done for.

“Come for me,” you murmured, voice low and sultry and so sure of him, like you knew exactly how to push him over the edge. Your eyes locked onto his, and that look? That look told him you wanted him like this, messy, falling apart, begging for you.

And just like that, Denji shattered.

A strangled sound, half groan, half whimper, ripped from his throat as every muscle in his body tensed up all at once. His rhythm broke completely, his movements going clumsy and uneven, his brain unplugged. His forehead slammed down against your shoulder, his arms giving out, his whole body convulsing with the force of it.

“Oh- f-fuck- ” His voice cracked, high and broken as he came hard, grinding into you with helpless, stuttering thrusts. He couldn’t stop, couldn’t think, pleasure crashing over him in wild, blinding waves. He made this desperate little sound in the back of his throat, like even that was being dragged out of him.

For a moment, there was nothing else.

Just white-hot sensation. Just your body under his. Just the roar of blood in his ears and the frantic pounding of his heart, so loud he swore it echoed in his skull.

He was gone. Gone.

His breath came in erratic, ragged pants, his skin slick with sweat, the aftershocks making his legs twitch and his arms shake. His vision blurred. He couldn’t even register what you were saying- just the sound of your voice, low and soft and there. Just the feeling of your fingers in his hair, combing gently through the damp mess.

It took him a few long moments to come back to himself- to remember his own body, to feel your warmth beneath him, the way you were still holding him like he was something worth keeping.

You pressed your lips to the top of his head and whispered, “Good job.”

Denji let out a breathless, stunned little laugh, muffled against your chest. “Good job?” he croaked. “What am I, a damn dog?”

You giggled, still playing with his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. “Well… you were panting pretty hard.”

He groaned, not even pretending to be mad, and shoved his face deeper into your chest with a dramatic whine. “You’re mean.”

But his voice was warm. Glowing. Almost boyish in its happiness. He loved this. The closeness. The teasing. The way you were still touching him, like he hadn’t scared you off, like he hadn’t just completely broken down in your arms. Like you still wanted him.

He was still trembling slightly, his whole body weak and heavy like he’d been electrocuted and emptied out. But he didn’t care. He didn’t want to move. He just wanted you. Wanted this.

He wrapped his arms around you, clumsily dragging himself as close as humanly possible, breathing you in like air. His nose nuzzled against your collarbone, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he felt safe.

“That was…” he started, trailing off like the words had left him behind. Then he finally huffed a breath, still dazed. “That was fucking amazing.”

You laughed softly, fingers sliding down the damp curve of his spine. He shivered beneath your touch.

“Was it a good first time, then?” you teased, already knowing the answer.

He tilted his head up just barely, his eyes barely open, hair sticking to his flushed, sweaty forehead. He looked like he’d been through war. Like he’d seen God. Like he’d fought God.

“‘Good?’” he repeated, like it was offensive. “That wasn’t just good. That was like… I dunno, life-changing or some shit.”

You rolled your eyes, grinning. “Life-changing, huh?”

He flopped dramatically onto his side beside you, letting his arm drape lazily over your waist. “Dude. I feel like I just unlocked a whole new section of my brain.’”

You poked his cheek. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Yeah, well…” he smirked, eyes closing as he pressed his face into your shoulder again, “you did this to me.”

You hummed thoughtfully. “I guess I did.”

For a few seconds, there was just silence. Soft breathing. Warm skin. His fingers lightly tracing patterns along your hip, like he couldn’t stop touching you even if he tried. He looked so soft now. So open. No armor, no swagger- just Denji. Quiet. Happy. Yours.

Then, after a long pause, he mumbled, hesitant.

“I know this is kinda dumb to ask…” He peeked up at you again, wide brown eyes full of something almost shy. “...but we can do that again, right?”

The way he said it broke your heart a little. Like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to want it. Like this whole thing had been a gift, and he didn’t want to be greedy.

You cupped his face gently, kissed his forehead, and whispered, “Yeah, Denji. We can do that again.”

His whole face lit up. He made this soft, relieved little mmf sound, immediately snuggling back into you, his forehead pressed to your shoulder, arms wrapped tight around your middle.

“Thank god,” he sighed, already sounding half-asleep. “’Cause, uh… I think I might be obsessed with you now.”

You snorted, smiling. “You think?”

“Okay, fine,” he murmured with a grin. “Definitely obsessed. But like, y’know… in a cool way. A non-creepy way.”

“Sure, sure.”

He huffed, squeezing you gently. “Gonna need, like… ten naps after that. Then we go again.”

You laughed, combing your fingers through his hair one last time before settling in against him.

“Deal.”

As Denji drifted into a soft, exhausted daze, you felt it hit you- all at once. The weight of everything that had just happened. The warmth pooling in your chest wasn’t just afterglow. It was something else. Something deeper. Something dangerous.

You hadn’t planned this. Not really. You’d felt the spark. You’d seen the way he looked at you like you were everything. But you’d told yourself it wasn’t serious. That you could keep it light.

And yet, here you were, lying beside him, his arm draped lazily over your waist, his face still buried against your shoulder like he belonged there. And the worst part, the scariest part, was that it felt like he belonged there.

You exhaled slowly, staring up at the ceiling as your fingers absently combed through his hair. It was still damp with sweat, still sticking up in ridiculous little tufts from where you’d tugged at it earlier. The strands were coarse and soft all at once, like him, rough around the edges but somehow still gentle, still warm.

He was heavy against you, half-sprawled across your chest like a big, sleepy mutt, clinging to you even in his dreams. Every breath he let out ghosted across your skin in uneven little puffs, warm and ticklish, grounding you in a way that was slowly, painfully becoming addictive.

Your heart ached.

Not from the heat of what had just happened, but from him. From the look in his eyes when he’d come apart in your arms, wide, awestruck, desperate. So open it had felt like looking straight into the sun. No one had ever looked at you like that before. Like he couldn’t believe he was allowed to touch you, let alone be held by you.

And then the way he’d clung to you after, messy and panting, his voice breaking as he whispered your name.

You hadn’t known how badly you wanted to be wanted until he had looked at you like that.

It scared the hell out of you.

Denji wasn’t supposed to get under your skin like this. He was supposed to be a little reckless, a little silly, a little annoying. That was the deal. He was supposed to be the kind of guy who left crumbs in the bed and made too many dick jokes and didn’t take anything seriously. You weren’t supposed to find yourself tracing lazy circles on his back and memorizing the weight of his arm around your waist.

But now, lying here tangled up with him, something soft was creeping in. Something so real and dangerous.

You swallowed hard, trying to shove it down, to ignore the weight of it pressing against your ribs.

But it was already inside you, the memory of the way he’d said your name, the way he’d looked at you like you were it. Not just a good time. Not just a warm body.

And god, what were you supposed to do with that?

He shifted against you, mumbling something under his breath as his arm tightened slightly around your middle. You glanced down, startled, and found him blinking up at you, his golden eyes heavy-lidded and unfocused, still swimming in post-orgasmic haze.

He looked wrecked. Beautiful. Yours.

“Mmm… you okay?” he rasped, voice scratchy and sleep-thick, like he wasn’t fully back in his body yet.

You forced a small smile, brushing his hair away from his forehead. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

He made a quiet noise, somewhere between a hum and a grunt, and buried his face back into the crook of your neck. “’Bout what?”

You froze.

About how I think I might be in trouble. About how I didn’t expect this to feel like more than just fun. About how you looked at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered. About how you make my chest feel like it’s going to cave in.

“…Nothing,” you whispered instead, your fingers still threading gently through his hair. “Just… happy, I guess.”

He melted.

Like, physically melted. You could feel the way his whole body relaxed at your words, a low, satisfied sound rumbling from his chest as he let out a breathless little “heh.”

“Y’know, I don’t think anyone’s ever said that to me before,” he mumbled, barely above a whisper. “That I made ’em happy.”

You froze again, the ache in your chest blooming into something sharp.

He said it so casually. Like it was just a fact. Like it didn’t even sting anymore. Like he didn’t expect to make people happy.

You pressed your lips to the crown of his head and held him tighter.

“Well,” you murmured, “you do.”

He was quiet for a long moment, like he was turning that over in his head, letting it settle. And then he shifted again, clumsily trying to tuck himself even closer, his leg flopping over yours.

“Cool…” he muttered. “You make me happy too. Like. Stupid happy. Like ‘I think I forgot how to be a person’ happy.”

You laughed, but it caught in your throat.

Denji, you thought. What the hell are you doing to me?

He let out a breath, long and slow, and it ghosted over your collarbone like a confession. “Hey… if I say something real mushy, will you promise not to make fun of me?”

“Cross my heart.”

“…You feel like home,” he mumbled, instantly burying his face again like he couldn’t believe he’d said it out loud. “Like… warm, and nice, and safe. Like when you find a blanket that smells good and you don’t wanna move for, like, a hundred years.”

Your throat tightened.

You didn’t say anything. You couldn’t. You just curled your arm around his shoulders and let the weight of him settle over you completely, holding him like he was something fragile.

Because maybe he was.

And maybe you were too.

The silence stretched, soft and heavy, but not uncomfortable. Just… full.

Neither of you said anything for a while. You just stayed tangled up together, Denji’s arm draped across your waist, your fingers still carding lazily through his hair. The weight of everything that had just happened hovered in the air- too big to speak on, too delicate to touch. So you didn’t. You just existed in it, together. Breathing the same air. Listening to the hum of the world outside.

But neither of you could sleep.

Denji shifted a little, restlessly. He wasn’t pulling away, just… squirming. His leg twitched. Then his fingers. Then he rolled halfway onto his back with a groan and slapped a hand over his face dramatically.

“I can’t sleep,” he mumbled, voice muffled.

You smirked. “No kidding.”

He peeked at you from between his fingers. “I keep thinkin’ about stuff.”

“Stuff,” you repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah. You know. The… everything.” He gestured vaguely in the air. “Like, what the hell just happened? That was, like… big. I feel like I got hit by a truck. But in a good way. Like a… like a sexy truck.”

You snorted. “Sexy truck, huh?”

“Shut up,” he grinned, eyes crinkling. “You know what I mean.”

Eventually, Denji shifted, lifting his head just enough to peek up at you, his hair sticking out in every direction, cheeks still faintly flushed.

“…Wanna play a game or somethin’?” he mumbled. “Kinda feel like I’m gonna explode if I just lay here.”

You blinked at him, then let out a soft laugh. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Cool.” He stretched with a groan, limbs flopping everywhere. “Bet I can kick your ass even with jelly legs.”

You rolled your eyes, untangling yourself from the sheets. “You sure? You looked like you forgot how to walk a minute ago.”

“Details,” he grinned, grabbing a nearby shirt and tugging it over his head haphazardly. “C’mon. Let’s not wake Aki or he’ll start bitching.”

You padded softly into the living room, the two of you moving like kids sneaking out after bedtime. The only light came from the TV as Denji powered it on, casting the room in a soft, flickering blue glow. You grabbed a blanket from the back of the couch, tossing it over both of your shoulders like a cape while he plopped down in front of the console.

“Okay,” he muttered, scrolling through the game options. “You want stupid gory or stupid fun?”

“Stupid fun,” you said, curling up beside him, knees bumping.

He handed you a controller and cracked open a bag of chips with his teeth. “Good. Gory makes me think about work too much.”

You started playing, the kind of competitive, low-stakes button-mashing game that didn’t require much thought. You weren’t really focused on the score. You were too aware of the warmth beside you, the way his knee kept knocking into yours, the casual way he passed you snacks.

It felt stupidly domestic.

Like maybe this was what normal people did after sex. Just… hang out. Be dorks together. Eat junk food and talk shit.

“I knew you were a button masher,” Denji said, half laughing, half scandalized as you beat him with a totally random combo.

“Oh, I’m sorry, would you rather I study the lore?”

“I’d rather you admit I’m a gaming god and you just got lucky.”

You smirked. “You barely remember which button is jump.”

“Exactly. That’s how naturally gifted I am.”

You shook your head, hiding your smile behind the controller.

Time passed like that- snacking, playing, laughing quietly under your breath so you didn’t wake Aki. At some point, Denji slumped sideways and rested his head against your shoulder, completely unbothered, like it was just instinct now. You didn’t stop him. You leaned into it.

He didn’t say anything, and neither did you. The city hummed outside the window, the glow of the screen painting lazy shadows across the walls.

It wasn’t a big moment.

But it felt big.

Because Denji wasn’t pulling away. He wasn’t making jokes to deflect or pretending it didn’t mean anything. He was just here. With you. In his boxers and your shared blanket, half-covered in chip crumbs, quietly existing like he belonged.

Like you belonged.

But more importantly, like you belonged together.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The morning light filtered in slow and golden through the curtains, casting soft beams across the living room floor. The city outside was still quiet, save for the occasional distant honk or the rumble of early trains cutting through the air. Aki padded down the hall barefoot, still half-asleep, hair a mess, the hem of his shirt wrinkled from tossing in bed.

He hadn't meant to get up this early.

He just needed water, maybe some coffee. Something to kill the lingering fog in his head.

But the moment he stepped into the living room, he paused.

There, tangled together on the couch, were those two.

Denji was half sprawled across you, one arm slung haphazardly around your waist like a kid clutching a pillow. His mouth was slightly open, hair sticking out in all directions, the remnants of sleep and crumbs visible on his cheek. You were curled into him with equal carelessness, one leg tossed over his, your face buried in the crook of his neck, blanket slipping halfway off both of you.

The TV was still on, the screen dim with a long-since-paused game menu.

Empty chip bags, a couple soda cans, and a controller or two littered the floor around them like debris from a storm.

Aki let out a breath through his nose and rubbed at his temple, not quite a sigh, but close.

He’d known.

Of course he’d known.

He’d seen it in the way Denji looked at you when you weren’t paying attention, like you were the most interesting thing in a room full of chaos. He saw it in the way you laughed a little softer when Denji was around, the way your bickering had long since stopped sounding annoyed and started sounding like foreplay.

Idiots, both of you.

Loud. Messy. Unsubtle.

But also… kind of sweet.

He leaned against the wall for a moment, arms crossed loosely over his chest as he took it in. Not just the way you were curled around each other, but the peace in it. The way Denji wasn’t twitching in his sleep like usual, like the nightmares hadn’t gotten to him for once. The way your hand was resting right over his chest, calm and still, like you'd always known where it belonged.

Yeah.

He’d known.

Aki turned away, heading for the kitchen in silence. He didn’t bother waking you. Didn’t roll his eyes. Didn’t say a word.

Instead, he put on the kettle, pulled down a mug, and let the quiet settle in.

Let the peace stay for just a little longer.

Because hell, if anyone deserved a quiet morning like this, it was Denji.

[tsukimirecs]

104th cadet corps // fic recommendations

note: remember to read the tags! + i do not own any of these works

jean kirstein

the roommate

dutch courage

babymaker

washing machine heart

bottled up

i stayed there, dust collecting

santa daddy

cake

wish, wish, wish

armin arlert

for one night

maneater

nine years

secret love affair

ripe fruit.

bright morning

reminder: thank reiner later

definition of a good boy

ocean eyes

mikasa ackerman

idol

bruises

arm wrestling

nocturne

stalker

dust, moon, and silver

the unbearable weight of staying

eren yeager

the way you are

bittersweet

say a little prayer

ocean's breath

midnight snacks

sweet dreams

emotional baggage

all over again

peppermint flavored kisses

connie springer

honey oat latte

promise

the unwritten law of college parties

free

anything but sex

[natsuki208]

Reblog if you really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really REALLY… love Jean Kirstein!

[frodothefair]

[mrscorcoran]

my baby Denji