#normally I just write edo thirsting after ele but it was soooo much fun to write ele thirsting after edo so thank you!!!

[nnegan13]

ok to that anon that sent in the request for basorexia and mamihlapinatapei from this post, know that I answered your ask but then I forgot to put it all under the cut and tumblr hates me and wouldn’t let me edit the post so I had to delete that post and I'm just putting it here! 

anyways, thanks for sending in the prompt! for basoxeria, here’s the ao3 link and it’ll be under the cut here too, lmao. I hope you don’t mind but I set it in the college!AU bc it owns my soul and it got a little longer than a drabble. I’ll write a little blurb for mamihlapinatapei as well, just not rn cuz I'm going to be lmao. but I'll rb this post with it when I do. thank you again ☺️

17:46 LECTURE HALL, HUMANITIES BUILDING, UNIVERSITY OF MILAN

Eleonora makes it to the lecture hall, finds their usual row, exchanges pleasantries with Dora and Jacopo, and pulls out her conjugation charts to review before class starts all before Edoardo even responds to her text. 

17:47, message from Edoardo  Coming in rn Did you save me a seat? 17:47, message to Edoardo  Yeah  Hurry tho Yours is a coveted spot  17:47, message from Edoardo  Only bc it’s next to you  😜😉 17:48, message to Edoardo  🙃  

She turns back to her conjugation charts, trying not to let that little shit emoji with its stuck out tongue plant thoughts in her brain, but not even thirty seconds later the doors to the lecture halls open and Edoardo enters. At the sight of the mess of curls atop his head, the dark scruff against his jaw, the long column of his neck and how a muscle or several flexes in his forearm as he holds the door open for some of their classmates, Eleonora finds herself swallowing several times against something thick in her throat. He looks into the lecture hall, eyes darting off the various groups of people before lighting upon her. He presses his lips together when he spots her, the corners of his mouth twitching as he tries not to grin and his eyes opening just a fraction more, as if he wants to catch as much of her as possible, and her heart thuds hard in her chest. 

Even after her clarifying conversation with Eva, Eleonora didn’t expect her reaction to him to be this strong, but it might literally kill her that they’re in a public setting right now. Her hands are itching to rub his scruff under her palms, pull his face up close to hers and guide his hands to her waist, her ribs, maybe even a little higher, and kiss him senseless. 

Not exactly something you can do in the middle of the lecture hall and still have your peers respect you as a normal fucking person. Want is a bitch, after all. 

He’s still holding the door open, people still filing through, but his attention is drawn from their non-communicative staring contest as Lelia enters and says something to him. She’s at the end of the flow of students so Edoardo walks into the classroom with her, a few slow, lanky steps before they stop at the row Lelia’s friends are sitting in. 

Eleonora tries not to think of their date last week, or how their date was the only thing she could focus on while on her own date—poor, poor Oliviero—whether or not Edoardo had a good time, whether or not he kissed Lelia, whether or not he decided to take her home, whether or not Eleonora seriously wished to be the one in Lelia’s position, whether or not his mouth is as smooth as his words are—

She’s fucking doing it again. 

In an attempt to pull her attention from Edoardo and Lelia, still chatting, she turns to Dora in the row behind her. “Hey—”

“Do you think that’s a hickey on Edo’s neck or that he and Chicco did something really stupid this weekend?” Dora asks, eyes squinting as she studies Edoardo across the room. 

Eleonora whips her head back around, examining Edoardo from head to toe—because her mind can’t stop fucking looking at him, noting how the dark fabric of his jeans clings to his legs, how his cardigan is pulled up on his damn forearms, and how he’s got on his glasses that make her mind go haywire—the knowledge that she should be saying something, protesting why this question is relevant, but all she can do is study his throat, how the muscles in it move as his head does, when he laughs, when he swallows, when he groans. It all but sends her into hysterics. 

God, what the fuck is her mind on? 

She spots what Dora’s talking about almost immediately, a dark red bruise near his ear that does look suspiciously hickey-like, but also vaguely like the marks she remembers covering Edoardo’s, Federico’s, Rocco’s, and Chicco’s backs after the night they decided to play smack-pong. The two possibilities of Dora’s question are both valid, but Eleonora’s mind drifts to one over the other. 

Her brain going places it really shouldn’t, Eleonora studies the way Edoardo’s mouth moves as he speaks, the tiny, pink glimpses of his tongue, the edges of his teeth first just as he talks but then as he sinks them into his lip in concentration, and is overwhelmed with the urge to be the one biting his lips instead. She doesn’t really even need that much, if she’s being fucking honest, just one damn good kiss that makes her skin tingle and her mind race and her blood boil that lasts until she thinks she’ll never know anything else ever again. 

It’s a weird desire, considering that, until last week, she had a boyfriend of sorts who did kiss her when she asked. And kissed her well. But, Eleonora thinks as Edoardo gives Lelia a final smile and little nod goodbye, he was never able to kiss her until her knees and shoulders and neck ached. Edoardo has the reputation for it. 

His eyes light on her again and this time when her blood races through her veins, she pushes her questions aside. 

“I think it’s a hickey,” Jacopo says as Edoardo starts toward them. He scrubs at his mouth and Eleonora finds herself thinking of each and every word she remembers coming out of it, every tease, every mundane, boring fact, every compliment—there are so, so many—and finds her heart beating even faster. 

It’s not just the guarantee of skill that makes her want this—to kiss him, to feel his skin under her lips, to be the one leaving hickeys and lovebites and marks—it’s just a little bit more than that. 

(If she stopped being a fucking coward, she might admit that it’s Edoardo himself. Might.)

“Hi,” he says, sliding into his seat next to her, and she tamps down the desire to launch herself at him. Still in the fucking lecture hall surrounded by other people, for fuck’s sake. Trying to remain in the realm of normalcy. She gives him a smile hello, rewarded with one that sends her blood pumping hot once again, and turns to her conjugation sheets to try to cool her body temp. Nothing like German verb conjugations to get one going, right? 

“So,” Jacopo starts, but Dora finishes for him: “Did you get laid this weekend?” 

As Edoardo chokes, she slides down in her seat, mind returning back to her inconvenient thought process. It’s going to be a long fucking lecture.