#framed canvas wall art aus

[atlaswav]

EMPYREAN ☾

INFO: 4385 words, dr ratio x gn!reader, college au SYNOPSIS: Art is the practice of capturing life in still motion, and yet Dr Ratio can never seem to capture your beauty in its entirety in his sketches. His waking thoughts are clouded by images of you, the bane of his existence. He hates it, but can't resist. The Gods - if there are any - are cruel. WARNINGS: none! for once! except attempted kiss. AUTHOR'S NOTE: my head hurts so bad rn and i need sleep but there were thoughts in my mind. also i think its really boring lowkey but hey! i said i'd publish something by sunday! also i think his characterisation is really off today but oh well.

Divinity wasn’t real. There were no real Gods, they didn’t exist – couldn’t. Science proved such. Miracles were situations of insurmountable luck, and no one’s fate was “ordained” like astrology maniacs liked to think. 

But when Icarus fell from the great skies of myth, reaching for the sun and Gods and the heavens beyond, Veritas Ratio was sure that the gnawing terror and morbid awe that seized that man at the sight below was familiar to him. That sprawling city touched by the sublime sun, smiled upon with the benevolent God peering through the clouds whose gaze melted fragile wax. 

He was sure that that fear and unprecedented awe was the same as when he first glimpsed you. 

His fall, however, wasn’t graceful or worthy of any legend. 

“Oh– you alright?” 

“My apologies, I–” he glanced up, leaning down to immediately pick up his sketchbook which had fallen to the ground, then he froze. 

“...Are you okay?”

This, he wasn’t certain. You helped him gather his supplies again, and he thought he’d never see you again – there were so many buildings and so many classes, why would he? But as if fate was stringing him along, he wound up sitting next to you for his art studies class. The class he convinced himself he needed to take for a proper education.

Icarus’ fall was met with swift demise, and he was so sure that he would too. But who was he to compare himself to legends? Even still, why else would he be stricken by the malady of your existence, if you weren’t some overwhelming beauty that his greed desired to capture? 

Art, however, could not capture life as any man would like. It could never catch the way light reflected in the eyes, illuminating the soul. Neither the delicate intricacies of a smile, a twitch of muscle, a beating of a butterfly’s wings, the delicacy of life.

Try as one might, however, Dr Ratio aimed to do this, anyway. Charcoal was his chosen medium, pervading clean paper, marking intent, focus and desperation. 

He remembered you casting him a smile before seating yourself beside him, and all his doubts in taking the art course dissipated from his mind – despite your literal run in moments before. 

You became immersed in the artwork at your fingertips as the professor chirped about something he should’ve probably been attentive to, but to him, it was now entirely meaningless. Your cheeks lifted when you smiled, creasing the corners of your eyes. Your hair fell over your face in graceful lines that framed your features, and your hands moved with such gentle dexterity that he yearned to capture them in his drawings. Your eyes narrowed in the slightest as your brush met the canvas, mouth agape with your fixation on your art. 

The charcoal snapped, and Veritas Ratio likewise snapped from his immersion, frowning at the dark lines that marred the page. 

In his sketch, your eyes were obscured by a wall of smudged black ash instead of the curtain of hair that covered your features. Ratio sighed, leaning back from the desk. Your eyes were now downcast on your palette as you mixed paints. 

There was a divinity in you that he yearned to capture, like sunlight in a jar. Futile, but with noble intention, he swore to himself. 

Then, there were more classes. More days that passed, more instances where he observed your habits, your artwork that had you enrapt, just as he imagined his own perverse captivation with you. There were more charcoal sketches in sketchbooks that never saw the light of day, ones where your smile was too wide, didn’t meet your eyes, or didn’t carry the exact expression that yours projected. 

Art could never imitate life – Veritas was simply mortal. But mortals could always dream of something divine.

There were times where he left the classroom for a moment, and he feared you might glance over at his sketchbook to see the hundreds of sketches of yourself. Smiling and frowning and focused, the end of your paintbrush sitting absently between your lips, your gaze cast to the side, small splatters of paint smudged under your eyes and on your fingers. It was unsettling. He knew it himself. There had to be an extent to his observation when it became invasive, yet he feared losing your presence without ever capturing it in still motion. 

This is when a man grows desperate. 

“May I draw you?”

“...draw me?” you glanced towards him, reluctantly tearing your gaze from your own work. “Why?”

“A study.”

You smiled a half smile. An expression that he was familiar with, given that you were already halfway through the semester. Still, there was nothing to your encounters but smiles of courtesy and niceties (he’d never admit that he so desired more).

“Sure. Show it to me later.”

Now, Dr Ratio discovers, there are few things that may disturb a man’s endeavours when he is enrapt in his studies. None of which affected Veritas in the slightest as his charcoal became dust on his fingers and he clicked his tongue at the material’s reluctance to bend at his will. 

None of which can successfully capture the being that is you, and he isn’t sure he wants to, anymore. Art isn’t made for the eyes of greed, it’s made for the soul that yearns for the cure of the senses. Or so the greats all say, but he thinks he cannot be one of them. He couldn’t imitate life, he was versed in the calculations of life instead. 

Caught in his thoughts, he taps his – new – stick of charcoal on the edge of the drawing pad, frowning at the new sketch he was pondering. 

“You’re really good.” your voice echoes from behind him. 

He turns abruptly to find you standing behind him, head tilted as you examine his sketches. Your nose scrunches the tiniest bit, and your eyes crinkle with a hint of mirth.

“Does my nose really look like that?”

“Of course.”

You laugh at his blunt reply. “Can I see your other drawings?”

There are over seven thousand languages that still exist in the world, and Veritas Ratio cannot think of a better, more dire way to say no than to agree completely. 

“Of course.” He flips through his sketchbook quietly, letting you glimpse his insanity. You were making him lose his mind, really. He watches your expression – how your eyes widen, your lips part, your brows furrow. 

“Did you do all of this since the last lesson?”

No, but he wouldn’t say that – 

“No, I've been studying you for a while.”

– Or maybe he would. 

Your laugh is another divine thing that he wishes he can capture. “Oh God, I’m embarrassed.”

“Don’t be. You make a good muse.” 

“Do I?”

He nods, biting his tongue. He doesn’t want to incriminate himself any further than he already has, and he’s already become a stalker to you. 

“Is that a compliment?”

“Yes. Undoubtedly.” 

“Consider me flattered, then…” 

“Dr Ratio. Veritas. Veritas Ratio.”

“...Veritas.” 

He loves the way your lips mouth his name. He’d never say it to your face, though. This, at least, would die with him. 

“Well, thank you. You may return to your painting.”

You huff a laugh. “So formal. I’m nearly done, so I don’t really have anything urgent to worry about. Meanwhile you…”

He’s inclined to agree. The professor was checking everyone’s progress the next lesson, and he still hadn’t grasped what he thought to have been perfect. 

“Ah. Right.”

“Do you want me to like… pose for you or something?”

He hesitates. Why? He doesn’t know. Maybe something about morality and art and the truth, but he doesn’t care anymore. “That… would be ideal.”

“Alright, but you’ll owe me as well. Deal?”

This is how Veritas Ratio finds himself pacing his apartment, fixing his hair in the mirror, dusting the tops of the bookshelves that line the walls and polishing the kitchen counter so that each surface is devoid of any evidence of his own guilty conscience. 

His anxieties were immediately multiplied hundredfold when you knocked. He waited a couple of seconds – to not seem too desperate, with his heart racing out of his chest – then finally opened the door. 

You stood there, smiling with such casual ease that he found himself wanting to know everything about you. 

It was absurd. 

A tiny, suppressed part of him welcomed it. 

“Hey, Veritas,” 

There it was again, the unfamiliar way you said his name, smile widening. He decided against a verbal reply, instead nodding and guiding you into his living room. 

“You’re so… clean.” you glanced about the apartment, marvelling at how almost every surface had a shine to it. But it made sense, once you saw him sitting at the couch, already observing you with the unshakeable gaze you’d felt since that first class. 

You weren’t entirely oblivious to his stare, just as you weren’t unobservant with the way his cheeks dusted with pink the day before – and today, it seemed – as he made eye contact. 

You smiled, and watched him blink a couple of times before turning away with a cleared throat. 

“Yes. I can’t stand a mess of any sort.”

“Figured.” you shrugged, standing next to him. “So, where do you want to start? What should I do?”

He hesitated for a second before directing you to the armchair across from him. “Just sit there for now. We’ll start here.”

You complied, allowing him to hurriedly arrange the folds of your clothes and angle of your limbs with fleeting touches. 

He appeared nervous, but it was endearing. 

Minutes pass by in silence, faint scratching of charcoal on paper filling the space between you. The sunset’s light poured in through the balcony behind you, casting a dramatic shadow over the armchair. Purple, orange, yellow – you wondered if that scrutinising look he gave you was disapproval or awe. There was no way of telling, with his complex set of facial-expressions. 

But interpreting him through guesses wasn’t how you envisioned this would play out. 

You cleared your throat, but he didn't glance up. He held the sketchbook up next to you, but quickly returned to the page, making harsh lines across the page. 

“So… Veritas?”

His head snapped up, stray strands of violet hair splayed across his forehead. “Yes?”

“Why did you take art?”

His eyes narrowed on you. Examining, maybe. “I felt as if I needed to. For a well rounded study, of course.”

You laughed. “Of course you did.”

At this, he paused. “What do you mean by this?”

“Your reputation on campus. You have… what, four degrees? You’re famous.”

He bit the inside of his cheek, never putting down the charcoal, but tapping it against his fingers instead. “Oh? What else have you heard?”

“Well, they say you’re insanely smart, but you’re also pretentious.”

He frowned. The way his brows scrunched was endearing. “I’m not pretentious. Everyone else is simply far underqualified.”

“They also say that you’re an elitist.” you laughed. 

Concern only grew on his expression. “Do you think this of me?”

You shrugged. “I’m yet to form an opinion.”

He nodded. “Good. Wise.” he said, almost as if reassuring himself. 

“...How long will this be, though? I can only sit still for so long.”

He blinked, turning to the sketchpad again. “Not too long. I promise.”

“Can we go out to dinner, afterwards?” 

At this, he choked. You stifled a laugh at the renewed blush on his cheeks. 

“Dinner? Why?”

“You owe me, don’t you?”

This is when he realises that he was a fool in allowing you in, to allow the muse of his most divine visions to become human. 

He’s greedy, though. No one and nothing can change this. He wanted more of you. He wanted to hear each thought that crossed your mind and know each little item that occupied your attention. He wanted to dissect your mind and examine your memories and behaviours like an insect splayed under a glass, and he wanted to understand you so well that he became sick with the thought of you. But in his mind, you could do no wrong. You were so divine; with your secret smiles that held secret thoughts, and knowing glances that examined his frame with an artist’s scrutinising eye. 

“Fine. Just let me finish up.”

So you stay put, and you return to the thick silence that envelops the room. The clock ticking above the armchair only taunts you as your limbs begin to ache from lack of movement. 

Scratching on paper, huffs of exasperation, the occasional tearing of a page, and he finally sighs, rising from the couch. The sun had long since set, only remnants of daylight still lingering on the sky’s deep blue. The light was gone. You wondered if he’d captured the sun in his drawing, as well. 

“It’s done. Not good as the professor would like, but it will do for now.” he said, running a hand – dusted with black – through his hair. His forehead was coated in splotches of black thumb prints. 

You similarly rose from the armchair, stretching, and walked over to the drawing on the coffee table. 

You didn’t realise this was how you looked to him. Your features were only emphasised in the dramatics of the sunset, the slight turn of your lips and curve of your cheekbones accentuated with the shadows. He’d taken artistic liberty, you realised, in painting you within the sun’s dying light. 

You almost looked divine. 

“Holy shit.”

“Does that hold a negative connotation?”

“Veritas, you’re crazy.”

“...negative?”

“It’s so…” you met his gaze which was already searching yours for a reaction. “It’s brilliant. It’s so, so good.”

His shoulders relaxed as he sighed. “Good. Let’s go to dinner, then.” he turns to leave, but you stop him, grabbing his arm. You found that it was hard as chiselled marble, and almost want to find out exactly what’s underneath, but you dismiss the thought. 

“You have something on your forehead.” you point. 

He frowned, rubbing his forehead with the same hand that had been gripping the charcoal for the past hour. Smudged it even further. His forehead was thinly coated in black ash.

You sighed. “Here, let me.” 

He leaned down for you to wipe the stains, hair hanging over his eyes. He smelled faintly of the library with its old books, and partly of ink with something deeper. His eyes darted around to meet anything but your gaze, long lashes fluttering, crimson red eyes matching the shade of his complexion. 

You make him nervous, you confirm with delight. 

“There. That’s the most of it.” you withdrew, and he stood back up quicker than you thought possible. 

“Alright, dinner, then.” 

“Dinner.”

“I’ll go and… wash up.”

“Don’t keep me waiting.”

He realised how much he was doomed as the sky started to pour with rain, just as the two of you stepped outdoors, beyond his apartment complex. 

“How far is the place you wanted to go?” he asked you.

“Not too far. Let’s just keep walking.”

He shrugged, falling into step beside you. His steps were terrifyingly large, as would make sense with his tall frame. 

“So what are your interests?” he blurts out, staring at the ground as he walks. 

“Well, art, obviously,”

“Yes, of course, do you think I’m dense?”

“Maybe a little.” 

“I will interpret that as sarcasm.”

You laugh, and as if the heavens had heard you, the rain began to fall heavier, darkening the landscape, tingeing the air with smells of petrichor and a cold that wasn’t there before. 

Ratio thought it was ironic. A pathetic fallacy of his doomed fate. 

“You have to be kidding me.”

He sighed, massaging his temples with his fingers. “We are unfortuitous.”

“...You could’ve said unlucky.”

“I choose not to associate myself with idiots.”

You chuckle as you attempt to cover your head with your arms, running to the nearest block for shelter. The rain, however, doesn’t desist. It continues to pour until you’re both soaked through – his hair soaking wet, sticking to his forehead, white shirt clinging to his carved abdomen that you desperately try to avoid looking at. 

“Should we just go back?” you move your hair out of your eyes, squinting in the relentless downpour. Through the slight shelter of the building behind you two, the rain pours heavy as ever, unlikely to cease soon. 

“I was waiting for you to come to that conclusion.”

“...Why didn’t you offer it first?”

Because he thought you looked good in the rain with wet hair. He wanted to remember the image – burn it into his eyelids – before he returned to sketch it. Number of things he’d never say aloud: two.

“I was waiting for you to come to that conclusion yourself.”

“Pretentious.”

“Thank you. Now can we hurry? It’s only getting heavier.”

His situation, ironically, then becomes even more perilous. A series of unfortunate events, unfolding like a train of misfortunes. First, your meeting – strikingly uncomfortable for both of you, he imagined (it certainly was for him) – then your failed attempt at dinner, interrupted by an unforgiving rain storm. He didn’t think it could get much worse. But there was always room for improvement, as he knows better than anyone, the academic that he is. 

There are, now, puddles of water throughout Dr Ratio’s apartment that he hadn’t bothered to clean since you got into his shower.

You, in his shower. 

He wonders if there is a God, somewhere out there, delighting in his torment. It was never supposed to devolve into such interactions, only observing you long enough to capture your beauty on the page. 

He wonders if you know he is thinking about you often as he does. Thinks you’d be completely repulsed by him. This is what frightens him. 

“Veritas?” your voice echoes from within the house. 

He gets up from where he’s sitting in a puddle near the kitchen, racing to the bathroom at your call. Did he manage to miss something incriminating in his bathroom? He’d made sure that every surface was bare before you entered, had he not?

“Yes?”

“...This is embarrassing. Can you please get me a towel?” 

This felt like one of those cliches in romantic comedies that Ratio’s colleagues liked to watch. Mindless scenes of dry humour and burlesque attempts at “comedy” he found appalling. It was happening to him, now. Spiting his academic rigidity. 

“Of course. One moment.”

He tries not to think about you, standing completely bare behind the door, as he sticks a hand into the bathroom, head turned away. If you looked closer, you’d have seen the bright red shade of his ears – but to his merit, you take the towel, shutting the door, a muffled “thank you” audible through the door. 

He sighs, sitting on the floor beside the bathroom. 

Whatever Gods there were, were bestowing great suffering on him today. 

It takes a couple minutes for you to finish up in the bathroom. Another few more for him to wash up, and another handful of minutes for you both to be seated on the couch together in awkward silence. 

You wear one of Ratio’s old shirts and shorts, scrolling on your phone, and he is sitting, arms crossed, on the opposite end of the couch, staring at you again. Outside, the rain still pours in unceasing rivulets, dissipating any ideas for going out for dinner. 

He thinks his clothes look far better on you than on him. Thinks that you were made for this world and its inhabitants, crafted so perfectly. Wonders what wouldn’t suit your wear, because he can’t imagine anything that you couldn’t look good in. 

“Okay,” you say, turning off your phone to stare back at him, “I ordered. Should be here in about ten minutes.” 

He nods, and averts his gaze. 

You smile. His behaviour is amusing.  

“Veritas?”

“Yes?”

“What are your greatest fears?”

“Excuse me?”

You shuffle closer, and he notes a glint in your eye that suggests mischief. Teasing, as he’d seen before. “What are you afraid of? Like, the dark?”

“Nothing.”

“Boring. Come on, there’s gotta be something.” 

He frowns, brows bunching together as he stares at the wall. An easy, natural habit. “Nothing. Fear is irrational.”

“Right.” you laugh at his blatant refusal to cooperate with you. 

“Am I being funny?”

“No,”

“Why are you laughing?”

“Because you’re being so… unexpectedly childish.”

“What?” he seems to prickle up with indignation. “What do you mean?”

“Your stubbornness to just answer my question, and the way you’re…” you gesture to his posture, the way his arms are folded and he glares at the wall. “Behaving. It’s childish.”

“Well, what are you afraid of? Nothing, right? It’s a stupid question.”

“I’m afraid of insects, the dark, I could go on, really,”

Veritas glares at you, meeting your eyes for a second. “Fear is stupid.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Then why are you scared of holding eye contact?”

At this, he blinks. He turns to face you, still frowning, but his gaze flickers between your eyes and the rest of your face. Your laugh only makes him roll his eyes. 

“You really can’t hold eye contact, can you?” you say through a fit of giggles. “Have you ever dated?”

“Yes, I can hold eye contact,” – but not with you, it seemed. You intimidated him – “And no, I haven’t, it’s a distraction.”

“From what I’m seeing, you can barely even be near me without blushing.”

He blushes, breathing a sigh of exasperation. 

“Dr Veritas Ratio’s one fear is making eye–”

Then he grabs your shoulders, forcing you closer, and holds your gaze with such intensity that the words disappear from your lips. You blink as his stare bores into yours, crimson eyes deep, shining with something unfamiliar to you that you realise you want to decipher. 

People like to say that eyes are the windows to the soul, and Veritas Ratio’s was ridden with something that burned like the sun's dying light. 

It’s then that you realise how close you are to him, how his firm grip on your shoulders softens and his touch drifts to hover above your jaw, how he smelled so inviting, familiar and distant all at once, and how his lips were slightly parted, how they looked so soft –

Knocking, at the front door. 

You both tear away, and he stumbles to the front door to collect your delivery. 

You never regret anything more than this moment. 

“Delivery.”

You nod, obscuring your face with your hair as he sets down your meal on the coffee table. 

You’re both back to silence, pleasantries and common niceties as the meal passes. 

Neither of you meet the other’s eye. 

Time ticks away as you finish your food and clean up, wiled away by carefully weighed words and half-met glances. 

He hates it. 

He hates how you were looking at him with such curiosity, and he hates how he let you tease him. He also hates the delivery man for not being delayed by the rain, but he also hates himself for not ignoring the knocks on his front door. 

“I think I should go now.”

Yes, that would be best. “Why? It’s still raining, you could stay.”

“Well…”

He knows your dorm is far from his apartment complex. He knows that you’ll have to trek through the rain, and yet he also knows that if you stay, he won't be able to sleep. He still has images of you – fresh in his mind – to sketch onto the page. 

“It’s no trouble.”

“Okay. I’ll stay the night.”

“You can sleep in my room.”

“But–”

“Don’t argue.”

Somehow, you’re inclined to do as he says. 

Time, like all things, passes too quickly and too slowly all at once. Without time, nothing exists, but with it, it’s all too agonising to live through. 

This is exactly how Dr Ratio feels as he sits at the coffee table, the small space dimly illuminated by a lamp, as the entire apartment is still. You’re probably sleeping, as he reminds himself, tearing another page out of his sketchbook, unsatisfied with his own hand. 

The rain was now tame, a steady rhythm to his never-ending endeavours to capture your beauty on the page. 

Maybe it’s when the charcoal snaps in his hands, or maybe it’s when his lamplight flickers that he decides that capturing life in still motion is helpless – a pointless and impossible venture that can never succeed. 

You’re too deific to fit into a world of his creation. 

What are supposed to be your eyes – painted with fervour, but lacking depth – stare up into the ceiling as he dozes off, charcoal falling from his hand, eyes drooping closed. Slivers of moonlight cut across your painted face as he slumps onto the table, snoring softly.

—

You wake to sunlight in your eyes, blinding and harsh, and realise where you are. 

It all smells like him – that scent that you can’t place that smells good, and a lingering smell of the library with all its papers. It all smells like him, and when you walk into the living room, you find that his own apartment is completely devoid of any sense of himself. 

But when you find him slumped at the coffee table, lamplight still illuminating the space with its curtains drawn and rays of sunlight peering through, he’s obsessed with you. 

You’re unsure what, exactly, to feel. There are abandoned pages scattered all throughout the space, and unfurling one, you recognise your own face staring back at you. 

Each and every drawing is of you – your hair wet, clinging to your skin, you drowning in his clothes far too large for you, or your face painted with curiosity and entrapment. 

It’s you through Veritas’ gaze, and you think that beyond all else, he made you look divine. 

When Veritas Ratio wakes to his papers – all wrinkled and partly torn – sitting in front of him, neatly arranged with a note on top, realisation hits him, but he can only laugh. 

“Veritas Ratio’s greatest fear: eye contact with the person he’s obsessed with. Completely irrational – even though he can draw me perfectly from memory. A shame, really. Looks like you’ll have to invite me over to pose for you again.

So you can get my eyes right, of course.”

written by @atlaswav , published 26th of August 2024

[cherrychilli]

18+ Living painting! Steve x F! reader, supernatural AU, monsterfucking (kind of), lil bit of angst, mentions of blood, mentions of bodily injury, oral sex (f), allusions to unprotected PIV sex

WC: 2.9K

A/N: So, I found the painting in the middle on Pinterest and couldn't help thinking that he looked pretty similar to Steve and this happened to be during the time I became interested in writing a monsterfucking fic of my own. It all kind of fell into place that night and I pretty much fell in love with the idea of a Steve who's a literal work of art that comes to life at night and becomes your secret supernatural boyfriend💛 I'm still figuring these two out but this is what I've come up with so far. Enjoy!

One week had passed and the remains of the old picture frame still sat in the waste basket in your kitchen, the ends of splintered poplar jutting up and out of the rim like jagged teeth.

It taunted you like a sneer but you made no move to empty it. Not until you knew for certain if he'd come back or not.

The new frame you'd selected was made of polished, treated pinewood. Sturdy and reliable, you were assured. You only hoped your glassy eyes had nothing to do with how strongly the sales lady had urged you of the frame's durability. Anything to clear you out before the other customers noticed the beginnings of tears wetting your lashes, a part of you suspected.

But the brand-new frame felt firm in your trembling hands. Solid. Sleek. Unbreakable, you hoped. Now all you had to do was wait while doing your best to disregard the many whispers of your neighbors as you passed by them in your apartment building.

"He must have found someone better", Mrs. Owens had muttered haughtily to her husband as you departed the elevator after exchanging forced smiles with the older couple, never knowing how close she'd come to having one of her gaudy gold earrings ripped right out of her lobe had you not managed to contain yourself at the last second.

"I think they might have broken up", you caught Tiffany from 20F's whisper directed at her boyfriend when you walked by them in the hallway, their tight, sympathetic smiles making your stomach churn as you hauled in your grocery bags containing only beer, instant noodles and a pack of cigarettes. The first pack you'd touched in a long time.

"Seriously? I never even got a look at the guy", he'd whispered back to her in a whine.

Sometimes you wondered what kind of image they'd conjured up of Steve. After all, there's only so much you can imagine when all you have to go by is what you can sometimes hear through the walls of your apartment.

~

That night, you stared at his painting while you sat at the foot of your bed like you had every night for the past week, waiting.

The rip in the canvas that ran up the length of his forearm stared back at you. Looking at it made your own arm sting, like fishing hooks in your skin.

Around you, your apartment had fallen into clutter but you didn't dare try to dust or clean again until you knew for certain if what you'd done had ruined everything for good or not.

"Please come back", you chanted under your breath as the minutes passed, waiting as patiently as you could for 12.00am to arrive. You hoped he'd come out of his frame like he had all those nights before. You hoped those brushstrokes would warp into flesh and blood once again despite the unintended gash marring the painting's canvas. You hoped to feel his warmth under your fingertips tonight.

You craved it.

You needed it.

But he doesn't come.

The clock ticks past 12.10am and you let your eyes slip shut before the tears start again.

~

When you wake, you see that the time’s 12.56am once you'd managed to blink the sleep fog away from your eyes, finding a sheet draped over your body and your cheek resting on a pillow you hadn't placed there yourself.

Springing up, your throat grows tight, like rope around your windpipe and you very nearly choke at the sight of the empty framed canvas hanging on your bedroom wall, nothing but swathes of buttery yellows, whites and greys pictured where there once was a pale brunette in the foreground too.

The five inch long cut that'd been made when the painting had scraped against the edge of your dresser was absent from the canvas as well, you notice, frantically kicking off your sheets to begin searching your apartment.

He's peacefully clearing up in the kitchen when you find him, a fresh kitchen towel wrapped securely around his forearm but you can see the blood stains seeping through the pale blue cotton from where you stand.

"You're out of bandages", he smiles when he sees you and it nearly makes your knees buckle, the doorframe holding you up as you lean against it for support.

"Does it hurt?", you manage to ask, eyeing the bloodied towel sadly, guilt scraping at you from the inside out like a saw grinding against your bones. It was all your fault.

"Barely", he answers and you almost believe him. Almost.

It's Steve who crosses the distance first because your legs have grown too weak to do so, reaching out with his injured arm to cup your cheek lovingly.

He notices too late that the blood from his wound has managed to trail down to his thumb. A crimson thumbprint stains your cheek and he attempts to wipe it away from your skin but you stop him before he has the chance.

"Don't", you plead. You didn't want to wipe that trace of him away, not after thinking you'd lost him. Not when you want to wear it on you like rubies.

"I could see you the whole time", he tells you, looking all kinds of apologetic for the worry he’d caused you. "Wanted to tear through that damn frame and be with you. I needed to hold you and tell you that I was okay – that you didn't need to cry anymore but this–" he clutches his injured arm. "I don't know why I couldn't come out sooner– I don't understand this– I still don't understand this", he gestures to himself and it's with a deep pang of sympathy that you understand his frustration.

His entire existence was an anomaly. For all the months you had spent together since you'd first discovered him, the both of you were yet to know how it was that Steve came to be. What had brought him to life? what other kinds of limitations were there? what did this all mean for your relationship? The thing is, none of these questions would be answered tonight because none them mattered to you right now. He was here again and that's all that really mattered.

"We don't have to. Not right away at least", you tell him, fisting the front of his white shirt with your hands, clutching him. "Just promise me you'll always come back", you plead softly, voice cracking as you sniff back a sob.

Smiling again, Steve cradles your face with both hands then, returning your adoring gaze with his mossy, cinnamon eyes. "I promise."

You're quick to lean into him after that, your arms winding tight around his waist as his drop lower to wrap around your back, pulling you in closer as you hold each other for a while.

It's no ordinary embrace. You spend those few blissful minutes memorizing every detail; his scent, his warmth, the gentle beat of his heart as you press your cheek to his chest, relishing all the little things about him that you thought you'd lost forever.

And then you're reminded of his injury, the thin, still bleeding slash running down his arm that the two of you are yet to attend to.

"Let me patch you up", you pull back to look up into his eyes, thinking of the spare first aid kit you had tucked away somewhere deep in your closet.

He only smiles back at you in that way that makes it impossible not to feel so cherished, like you’re the only thing he’ll ever treasure in this strange life he’s been granted.

"Later."

Gently, Steve interlaces his fingers with yours, pulling you into the kitchen and guiding you towards the kitchen dining table.

You watch closely as he pushes the clutter that'd gathered there off the table with his free hand, letting the empty grocery bags and more fall to the floor. You don't even have it in you to feel ashamed of the mess, too relieved to have him back, too pleased to give yourself to Steve as he wraps his large hands around the back of your thighs, lifting you up and placing you down on your table with your legs dangling off the edge.

Neither of you are surprised when things begin to take on a feverish, needy haze as your legs spread further for him to step between. His hands find the hem of your old, oversized t-shirt so he can pull it up over your bare breasts and over your head, stripping you of it and tossing it aside, leaving you in just your panties.

Five and a half hours remain until the sun is due to come up and he'll have to climb back into frame again.

It just doesn't feel like enough.

With how badly you've missed him this past week you feel like you'll need an hour just to kiss him, another to let him explore you, one more for you to return the favor and the rest to wrap yourselves around each other – both of you connected, exchanging the same shaky breath back and forth, fanning the flames of each other’s' fire as you take him so deep inside that you'll carry the forthcoming soreness between your legs with a smile.

For now, though, Steve's kisses start off slow and lazy. Soft licks swipe along your bottom lip before you grant him entry into your mouth and his tongue finds yours, wrapping around it all languid and sloppy. It doesn't take long for him to begin sucking on it gently, eagerly swallowing down the many moans that rise up from your throat when his fingers start to pinch and pull at your hardened nipples.

It's impossible to keep from squirming when he touches you like this, knowing exactly where you're most sensitive and how best to stimulate you. It almost feels like he's weaponized all the knowledge he’s accrued during your time together, circling your nipples with his thumbs, bringing you right up to the cusp of just enough but purposefully withholding more – dangling your pleasure out of arm's reach

Unable to tame your greed because, how could you? how could anyone after what you’ve been through? you try to seek out more. You arch your back and push your chest out to meet Steve’s hands but all that does is make him pull away from your lips, a gentle chuckle working its way up his throat.

"Not yet, baby, not yet. Be a good girl and I'll treat you right."

You’re just about ready to pout and give him your most imploring, desperate Bambi eyes but he attaches himself to your neck next, teeth grazing your pulse point, lips forming a tight seal on your skin as he sucks fresh hickeys on to the surface.

Head lolling back, you can already imagine the sour scowl sure to twist Mrs. Owens' face when she sees the result of Steve’s work tomorrow, a grin emerging on your face as you plan to display the hickeys proudly instead of make any kind of effort to conceal them later.

But just as quickly as the thought had emerged, it falls to the wayside as Steve begins to grow less gentle, his lips leaving your neck as he urges you to lay your back flat against the table. Your own touches are growing more insistent as you help him rid himself of his shirt too, running your hands up the plane of his soft stomach, fingers trailing through his thick chest hair, loving the way it tickles your palms when you do so.

Leaning over you, he begins his descent down your body by pressing one last hot kiss at your neck and then two more between your breasts and on your stomach, gently pushing your knees further apart as he brings his mouth closer to your clothed cunt. You yield to him easily, soft and pliant under his touch like a bud unfurling its petals, ready to bloom. Your breath catches as his lips kiss up your inner thigh, his tongue seeking out your core, dragging over the damp cotton of your panties when he finds it.

Your reaction is instantaneous, hips twitching and whining for him just how he likes when he hooks his finger around the gusset of your panties, pulling it up so that it sinks firmly between your folds. The bump of your swollen clit is so obvious and easy to find underneath the stretched-out fabric and the curls between your legs peek out around the now tight, narrow strip of material. It feels so vulgar when he plays with you like this – so right because you’ve come to love it so much, even to the point you can’t imagine being touched any other way.

“Steve”, you can’t help the high-pitched rasp your voice has taken on, hips twitching again when he smirks and pulls on your panties hard enough for the material to drag over your clit and make you yelp.

And even now, when you're both so desperate for each other, he takes the time to tease you – loving the way you try to urge him on by wiggling your hips and the near pitiful way you whimper out "please".

"I promise. I'm going to treat you so good, sweetheart. Can you hold on a little longer for me, please? I know baby, I know – I just need to play with her a little bit first, okay? Gonna have my tongue on you soon", he coos sweetly in an attempt to placate you as he reaches for the waistband of your panties next.

You lift up your hips to help him get them off, a fresh flare of heat surging through your cheeks when you notice how he has to peel the sticky cotton from your cunt, catching sight of the glistening webs of slick that stretch from your pussy lips to your ruined underwear.

That self-conscious burn doesn’t remain for very long though because during your time together you've learned that Steve likes it messy. So, you're not surprised when you look up to find his face bright with delight, spreading your legs again once he's got your panties off from around your ankles, placing his thumbs on either side of your puffy lips and pulling you open.

"That's my girl", he mutters, his face so close you can feel his breath fan over your naked cunt. “So beautiful.”

He watches your wet hole clench and flex with an unquenchable fascination while you prop yourself up on your elbows and bite down on your lip, both of you unblinking when he gently pulls up your hood to get a good look at your throbbing clit.

“Aw baby. You’ve needed me badly, haven’t you?”, he looks up from between your legs, licking the pad of his thumb before pressing it against your swelling clit to rub slow circles into the sensitive bead.

You sigh out blissfully at the much-needed stimulation, thankful for it as your toes curl and you begin to nod your head. “Missed you so much”, you tell him through a whimper, nails dragging across varnished walnut.

At your admission, you see him reach between his legs to rub at the tent in his pants, lightly grinding his crotch into his palm for some relief. "I missed you too”, he tells you earnestly, letting loose a deep groan that makes your belly twist and somersault with want.

Watching him only makes the ache between your own legs worse and as if sensing that, Steve gathers your thighs in each hand, placing them over his shoulders.

"I'll never make you wait again", he promises, leaning down low, his tongue slipping inside where you needed him most and just like that, after a week of feeling utterly fractured, like you were nothing more than a collection of shattered pieces in shambles, you’re suddenly made whole once again.

~

You hated that he couldn't stay with you in bed, both of you naked, sweaty and sticky, legs tangled together. Steve’s chest is practically pasted to your back as you both lay on your side, his arms around your waist, his soft cock against your bare ass, his cum leaking from between your legs and his lips busy at your neck.

His cut has stopped bleeding too, you were relieved to notice, a layer of scar tissue already forming in its place. Add that to the list of peculiar things you were yet to understand about Steve.

With a quick glance at the clock that shifts into a glare, you realize how quickly Steve must leave you with only ten minutes left until sun up. You wanted those minutes to stretch on as slowly as molasses, anything to keep him here beside you just a little longer.

"Let me help you clean up in here tomorrow", he kisses your cheek, pulling you away from the previous bitter thought.

You can still smell yourself on his lips the same way you're sure he can probably smell himself on yours, your tongue heavy with the taste of his spend as you keep swirling the muscle up against the roof of your mouth, sucking the remnants from it.

"Okay", you sigh contently, nuzzling your cheek against your pillow, pressing yourself against his naked form a little more.

"Don't drop me again, okay?", he chuckles against your skin like he can’t help it, his warm breath fanning over you.

You’re quick to pinch him on one of the arms he’s got wrapped around your waist. "Don't even joke about that. I thought I lost you", you turn to face him with a pout, one he's quick and plenty eager to kiss away with a smile.

"You didn't. You won't. I'm yours, always."

[yonphilia]

‧₊˚☆⋆｡𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐓. — 𝑮𝑶𝑱𝑶 𝑺𝑨𝑻𝑶𝑹𝑼 •˚₊‧⋆.

synopsis : you have an assignment due tomorrow, but gojo being the annoying man he is has finished all your paint, it's too late to go out and buy new paint, but gojo has an idea on how you can make your own paint. ˚₊‧⋆.

warnings : 17+ interact at your own risk!! make out session, pussy eating, cunninglingus, chocking, slight breeding, dom gojo, prominant bulge, squirting, porn with plot!?! smut!!

word count : 2.9k ˚₊‧⋆.

notes : f! reader, reader and Gojo are both art students, modern art student au! not proofread! ˚₊‧⋆.

Gojo peeks his head through the door of your shared art studio, his outfit is covered in paint, hair messy and ruffled and even a few drops of baby blue staining his snowy hair, making him quite the eyesore.

"Ah, you're in here?'' He says with a wide grin not really caring about the mess he had made in the studio earlier. The walls were splashed with paint, paint on the floor, a few canvases on the ground and empty paint tubes scattered everywhere.

You snap your head back to him, your hands on your hips as you glare daggers. ''What?'' You mutter looking around at the mess. ''Satoru why can't you ever clean up after yourself? I have an assignemtnt due tomorrow and you finished half the paint!''

A little pout forms on his pink lips, his arms crossed as he leans against the door frame. ''C'mon don't be like that! I was jus' havin' some fun! And plusss we're artists! we're supposed to be messy!'' He replies, trying to hide the sneaky grin forming on his face, he absoulutely loved getting on your nerves.

Rolling your eyes, you ignore his words and kick a few empty tubs of paint to the side, picking up your easle stand and quickly setting everything up with your canvas.

He comes closer to you from behind, placing his hands on your shoulders, peaking at the empty canvas across from you, then down at your face.

"What are you working on?" He asked, sounding quite curious. A small blush appears on his cheeks as he talks, maybe it's from the realisation that he has probably finished half the paint you will need, or maybe it's from how close up he was to you looking at your pouty and pent up expression.

In his eyes you were the artwork.

''That's none of your business.'' You reply shrugging his hands off your shoulders as you open a paint tube, squeezing the left over of the red paint on the tray.

"Ah, that's a shame. I was eager to know'' He takes his hands off your shoulders, and then sits down on the floor, crossing his legs, keeping his calm expression and looking up at you as you get ready to paint.

You look at him with the same 'here we go again' expression you always give him when he decides to make himself cozy around you anytime you were about to do anything that isn’t giving him attention. Although, he never spoke and simply watched you paint (most of the time), the way he is more focused then you can sometimes.. be quite uneasy. Especially with his cerulean eyes.

Throughout the process of making your painting, you lean over to the side table to get some white paint, but to your surprise, you find the first tube empty, and when you look at every other tube of white paint on the table…empty.

Gojo notices you stop painting and how your gaze was fixed on the several empty paint bottles and tubes.

"Oh, was that your's?" He asks, turning his head to you, the same mischievous smile from before creeping up on his lips. He seems proud of himself for finishing all that paint, and he can't hide that fact.

"I finished all that." He says, with a confident smile on his face, running his hand through his hair and getting up from the floor, as if he accomplished something other then making you mad.

''Of course you did!'' You scoff stannding up from your seat to look at the clock to check if there was still time to go out and get paint, but when you see the time reading 10:36pm, you know the shop will close by the time you get there.

You purse your lips out of frustration, pinching the bridge of your nose. ''Satoru get out of my sight, I don't even want to look at you.'' You snarl closing you eyes and turning away from him.

Whereas, Gojo didn't even seem upset or put off by your reaction, instead he found this amusing, and as always, he’ll make the situation worse.

''You're quite the sassy woman eh?'' He says chuckling to himself and approaching you, holding your shoulders to turn you around to face and him and then your wrists to remove your hand from your face.

''Satoru— unless you want me to rip your head off and make white paint out of your hair. Leave.''

He doesn't say anything, instead wiggles his brows at your remark, his hands still holding onto your wrists.

''Satoru—''

''I have an idea.'' He says slowly lacing his fingers with yours, his thumb brushing the sides of your hands.

''What..?'' You arch a brow wanting to hear another one of his 'ideas’.

“Do you want to….ya know…” his lips curve into a cheeky smile as he looks down at you. “Make our own white paint..?” He tilts his head, expecting you to say no, maybe even smack him at this stupid idea, that's if you understand what he's saying.

Your eyes go wide at his question, your brain jumping to all the solutions he could come up with, praying the one you're thinking isn't the one he's thinking of.

But of course, this is Gojo we’re talking about here.

“What- what do you mean…? What exactly are you implying Satoru..?”

Gojo grins, as if he was expecting that reaction. He leans in closer to you, close enough until his warm lips were brushing against your ear, his tone goes into some sort of a quiet whisper,

“You know what I'm implying…” You could almost feel him smirking against your ear. “You know what we would have to do to get that white paint, love”

Your breath hitches as you realise how close you two were, how his strong rich cologne filled up your nose, hitting straight to your core instead of your head, almost making your knees go weak.

“What do you say sweet thing?” He mumbles against your neck, nuzzling his face into it before leaving butterfly pecks everywhere, his arms caging you against him as they wrap around your waist, making sure your body was pressed against his so you don’t run away.

Your brain is screaming at you to say no, to get your assignemt finished, to push him away and ignore him and tell him to go out and buy new paint for you, but that's not what the lady in between your legs wants.

“Just say the word…please” He sounds as if he's almost begging you, as if he wants this more then you.

And, you do, you nod and part your lips to speak, but the nod was all he needed, and before you could even say anything, his lips were crumbling against yours, hands grabbing the back of your head and nape to press your lips against his, trying to mold them into eachother. Tongue lolling out and sliding into your mouth and swirling with your own. He's too lost in the soft and smooth sensation of your lips to even notice that you've already wrapped your arms around his neck.

He holds you tightly against him as he tries to kiss you deeper then he already was, his tongue gliding against your lips before he nips at your bottom one. and pulls away with a string of saliva attached to both your lips, his face flushed and chest heaving slightly, his messy bangs falling infront of his lust filled eyes.

You stare right back at his face, your own lips puffy and swollen from the kiss, your arms still around his neck as your hands play with the hair around his nape.

He leans in starts to kiss your neck slowly, starting on your jaw and working his way down to your collarbone. His tongue licks and sucks at your skin, sure to leave marks, his kisses are wet and sloppy having you feel butterflies in your chest and stomach.

He moves his hand up your body, grabbing your clothed chest, you can feel his warm, soft fingers through your clothing, and he seems reluctant to let go of you just yet.

Pulling away from you neck, he looks up at you almost in a daze, his lips swollen and pouty, the colour on his cheeks darkening. ''Wanna carry on in the bedroom..?''

Here you were, sprawled out so perfectly on Gojo's bed, clothes long gone and scattered somewhere on the ground, your back arching slightly as the cool air hit your nipples. Gojo trails soft kisses down your body, kissing each and every single detail and curve you had until his cool breath was fanning against your exposed core. His teeth nip at the inner flesh of your thighs having your body jerk slightly way from him, but he was quick to hold onto your thighs and pull you back down.

''Let's get you to paint my face hm?'' He says as a smirk tugs at his lips, looking up at you through his white lashes and lust blowen pupils, he had barely even done anything yet and you were already so desperate, bucking your hips up for any sort of attention to your dripping core, your hands going down to press against his shoulders, trying to get him to move already.

But Gojo was a tease, he leaves kitten licks up and down your folds, stopping his tongue right where you throbbing clit was, begging to be sucked on.

''Satoru- please ohhh-''

Before you could even finish your sentence, Gojo was already devouvering you, consuming all your words as his tongue licks and laps at your slit over and over again, feeling and tasting your sweet arousal causing him to sigh contentedly. He was eating you out as if he was a starved man who hadn't had water to drink for days. And the sweet and unholy moans you let out already had him rock hard.

''You're already a whining mess huh?'' He mumbled against your core, sending vibrations straight through you. He was right. You already were a whining mess, your hands tugging at his hair trying to push him deeper into your cunt, his nose nudging against your clit which had you let out the most lewd sounds he has always dreamed of hearing.

''Soooo good!''' you squirm out, feeling your knees go weak from how good he was eating you out. Your head was pressed back into his fluffy pillows, his scent filling up your head making you even more aroused. You part your lips to say something, but only moans and whines of his names slur out of your mouth.

You buck your hips into his drooling mouth making sure he doesn't stop, he groans from how sweet you tasted on his tongue, his hands kneading the soft flesh of your ass hovering below him.

''I'm close- I'm so soo close Satoru!'' You feel a warm sensation bubble up in your lower abdomen as he thrusts his tongue into your soaking cunt having you mewl out in pleasure, your back arching and eyes rolling to the back of your head as your legs start to tremble and jitter.

''T-Toruuu Sa-toruuu!'' You scream out his name in a high-pitched whine feeling the sensation intensify. Your hands clawing at the sheets as your orgasm washes over you, body shaking and jerking, your legs instantly squeezing shut and your thighs nearly suffocationg him as he does not stop sliding his tongue in and out of you.

''T-Too much S'toruu'' you pant trying to regain your breath and shove him away.

Gojo grunts in satisfaction as he licks your sweet cunt clean, tasting every piece of you, feeling your arousal on his tongue making his dick ache as he humps thecovers underneath him.

''Shit...'' You breath out as you look down at him, and to your surprise, he was already looking back at you, his eyes half lidded, cheeks and chin covered in your sticky mess, lips red and puffy as a grin spread onto them.

He licks his lips as he sits up, hand going down to palm his already pre-cum covered dick, never breaking eye contact with you. ''Mhm...think we'll need more paint then that..'' He says flashing you a cheeky grin along with a wink.

You feel your cheeks heat up and look away from him, your hands going up to cover you face in embarrassment.

''Uh uh!'' He says quickly holding your wrists and removing them from your face, pinning them above your head instead. ''Gotta see that pretty face while I fuck you dumb, mhm?''

You whine and part your lips to say something, but the air is knocked out of your lungs once you feel his leaky tip slowly start to slide inside your tight cunt. He groans as his other hand grabs onto your waist to steady himself from collapsing ontop of you from how good you squeezed him. A sharp gasp leaving his mouth feeling your warmth.

''So big!'' You cry you as tears swell up in your eyes, he wasn't even fully in yet and was already stretching your walls out, the perfect veins on his dick grinding against your walls and your sweet spot.

''Fuck- squeezin' me s'good babyyy think I might just cum undone like this.'' With a moan, he tilts his head back and closes his eyes, feeling how deep he was and his tip grazing the spot you couldn't even reach.

Slowly, he starts to thrust into you, his dick stretching you out so good it had you seeing stars and already a babbling mess.

''Toru- so deepppp'' You squirm out as he picks up his pace, his hips starting to hammer into yours as your slick paints his pelvis. You wrists twist and turn in his hold signalling him to let go so you can hold onto something as he fucks your brains out.

Gojo releases his grip on your wrists and places both hands around your waist, strocking your walls with his dick as he presses his hips against yours trying to reach deeper then he already was. The most sloppy and repulsive noises ever heard were all that could be heard by your lower bodies colliding and slamming together.

''Tummy-'' You babble out as your nails dig into his biceps. ''C-Can feel you in my tummyyy''

He looks down at your fucked out expression, your eyes nearly crossing, tongue lolling out as drool dribbles down from your chin. Gojo groans and leans in pressing his lips to yours, you could taste your previous arousal on his tongue and lips. He kisses you messily while hammering into you at the same time, his teeth clashing against yours, spit oozing out from both the corners of your mouths.

His hand goes to wrap around your neck, squeezing it making you clamp down on him while the other goes down to rest on your lower abdomen, applying pressure with his palm until he felt himself.

You pull away from his lips at the new feeling, eyes going wide and nails dragging against his back, your chest arching and pressing flushed against his, instantly feeling light headed as you let out a loud moan.

''C'mon pretty girl, give it to me, I know- fuck- I know you're close mhm...'' He whispers into your ear, urging you to come undone all over his dick. ''You feel that?'' He takes your hand dragging it down and pressing it to where his bulge was prominent in your belly. ''You feel how deep I am huhhh..?''

You could barely form any words, your tits bouncing as he slams into you repeatedly, his hand never leaving your throat, cutting off your air supply which only added to the pleasure for you, your drool smearing down to his hand as he fucked you dumbfounded.

Gojo could feel his own arousal build up, his thrusts starting to become sloppy as he shoves himself into you at an ungodly pace. His mouth agape as he mumbles all sorts of praises to you, telling you how good you squeeze him, how good you're taking him in. He lowers his hand that was around your neck and rubs his thumb in deep circles over your senstive clit to help you reach your orgasm, the hand that was pressing on your lower abdomen remained there.

And it's not long after you're reaching your earth shattering orgasm, your legs shaking violently as you scream out Gojo's name, squirting all over his dick and pelvis, your toes curling and head burying back into the pillows until your vision went all white, your ears ringing and needy sobs escaping your mouth as your arms wrap around his neck holding him close to you.

Gojo is quick to reach his own after seeing the state you're in, his fingers digging into your hips as he thrusts a few times into you before burying his face in your tits, nipping at your skin as he realeases inside you, painting your walls white until both your juices leak out of your cunt.

He pants as he sits up, slowly pulling out of you, his eyes never leaving your cunt that oozed out with cum, he lets out a shaky breath slapping his tip against your folds before smearing his cum along your thighs.

''You think we got enough paint heh..?''

© yonphilia 2023

[marveltrumpshate]

Want to participate in Marvel Trumps Hate, but don't know what to offer? Think outside the box!

Stumped on what to offer because you don't write fic or draw? Marvel Trumps Hate welcomes a huge variety of fanworks and fan labor (see our sign-up post), so there are different ways you can contribute. You'll be amazed by the breadth of skills, talents, knowledge, and types of creative expression found in fandom!

Here's a smorgasbord of offers that we've either had before or seen people discuss as possibilities for MTH 2024 or future years to help inspire you. What you can offer is not restricted to the list below; these are just examples to get you brainstorming about what you can auction off because trust us, even if you think you might not have something to offer, you probably do!

ART (VISUAL/ILLUSTRATIVE)

Drawings/illustrations

Single-page and multi-page comics

Pixel art

Paintings (oil, acrylic, gouache, watercolor)

Mixed-media artwork on canvas

Ink-on-bristol art

Embroidery on canvas

Pour paint/spin art

Rotoscopes

Digital coloring books

AUDIOVISUAL WORKS

Fan music or filk inspired by characters, ships, or fics

Podfics

Videos (fic trailers, themed edits, vids set to songs)

Animations (making original art/animation or turning existing art into animation)

BETA SERVICES

Editing

Cheer reading

Soundboarding/planning/development work

Fact-checking

Culture-picking

Sensitivity reading

Knowledge about specific topics or experiences (e.g., identities, lifestyles, professions, interests, fields of study)

Research

CRAFTS & MERCH

Candles

Lip balms

Soaps

Stained glass/suncatcher

Scented beanbag-style sachets

Candy/chocolate/baked goods/jellies/sweets

Fic/character/ship/theme boxes (like book boxes)

Pins, magnets, patches, charms, standees, key chains, ring holders, calendars, stickers, bookmarks, temporary tattoos

Sculptures and clay figures

Ceramic mugs and other ceramic items

Apparel/wearable accessories (shirts, jackets, scarves, gloves/mittens, hats, face masks, regular masks, cowls, pajamas/onesies)

Backpacks, tote bags, itabags with custom window shapes, leather dice bags, wallets, pouches/pencil cases

Plushie animal or Tsum Tsum versions of Marvel characters

Dolls (crochet, needle felt, matte board, hand-sewn)

Embroidery hoops/wall art and cross stitch pieces

Jewelry (diamond painting, macrame, metal, crochet, wire, beads)

Woodwork/wood burning (cheese board, box/chest, USB stick, coasters, photo frame, alphabet blocks)

Glasswork

Custom Funko Pops

Paper cut light boxes

Pillow cases, quilted pillows, baby blankets, dishcloth/washcloths, potholders

Handmade leather journals

Linoleum stamps

Dog/cat/pet toys

Artbooks, paper doll books, and coloring books

Hand-dyed yarn skeins

Custom tea blends

DIGITAL (GRAPHIC DESIGN)

Gifsets

Graphics/edits

Mood boards

Photo manips

Fic covers/posters/banners

Icons and headers

Webweaving

Tumblr or website layouts

Digital calendars

Wallpapers

Custom Discord emojis

FAN LABOR & TRANSLATION

Typesetting

Bookbinding

Recipes based on characters, ships, or themes

Names, tags, and summaries for fics

Audio/sound editing and/or soundscaping for podfics

Book cover design and printing

Art/comic/fic translation

Website/game/AO3 skin coding

Fic rec lists

Fic playlists/fanmixes

Knitting/crochet patterns

Art coaching

Help with launching and organizing fan events

WRITING

Fic

Poetry

Meta posts

Social media AUs

Physical letters written by characters to the reader or between two characters

Remixes of your fic or an existing fic with the author's permission

Whether you can do something on this list or something else altogether (we're sure there are a lot of other things that you can do that we haven't thought about or seen before), we hope you'll consider signing up before the deadline: September 28, 11:59 PM ET.

[exorcqism]

﹆₊ 画家‧₊˚ THE BLOOD PAINTER, KAMO CHOSO

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ﹆₊ 概要 ‧₊˚ art; the painter‘s hidden identity is made known. wc, 3.42K. dark mode recommended.

␥ note. i’m back with this storyyyy. getting near the good part which also means the end but not just yet sooo just keep reading. hope ya enjoyyyy and reblog to support meee.

␥ tags. artist!choso, college AU, possible nsfw, female anatomy, smoking, etc. lmk if i missed anything

␥ misc. masterlist AO3 PART THREE

the art class was bustling with students, the scent of paint and clay wafting through the air. choso sat at his usual spot stealing glances from you. the professor announced a small project; drawing and painting your partners. but there was a twist—only two colors could be used.

choso’s heart raced as ideas began to flood his mind. everyone scattered around to their new seats and the male instantly scooted next to you. he smiled at you. it was something about that shy smile he gave you before he quietly asking if he could draw you.

“let me draw you first,” you smiled. “i don’t want you getting caught up with me and i completely forget to draw you.”

“oh, i don’t know…i’m not really good with posing or anything. and i’m not able to sit still for very long.” choso warned but you only smacked your lips as if the boy was spewing nonsense right out of his teeth.

“quit doubting yourself. you got nice style and your face would literally be perfect on a magazine cover maybe even in the art show that’s coming up.”

“art show?” choso raised a brow. for someone that loved art contests and taking trips to museums just to stare at the portrait hanging on the white walls encased in an embezzled gold frame, he seemed surprised about this information.

“yeah. don’t know how you haven’t heard about it but i was thinking of putting my painting of you in once it was finished.” you looked down at your blank canvas that was resting flat on the table just as it did when you first arrived to class.

“oh, no, you shouldn’t—i mean..you can if you want to it’s your painting but…i really don’t like being the center of attention. i don’t really like being stared at.” choso explained. he bit down on his lower lip and he sighed.

“come on, it’ll be a powerful piece.” you beamed. “i feel like it’ll really make an impact on the audience. and i promise i won’t use your name if you don’t want me to.”

choso hummed, his lips pursed before speaking again. “um…well if you think so highly of the piece then i guess i can’t say no. just promise you won’t tell anybody it’s me.”

“sure. now just hold still for me.” you say with a smile.

classes finally end for the day and the two of you made progress on your art pieces. you decided to ask choso to spend the rest of the day together, to which he agreed to without hesitation.

you both gathered your items and headed out into the bustling city of tokyo. the sun is setting, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. you and choso arrive at a cozy cafe and settled into a booth by a large window, surrounded by the warm aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

the two of you had been there for a good thirty minutes talking about whatever came to mind, bouncing from topic to topic and bookmarking whatever part of the conversation you thought was interesting for another time.

“so, choso, you’ve always been into art?”

“yeah, well, i’ve always had a creative side, but i never really pursued it until recently. art helps me express things that are hard to put into words, you know?”

you nod. you never seen his art before and you just wondered how he had done things. your eyes travel over to the tote bag that was sitting flatly beside choso’s thigh. you fixed your lips to speak but a camera flash went off. you were pretty used to his off guard photos ever since the two of you started to hang out more often.

“can i see?” you leaned your body over the polished wood table before choso lowered his camera.

“not yet.” he answered. “mmm…i’ll show you when the project is complete. until then, i’ll have to hold off on showing you.”

you pout but you could understand why choso was being a bit selfish with his crafts. instead of begging to see a photo of yourself, which you prayed you didn’t blink in, you pointed to his bag.

“why don’t you finish your sketch? i mean, we have a lot of privacy right now and we don’t have any classes tomorrow. i also wanna watch you paint. its something about watching an artist in action is just so satisfying.” you say.

choso, lost in the depths of his own world, takes a sip of his green tea when he hears your unexpected statement. he recently started drinking it a bit more since that was the only thing he actually liked besides ice water.

feeling a surge of nervousness and excitement, choso shifts in his seat. painting in front of someone, especially you, made him feel vulnerable in a way he isn’t used to.

“i’m not sure…” choso looks down at his cup half filled with tea, which still had smoke billowing from it because of how hot it was. “i’ve never painted with someone else in the room before. it’s a pretty personal process for me.”

“c’mon, please? just for a minute.” you pleaded, clasping your hands and intertwining your fingers to be dramatic. choso chuckled at your silly behavior and simply sighed.

“let’s head back to the school and you can watch me work in my room, fair?” choso looks at you, awaiting an answer. of course, you agree.

back at jujutsu tech, you and choso were settling in, slipping your shoes off once you entered the room and placing your bags together against the wall.

you were amazed at how much space he had and how organized he was. the books on the bookshelves were all in size and color order and so were the cute little jars of paint that were on another shelf but you noticed that there was no red paint.

the desk was neatly organized also with choso’s laptop and ipad with its stylus side by side, charging. there was a mug with a bunch of pencils and pens and another cylinder item that looked handmade and painted with brushes in them. you assumed choso made it.

there was an easel in the corner of the room by the large windows that had blinds that would be shortly opened to let in some of the remaining light as the sun set. choso grabbed a few brushes and the rolling chair that sat at his desk and pulled it over in front of the easel and sat down. the male then reached for the canvas that had the drawing of you from his bag and placed it onto the easel. he looked pretty prepared now.

“you mind filling me a cup of clean water from the faucet?”

the question snaps you out of your awe-stricken mind and you nod. you went to the kitchen area and grabbed a cup that didn’t look like it would be used any time soon and filled it with water then brought it back to choso. he directs you to place the cup on the desk before thanking you for the simple gesture.

you noticed choso had his eyes closed now, taking a few breaths before removing the bandage on his nose and trashing it. you saw how blood shot from the black mark running over the bridge of his nose and onto the palette that was in his lap.

choso picks up one of the brushes and dipped it into the crimson liquid that had also been running down his face and began to paint. once the brush hits the canvas, all his nerves seem to dissipate, replaced by the familiar focus that comes with creating.

as choso dips his brush into the blood-infused paint, the room falls silent. the only sounds are the soft scrapes of the brush against the canvas and the occasional drips of paint.

you watched as colors of red and black filled the canvas. you weren’t familiar with the meanings of specific colors but the way you were drawn on his canvas as royalty, you could see sophistication and passion. choso put the brush down and rolled up his sleeves and began to use his fingers to paint. smearing the colors together with his knuckles.

your eyes sparkled, entranced, as choso’s knuckles danced across the canvas, blending the deep reds into the black that was present. the male was aware that he was in need of a palette knife but he’s never gotten the time to buy any.

“the way you use blood for your art is actually unique.” you spoke, breaking the silence. “i guess it adds depth and richness that’s hard to describe. it looks like the painting is alive almost.”

you were seeing it with your own eyes, his art style was hauntingly beautiful. you never seen anything like it. this whole scenario made you wonder if blood was often used when he painted or was this just a perfect coincidence. you slouch in your chair, in thought once again.

“blood has always been a part of me. a part of everyone, i should say. but mine is a curse and a blessing. incorporating it into my art feels natural to me. it’s like i’m putting a part of myself into each piece.” choso murmured.

“um…you know, i never heard you talk about your parents much, only your brothers. they must be really proud of you…you being all smart and artistic and such.” you say softly.

choso’s hand freezes mid stroke, his expression darkening. he sets down his brush and turns to face you. you see how that empty expression of his appeared onto his face again.

“my parents…they’re not in the picture. my mom isn’t alive and my dad was never proud of me. he only saw me as a tool, a weapon to be wielded. i’m happy he left me behind…”

your expression softens. on the outside, choso looked like he had it all. he was attractive, smart, talented, hell if he wasn’t the smartest guy around he probably would’ve gotten in just for being attractive and talented. he seemed perfect. but in reality, he was living in a fucked up world holding on to his creations for comfort.

“i’m so sorry, choso. i probably shouldn’t have brought that up and make you relive painful memories. but despite your past, you managed to create something beautiful out of the darkness. that takes a lot of courage and strength.”

choso nods, his gaze returning to the painting. he picks up his brush once again, lost in thought. he exhaled from his nose. though the topic did hit a nerve, he felt like he could trust you.

“it’s…fine i guess. it was a while ago. my brothers were the ones who helped me escape that life. we all live for each other and nothing can make me change that narrative. they’re my family and we’ve been through a lot together.”

“they must be really important to you, huh? you see them often?” you query. choso nodded again.

“as much as i can. i don’t really have the funds to constantly take train rides back and forth from my house to here and vice versa. we try to stay in touch, the most i can do is call them each night. yuji and eso are busy with their own business and you know they have to keep kechizu close because he’s pretty childlike and clings to eso like he’s his savior.”

you noticed the small smile on his face as he spoke of his brothers. him being the eldest, you would’ve expected him to severely despise his brothers but it seemed like he couldn’t even say the word ‘hate’ when talking about them. it was actually pretty sweet.

as the evening comes to an end, you find yourself standing outside of choso’s room and he’s leaning against the doorframe, his sleeves still rolled up, revealing thin strips of stitches along his forearm.

“what happened to your arm?” you point, making choso break his gaze and follow your finger to where you had been pointing. he only shrugged.

“a stupid accident. nothing too much to worry about.” he answered, rubbing the brand new bandage he had over his nose. his cheeks were still a little red from the blood that had been running down his face earlier.

“you should keep your bandage off. that mark is a part of who you are, and you know i accept that.” you say. choso is taken aback by your words, his hand instinctively touching the bandage again.

“it’s…not easy. people have always been afraid of me because of what what i am. it’s just easier to keep it hidden.”

“but you don’t have to hide from me. i see you, choso, for who you are, not what you are. you’re a human just like any other person here. and i think your mark is pretty cool, actually.”

choso couldn’t help but smile at your words. maybe—just maybe you had a point. maybe it was time for him to change his ways. get out of his comfort zone a little.

“um…yeah, thanks. i’ll think about it. goodnight.”

“goodnight, choso.”

“and this one would be called ‘the blood painter’.” the announcer spoke as the crowd followed around. it was perfect. better than anything else being displayed. choso stood in front of the painted canvas, staring at his own face looking down at his own partially painted portrait with a crimson liquid dripping from his nose and onto the canvas. there was a white cup filled with tea, which had been leaking from the sides as if it were overfilled.

his hair flopped down into his face before lifting a hand to brush it back with his fingers. he was awestruck. how could you have painted something like this with almost no experience. he could’ve sworn you said you were horrible at this kind of thing…maybe his memory was faulty.

“it’s perfect….” you hear him mumble as he stepped closer to the portrait. he was so tempted to touch it but he abided by the rules of not touching or taking any photos of the paintings being displayed. “how did you do this? you couldn’t have—no, you did…but this is so different from your drawing.”

“it was only a sketch. a way to get your features and everything properly. but a few days ago when we hung out, i thought i’d make something more expressive.” you grinned.

“i’m impressed.” choso’s eyes sparkled. “it’s like you captured my soul onto the canvas. i mean, i’ve seen art that expresses the soul of another person but this one is—wow.”

the male looked at you and his cheeks flushed a little. “maybe i got a little too excited. you did a nice job on your painting. hopefully you got a passing grade on it.”

you smiled at choso’s excitement and love for the art you made of him. you both knew it was simply for an assignment that would be graded then tucked away forever or thrown into a nearby dumpster but this was a sentimental thing. it was like a piece that needed to be preserved.

as you both stood in the middle of the large crowds, you two could hear people praising the painting for its raw emotion and style. one patron mentioned that it gave off a bit of a edgy feeling despite the cozy looking background.

choso was a bit surprised and delighted by the positive reactions, he felt a sense of pride in his portrait and the artist that created it—you. he turned to you with a smile on his face.

“i never thought my own portrait would have an impact like this.” choso said shifting his weight onto one leg. “see, now i kinda regret not letting you reveal my name.”

“you’re okay. it’ll make you a mystery man like the mona lisa…well she’s a real person but you get it, don’t you?” you chuckle lightly and choso does just that right along with you.

“i get it. but i’ll never be as known as she is. i’ll only be a mystery man that’s occasionally seen in shibuya.” he said. you threw your arm over choso’s shoulder and waved your hand dismissively.

“sure you will. one thing will lead to another. when you start seriously pursuing art and get your name out there, people will realize that you’re this man in the picture.” you pointed to the portrait, lightly tapping your nail against it as it created a hollow sound. you knew that you weren’t supposed to touch anything but you didn’t seem to care that much. you even went out your way to take a quick picture of it—it was surprisingly clear.

“they’ll call you signore kamo.” you added.

“you know italian?” choso raised a brow, a bit surprised by your pronunciation and how casually you said that word.

“nope, i googled it.” you smile innocently. choso released a breath as if he had been holding it for a while and returned a soft smile to you.

the art show ends and you and choso found yourselves walking close by each other on the sidewalk. the streetlights and neon lights from buildings illuminating your way as you walked back to the university. choso saw that you were on the left of him, closer to the street so he stoped to trade places with you.

“what was that for?” you ask as you put your hands down into your pocket. you had a feeling on exactly why choso did what he did but you just wanted to hear it from his mouth.

“well, just in case something happens, i’ll be hit first and you won’t have to worry about getting hurt.” choso stated, glancing at the street littered with parked cars. your instincts seemed to be correct but your lips involuntarily stretched into a smile anyway and you felt your face heat up a bit.

upon arriving back to the dorms, the two of you stood in the commons, your shadows stretching long in the dim light. since quiet hours were approaching, it was about time the two of you part ways once again until tomorrow. you turn to face each other, a mixture of contentment and longing in your eyes.

“i guess this is where we call it a day. thank you again for everything.” choso says and you nod.

“of course.” you beamed. “i had a really nice time with you today. and don’t forget that you don’t have to hide who you are around me. your true self is beautiful.”

“i’ll remember it.” choso replied before being caught off guard by your sudden hug. you flung your body into him and squeezed his sides a bit. his violet eyes widened as he contemplated on leaving you to cling onto him or hug you back. no one besides his brothers had ever given him a hug.

slowly and awkwardly his arms snaked around your body, finally returning a hug back to you. you both lingered there for a moment, holding on to each other before breaking away.

“hey, dinner on friday?” you ask.

“it’s a date.” choso replied, only making your smile grow. you both say your goodbyes and wave to each other before walking off in the opposite direction to head off to your rooms for the night.

but then another guy came along.

“hey, you got a second?” kashimo whispered. choso never interacted with the guy much but they’ve spoken enough to know how one another looked and each other’s names. sighing, choso obliged.

“i noticed the way you talked to that girl over there just a few seconds ago. you seriously scored.” the cyan haired male smirked at choso. “obviously, there’s something special between you two. maybe i could offer you some advice on that front?”

choso’s eyes narrowed, and as usual, his defensive walls go back up. he was never really comfortable with talking about his personal life, especially with someone he didn’t know all that well.

“i don’t need help with my love life, kashimo. i’m handling it perfectly fine.” choso crossed his arms. kashimo would put his hands up in a placating gesture.

“no pressure. i’m just saying that sometimes it’s easier to open up to someone who isn’t directly involved, you know? sit with me at lunch tomorrow. we can discuss this later.” the other lightly punches choso’s shoulder before heading out of the entrance doors.

“he’s weird.” choso muttered.

⠀© vmpiires | like, reblog & follow.

[reveneovs]

prologue

the only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it.

rhaenyra x alicent au. loosely inspired by the portrait of dorian gray and my disappointment over the upcoming netflix adaptation of it. this is very wordy and i hardly proofread, so accept my apologies.

as this is a sideblog and i can't follow people back, leave a note if you'd like to be tagged in the continuation (i have it in me to write more i promise i promise).

the walls of the academy of saint catherine were ancient, worn by the hands of time, with dark wood paneling and the flickering glow of gas lamps casting shadows that danced upon them. the scent of turpentine and linseed oil permeated the air, mingling with the faint aroma of old books and parchment. a marble staircase spiraled upwards in the center of the atrium, its bannisters polished smooth by generations of aspiring artists who had walked these halls before.

rhaenyra targaryen stood by one of the tall, arched windows, her silver hair catching the pale light of the overcast afternoon. she was like a living painting, a study in contrasts. her skin, porcelain and flawless, seemed almost too perfect, a stark juxtaposition to the fiery determination in her violet eyes. she held a sketchbook loosely in her hands, though her attention was elsewhere, her gaze fixed on the fog-laden streets outside.

behind her, the cavernous room was filled with the quiet hum of students absorbed in their work. easels were spread out, each supporting canvases at various stages of completion, and the soft scratching of charcoal on paper provided a gentle background to the ticking of the grand clock above.

in one corner of the room, bent over a canvas, was alicent hightower. her auburn hair was pulled back in a simple braid, strands escaping to frame a face that was earnest and delicate, her green eyes bright with concentration.

alicent's hands moved with the certainty of someone who saw the world in layers of light, shadow, and color. someone who knew how to translate the ephemeral into something tangible. yet today, her hands trembled slightly as she worked, her brush hovering over the canvas as if hesitant to complete the stroke.

she was painting rhaenyra.

alicent had asked rhaenyra to sit for her portrait weeks ago, though in truth, she had wanted to capture her since the moment they met. rhaenyra, with her effortless grace, had become her muse. but the emotions that stirred within her were confusing, a mixture of admiration and envy, affection and fear. alicent feared what would happen if she finished the portrait, feared what it would reveal—about rhaenyra, about herself.

rhaenyra turned from the window and crossed the room with a fluidity that caught the attention of more than one student. she moved with a quiet power, a confidence that commanded respect, and yet there was a softness to her that made her impossible to resent.

she approached alicent's easel and looked at the painting in progress. the likeness was uncanny, but there was something else there, too—something in the eyes that alicent had captured, something that spoke of a deeper truth, a hidden vulnerability. rhaenyra smiled, a small, knowing smile, and alicent's heart skipped a beat.

"it’s beautiful, alicent," rhaenyra said softly, her voice like velvet, wrapping around the words.

alicent looked up at her, her cheeks abloom. "thank you, but it’s not finished. i’m not sure it ever will be."

rhaenyra reached out, her fingers lightly touching the edge of the canvas, as if she could feel the emotion infused within the paint. "art is never truly finished, isn't it? it lives, breathes— changes. like us."

alicent swallowed, trying to find the right words, but all she could think about was how close rhaenyra was, how intoxicating her presence was. she had painted rhaenyra’s eyes numerous times, but seeing them now, with but a sigh's distance between them, was like seeing them for the first time.

"why did you choose me?" rhaenyra asked, her voice a mere whisper, yet heavy with meaning.

alicent's eyes flickered with uncertainty, her hands tightening around the paintbrush. "because you are… different. you’re not like the others." the words felt like an oversimplification, though that was all she could muster in the moment.

rhaenyra tilted her head, studying alicent with a gaze that was both curious and intense. "different, how?"

alicent felt a shiver run down her spine. how could she explain the way rhaenyra seemed to exist on another plane? how could she explain the way her heart ached with both admiration and desire? she couldn’t. the words wouldn’t come.

"you have a light," alicent finally managed, her voice trembling slightly. "a light that shines so brightly, it’s almost blinding. and yet… there’s a darkness there too, hidden beneath the surface."

rhaenyra’s expression softened, a flicker passing through her eyes—regret, perhaps, or sadness. "we all have our darkness, alicent. but it’s the light that defines us, don’t you think?"

alicent didn’t know how to respond, so she simply nodded, her throat felt tight, like it would cease up the further she was questioned. rhaenyra turned her gaze back to the painting, her expression unreadable.

"finish it," rhaenyra said suddenly, her voice firm.

alicent blinked in surprise. "but… i’m not ready. it’s not ready."

rhaenyra’s lips curled into a faint smile. "you'll never be done, if that's the case. you'll be waiting and waiting and waiting— why not be reckless and let whatever it is that led you to this point sweep you away further?"

before alicent could respond, rhaenyra turned and walked away, her footsteps echoing softly in the dimly lit room. alicent watched her go, her heart heavy, the weight of the unfinished portrait pressing down on her. she knew what rhaenyra was asking of her, what it meant to finish the painting.

but as she lifted her brush once more, alicent realized that the true masterpiece was not the portrait itself, but the emotions it stirred within her—the passion, the longing, the fear. and perhaps, in capturing rhaenyra’s likeness, she could capture a piece of herself as well, a truth she had been too afraid to face.

the brush touched the canvas, and with each stroke, alicent felt a part of her soul unravel, intertwining with the image before her. the darkened room seemed to close in around her, the shadows growing longer, deeper. but she did not stop.

she could not stop.

[daebakinc]

Dirty, Dirty Dancing Pt 8 (M)

A Dirty Dancing AU

Pairing: Yunho X Female Reader X Hyunjin (polyamorous relationship)

Word Count: 4.3K

Synopsis: The college campus where boyfriend, Yunho, is a visiting dance instructor seems like every other university you’ve visited until a secret party reveals it’s anything but. After a drunken mishap, promising dance student, Hyunjin, is left without a dance partner. Enlisted in helping him before a big audition, you begin to catch feelings for him. Can you help him and maintain a relationship with your boyfriend?

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

~Admin V

           Hyunjin tried to blink away his shock as you removed your shirt and asked him to paint you. The chorus of the music seemed to bring him back to focus. He walked to the large canvas and turned it to the backside, then placed it on the floor. Quickly, he expertly removed the staples from the wooden frame so it was just the cloth of the canvas.

           Seeing what he was doing, you helped to clear space on the floor, so the canvas would be able to lie flat.

           When he had it off the wooden frame, Hyunjin flipped it over again, then taped each corner to the floor with masking tape.

           He exhaled as his eyes landed on you again. At his workstation, he grabbed a thin wooden box labeled “water colors.” He grabbed a tube of blue colored paint, and squeezed a large portion of it on a plastic square.

           “Why watercolor? Why not oil based?” You weren’t very familiar with art or painting, but you knew oil showed deeper, richer colors.

           “Watercolor will wash off. If I use oil based, we’d need turpentine to get the paint off your skin.”

           “Ah.” You watched as he spread the blob of paint until it was bigger.

           Hyunjin combed through a cup filled with paint brushes until he found a large, wide one that looked like what was used to paint walls in houses. Once he was all set up he looked toward you. “Can you remove your pants?”

           Nodding, you did as asked, then walked over toward him and the supplies.

           At the audition, you’d seen him look nervous, but this was a different kind of energy as he scanned over your body. Exhaling slowly, he prepared his paintbrush with a large dollop of blue, then got on his knees. He began painting the front of your thighs. He painted them from just above your knee to your panties, careful not to touch the fabric.

           When they were thoroughly covered, he stretched up to paint your tummy. Again, he was careful not to touch your underwear, and painted your skin until he was at your ribs. He got up from his knees and stared at your chest then looked in your eyes. “I think it would be best if you took off your bra.”

           “Okay.” You didn’t feel nervous like when you were trying on the dress with Wooyoung there. There was excitement as you reached behind your back to unclasp the garment, and you felt yourself tremble a bit.

           His eyes never left your chest as he watched you. A blush filled his cheeks when the bra was removed and you tossed it by the t-shirt.

           Breathing slowly, he dipped his brush in more paint and started covering your ribs until he was under your breasts.

           His breath was shaky, and his voice was a whisper as he asked, “Can I touch you?”

           “Yes.”

           He carefully lifted each breast to ensure the paint fully covered beneath them. He then painted over your nipples. “When Yves did this, he taped the canvas on the wall and pushed the women into it.” His voice was at regular volume now as he concentrated on your upper breasts. “I thought it might be easier to do it on the floor and let gravity do some of the work. But I’m not really sure how your . . . uh . . . chest will lay.” The blush was back in his cheeks.

           After painting your collarbone he asked you to hold your hands up, coloring them as well as your forearms. Then you were ready.

           He led you to the edge of the canvas and helped you kneel down. “Think of it like you’re going to do a push up, but it’s when you’re tired and let your body down to rest.”

           “Okay,” you nodded, understanding. The thing was, you were afraid to touch the canvas. You didn’t want to mess it up.

           Hyunjin realized your hesitation. “It doesn’t have to be perfect. It’s alright if it smudges.”

           Nodding again, you let yourself breathe, then fell onto your hands. As instructed, you lowered yourself onto the canvas.

           “I’m going to press on you a little.”

           “Sure.” You stayed perfectly still.

           Starting with your legs, Hyunjin pressed both hands on your right thigh, then left. He then moved his attention to your lower back, mid back, then upper back and shoulders. He also pressed against your arms and hands.

           “Can you lift yourself up?”

           A worry filled your mind. “Will the canvas stick to me?”

           “No. I taped it to the floor.”

           “Ah, right.” Without further hesitation, you pushed yourself up. With Hyunjin’s aid, he helped you to your knees, then to stand.

           Both of you looked at the canvas. There was a tiny triangle where your underwear was, but it wasn’t very noticeable with your thighs and belly taking up space.

           “Don’t worry, I have an idea for that?”

           You looked to him, and he had sheepish grin.

           “The trend of removing pubic hair was only just starting in the 60s, when Yves Klein did his paintings of women, so they still had their hair.” His cheeks turned a new shade of red. “I don’t know your situation, but I figured you wouldn’t want paint there, so.” He lifted a round sponge.

           “Nice.”

           “Thank you.”

           “Before you do that, I have an idea.”

           His eyebrow raised in curiosity. “Oh?”

           “What if I paint you, in a different color, like red, and we press your body into the canvas, too. But your hands could rest at the hips, like you were holding the other figure.”

           Both of his eyebrows were raised as he looked over the art and thought about what you said. “I like it, let’s do it.” He was blushing again. “Do you maybe want to clean up so you can get dressed?”

           “Okay.” It was adorable how shy he was. You’d never have guessed it the way he danced, especially with the routine he danced with you.

           Back on his knees, he used water-tissue to wipe off the paint. You were able to get most the paint off your tummy and chest, but had trouble seeing your collarbone and needed his help.

           As you watched him wipe away the paint at your clavicle, you could see he was holding his breath.

           “What’s wrong?” Your voice was quiet.

           His eyes looked bigger as he stopped cleaning paint from your skin and stared at you. “I was just thinking of what you said earlier.”

           “Oh.” It was your turn to feel shy. You’d done everything to distract him from your words in fear of rejection. But now he could confront them.

           “You feel for me.” He wasn’t asking a question, but you nodded your head to confirm anyway. “But you still feel for Yunho?”

           “Yes.” Here it was, the rejection you knew was coming.

           “That makes you poly.”

           You weren’t expecting that response and straightened your back and shoulders. How did he already understand polyamory when neither you nor Yunho did? Then again, he was friends with Yeji, and she introduced you to it. “I’m not really sure. It’s new. I’m just trying to figure it all out.”

           His head bobbed up and down in understanding, but his eyes kept gazing back and forth from yours, to your lips. “I . . . I’m not sure if I’m poly, but I’m open to anything if it means I could kiss you.”

           A shiver ran down your spine. “You want to kiss me?”

           “Wasn’t it obvious when we got back to campus after the audition?”

           Looking at his lips, your mouth parted. Gods did you want it, too. “What’s stopping you?”

           He didn’t hesitate. One of his hands cradled the back of your head, his fingers grabbing your hair. His other hand cupped your cheek as he closed the distance between you and pressed his clothed body against your naked one.

           You were shaking as you looked him in the eyes, and could feel him quivering, too.

           The time it took for him to press his lips on yours felt like it was happening at the slowest pace possible, and in an instant.

           He was delicate when his lips touched yours; soft, taking his time.

           His scent quickly filled your nose, and your arms wrapped around him, with one hand grasping between his shoulder blades and the other deep in his hair.

           As you pressed him closer against you, his kiss became less delicate and more hungry. His lips felt stronger against yours, and he sucked your bottom lip into his mouth, causing you to moan.

           Hyunjin’s strength as he leaned on you caused you to back up into his work table.

           When you squeaked in surprise, Hyunjin backed off. “Are you alright?”

           Nodding quickly to indicate you didn’t want to stop, you lifted yourself to sit on the table.

           Any shyness you’d seen on Hyunjin was now gone, his eyes full-blown with need. Parting your legs, he stood between them to hold you as close as he could as he kissed you again.

           Your hands went back into position on his back and in his hair. Feeling breathless, you opened your mouth wider, allowing Hyunjin to slide his tongue in. You both groaned as you tasted each other. You could live in his taste. Needing him closer, you hugged him harder to you, teasing him as you pulled away from the kiss, then licked his lips, then tongue, but not wholly giving him a full kiss. He whined when you bit his lip.

           Hearing him in pleasure aided your arousal. Your nipples were hard, and you were very aware of them as they brushed the fabric of his shirt. “You’re wearing too much.”

           “I’ll take it off if you stop playing.”

           Before you could answer, his lips were back on yours, making you whimper in turn. Your hands reached down for the hem of the shirt, then pulled it up until he backed away to lift it off.

           You bit your lip as you took in his muscled torso. He had a bit more definition than Yunho, especially in his arms. You wondered if that was because of pole dancing. Your eyes dropped to his pants. “Those, too.”

           He shook his head as he smirked. “You’re naughty.”

           “Nu uh! I just want you in the same amount of clothing as me!”

           “Uh huh, sure.” But he complied and removed them as well, standing in front of you in black boxer-briefs. Moving back so you were touching chest to chest, he spoke with his mouth only inches from yours. “You’re gonna kiss me now?”

           Gasping, feeling the heat of his chest against yours, you answered by grabbing his hair and pushing his lips to yours. With your mouth already parted, he slid his tongue in, rubbing it against yours, moaning with you to the sensation. As the kiss got more involved and he leaned against you, you felt his hardness press into you.

           Inhaling suddenly, you broke the kiss.

           “I’m sorry,” he backed off.

           “No, no.” You didn’t want him to be sorry. You were lost in his taste, touch, and scent, and you were feeling dizzy and not forming the words you needed. “I don’t want to stop.”

           “No?”

           You shook your head.

           Moving back to where he was, he grabbed at your thigh, opening your legs more, then gyrated so his hardon grinded against you.

           A cry of pleasure left your lips.

           “You want this?”

           “Yes.”

           Hyunjin rolled his hips again, and you could feel him press against you from core to clit, making you cry out louder. With his free hand, he lifted your chin so you’d look at him. “You don’t want me to stop?”

           “I want you to keep going, please.”

           With his music still playing in the studio, Hyunjin moved his hips in rhythm with it, dry humping you to the beat.

           You held onto his shoulders, needing to feel as much of him as you could.

           He looked in your eyes each upward stroke. For the most part he was doing a good job to stay quiet.

           Not you. The friction of the fabric with each push he made, you couldn’t help but let him know how good this made you feel. You needed more. “Please kiss me again.”

           With a sly smile, instead of kissing your lips, he kissed your cheek several times, then his lips found your earlobe. As he continued thrusting, his lips found their way to your neck.

A particularly loud cry escaped you, which made Hyunjin giggle as he kissed down to your shoulder.

           “Who’s playing now?”

           Chuckling, he stopped kissing your shoulder and brought his attention back to your mouth. He teased you the same way you’d done to him, licking your lips, then licking your tongue, before he fully pressed against you for a kiss, stroking his shaft between your legs in time.

           You could feel the white heat of orgasm building, and groaned into his mouth.

           His pace quickened as he humped you, making your legs shake and cries of pleasure sound from both of you. “You gonna cum for me?”

           Clutching his back, you nodded quickly. “Just don’t stop.”

           Pulling your lower back closer to him, he thrusted more forcefully against you, making him grunt and you moan loudly. As your sounds of rapture filled the room, he rolled his hips until you were quaking in ecstasy. His motions slowed as you were coming down from your climax. Finally stopping, he pressed his forehead against yours. “Feel good?”

           Eyes closed, you focused on your breathing as you nodded. You felt the beads of sweat drip from your body. Squeezing his hair in your hand, you could feel it dripping from him, too.

           Hyunjin pecked at your lips a few times.

           Letting your hands fall to his waist, you looked at him. “You didn’t finish.”

           A sheepish grin appeared on his face. “I uh . . . may have taken care of myself earlier. So, I’m not quite as sensitive.”

           “Oh?” you smiled back. “Anyone in mind during that?”

           His grin grew wider. “Not kissing you earlier really did a number on me.” 

           “Well, I don’t mind if you wanna keep going. If you want to do more.”It was your turn for your cheeks to redden.

           “Really? You’re not too tired?”

           “I have experience with the stamina of dancers.”

           He smiled, but still didn’t look convinced. “You want to go all the way with me? Have sex?”

           Just the idea of it sent butterflies to your tummy. “Yes, Hyunjin. I want you. All of you.”

            “Good.” He kissed you, then backed away to look inside his supply cabinets. “Lucky for you, I have condoms in here, somewhere.”

           “Oh, so I’m not the only girl you’ve fooled around with in here, then.”

           “It’s not like that,” he peered inside one cabinet, then moved to the next. “Condoms make very useful art tools.”

           “Sure they do. Likely excuse.”

           “They do!” he whined. Reaching behind supplies, he grabbed a box and lifted it. “Found ‘em!”

           Laughing at how cute he was, you pivoted around on the table to wiggle out of your undergarments while he removed his own and prepared the condom.

           As he walked back towards you, you couldn’t help but stare at his full girth and length and sucked in some air.

           His laugh was shy. “Nervous?”

           Finding confidence, you shook your head. “I’m ready."

           He gestured to your legs as if to move them. “Can I?"

           “Yeah, of course."

           Lifting your leg, Hyunjin placed your left foot on the table and hooked his arm around your thigh. He looked in your eyes. “You’re sure?”

           You rested your hands on his shoulders. “Yes, Hyunjin. I want . . .” you had more to say, but he’d placed his tip at your entrance and guided himself into your heat, and you forgot whatever else there was to say.

           Snaking his other arm around your back, Hyunjin’s face was close to yours as he groaned. “You feel so good.

           “Yeah,” you blinked quickly, mind still in a haze, “You do, too.”

           Pulling away slowly until just his tip was in you, he then pushed in roughly, making you both cry out loudly.

           “Shit, Hyunjin.”

           “Yeah,” he nodded. He was shaking a bit.

           His music changed again, and whatever the song was made him laugh.

           “What is it?”

           He almost pulled out as before and thrusted into you again, causing the room to echo in more moans. “This is a sex song.”

           “A sex song?” you smiled.

           “Well according to Felix.”

           “Oh really? So, you’re thinking of him in this moment?”

           He pumped into you harder, practically making you scream to prove he was only thinking of you. “I’ll show you.”

           The music gradually started to speed up, and so did Hyunjin, matching his hips to the rhythm. It was a wonder either of you could even hear the music with all the commotion coming from your mouths. As you felt yourself on the precipice of another orgasm, the music started slowing down, and so did Hyunjin.

           When the music started to speed up again, you grabbed at Hyunjin’s skin, now slick with sweat. His loud groans fed your arousal, and the position he had you in stimulated your clit with each gyration.

           The friction from the speed had your legs shaking. “Hyunjin,” you whined. Your nails scratched down his back as you came for the second time.

           Not stopping, he continued to move with the music, slowing back down until the song ended.

           “Hyunjin,” you breathed again.

           He paused his ministrations.

           “I want to change positions.”

           “Okay,” he breathed. Sweat was dripping from his hair.

           Scanning the room, you noticed a small, beat-up love seat in the corner. You tilted your head toward it. “How about there?”

           Glancing at it, then back to you, he smiled. “Sure. But,” he looked shy again. “My legs are a little wobbly from this round. I don’t think I can carry you.”

           “That’s okay.”

           His grin became mischievous, and he brought his lips close to yours. “It would be okay, but after your last orgasm, your walls are still pretty tight around me. And now that we’re not moving, pulling out might be uncomfortable for you.”

           Blushing, you hadn’t realized you were squeezing him so much. “S-sorry.”

           Hyunjin quickly pecked your lips. “You don’t have to be sorry. Just relax.” He moved to whisper in your ear. “I’ll be back inside you in no time, making you scream my name.”

           Your eyes fluttered shut as you took in a breath. “This isn’t exactly helping me to relax.”

           He stroked the delicate skin of your left thigh with one hand, and your back with the other. As he slid his tongue against yours, you focused on his taste, thinking of what he said, and allowed yourself to let go.

           Slowly, he pulled out, causing you both to whine from the loss of heat. Breaking the kiss, he leaned his forehead against yours. “I just need a second.”

           “Yeah,” you agreed.

           After a moment of catching your breaths, Hyunjin looked down, and the mischievous grin was back. “I should change the condom before we go again.” He kissed you, then whispered. “You came so much for me.”

           “It’s my plan to cum even more, but I want to make you cum with me.”

           Moaning in your mouth as he kissed you once more, he licked at your lips before looking in your eyes. “Deal.”

           Once Hyunjin helped you off the worktable, you wobbled over towards the couch while he put on a fresh condom. You stood with your back to him, waiting by the arm of the sofa.

           His arms wrapped around your waist and he breathed in your ear. “Why are we standing?” His fingers brushed over the front of your body, making goosebumps appear on your skin as you inhaled.

           You turned your head towards him. “I want to be on top.”

           Chuckling in your ear, he pulled you against him in a hug. “So you want to be in control this time?”

           Moving so you were now facing him, you wound your arms around his neck and smiled sweetly. “No, you’re still in charge. I just want to ride you.”

           His mouth twitched at your words and his eyes darkened. Licking his lips, he nodded then made himself comfortable sitting on the couch. He then extended his hands to help you hover above him. With your legs on either side of him you felt secure. He let go of your hands, opting to have one on your hip, the other on himself.

           He looked to you, and when you nodded you were ready, he placed his tip at your entrance again.

           You then sank down on his length until he was fully immersed in you, both of you gasping to the sensation.

           The new position allowed for deeper penetration, which took the two of you a moment to adjust.

           Trembling a little, you leaned forward so you could tangle a hand in his hair, and grab his chest.

 Hyunjin said your name with concern. “Are you okay?”

           “You just make me so full.” You moaned as you shifted a little. “I love feeling all of you in me.”

           He smirked. “I’m still in charge you say?”

           Biting your lip, you nodded.

           “Ride me.” With both hands on your hips now, he guided you a little until you were in a nice rhythm of pumping against him. As you rolled your hips, you were able to rub your clit against his skin.  You kept your rotation consistent in speed, and Hyunjin groaned with each pass into him. 

           When you yourself were becoming more vocal, Hyunjin lifted your hips up, then slammed you back down against him, making you both cry out.

           “Fuck,” he mumbled. He lifted you again, this time also thrusting as he brought you down. Both of you made echoes from your sounds of pleasure. Hyunjin was becoming much louder this round, and way louder than Yunho usually was.

           He continued to aid in the pleasure by pulling your hips down on him or lifting his up to meet you.

           You could only focus on how thick he felt inside of you, how warm his chest was as you gyrated closer to him, how he cried out your name as you were finally bringing him closer to release.

           Panting, your hand tightened in his hair as he pushed into you, hard. You moaned his name.

           “Say it again.” He thrusted up.

           “Hyunjin.” You rolled your hips.

           “Again,” his voice was louder as he pulled you down.

           “Fuck, Hyunjin.”

           The movements were getting hurried and messy. You didn’t have much control anymore, and Hyunjin didn’t seem to have a firm grasp on it, either. Willing yourself to jerk your hips forwards once more, Hyunjin began shaking under you. Holding you down against him, you felt him cum. He cried out so loudly it brought you to your own orgasm, making you clutch his chest as you rode him out.

           When you stopped rolling your hips, your heart pounding in your chest made your skin vibrate.

           Still coming down from his climax, Hyunjin looked at you, then reached behind your neck to pull you in for a sloppy, but chaste kiss.

           He wasn’t hard anymore, and helped you off him to sit on the couch.

           He laced his hand with yours, bringing it to his lips to kiss. “Holy shit,” he mumbled against your knuckles.

           “Yeah,” you gave him a weak smile, still catching your breath. Everything that just happened was incredible. It was easily one of the best nights of your life. But fear crept into your mind.

           Hyunjin saw it, and reached for your chin so you’d look at him. “Tell me what you’re thinking?”

           You felt embarrassed and tried to look away, but his fingers on your chin were strong.

           “Please tell me.”

           “I might have lost Yunho tonight. And you got your kiss and sex from me. But you’re a senior, about to move onto the dance company of his dreams. So, I feel like I had you, only to lose you, too.”

           Furrowing his eyebrows, he got up from the sofa to lean on his knees in front of you, holding your face to look at him.

           “When are you going to realize, I’m not going to let you fall?”

           Not prepared for his answer, your mouth opened and closed as you tried to find the words, or even the thoughts.

           Stroking your cheek with his thumb, he made sure you were looking in his eyes. “This wasn’t a one night thing for me. You weren’t a prize I was trying to win. I wanted to kiss you after the audition because I have feelings for you, too. I feel for you like you feel for me. I know I didn’t say it earlier, but it’s because I’m scared, too. I know you love Yunho, and I respect that because I respect you and I respect him. But what’s to say you won’t choose him over me?”

           His sudden confession was making you feel emotional, bringing tears to your eyes. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

           “But that doesn’t stop me from thinking it.” Hyunjin wiped your tears with his thumbs. “I don’t know where things stand with Yunho, but you aren’t losing me. This was more than just sex to me. I was giving more than just my body to you.”

           You weren’t sure of what to say. He was giving you his heart?

           Before you could think too long on his words, his lips pressed softly on yours. They weren’t hungry, but restrained. When he inhaled the kiss deepened and you kissed him back.

           Breaking the kiss, you searched in his eyes. You knew he was being sincere. Whatever this was, he was yours.

           Wrapping your arms around him, you hugged him. He climbed back onto the couch and held you. He kissed the top of your head and hugged you in his arms until you fell asleep.

[outro-jo]

masterpiece (18+)

pairing: hwang hyunjin x amab reader

type: smut (minors and ageless blogs dni)

warnings: established relationship (hookup but not rly dating), kinda non-idol au, the reader’s gender is never explicitly mentioned just that they have a dick, hyunjin is called nicknames like pretty boy, sort of sub/dom dynamics, hyunjin is a brat (wbk), masterbation, mlm, anal, hand job, descriptions of readers cock and body, they come on a canvas idfk, implied second round

notes: wrote this for my friend’s birthday and thought i’d post it bc there are so few mlm and wlw kpop fics on here. when requests open up, please don’t request smut. i’m still not super keen on posting it 😅 but i hope y’all enjoy 🤍

please read info before requesting!

masterlist | info

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hyunjin was thrilled about his new apartment. he loved after so many years of living in a dorm with a bunch of other guys to have a place he could finally call his own. finally he was able to decorate the way he wanted and fill the fridge with something other than plain, unseasoned chicken breasts. he could put flowers on his dining room table for the sun to cascade early morning light on. he could hang up art form other artist that inspire him and have furniture other than a couch left on the street and a weight lifting chair. most of all, he was thankful for a comforting place he could call home.

he had invited said other guys and some friends to a house warming party because he was just so excited to show the place off. you were surprised to get an invite but in all fairness, you would be getting invites to his place more often.

the two of you met at his usual cafe, when he was getting this third americano of the day and it unfortunately ended up on your shirt. what was less unfortunate was you choosing to wear a white shirt that day and the dark coffee soaked through, showing your toned torso. you were thankful you started seeing that new hot personal trainer at your gym once you saw the glint in hyunjin’s eyes and smirk he was unsuccessful in hiding as he took the flimsy napkins to your shirt. when he gave you his number, he intended to take you out as an apology but the both of you ended up liking staying in a lot better and it became bit of an occurrence to meet up at your place since he had roommates.

now you were getting a look at his place. you showed up only slightly late, (you couldn’t seem too eager) the door was open displaying the party going on inside. everyone was standing around talking with glasses full of red wine. hyunjin was mid-conversation with felix when he noticed you and rushed over.

“hey, you came!” he kissed you on the cheek.

“that’s what i said last week.” you mumbled in his hear, earning a playful smirk.

“cheeky… come on in!”

your gaze trailed the expanse of the apartment’s main living area, trying not to think about how good he looked. unbeknownst to you, hyunjin was doing the very thing you were avoiding, taking every inch of you in, sipping on his wine to seem less obvious to everyone else in the room that he was eye-fucking you. his interior design skills should be praised, finding the right balance of comfort and beauty, much like the man himself. neutral colored furniture appropriately accented the pops of color that came from the art on the walls and shelves. he had an artists eye, that much was obvious.

tonight there was something different. maybe it was something in the air or the way he dressed or something about the ease of which he carried himself in his own place, but even as the two of you parted, each respectively mingling with the other guests, you couldn’t help your gaze from landing on him. he looked damn good. half of his hair was loosely tied up on his head and a dark green linen button down was loosely tucked into a pair of slacks. a few of the buttons had been undone to show the tank top clinging to his body. thinly framed glasses rested on the bridge of his nose, raising slightly when he inevitably scrunched his nose in laughter. even when he was being cute hyunjin was driving you absolutely wild.

as the night progressed, you noticed the tightness in your pants having to tuck you dick up in your waistband when you excused yourself to the bathroom at one point. but it was no use and while you didn’t plan on anything happening that night and you had not received any indication of hyunjin hoping to hook up that night, you couldn’t help yourself. some of the invited guests slowly started to filter out and the host was ushering them out when you snuck off to a side room. you chose to leave the lights off, not bothering with them as you stumbled in the darkness, ripping off your belt and tugging you pants and boxers down your thighs just enough to pull your painfully hard dick out.

you slowly began to tease yourself, thinking of the way hyunjin had done it before, tracing the pronounced veins similar to the way his tongue had. he had looked so good on his knees for you, eyes wide and round to plead innocence while hardly performing an innocent task. a hard shudder ran down your back as you collected the wetness that had leaked from your tip to spread it across your girth—something you remember hyunjin commenting on when you first met up.

“i’ve never been with someone as thick as you before.” he breathed out in anticipation, his cheeks burning at the confession.

what he himself lacked in thickness was well made up for in length. you two were the perfect pair, completing what the other lacked. you thought about his long, pretty, pink dick as you stroked your own. wet, sloppy noises filled the room and you couldn’t help but moan softly. as good as your hand felt, you knew he felt so much better, thinking of when he had you in his mouth and once stretching out that cute little asshole. the way it gaped open from your size—

“ah, fuck… hyunjin, fuck!”

your ministrations didn’t come out as quiet as you hoped but thankfully it was sounding more quiet beyond the four walls of the dark room. stumbling back, lost in your pleasure, your hand instinctively landed on the table behind you and suddenly felt a little wet. if you had more of your wits about you, you might have notice the faint smell of paint that filled the air but you were too far gone in your bliss.

just a bit more. you were so close. the tightness in your stomach was building as the muscles contracted beneath you. your groans were coming out more strangled now as you felt yourself starting to tip over the edge. suddenly as you began your descent, the door opened and the light was flicked on. hyunjin propped himself up on the doorframe with an amused smile playing at his plush lips.

“i see you found my art studio.”

the newly lit room allowed for you to finally see where exactly you had stumbled into. different mediums, pallets, and tools scattered across the tables and a large canvas stood on an easel in front of you, dripping with… not paint. the wet you had felt before when you gripped on the table was a lovely shade of blue as you looked down at your hand to inspect it. your cheeks burned a nice crimson to compliment the color nicely.

hyunjin pushed off the doorjamb and stalked towards you, “if you wanted to paint all you had to do was ask, baby.” his tone was light and playful with a slight edge of condescension.

he leaned forward with both hands grabbing your jaw to inhale you into a rough kiss. without thinking, your blue stained hand reached up to grasp at the back of his neck. the force of hyunjin’s body against yours sent you back into the table but this time your opposite hand landed to support you and picked up a bit of green paint. without breaking the kiss, hyunjin removed his glasses and tossed them on the table behind you before pulling off his button down (not bothering to undo the buttons individually). your paint stained hand found purchase on his waist, turning the white tank he had tucked into his pants blue and green respectively. he moaned wistfully against you as he deepened the kiss, with his tongue searching for yours in your mouth. he tasted of the red wine he was sipping on earlier and smelled of his usual cologne that had you weak in the knees. his hand tucked in between your bodies, blindly reaching for your cock that began to quickly harden again at his touch.

hyunjin chuckled, breaking the kiss slightly with a smirk, “getting hard again, baby? i thought you just came.”

“thinking about fucking that tight little ass of yours again,” you told him, sliding your hand down to grab it with a light squeeze to make him jolt in your touch.

“well,” kiss, “what are you waiting for?”

god, this fucking brat. you groaned internally and externally before spinning hyunjin around. your hands made quick work of his belt and slacks as you reached around in front of you, letting the fabric drop to the floor. your wet cock teased his ass crack making his head fall back in your shoulder as he moaned. he was so fucking pretty. spit pooled in your mouth before you filled your hand and spread it between his cheeks, two fingers plunged into his right hole. hyunjin whimpered and rutted his bum into you, the ample mound of his cheek rubbing against your hard on.

“fuck,” you hissed.

“please, baby… i need you inside me.” hyunjin whined as you stretched him out.

you hummed, “i have to stretch you out, pretty boy,” you felt him clench around your fingers, “don’t wanna hurt you.” you placed kisses on his open mouth.

“please… i can take it.” he could feel his mind already going fuzzy as your fingers brushed up against his prostate.

“hmm, if you say so.”

you pulled your fingers out of him slowly, making him groan then placed a hand on his thigh, making sure to graze his hard, bouncing dick, before grabbing a hold of your own to slowly push into him. a frenzy of moans left hyunjin’s lips as he felt himself stretch around your girth. his walls welcomed you warmly as you bottomed out, his bum fully pressed against your hips. you hum, feeling fully content and pressed kisses to hyunjin’s exposed throat column as his head was resting on your shoulder. waiting just a moment for him to adjust to you, you reached your now free hand around to stroke him gingerly, earning another chorus of wanton moans.

“baby… please move,” he begged desperately.

slowly you complied, starting to match your strokes to sync with each other causing hyunjin to bury his face into your neck. his arms reaching up to grip a fistful of your hair and tugging. you hiss at the action. his whines get more high pitched as he pants warm breath on to your neck, raising goosebumps on the delicate skin. your thumb grazes over his sensitive tip which results in a jolt from him.

“fuck, i—, ugnnhh” any attempts hyunjin made at speaking were thwarted by your thrusts that began to increase in speed.

“what’s the matter, gorgeous? feel too good? my cock has you too dumb to speak… huh? that pretty head of yours all empty?” you teased him, watching the way his chest turned crimson.

“yes… yes, god!”

you could feel by the way he clenched around you and the way he throbbed in your hand that he was getting close, your own high not too far behind. your thrusts lost their precision as his hips rocked to meet yours. the coil in your stomach getting tighter and tighter.

“my beautiful artist…” you mused, pressing your lips to his shoulder. “you wanna paint with me? mix your cum with mine on that canvas? c’mon, pretty boy, i know your close. let go for me.”

with that, hyunjin’s hips stilled as he tensed up and pitifully grunted out. you held his dick up so that his release splattered all across the canvas over your own from before. when he finished, you pulled out of him, he instinctively cuddled into your side, as he usually does, and you came on the canvas once more. hyunjin in his post coital daze, was pressing kisses all over your neck almost in gratitude. as much as you loved the act of sex with hyunjin, you almost loved his afterglow more. he was always so cute and cuddly, wanting to be close to you and kiss you as much as possible.

you came down from your high with heavy pants, looking down at hyunjin with a lovesick smile that he easily returned then kissed off your lips. after a few moments, he separated and turned to look at your masterpiece.

“i’m glad i gessoed it black. you can see it better.” he mused softly.

you pressed a kiss to his cheek, “i think it’s your best work, baby.”

hyunjin playfully rolled his eyes, lightly slapping your chest as he finally reached down to grab his pants, exposing his ass to you, making you gasp and your eyes go wide.

“jinnie! i got paint…”

hyunjin threw his head back and laughed at your horror, “it’s ok. it’s a water based paint so it’ll wash out. wanna help me?”

“lead the way, picasso.”

[novaauster]

chapter 1 of Trial Class the aftg bjj au fic under the cut

Tags: Alternate Universe-- Jiu-Jitsu, Trans Neil Josten, because if your bjj gym does not have transmasc rep you’re doing something wrong, Autistic Kevin Day, because if your bjj gym does not have autistic rep you’re Really doing something wrong,  Crack Treated Seriously, i did not intend to write so much bullshit about bjj but here i am

In the end notes I have my notes on each characters’ belt rankings, my reasoning for why they would be at that level, and their main skills if you find that stuff interesting. 

Neil ducks into an unmarked door of a cinderblock building, his heart pounding. He knows he was being followed. He doesn't know by who, or how many people, or under whose orders, and he doesn't want to find out.

He's greeted by a rickety staircase that announces his arrival step by step. Creak. Creak. Feeling like a kid in an antique Baltimore home. Bad music leaks up through the floor from the basement, not too loud but instantly recognizable as the kind of stuff they played on MTV a decade ago.

At the bottom of the staircase is a dude about his age in a plain blue martial arts gi, and maybe Neil should pay attention to his scowl, or his brown belt, or his height-- but instead he zeroes in on the face tattoo. A chess piece, the queen.

"No one signed up for a trial class today," the guy says flatly.

"That's fucking disrespectful," Neil says.

The guy blinks, then crosses his arms across his chest. "What is?"

Neil steps down a few more stairs to show he's not intimidated by this poser. "Getting Kevin Day's tattoo. He didn't get it to look tough."

"I am Kevin Day."

Sure, he looks a little like Kevin Day. He has the eyes, and the jawline, and the wrist brace, but he can't be Kevin Day. He can't be the man whose tournament footage Neil has tracked down over the course of years and scrupulously watched until he memorized every single move. "Oh yeah? And what's Kevin Day doing in a shithole like this?"

"Training," says Kevin Day.

Oh.

Oh, shit.

Neil locks down his expression, tries his level best not to start begging for mercy, and gets close enough to shake Day's hand. It’s the fastest, most perfunctory handshake he has ever experienced, and Neil notices that they're at eye level while Neil is still standing on the final stair. "I'm here to sign up for my trial class."

“Alright, uh, gym rules.” Kevin gestures towards the framed list, up on the wall beside the famous portrait of Hélio Gracie, all stern with his red belt blending into the red flag background: Jiu-Jitsu Da Guanabara, the first federation of jiu-jitsu schools. There’s also a display of belts in order: white, blue, purple, brown, black. Only five levels. Neil has always found it beautifully simple. “Number one, shoes off when on the mat, shoes on when off the mat.”

Somebody has scratched out Rule Number One and scrawled “Dogs out” in its place, but Kevin is ignoring it so Neil figures it doesn’t mean anything. 

“Number two, proper attire. That means belts tied all the time, even in no-gi, for safety. That also means wear your gi for a gi class, Nicky!” Kevin abruptly shouts the end of that sentence towards the people already on the bright orange mats.

Orange is a weird color for mats. They tend to be gray, or in the Ravens’ case, black, but the explanation for the design choice is tacked up above the rule list: The Foxhole Gym, it reads in Canva font, and underneath adds Gracie Palmetto.

A young man on the mats dutifully wearing his blue belt, albeit overtop nothing but a tight rashguard and obscenely small fighting shorts, replies “You’ll never take me alive!”

“You’re lucky we have a trial class or I’d force you into the orange gi.”

“Oh the horror! You wouldn’t do that to me!”

Kevin turns back to Neil. “Stay away from Nicky. He’s trouble. Rule three, respect the tap. Tap when you’re done, let go when they’re done-- but you won't be tapping anyone out.” He goes behind the front desk and retrieves a clipboard and pen, as well as a folded gi. “Rule four, sign the waiver.”

It’s The Orange Gi, which Nicky had been so horrified by. Neil takes the whole stack and tells himself that it isn’t that bad, it even smells like laundry detergent, but it really is garishly neon. 

“That’s the only spare we have,” Kevin says. “Beggars, choosers. If you come back get your own and get a Gracie patch on it, rule five. Six, sign in before class and don’t be late. Seven, personal hygiene, don’t be disgusting. Eight, no jewelry, no glasses, no unbound long hair, hearing aids on a case-by-case basis. For safety. Nine, get a white stripe before standing up while rolling and a red stripe to roll at all. The rest is self explanatory.”

There are four more rules on the list. Neil reads them. “I’ll just get changed, then.”

“Changing rooms’ to the left.” They are two open doorways to the left, neither of which are labeled.

Neil hesitates.

“Just pick one, they both have stalls.” For a second Neil’s sure that Kevin Day just clocked him, but then he continues “I’m ninety percent certain that Nicky removed the signage on a dare from Allison but they will not confirm, deny, or tell me why. They say I have to learn what a ‘transgender’ is. Do you know?”

“Uh,” Neil says.

“I will not google it. I have learned that the internet is not my friend.”

“Dictionary?”

“You think it is in a dictionary? Half the words these assholes use are not defined in it.” Rule twelve, Neil remembers. No foul language. “What is rizz, I ask and find no answer. What is skibidi. They have no respect.”

“Pretty sure it’s in any dictionary printed in the last twenty years,” Neil says.

“If you say so. Regardless, if I find proof of whoever pulled this outlandish prank they will be fighting a Ten-Round Tuesday with me and I will be grinding shoulder pressure into their face the entire time and finally grant mercy in the form of a d’arce choke. Mark my words!”

“Yes Coach,” Nicky yells back. 

Wow, Keil thinks. Kevin Day is a total freakshow. Good thing I’m the normal one here. Out loud, he says “Why ten rounds with you? Why not, for example, that guy?” He points at the scariest guy in the room.

Now, if Neil has experience in anything, it’s in determining who is the scariest person in the room. It isn’t the strongest one, because all of them look like college-age athletes who are strong as hell. It isn’t the biggest guy (blue belt, two stripe, spiked hair) or the highest ranked (Kevin, and then a purple belt, one stripe, pink gi). It’s all in the eyes. It’s a blond blue belt, approximately 160 pounds, 5’0, black gi and long black rashguard covering as much skin as possible. 

Kevin looks where Neil is pointing. “Oh, Andrew? No. I am trying to punish them, not injure them for life.”

“I see.”

“Class starts five minutes. Get changed.”

Neil picks a changing room at random, glad to find it empty. In a locked stall he switches out his binder for the sports bra in his backpack, suspecting that he’ll need the extra lung capacity, and changes out his white t-shirt for the closest thing he has to a rashguard, a black polyester shirt that’s slightly too small. It reads Charlotte Día De Los Muertos 5K, and it may be stolen, but considering that he had both run five kilometers through a graveyard and almost become one of the muertos via stab wound, he feels he has the right to it.

He pulls the gi pants on over his running shorts, tying the drawstring tight high on his waist because otherwise he’d be stepping on excess fabric. The sleeves flop halfway over his palms.

Nothing for it. Today is a good day. Not only has he escaped the people following him without having to call up his uncle, at least for now, he’s also getting a class with Kevin Fucking Day. And maybe Kevin Fucking Day is a little bit… off, but he’s still, Neil’s sure, a genius. 

Neil leaves the changing room with his blank, borrowed white belt tied as best he can. He sets his backpack in the cubbies, which creak under the weight, in view of the mats so he’ll always have an eye on it. In the cubby beside him are knives. 

“Your belt is tied wrong. Ask somebody to help you with it,” Kevin says, taking Neil’s signed waiver. “Neil Hatford,” he reads of the paper. “Oh. I never asked your name.”

“I never offered it.” Neil’s used to skirting around that part of conversations. He’d run out of names if he gave them up so easily. 

“Well. Introductions. Everybody who comes to lunchtime class is already on the mats. Closest to us are Allison and Dan. Allison is in mount.”

Allison, purple belt, pink gi. Neil vaguely recognizes her, he thinks, from skimming past internet discourse. People like to accuse her and her Youtube channel of teaching bullshit self-defense, but she never claimed to be a self-defense teacher. She teaches pure jiu-jitsu and never claimed to be a full coach, it’s not her responsibility to tell people how to dodge a punch. “Allison Reynolds?”

“Then you should know of Dan Wilds,” Kevin says as Allison pins Dan’s arm down on the mat, steps her knee over it, and maneuvers the other arm into mounted triangle position, leaning down over it to close the choke until Dan taps. They switch positions and run through it again.

“I don’t,” Neil admits.

“You will.” Kevin does not elaborate. “You are aware of Nicky. Bantamweight beside him is Aaron. The two mountains are Matt and Seth. Seth is the white belt but do not make the mistake of thinking he is on your level.”

Neil raises his eyebrows. Never meet your heroes, he thinks, and decides on saying “And what level is that?”

Kevin looks him up and down. “Novice, featherweight-- or bantamweight if you cut a few pounds-- and, unless you made a very particular visit to the pharmacist, women’s.” He says it like reciting a grocery list.

“Fuck you.”

“You asked. Which part of that was offensive?”

“Fuck. You.” Neil prepares to repeat himself in Portuguese and Japanese, but doesn’t get the chance. 

“And then those two vale tudo maniacs are Renee and Andrew.” At first Neil translates the term directly-- free for all-- and then colloquially-- no-holds-barred-- but he did read Rickson Gracie’s autobiography. Vale Tudo is a precursor to MMA, with no points, no timer, and yes, no holds barred, but it went well out of fashion by the 90’s. Kevin’s just using it as an expression. “Renee’s in-- well, she had an uchi-mata-- and there he goes--”

Renee’s back hits the mat with a gruesome smack, but she inverts into k-guard to bring Andrew down with her. Andrew disentangles himself from her legs in a scramble and then hauls her into side control, but doesn’t stay there, instead reaching deep into her lapel for a choke.

Renee uses the shift in balance to slip the choke though, getting her knee wedged in between them and wrestling up, holding a whizzer hook over Andrew’s arm like it’s the lever to the nuclear codes and letting it up would cause World War Three. He can’t take her back. He tries to tap her knee and force her over sideways but her base is too wide, he can’t reach. And normally one would underhook her far-side thigh and roll underneath, but he can’t even reach that far. 

So he shoves his hand under her near-side thigh instead and rolls. “I didn’t know you could do that,” Neil comments. 

The tournaments Neil has watched have fighters with, more or less, the same build, just at different weights. Jiu-jitsu is all about using leverage to cancel out what might be greater strength, but he’s never never seen anything focusing on accommodations for fighters that are short and fat like Andrew. 

Kevin’s watching the fight with his hands on his hips like an old man loitering at a construction site. “He likes to improvise,” the brown belt says. That confirms what Neil thought: Andrew made up that modification on the fly. “They’ll do this all day if I don’t stop them.”

“I could watch this all day,” Neil agrees.

“What?”

“What?”

Kevin calls Andrew’s name. The roll ends, abnormally quick for two people that were previously clinging to each other’s necks and clothing for dear life, and the two slap hands amicably. All of the lethal striking-snake energy seems to drain out of Andrew’s body. He walks glacially slow to the edge of the mat, shaking out each leg once before stepping into a pair of black flipflops. When he gets to Kevin’s side, he pulls a strand of Renee’s rainbow hair out of his mouth and flicks it onto the floor. 

“Are those knives,” Neil says to neither of them in particular and starts examining the knives in the adjacent cubby. They’re all fairly small, flat-handled, easily concealable but not cheaply made or rarely used. They look sharp. 

“They sure are,” says Andrew. Up close Neil notices that his rashguard extends up his neck and down his hands, held in place by holes at the thumbs almost like a medical brace. 

“Andrew,” says Kevin, very obviously wanting to change the topic. “Are you going to take him?”

“I can take him,” Andrew confirms cheerily. 

“For drills,” Kevin says. 

“I can take him for drills too, Coach.”

“I’m not your coach.”

“Who is?” Neil asks. “Whose gym is this?”

“He’s out for lunch right now, but David Wymack,” Kevin says, the way most people say Abraham Lincoln or Tetsuji Moriyama. Despite this obvious reverence from the Queen, Neil has never heard of him. 

“Stats?” he asks. “Lineage?”

“Who’s rude now,” Andrew says. “But if you were nice would you be any use?”

“It’s fine,” Kevin says. “Eight wins MMA, two TKO, five submission, one decision. One draw. One loss, by decision: DQ on injury by foul. You want height and weight class too?”

“What do proportions matter when I’m asking about qualifications?”

“Right answer,” says Andrew.

“Lineage Royce Gracie,” Kevin continues like he hadn’t heard Andrew. 

Well, Neil can’t argue with that. “Is that how you pronounce it? Hoyce?”

“Royce,” Kevin repeats. “Yes. You do a lot of reading.” And not much else, is the implication. A not entirely true implication, it’s just that Neil tends to fight for his life the way his mother taught him: with a gun. Uncle Stuart made sure he could make do with hand-to-hand, but that didn’t exactly mean paying for his gym subscription.

Neil lets it slide.

Kevin checks his watch, then starts removing it because of the No Jewelry rule. “Class.”

“What kind of class,” Andrew says.

Kevin thinks about it. “Cardio Class.”

The people on the mats apparently hear, because some grumbling rises up about how it isn’t even Saturday.

It can’t be that bad, Neil thinks as he toes off his sneakers and socks and steps onto the mats. At least it’s not Día De Los Muertos.

“Group punishment is against the Geneva Suggestion,” Andrew says.

“Geneva… suggestion?” Neil isn’t sure he heard that right.

Kevin ignores Neil. “You have to stop accusing me of war crimes on the internet and then telling me I have to work on my public image. It’s unprofessional.”

“Now, who said I was professional?”

“You work here. You teach the kids’ class.”

“I don’t accuse them of being war criminals.”

“I should fire you.”

Andrew shrugs. They walk over to the mats. “Your belt is tied wrong,” he says. 

“My belt is fine.”

“Nicky.” Nicky, blue belt, Trouble, looks up from his side splits. “His belt is tied wrong.”

“Is it my birthday,” Nicky says, smoothly pulling himself upright and prancing over. Up close, Neil sees that rashguard is emblazoned with the words Mexican Ground Karate over a sunset logo. He tugs Neil’s belt loose and attempts to tie it standing face-to-face with him, but it falls apart. “Shit, it’s backwards. I forget how…” He moves behind Neil and, looking over his shoulder, ties a sturdier knot with muscle memory. “That’s it.”

Neil nods but doesn’t thank him as he returns to his corner. 

The awful MTV music pauses, and Kevin sits in the center of the mat so everyone’s attention falls on him. “Circle up,” he says redundantly. “Announcements. The next person to leave their weed in the cubbies where the kids’ class can see it is signed up to Ten-Round Tuesday with me personally. Toro Cup is coming up. Get your tickets to see Renee and Dan fight. Gym’s closed next Monday for Coach’s birthday, show up to Abby’s house if you want to see him. And this is Neil, here for his free trial.”

“Hi, Neil,” the class drones.

“Hi.”

“Final announcement: it is Cardio Day. Everyone on your backs, leg circles.”

A couple people slap the mat as they fall backwards to circle their feet in the air. They then move their legs up and down, side to side, and bicycle style, and Neil is careful not to accidentally kick Andrew beside him. Once Neil’s abs start really burning, Kevin calls for everyone to bridge, first with both legs and then with one leg in the air. They then sit up and shift their knees pointing to one side and then the other, windshield wiper style, and stretch their backs by twisting behind them while they’re at it. 

“On your knees. Neck circles. Chin to chest. Chin to shoulder. Ear to shoulder. Hands to the mat, wrist circles. Fire hydrants-- I am once again asking why hip circles are called fire hydrants.”

Neil looks around and ends up meeting Andrew’s intense stare. ‘Nobody tell him,’ Andrew mouths. 

Neil nods.

“Reach through at your waist and twist overhead. Three reps then do the other side. Cat-cow. Alternating lunges. Feet together, elbows down, knees apart, hips to the mat. At least I understand why this is called the frog stretch.”

Neil is then subjected to the knowledge that everybody in the room, including Seth the mountain, has the hip flexibility of a professional gymnast. None of them even look strained. 

“Feet apart, hips back,” Kevin continues, which deepens the stretch and makes Neil feel distinctly like he’s about to dislocate both of his entire legs. “Hold it ten seconds. Stretch out anything else you need.”

Most people do back-stretching yoga pose or start touching their toes, but Andrew just starfishes back on the mat.

“That wasn’t so bad,” Neil says quietly to him.

“That was the pre-warmup.”

Oh, well. 

“Everybody up,” says Kevin, jogging to the edge of the mat. “Start running.”

Neil tracks the attitudes of the athletes, a range from Matt giving Dan a hand up with a ‘this might as well happen’ grin to Nicky lamenting “You can’t do this to me!” to Andrew staring at the ceiling like a character in the Office breaking the fourth wall. Neil has already done a lap around the mat, following close behind Kevin, before Andrew even gets to his feet.

Now, there is running, which Neil likes, and then there is whatever this is. Whatever this is, Neil learns very quickly, is different because he is barefoot, making him pay much more attention to where he steps even though he knows in theory that it’s safe. He’s also constantly turning to his right, running in circles, and the space is big enough for a much larger class than the ten people here but he still can’t get a good straight-ahead line going. It puts strain on his ankles. 

Neil laps Andrew for a second time. Andrew is doing a shuffling sort of run, so slow that the only thing separating it from walking is the springing motion. 

“High knees,” Kevin says. 

Fucking hell. Neil switches to high knees, forcing him to pay even more attention to where he’s stepping and where he has to turn, and just when he gets the hang of it, Kevin switches to butt kicks, which are even harder to balance with. 

“Drop and give me twenty push-ups,” Kevin orders. 

You’re joking, Neil thinks, dropping and doing push-ups as fast as he can to keep up before Kevin’s up and running again, and three laps later they’re doing jumping jacks. 

Neil has never before in his life felt like he is about to die while doing jumping jacks, and he has also never felt like eight other people want to kill him while doing jumping jacks. He adds that to the list. 

Then they’re facing inwards, sort of skipping sideways, then doing it facing outwards, and then alternating two inwards-skips and two outwards-skips which gets really complicated on the turns because he has to keep the rhythm steady while turning his entire body and also navigating the mat’s corners. He almost trips over his feet. 

“Line up on the edge of the mat,” Kevin says, finally coming to a stop. 

Neil hopes that’s a good thing, following Andrew to one of the lines beside the two punching bags, but that’s too much to wish for. They do forward rolls from standing twice down the mat, then backwards rolls twice down, then Keven demonstrates the basic and beloathed movement drill called shrimping in which he curls up on his side like a shrimp and pushes himself backwards with one foot, pivoting on his shoulder. “Twice down,” Kevin says again, “And if I see you getting up in the middle of the mat and walking back early I’ll make you shrimp backwards too.”

Neil figures that, after seeing Kevin’s example and making sure that Andrew goes ahead of him, the relatively simple movement will make sense. But once he’s actually laying on the mat, he feels like a beached fish, just sort of squirming around. He’s also motion-sick from the somersaults. He’s only made about two feet of distance when Andrew is walking back from his first round.

“Am I doing this right,” Neil says as Andrew is passing him.

“No,” Andrew says, and keeps walking.

“What am I doing wrong,” Neil calls after him.

“Get on your side.” Andrew slaps the mat as he falls down in front of the punching bags-- nobody ever seems to sit like a normal person, they all just tip backwards to get to the ground-- and in record time has reached Neil. 

“I am on my side.”

“No you’re not.”

“I think I would know if I was laying on my side or not.”

“Wrong.” Andrew sits up. “Your shoulders,” he says, and then grabs Neil’s shoulders, first pushing them flat down to the mat. “Your back. Your side.” He hauls Neil’s right shoulder up and pushes his left shoulder down until he is, admittedly, on his side. 

“Fine,” Neil grumbles. When he tries to shrimp again, he finds that he does actually cover more ground, as dumb as it looks. “I’ve never seen anyone shrimp in tournament footage,” he says.

“Yes the fuck you have?” Kevin, overhearing, walks over. “You might have an encyclopedic knowledge of what you think are jiu-jitsu moves, but there is a difference between moves and technique. The former are what you see. The latter is why they work, how one creates space so that they work. You remember Andrew and Renee’s roll? Had Renee not shrimped out to get to dogfight she would have been stuck in smash-half until she managed to catch a giggler or Andrew had advanced. Speaking of which, Andrew, good work forcing the whizzer on her end in order to sweep, it was a good reconfiguration of the sequence.”

Neil speaks five languages, but wonders if the fact that he could understand every word Kevin just said means he should count jiu-jitsu as a sixth. 

“Tournament footage,” Andrew mutters derisively. Neil suspects that the only time Andrew and Kevin really get along is when they’re bitching about someone else. “You’re worse than a junkie. You’re a fanboy.”

“And you’re taking too long,” Kevin adds. “Just line up after you reach the end of the mat.”

Neil grits his teeth and shrimps two more times, then looks behind himself to see how much ground he has left to cover. Andrew’s reached the end already and is walking back.

“That’s fine,” Kevin says. “Just stand up.”

Neil abandons the endeavor and stands up. Once he’s back in line, Kevin calls Matt up for his next movement-drill demonstration: Kevin sits on his knees, Mat lays on his back and puts his legs around Kevin’s waist, and then Kevin pulls Matt upright by his lapels and stands up, carrying him for three steps before setting him down. “Just once across this time, pair up. If you’re with an idiot like Nicky and don’t have lapels to grab onto, just get a collartie and make him hold a seatbelt.”

Allison, Dan, Renee, and Aaron suddenly become the most popular people in the room. Neil is closest in size to Aaron, but that doesn’t matter much because Andrew is already kneeling on the mat.

Neil tries to flop backwards onto the mat like he’s seen everyone do, but he mistimes the breakfall and ends up going oof. 

“Stop playing around and pull guard,” Andrew says, so Neil does, putting his legs around Andrew’s waist and pretending it’s not weird at all when he has to pull himself even further into Andrew’s lap in order to cross his ankles and lock into closed guard. Andrew pulls the lapels of Neil’s gi top open, grabs a deep grip in them, then just stands up.

It’s a test of strength for anyone in Andrew’s position, Neil’s sure, considering that they basically have to squat the weight of an entire other person, but he thinks it’s even more a test of balance. There’s no more considering whether it’s weird or not, instinct kicks in and Neil just starts clinging to Andrew’s back. 

“You’re not going to fall,” Andrew says.

“No, I know,” Neil lies. 

After taking the assigned three steps, Andrew sinks back down to his knees in a smooth motion that has to be harder than it feels. Not once does Neil sense any kind of lurching loss of balance. With a steady inhale, Andrew pulls Neil back up and stands again.

After three reps of that, they reach the edge of the mat, second place with only Kevin and Nicky beating them. “Legs down,” Andrew says, and Neil opens his guard just in time for Andrew to drop him.

“Dude,” Neil says, stumbling. 

“Well that’s one way to learn how to breakfall,” Nicky comments. “Don’t take it personally.”

“Sure.”

Then it’s Neil’s turn. 

It is unimaginably difficult. Even with Andrew’s arms over his shoulders so he doesn’t have to bother so much with the lapel grips, Neil can’t figure out which leg to start standing up with. As soon as he gets to one knee he’s falling to the side of the other one. 

“Do it slower,” Andrew says.

“I am going slowly. That’s the problem, isn’t it?” Neil snaps and steps up again, only to wobble and fall again.

“Wrong, that’s not slow.” Andrew is able to close his guard without getting as close as Neil had, since Neil’s so thin, but he pulls himself closer anyway and almost sits up, getting their centers of gravity as in-line as possible. “I don’t know if you noticed, but the secret to Cardio Day is to pace yourself, not to take what Kevin says literally.”

“We’re supposed to do what he says,” Neil argues. “He’s the coach.”

“No he isn’t, remember? Even if he was, it’s your training, not his. Try again.”

Neil, going what feels like comically slow, holds Andrew close and tries to stand up again. He gets to his feet this time and stops, muscles coiled like springs. 

“Exactly. Three steps.”

Neil takes one step forward. Then another. Then he lifts his foot off the mat and-- falls. Andrew opens his guard just in time to breakfall and catches the rest of Neil’s momentum so he doesn’t catch all the force in his wrists. 

Neil swears under his breath and tries again. It’s a little easier, and he gets to the three steps, but doesn’t kneel back down gracefully, just falls a little more predictably this time. 

Kevin comes over now that everybody else has, of course, reached the end of the mats and lined up again. “Just do it one more time.” 

Fucking fine. One foot up, pull Andrew to that side, other foot up, pull Andrew to the center, stand up, ignore the burning muscles of his thighs, take one lumbering step, than another, than a third, then “Legs down” and he drops Andrew exactly like he’d done to Neil.

“You’re supposed to kneel back down, not drop him,” Kevin says.

“I know.”

“Already everybody, off the mats, get some water, come back for drills,” Kevin says to the group at large. A couple of them brought water bottles, but the majority flock over to the water fountains. Neil is last in line because he’s the only one who has to sit down and put on his sneakers instead of just stepping into flipflops, and he gets the shorter water fountain that was almost certainly built so that the kids’ class can reach. 

It’s fine. Today is a good day.

Even the so-called drills, the class part of the class, aren’t straightforward. Kevin just tells everyone to “Drill whatever takedown entries you know, but don’t finish them. Two minutes and switch.” Everyone claps once, synchronized, before they pair up and start their takedowns. Kevin starts walking around and correcting people. 

Andrew stares at Neil. “Uh,” Neil says. “You go first.”

Andrew nods and then he’s all motion and Neil finally gets to feel the so-called vale tudo maniac he’d been with Renee. He grabs a collar tie, forcing Neil’s head down, and hooks his fingers in the outside of Neil’s sleeve, pulls him one way and then the other, forcing him to step forward, and then skids forward, hauling Neil’s leg up in his arms. “Single-leg,” he explains.

“I know what a single-leg is.”

“Then step back next time.” Andrew fights for grips again and gets them, pulls the same pull-sideways trick, but this time when he reaches for Neil’s leg, Neil forces weight back onto it and steps back. 

Andrew trips him. 

“Breakfall,” he says while Neil is still in the air, and Neil slaps the mat out of spite.

What’s worse is that the breakfall works. 

“I said takedown entries,” Kevin snipes at them, because he always comes over at the worst times.

“Not my fault he doesn’t have base,” Andrew says.

“Neil, get better base,” Kevin says. “Andrew, stop tripping him if he’s just going to fall. You’re not learning anything.”

Andrew hits single-legs for the next minute. Neil tries to step back, sprawl, to break his grips, even to pull guard one embarrassing time, but nothing works. Without warning, Andrew then hits a double-leg, but only once, and then when he stands back up he gets nothing but a sleeve grip, pulls Neil’s arm up in a slight arc, and twists somehow so that Neil’s body is stretched across his shoulders. He can tell that if Andrew ducked and pulled further on his arm Neil would go flipping headfirst onto the ground. 

“Fireman’s carry,” Andrew says. 

Of course Neil has heard of a fireman’s carry takedown, but it’s not common in the Raven strategy, and it feels so different than it looks. “Show me again.”

Andrew does the fireman’s carry two more times, Neil running commentary. “So, it’s same-side arm, up, and then step to the side-- no, away-- and then you kneel? Or do you kneel before you step? And then what type of grip you use for the leg? Which leg?”

Before Neil gets his questions answered, the timer goes off and it’s time to switch. 

Alright, Neil tells himself. You just got a masterclass in what you’re supposed to do. First, get grips.

Step One is foiled time and time again by Andrew, who somehow manages to twist and yank his arms out of every single grip Neil gets on them. He only gets close enough for a collar tie once, his palm on the back of Andrew's neck, and Andrew ducks and pushes his elbow up, breaking that grip too. Neil’s fairly certain that he could spend the next week just grip-fighting and not get anywhere against the wrestler. 

“Andrew, stop being a dick,” Kevin calls over to them. “He’s not getting anywhere.”

Now that someone else said it, Neil has to disagree. 

Andrew finally lets Neil grab his sleeve, and must be expecting Neil to pull him into a fireman’s carry because he had asked so many questions about that takedown, which means that Neil of course has to shove Andrew’s arm out of the way and shoot a double-leg. 

“Really,” Andrew says, not only not falling over but also wrapping his arm around Neil’s neck in the precursor to a guillotine. 

“Shit.” Neil stands back up. “You’re like a tree trunk. I didn’t sign up for this just to get marionnetted around, you know.”

“Never would have guessed. Hit the fireman’s.”

Neil does shoot the fireman’s carry this time, keeping his singular grip close, and gets a sense for the feeling just before finishing the takedown, where Andrew’s body is all balanced on the fulcrum of his shoulders. He could just lean forward and send Andrew to the ground. 

“Why did you sign up?” Andrew asks faux-innocently, which is when Neil realizes that he messed up. 

He fights for grips again to stall for time. “You said it yourself, I’m a fanboy,” he tries. 

“Wrong. You didn’t even believe he was Kevin Day.”

“I just like jiu-jitsu.”

“Nicky took down the signs. You didn't know this was a gym any more than Kevin knows you’re a runaway.”

“So it was Nicky.” It’s a clumsy attempt at deflection, Neil reeling from the confidence in Andrew’s deduction, because he’s wrong but he also isn’t. Neil didn’t strictly run away, not from his Uncle, not this time. But he is, in identity, a runaway and nothing else. “I was wondering. Why are you grilling me anyway,” he says, which is what he thinks a normal person would say. Everything’s an interrogation to him.

“Because you’re lying.” The ten-second warning on the timer beeps, and when Neil shoots his next double-leg Andrew simply refuses to fall.

“Okay, Jesus, fine, I came in because some creeps were following me.” This is Neil’s last resort besides just plain bolting. It’s a good lie because it’s true, allowing him to follow it with “I don’t know why.”

The timer goes off, but not much changes considering that everyone has paused in their training to eavesdrop.

“Well why didn’t you say so?” Andrew says, his tone a pitch-perfect imitation of Nicky’s ‘Is it my birthday?’. “That’s against Rule Fourteen.”

“You guys have an anti-stalking clause codified into your gym rules?” Neil doesn’t remember seeing such a rule, but considering the freaks around here he isn’t surprised.

“Rule Fourteen is Be Respectful, don’t you remember. Not very respectful to chase rabbits all the way to foxholes, is it?”

Allison raises her hand. Andrew beams at her, but she’s undeterred. “I fucking hate stalkers. Permission for Seth and I to hunt them down.”

“Denied,” Kevin says. 

That is… a weird exchange. Not only is it weird that strangers want to get involved in Neil’s business, it’s weird that the self-proclaimed non-self-defense trainer would be the first to say so. But paired with Seth, whatever combat weakness she might have would be canceled out. She’d turn from obvious bait and a liability to the secret weapon in the mountain’s shadow, it would be an excellent teamup. There’s just no reason for it.

Dan raises her hand. “We’re not asking.”

“Denied.”

“Go yourself then. Pussy,” Seth says, effortlessly breaking Rules Twelve and Fourteen.

“Denied,” says Andrew.

“I’m not fucking scared of you,” Seth starts, which is an interesting position for him to take considering that he absolutely should be. His loss.

Kevin picks up the remote to the timer from where it’s been sitting on the tops of the mats taped onto the walls. He turns the volume up and makes it beep earsplittingly loud. “Drill your takedowns to finish, any submission. Two minutes each.”

Nobody moves. The timer starts ticking down. 

“How about you walk him home, Andrew,” Renee suggests sweetly. Neil revises his mental calculations to put her down as the largest threat in the room, based off ‘Rather the devil you know’ logic. “Since you seem concerned.”

“Base,” Andrew says as warning before he slams into Neil, takes him down, and hauls him into an armbar before he can start to fight. Neil taps, he lets go. 

“That’s very thoughtful,” Renee says as if Andrew had agreed with her, and then proceeds to take Aaron down the same way. 

The two minutes pass in silence that would be tense if not for the overwhelming presence of Andrew hitting his full wrestling takedowns over and over again. He goes for armbars mostly, but hits a knee bar in a scramble and a kimora when he pins Neil on his side. He does not rush to get up between each rep the way Renee does, allowing Neil some time to catch his breath, but he does not slow down either, the two minutes passing in perfect increments of stand up, fall, tap, stand up again. 

They switch and Neil learns that he has been doing collarties incorrectly and he should be keeping his elbow in and constantly putting weight on the back of Andrew’s neck. “Otherwise I just have your arm,” Andrew explains, taking Neil’s arm and ducking underneath to get his hands around Neil’s waist in the precursor to a mat return.

“Noted.”

Neil manages to land one somewhat passable double-leg to armbar combo before the timer screeches again. 

Kevin turns the timer’s volume down, looking faintly embarrassed now that he’s not interrupting anyone. “Circle up,” he says. “Nicky, can I borrow you for single-leg x?”

Nicky walks to the center of the mat and Kevin falls back and slaps the mat, maneuvering himself so that Nicky is standing over him with his feet standing beside Kevin’s waist. Kevin grabs Nicky’s ankles and launches the lower half of his body up, his knee clamping down on the inside of Nicky’s thigh and his other heel wrapping around to the outside. “Five reps, alternating sides, and sweep on the fifth,” he says, then demonstrates the sequence again, four more times, and on the fifth time bridges his hips at a 45-degree angle so that Nicky falls. “One minute and switch.”

Neil’s seen that move before. It should be fine. The timer beeps and everyone does their synchronized clap.

Once he’s actually laying on the mat with Andrew standing over him, he gets second thoughts. He’s meant to bring his knee up to hold onto the inside of Andrew’s thigh, which is obvious, that’s just what single-leg x is, but-- “This feels dangerous,” he comments.

“If you knee me in the balls I will return the favor.”

Neil tilts his head. “Bit difficult.” 

“I’d find a way.”

He does not end up kneeing Andrew in the balls, which makes the whole thing an overwhelming success, even though it takes him six tries to actually pull off the sweep at the end. Andrew’s sense of balance is just supernatural. 

The timer goes off and they switch. Neil already feels off-balance as Andrew gets into position, holding his ankles, and when Andrew’s knee catches him, he can’t stop himself from falling backwards. Here we go again, he thinks.

Andrew surges forward after him, eyes widening, and he’s not sure what the problem is until he hits the ground with Andrew’s hands cradling Neil’s head. “Oh shit,” he says, looking down to see that his head and shoulders are hanging off the edge of the mat. He would’ve cracked his skull open on the hard concrete. “Thanks.”

Andrew pulls his hands away, looking annoyed. “Don’t fall.”

Neil does fall again, and again, but in a different direction so Andrew doesn’t have to rescue him again. He’s not sure which one of them is more frustrated by it by the time Kevin tells them to circle up again.

They drill knee-cuts, which Neil does actually understand. It’s just one hand on the hip and one hand on the knee, push the knee to the mat, staple it down with his leg, underhook, and go to side control. There are intricacies he’s not getting, he’s sure, but it’s fine. Then they do a more movement-focused drill in which he switches from armbar from guard to armbarring the other arm, swinging 180 degrees around with just the pendulum momentum from one leg. 

“Do you know how to do a wristlock from here,” Andrew asks while Neil is holding onto both of his arms and calculating how much momentum he can get without accidentally kicking Andrew in the head. 

“Of course,” Neil says. He tries to do the pendulum motion, but runs out of momentum while still facing Andrew, so he just scoots the rest of the way until he has his leg clamped over Andrew’s head in proper guard-armbar position. “Do you want me to?”

“Show me how you would.”

Neil does so, methodically replicating the steps he remembers from watching a Raven instructional video. It doesn’t feel quite right, but Andrew taps anyway, and they continue the drill without further interruption. 

Just when Neil thinks he’s going to have to slow down or even, horrifyingly, ask to take a break-- the pendulum motion requires a ton of ab strength, as did single-leg x-- the timer goes off. “That’s class for today, line up on the edge of the mat,” Kevin says. 

Andrew rapidly disentagles himself from Neil’s guard and goes to stand beside Renee and Nicky, the other low-ranking blue belts. Neil goes to the end of the line, beside Seth. 

“Good work today. Announcements just in case you forgot: Do not leave your devil’s lettuce in the cubbies, Renee and Dan are fighting Toro, Wymack’s birthday is next Monday, and Neil, Trial Class, is not allowed to roll. Let’s bow out.”

Everybody bows, then Kevin goes to the front of the line and starts shaking hands, the line doubling over on itself to follow him so Neil gets told “Good work” by Kevin Day, Allison Reynolds, Dan Wilds, Matt, Aaron, Renee, a very cheery Nicky, and a reluctant Seth, in that order. It’s so disorienting that he only notices what’s wrong when everybody has gone to the water fountains.

Andrew is gone.

Belt rankings, reasoning, main skills:

Wymack- black (coach. Main skills: Patience.)

Kevin- brown (trained since birth. Main skills: he’s just better than you.)

Allison- purple (access to a gym since freshman year high school. Main skills: leg entanglements.)

Dan- Blue, 3 stripe (dedicated training. Main skills: Creative use of weight and pressure while incorporating moves from class into strategic rolling.)

Matt- Blue, 2 stripe (built different. Main skills: strength without skimping on technique)

Aaron- Blue, 2 stripe (wrestling experience. Main skills: a lot stronger than he looks.)

Renee- Blue, 2 stripe (access to a gym since being adopted by Stephanie. Main skills: does not believe in no-win scenarios)

Andrew- Blue, 0 stripe (does not roll with anyone but Kevin, Aaron, Nicky, and Renee. Main skills: balance, standup, grip-breaking, and space management. You cannot knock him over and you especially cannot pin him down.)

Nicky- Blue, 0 stripe (does not follow the rules. Main skills: wrestling and flexibility.)

Seth- White, 4 stripe (has trouble translating moves from drills into strategy during rolling, does not follow the rules. Main skills: built like a truck.)

Neil- White, 0 stripe (no experience, pure vibes. Main skills: encyclopedic knowledge of lore.)

Also, Neil talks about the Gracie family like he really admires them, because he fucking loves jiu-jitsu, but in real life they’re not exactly role models. They can be trusted to be damn good at jiu-jitsu but not, for example, to respect women. However, at least they’re not the Moriyamas. 

Thanks for reading! Leave a comment if you liked it!

[midgardianminx]

Art Walk

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x reader (reader’s gender not explicitly stated/no use of pronouns). 

Summary: A Dieter Bravo (artist AU?) meet cute. Is that what this is?

Rating: M (18+) - while this fic is not explicit, this blog is. Minors be gone.

Notes: Hi. I was really down about my unused theatre degree when I wrote this, and needed a little Dieter comfort. This is self-indulgent and all mistakes are my own. Enjoy!                                                        

Cross-posted on AO3

It had been years since you’d ventured out to an art walk. Not because you didn’t love them, but because you felt like a fraud at this point. You’d graduated with your art degree nearly a decade ago and had nothing to show for it. You had been sucked into the “stability” of corporate America (what a joke that was) and have slowly been having your happiness and creativity drained since.

You’d stumbled on it accidentally. You were going to grab takeout from your favorite hole in the wall downtown. Parking seemed to be harder than usual and the streets were more busy. As you approached your destination you noticed the packed alleyway. Vender tables lined the street and people were milling about in every direction looking at the different trinkets and knick-knacks. Drawn like a moth to a flame, you began to wander down the alleyway, completely abandoning your initial mission for food.

It felt like a fever dream. Everywhere you looked you saw artists pouring their soul into their work. Chalk art decorated the street. A graffiti artist was bringing a crumbling wall back to life. You ventured into a small studio space filled with art on the gallery walls. People gathered in a crowd to take in the performance art happening before your eyes.

As the crowd dispersed, you finally felt like you could catch your breath and something inside you came to life.

- - -

He took notice of you immediately. He was pulling out the uneven cut of burlap that would act as his canvas when he first spotted you. You were impossible to ignore. You took in your surroundings as if your life depended on it; as if everything would disappear if you blinked. And although your stare seemed distant and almost unfocused, he could see something come to life the longer you looked around. You disappeared into a small art gallery, but even with you out of sight, he couldn’t forget that look in your eye.

- - -

You left the small gallery and found yourself back in the alley. The streetlights had turned on in the time you had been inside and your body felt a steady buzz of excitement. The sound of a band caught your attention and you wandered in that direction hoping to find the source and taking the opportunity to take in more of the art booths along your path.

You didn’t reach your destination, never finding the source of the music. Instead you were stopped in your tracks by the sight in front of you. His curls were a mess on top of his head. His shirt and pants hung loose and comfortably on his frame. You didn’t even question the Crocs because they seemed so right for him.

Your feet were taking you to his space before your brain could even catch up. It was as if there was an invisible string attached to your core and you were helpless to fight against the pull. You finally managed to take your eyes off the artist and caught sight of the wrinkled canvas he was working on.

It took your breath away. You stood in awe as you took in the piece of art that wasn’t even completed but was already perfect in your eyes.

It was the alley, but not in a literal sense. You couldn’t explain it, but it was as if the artist had climbed inside your mind and witnessed what you saw felt when you first stumbled upon this place. You imagined that to others it may just appear to be a collection of shadows accompanied by bright colors. Abstract. Others would see it as abstract, but for you it was clear as day. It was this alleyway on this night.

You were so transfixed by the piece that you hadn’t even noticed the artist had stopped painting and was now focused on you. After a few moments he cleared his throat which snapped you out of your trance. Heat began to creep up your neck to your face, and you didn’t know if it was because you had been caught staring at his work or because now that you could see him fully you were taken aback by his beauty. That’s the only way you could explain it. Beauty. Maybe not in the traditional sense, but beauty nonetheless. His curls were tousled and loose, as if his fingers had been raking through them. His face was warm; decorated with scruffy facial hair and laugh lines that hinted at a life well lived. You noticed the sun glasses propped on his head and thanked your lucky stars that they resided there so that you could fully appreciate his eyes. They were soft and kind and had a spark of mischief behind them. If you thought his art was beautiful, you now realized that it didn’t hold a candle to the beauty of the artist himself.

He was smirking at you now. Fuck. There was no denying that you had just spent the last several seconds gawking at this complete stranger. And although embarrassment began to flood your system, you couldn’t bring yourself to regret it.

“Hey” he said. One word. He said one word to you and you held onto it for dear life. Trying to play it cool, but failing miserably, you managed to mumble a “hey” back.

“You like it?”

“It’s beautiful,” you rushed out on a shaky breath. “I’m sorry for staring, it just really spoke to me.”

“Never apologize for appreciating art, or beauty. I won’t.” His eyes were locked on you as he said this and you couldn’t help but wonder what he meant by that. You broke eye contact when you could feel the heat returning to your cheeks.

“This is the first time I’ve seen you here.” He said lazily, bringing your attention right back to him. He was cleaning a paintbrush on his shirt, which was already patterned with splotches of paint and other stains.

“Yeah it is. Just kind of stumbled upon it by accident.”

“Well you fit here.” He stated matter-of-factly.

You couldn’t help the nervous laugh that escaped you. That feeling of being a fraud slowly returning.

“You don’t believe me.” He stated plainly, it wasn’t a question.

“Sorry, it’s just I haven’t been in the art scene for years, so it’s hard to believe I fit.”

“You can doubt yourself all you’d like, but I’m right. It may take some time for you to believe it, but I like a challenge.”

Another nervous laugh escaped you. “That’s all well and good, but I don’t even know your name.”

“Hmm. No, I don’t suppose you don’t Moonbeam.”

The nickname knocked the wind out of you. You had only just met this man and yet you felt the trajectory of your life had now been changed.

“Dieter Bravo”

“Huh?” You asked, having forgotten the current direction of your conversation, too hyper-focused on the nickname he had bestowed on you.

“My name. Dieter Bravo. Now you know it.”

“Dieter Bravo'' you repeated, testing out the name for yourself. The smirk returned to his face, and his warm eyes darkened. Fuck. He loved the sound of his name falling from your lips. He wanted to hear all the ways you could utter his name.

“Di” you said, cutting in on his thoughts and trying the nickname on for size. At the sound of the nickname it was now Dieter’s turn to be breathless, totally caught off guard by the way it made him feel. He recovered quickly.

“Yeah Moonbeam. You can call me Di.” He winked and said with that signature smirk you’ve so quickly grown accustomed to seeing him wear. Yeah, you were in trouble, there was no doubt about that. And although you had no way of knowing it, Dieter was feeling the same way. You may have stumbled upon the art walk accidentally, but he didn’t believe in accidents or coincidences. The universe brought you to him, there was no doubt about that in his mind. You were meant to come into his life and he just knew that going back to a time before you wouldn’t be possible, not that he’d ever want to. He too knew he was in trouble, but knew it was going to be the best kind of trouble he could experience.

[admiralanarchy]

Part 1 of 5 of the SettPhel Artist AU!

In which Sett falls in love with an art student he has never seen or met, but connects to through art-

Originally posted on Twitter (but I'll be updating here as well ^^)

⬇️ check under the cut to read!⬇️

Sett fell in love with the painting first.

He didn't usually notice things like this- not that he wasn't moved or appreciative of the art, he just never stopped and stared at paintings and sculptures and the like before. He wasn't blind, just… disinterested.

This though, as soon as he caught that swirl of blue out of the corner of his eyes, Sett was hooked.

He may have stood in the middle of the hallway between business classes for at least fifteen minutes. Featured art exhibits from students in the art department weren't rare. Every building seemed to have at least half a dozen scattered across multiple floors and wings, switching out every few months. They had evidently switched out the paining in this particular alcove recently, going from some scenic landscape to what Sett could only describe as a man-made galaxy.

The canvas was massive- taking up almost the entire wall, bordered by a simple silver frame. 

Sett didn't notice himself stepping closer, eyes taking in the delicate whorls of pink, and teal, and violet, the pinpricks of silver and white stars, the greenish indigo blur of auroras. Every ridge and smudge of the brush visible, catching the light. This artist had lovingly recreated a night sky in painfully devout detail.

"Sett?" A voice startled him from his reverie. Embarassed, Sett whirled around, the spell holding him broken- for now. Gods he had to pass by this thing six times a week. Would he ever get his fill? What would happen when he did?

Samira, ignoring or not noticing his internal crisis, raised an eyebrow. "The lecture is starting in five. Gonna be late, big man."

Shit- "yeah I was just on my way. Got bored waitin' for the room to clear."

"Uh huh," Samira replied, unconvinced.

Luckily she didn't press, and Sett took one last look at the painting, dreading the hour he'd have to go before he saw it again. Artists usually slapped their names on the things they made, right?

Quickly he skimmed the edges, finding a scrawled name in silver at the very bottom.

Phel

[abookishdreamer]

Character Intro: Eubouleus (Kingdom of Ichor)

Nicknames- The Swine God by the people of Olympius

The Divine Oinker by Hermes

Honey by Barbie

Father by Karme

Pop by Karmanor

Grandpa by his grandkids

Age- 66 (immortal)

Location- Crete, Olympius

Personality- A true blooded cowboy, he embodies traits such as rugged individualism, self-reliance, integrity, courage, loyalty, connection to nature, & stoicism. Much like his symbolic divine animal, he takes pride in his inner strength and perseverance. He's married.

He's the most respected and beloved agricultural deity in the pantheon.

He has the standard abilities of a god. As god of the swine & ploughing his other powers/abilities include edafoskinesis (soil manipulation), being able to telekinetically control farming tools and equipment, fertility manipulation, being able to adopt swine physiology to his physical form, as well as being able to communicate with/shapeshift into all species of suidae- hogs, pigs, swine...

Much like his symbolic divine animal, Eubouleus has poor eyesight. He compensates for this by generally wearing glasses.

He's on his third marriage with his wife- a dryad named Baubo who everyone calls Barbie. Other members of Eubouleus' immediate family includes his son Karmanor (demi-god of the harvest), his daughter Karme (demi-goddess of the harvest), his grandson (and namesake) E.B, & his granddaughters Britomartis (goddess of mountains, hunting, & fishing nets) and Krysothemis (Kristy).

Eubouleus & his wife live in the state of Crete on their MASSIVE farmland estate- measuring several thousand acres! There are several hundreds of employees and farmhands. There's also many farm animals- primarily cattle, swine, & horses.

He and his wife reside in their gorgeous ranch style mansion. The interior design combines both country charm & rustic beauty. Barbie decorated the entire place. There's stone and marble tiled walls, wood ceilings with beams, a stone lined pool & hot tub, decorative animal heads and antlers mounted on the walls, ceramic countertops in the kitchen with light cedarwood cabinets, grand fireplaces, linen, leather, & suede furniture, wood, ceramic, and stone furniture pieces, as well as country themed artwork, framed oil paintings, landscape artwork, abstract artwork, & textured canvas art found throughtout the mansion. Most of the flooring is white oak while the color scheme is cream, beige, khaki, coffee, dusty rose, and olive green.

Eubouleus is fluent in Minoan.

He'll start off his day by riding his horse, a male horse named Ranger through his farmland. He also uses that time to greet all of his employees.

Eubouleus has a laid back sense of style. He doesn't mind wearing a suit, but more often than not, he's most comfortable wearing a pair of boots, jeans, a flannel shirt, & a cowboy hat. There's never a shortage of denim, leather, fringe, belts, hats, and boots in his closet.

He likes the espresso & cafe au laits his wife makes for him with their state-of-the-art coffee machine. He also likes Barbie's homemade sweet tea, water, homemade lemonade, orange juice, his homemade green apple-ginger smoothies, beer, old fashioned cocktails, mint juleps, bourbon punch, apple cider, champagne, good farmer cocktails, and classic martinis.

One of his bad habits is chewing tobacco. He's also fond of smoking cigars.

Throughout Eubouleus' immortal life, he's always held on to the idea of love, in spite of the grief life dealt him. His first wife (his son's father) was a mortal sheep herder who tragically died during childbirth. His second wife (his daughter's mother) was a dryad who died of weeping sickness towards the end of the Titanomachy.

He met Barbie a decade ago at a comedy club in Naxos & the two really hit it off! Their first date was at a square dancing club in Crete and they had their first kiss a couple weeks later at a late night picnic he invited her to on his farm. Eubouleus fondly remembers how Barbie's lips tasted of fig jam.

Bacon is a major part of Eubouleus' diet. A typical breakfast is two packs of crispy bacon with buttermilk biscuits, scrambled eggs (added with peppers & onions), and garlic toast. For lunch, he'll usually make himself a giant BLT sandwich with double the sriracha mayo, double the bacon, and double the pickle chips. A dinner dish can be his famous smoky black bean-bacon chili.

He loves everything about his wife. Her confidence, her full figure, her infectious smile & laugh, her gorgeous hazel green eyes, and her gut bursting sense of humor.

They were married a year or so later in Achaea on the farm of his best friend Cyamites (god of beans). His son's children (who were toddlers) served as the flower girl & ringbearer. Karmanor was Eubouleus' koumbaro or best man while Karme was Barbie's koumbara or maid of honor. Zeuxo (goddess of marriage) was the officiant during the ceremony as well as the wedding planner. Other guests in attendance included Hera (goddess of women & marriage), Naeus (god of weddings), as well as other agricultural deities like Demeter (goddess of the harvest & agriculture), Triptolemus (god of farming), Pherusa (goddess of substance & farm estates), Eunostos (goddess of the flour mill), Trochilus (god of the mill wheel), and Promylaia.

The reception was a wild ride! There was a mechanical bull for the guests to ride with the menu having banana pudding parfaits, various jarred fruit pies, bacon wrapped crispy green beans, a chicken & waffles station, mini shrimp and grits, as well as a main entree of fried chicken, garlic & thyme mashed potatoes, baked mac n' cheese, and moussaka. The wedding cake was a seven tiered hummingbird cake covered in pear flavored fondant & decorated with frosted marigolds.

A guilty pleasure for him is the olympian burger from Olympic Chef with extra bacon.

Eubouleus has a great relationship with his kids. Everytime he and Barbie travels to New Olympus, they'll stay with Karmanor & his kids. He's proud of the initiative Karme displayed when handling the business of his company The Swinery- the largest meat and cold cut producer in Olympius. The business (valued at almost 1.5 billion drachmas) is an agricultural powerhouse that also has interests in farming, ranching & cattle production, food processing, and phosphate mining.

He enjoys the time he gets to spend with Britomartis at her houseboat- like fishing, hunting, & roasting marshmallows to make s'mores.

Eubouleus has been nothing but supportive with his wife's foray into becoming a stand up comedienne!

His favorite frozen treat is the homemade hummingbird ice cream he makes. Eubouleus adds crushed waffle cone pieces to it.

The pork tenderlion salad with extra teriyaki dressing is his favorite thing to get at The Bread Box.

Eubouleus' friendship with Cyamites is more like a brotherhood. They talk on the phone daily and he's always visiting him in Eleusis. He finds Cyamites' flavorful white bean dip to be addictive! He's been helping his best friend get back into the dating scene.

He's a HUGE fan of the Olympic Derby, the most premier & popular horse/hippocampus racing event in Olympius and the Underwater realm.

In the pantheon Eubouleus is also good friends with Hecaterus (Titan god of manual labor), Anchiale (Titaness of fire), & Logos (god of stories).

Some of his favorite desserts include his daughter's peach bourbon upside-down bundt cake, his son's pecan pie, as well as his wife's hummingbird cake and buttermilk pie.

Eubouleus often treats his employees on the farm by inviting them to the weekly barbeque he hosts & by taking a few of them out to eat to a well known and popular Minoan restaurant- known for their dishes like grilled cuttleflish with asparagus, pork posole, sopes, red rice, & elote.

He, Barbie, Cyamites, Anchiale, and Hecaterus once competed in an apple bobbing contest during the Raki Distillery Festival in Naxos.

Eubouleus loves tuning in to Spíti & Estía, the home improvement TV show hosted by Ktesios (god of the household) and Hestia (goddess of the hearth).

His all time favorite meal is his thick & hearty stifado with cornbread and roasted potatoes.

In his free time Eubouleus enjoys gardening, swimming, football (soccer), bull riding, hiking, surfing, golf, reading, cooking, baseball, poker, baking, and playing pool.

"You can't fatten the pig on market day."

[marveltrumpshate]

Want to participate in Marvel Trumps Hate, but don't know what to offer? Think outside the box!

Stumped on what to offer because you don't write fic or draw? Marvel Trumps Hate welcomes a huge variety of fanworks and fan labor (see our sign-up post) so there are different ways you can contribute. You'll be amazed by the breadth of skills, talents, knowledge, and types of creative expression found in fandom!

Here's a smorgasbord of offers that we've either had before or seen people discuss as possibilities for MTH 2023 or future years to help inspire you.

ART (VISUAL/ILLUSTRATIVE)

Single-page and multi-page comics

Paintings (oil, acrylic, gouache, watercolor)

Stained glass/suncatcher

Mixed-media artwork on canvas

Ink-on-bristol art

Embroidery on canvas

Pour paint/spin art

AUDIOVISUAL WORKS

Podfics

Videos (fic trailers, themed edits, vids set to songs)

BETA SERVICES

Editing

Cheer reading

Soundboarding/planning

Fact-checking

Culture-picking

Sensitivity reading

Knowledge about specific topics or experiences (e.g., identities, lifestyles, professions, interests, fields of study)

CRAFTS & MERCH

Candles

Lip balms

Soaps

Scented beanbag-style sachets

Candy/chocolate/baked goods

Pins, magnets, patches, charms, standees, key chains, ring holders, calendars, stickers, bookmarks

Sculptures

Ceramic mugs and other items

Apparel/wearable accessories (shirts, jackets, scarves, gloves/mittens, hats, face masks, regular masks, cowls)

Tote bags, itabags with custom window shapes, leather dice bags, wallets, pouches/pencil cases

Plushie animal or Tsum Tsum versions of Marvel characters

Dolls (crochet, needle felt, matte board, hand-sewn)

Embroidery hoops/wall art and cross stitch pieces

Jewelry (diamond painting, macrame, metal, crochet, wire, beads)

Woodwork/wood burning (cheese board, box/chest, USB stick, coasters, photo frame, alphabet blocks)

Glasswork

Custom Funko Pops

Paper cut light boxes

Pillow cases, quilted pillows, baby blankets, dishcloth/washcloths, potholders

Handmade leather journals

Linoleum stamps

Dog toys

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[dvbkie099]

four - whiskey-filled stories

Seo Changbin x fem!oc

Tags: Gang!AU, TattooArtist!OC x GangMember!Changbin, smut, violence, drugs, swearing, death, characters are not morally good people

Minji didn’t expect much from sleeping with the hot muscle at her local bar. She left first, after all.

Changbin knows her face. She’s a regular of the bar that Hyunjin runs, loves a strong drink, and has some truly beautiful tattoos.

It should’ve been a one-time thing. That was until Minji inadvertently got herself caught in the middle of a gang war by somehow pissing off the wrong person.

| MASTERLIST

“Penny for your thoughts?”

She turned her head slightly, looking at the man seated next to her.

“You wouldn’t have enough pennies, Chris.”

The man grinned at her, refilling her whiskey glass before snatching the cigarette from her hand and taking a drag from it.

“Bitch.”

It was surprising how quickly they became comfortable with one another, their banter reminiscent of their shared mutual friends. It was natural, she figured, for them to connect so deeply. While everyone, save for Jeongin, had trained under GOT7, none of them had as deep of a friendship with the older guys like Chan. He didn’t know the full scope of her relationship with the men he saw as older brothers, but he knew enough from mentions of her over the years to the fact that she seemed to know why, and even potentially where GOT7 was hiding. She didn’t have to wax poetics, he saw it all in her dark eyes.

“Is the decorating going well?” Chan asked, handing her cigarette back to her.

“Yeah. Thanks for everything, by the way.” 

“Well we did kinda cause your shop to get ruined, so it's the least I can do.” 

“I killed the guy, not you, don’t take my credit.” She snarked, “Also just learn to accept gratitude.”

Chan and the guys were godsends. With her parlour destroyed, she didn’t have the space to tattoo or train her apprentice. In their last consultation, she had mentioned searching for a new place for her parlour. Chan had then offered the empty retail space on the ground floor of the building, next to the club. She hadn’t realized that he owned the entire building, except for the Scarlet Lagoon, which Hyunjin owned. It made sense. It was an excellent base for the group and brought in significant legal money. She had been redecorating the space for the past few days, Hyunjin and Jisung often stopping by and aiding her, to the amazement of Wei, who very obviously had a crush on Hyunjin.

She was a relatively frugal person, tending to only splurge occasionally for special occasions. It came in handy in this case, having the extra funds for new equipment and supplies. They were expected to re-open in their new location in a few days, but there were a few things left.

“Having some trouble figuring out what to put on the walls, given that all the paintings are damaged,” Minji said, taking a long drag of her cigarette.

“What did you do with them?”

“They’re in my office in my apartment.” Minji said, “Can’t get rid of them.”

“Youngjae’s right? The paintings, that is?”

“How’d you know?” Minji said.

“Jisung mentioned seeing the one from Jaebum’s office. Thought you stole it at first.” Chan shrugged.

She snorted, “No, it was a gift to me, before y’know. The rest of the paintings are birthday presents from him as well.”

“Why don’t you frame some of your sketches? You’ve got quite the artistic talent.”

“I mean I could, but my sketches are always just… sketches. The finalized art is what goes on people.”

“The unfinishedness could be the look though. Your shop’s aesthetic was already kinda edgy.”

“The exact aesthetic is dark academia, but I suppose it could work.”

Chan made a face but didn’t retaliate further.

“The question is what to remake onto a standard-size canvas. Given the space, I want seven pieces of artwork up.” 

“Do you have your sketchbook?”

His eyes were on the sketchbook on the counter, yet he still asked that question with a stupid grin on his face.

“No.” 

He chuckled as she flipped the book open, thumbing through pages of sketches. 

“What about this one?”

His finger stopped her from flicking the page, pressing gently across the page that depicted a bouquet.

“The Death Bouquet itself, good choice.” Minji hummed, her manicured nail tracing the pattern of the sketch.

“The Death Bouquet is a real thing?”

“Well, it is an urban legend in my hometown.” She explained. “I drew it and it is the first tattoo I ever got.”

“What’s the legend?”

“Well, it starts with two brothers. It’s said that they were inseparable, even through their teenage and adult years. The younger brother moved away, seeking to find his way, leaving his brother behind. Several years later, he came back to town, with a fianceé. His brother was overjoyed at his return but found himself unable to connect with his brother, too in love with his soon-to-be wife. The older brother found himself resenting their relationship, as it was all his family talked about.”

Her hand stopped tracing, finger staying put on the ribbon of the bouquet.

“It was only until their wedding day, when he was helping his soon-to-be sister get ready, that he realized that he hated their relationship because he loved her. Her bouquet was full of baby’s breath, the flowers of purity and young love, her favourite flower. He was beside himself, torn by his grief and love for the one woman he couldn’t have.”

“When he went outside for a breather, he saw a pretty purple flower going in the gardens. When he came closer to the flowers, he recognized them as Wisteria flowers. When he saw the plants, his bitter heart turned to greed and jealousy, and he plucked a few flowers, making sure to gather a handful of seeds. When he returned to the bride, just before the ceremony was to begin, she wholly accepted the new addition to her bouquet, awed enough to not the seeds he placed in the ceremonial tea that the flower girl was to carry out.”

“However, as he stood by his brother's side, watching as the couples reached for the cups that contained the tea, he could only watch as they drank from the same cup, the bride and his brother ingesting poisonous tea. And when the couple went very still later that night, entangled in their wedding sheets, it was the brother they found, seated at the altar of the wedding church, the bouquet in his hands with tears in his eyes.”

It was silent within the empty Scarlet Lagoon, Minji nursing her whiskey and Chan staring off into existence.

“Is it true? The story?”

“The married couple were found dead, and wisteria toxin was found in their systems. It is assumed that it was the brother, but no one knows. The story is from a few decades before I was born.”

“If people assumed it was the brother, then why didn’t he get arrested for it?”

“He was found dead when the police came to question him. Alcohol poisoning.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Jesus Christ indeed.” Minji hummed, tipping her glass toward him as if she was toasting him. “That’s the world we live in.”

○○○

"So are you two going to fuck again or are you just going back to staring at her." 

Changbin smacked Minho on the arm, as he pulled his eyes away from Minji across the room. The Scarlet Lagoon was packed, but that was expected. One of the main reasons that the club was as popular as it was, is that it had a themed night once a month. And it wasn't cheesy themes, continuing with the luxe and glamourous interior and general vibe of the club.

It was one of those themed nights, and due to the level of people there, it was customary for all eight of them to attend. And now Minji was attending, no longer a regular of the club and now free to move around. Yet she had stayed at her regular spot at the bar until Hyunjin had weaved through the crowd and pulled her onto the dance floor.

The pair were easily the best looking on the dance floor, the red velvet of Hyunjin's suit pairing nicely with the blush pink satin of Minji's dress. 

As if they could sense people talking about them, the pair wormed their way out of the dance floor, coming over to the table. Hyunjin reached the table before them, Changbin noting the darker tint to his lips and the single red tear-drop-shaped jewel beneath his left eye. 

Minji approached them, the satin hugging her figure down to her hips before it draped loosely down the rest of her body, hiding her legs from view save for her heeled feet. A loose white sheer shawl hung loosely off her arms, upon which matching rose-gold arm cuffs sat. Her fingers had countless rings upon them, all in soft pastels and golds, mimicking her rose-gold jewelled nails. The pastels and rose gold theme continued, up to the cuffs and chains from her ears, which were unnaturally pointed. There were countless small braids littered throughout her hair, with jewels twisted into the braids. Her makeup was simplistic, but the attention still went to her eyes, now a bright purple.

"I see you are strikingly on theme," Chan said, as Minji accepted a drink from him as she sat down next to Jeongin.

"It's a supernatural theme, it's easy to be on theme."

"You wouldn't believe how many people we've had to turn down because they aren't on theme or are dressed like a corny dollar store supernatural," Hyunjin said, scoffing as he stole Seungmin's drink from him.

"You're an ass," Seungmin said, stealing the drink back.

Jeongin tapped her hand as she set her drink down, so she turned to look at the younger man, dressed nicely in a black suit with a scratch across his cheekbone. She noted the dark grey acrylics on his nails, long enough to dig into her hand slightly.

"Yes?"

"How did you do the pointed ears? They look really cool." Jeongin gushed.

"They're prosthetics. Another time I could put a pair on you?"

"I'd like that."

"Stop trying to be cute to woo Minji, Jeong," Minho said.

"Stop being a mood killer and I'll consider." The youngest snapped back.

Minji grinned at their banter, taking another drink. As set her drink down, she noted his eyes on her again. She wasn't blind, she could feel the looks upon her from him but chose not to act upon it. Would it potentially get awkward when she started tattooing the guys tomorrow? Most likely, especially since she was going to be tattooing his pectoral.

But that was tomorrow's problem.

[wallpaperpainter]

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[ficsforeren]

Falling

Pairing: Eren Jaeger X Female Reader

Genre: College Boyfriend AU, Smut, Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Summary: In the absence of your warmth, Eren Jaeger begins to reminisce the loving memories he’s shared with you in the past three years, regretting how your first fight turned into something that ended it all.

Lyrics are taken from this beautiful song: Harry Style’s Falling.

Warnings: unprotected sex, oral sex, alcohol consumption, swearing

Word Count: 15k+

Poster Art by @_sonagee on Twitter

I’m in my bed

And you’re not here

The small, barely prominent crack on the ceiling of his bedroom has always gone unnoticeable. It stands only as a silent witness of the meeting between a pair of plump lips to redder ones, the breathless sounds of frantic moans, and the sacred exchange of loving words. But not tonight. Tonight, as he lays on his bed, sheets all crumpled but with the absence of your warmth, Eren notices everything.

He notices how quiet his room—his entire apartment—feels when it’s only the sound of his own soft breathing that fills the air. His black shirt is fully unbuttoned, his skin a golden canvas missing your marks. The tattoos that painted his rib cages are no longer coated by the shade of your lipstick. 

His pillow, no longer smelling like your favorite shampoo, is covered by his long chestnut hair, now all tousled and unkempt. He misses the way you threaded your fingers through them, the way you lulled him to sleep with your little hum, his head a comforting weight on your lap. The walls, the carpet, the bedsheets, the framed photographs that remind him of the joy that used to bloom on his face—everything feels monochromatic. Empty. Shallow. Because ever since you walked out of his life, you’ve taken all the colors with you, leaving him solely in black and white.

And now, Eren doesn’t know what to do anymore. Or to feel. He’s a puppet missing his puppeteer.

And there’s no one to blame

But the drink in my wandering hands

With the bitter taste of vodka sitting on his tongue, he closes his eyes, allowing himself to remember but not forgive the words he once said to you. 

With your name echoing through the labyrinth of his mind, regret starts to suffocate him at once.

Forget what I said

It’s not what I meant

And I can’t take it back

I can’t unpack the baggage you left

What hurts from a break-up is not the parting of two hearts, but the memories that had been drawn deep within them. It’s not the kiss that he misses, it’s the taste of your lips—the faint scent of cherry that sits pale in comparison to your natural flavor. It’s the way they move against his own, timid at first then consuming all at once. And how there will be no other girl that will taste the same, feel the same, or be able to draw out the same kind of feelings from him.

It’s funny, Eren thinks, how he can only see your smile behind his closed eyelids these days, but he doesn’t find himself laughing. He can’t even remember the last time he found a reason to smile, now that you’re gone.

The moon was hiding behind thick clouds, he remembers, that night when fate walked in and introduced you to one another.

***

Eren’s eyes were glued to the silver screen, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he witnessed the battle between the villain and the protagonist grow deadly. It had been a while since he last saw a movie in a theater, and the experience was certainly different. The thrill of it soon perished, however, when the sweet scent of your shampoo fleeted through his nose.

Your head was falling onto his shoulder as you waned into slumber. Unbeknownst to you, you had been leaning your weight entirely to a stranger whose bergamot perfume compelled you to focus on anything besides the movie. It was as pleasant as it was distracting. But after being sleep-deprived for three days, exhaustion finally took over and you fell asleep so deeply that you didn’t even have the strength to dream.

Your weight on his body was unfamiliar but it wasn’t uncomfortable for twenty-year-old Eren Jaeger. As he took a glance at your face, it wasn’t your beauty that kept him frozen. It was how peaceful you looked, almost like an enervated child curling up after spending her time chasing butterflies on the field.

Eren shifted carefully on his seat, attempting his best to give you comfort by providing more space for you to lean your weight on. Then he stayed still, his lips bowed and his smile never faltered away. The movie was long forgotten. He didn’t spare a glance at the screen even when people were gasping at the sight of the protagonist dying in his lover’s arms. He felt intrigued by the thought of your name, wondering whether it would sound as nice as the soft breathing that flowed past your lips.

When the credits rolled, Eren told Armin and Jean in hushed whispers to leave without him, throwing icy glares at them when they grinned devilishly at the sight of you sleeping on his shoulder. He went as far as kicking Jean on the shin when his voice rose too loudly, afraid that he’d wake you up, which made the other man complain because certainly, the background music was louder than anything else in the room. Nevertheless, you were still deep in your sleep.

Eren begged for more time when one of the concessions workers asked him to leave. Refused and left with no other solution, he sighed and turned his head toward you.

“Hey,” he murmured, his heart palpitating in anticipation of finally hearing your voice. “Sorry, but uhh… We need to go.”

His voice was foreign to your ears but it was so deep, so soothing, almost like a lullaby, that you snuggled closer, wanting nothing more than to listen to it forever. It took Eren three times more with his cheeks reddening to call upon you until you finally found the power to detach yourself from your stupor.

“Hey there.” A boy—a beautiful boy—with glowing, sun-kissed skin and a pair of sharp green, enticing eyes with a gaze intense enough to kiss your skin with fire, greeted you as you blinked yourself awake. His voice was as deep as the ocean, as sweet as honey. His hair was tied up in a messy bun, making him seem juvenile, matching the little twinkle in his eyes. He beamed at you with a smile so warm that it nearly melted your heart, and you decided ah, I don’t ever want to wake up from this dream.

It was when the usher popped into your vision, stating, “I’m sorry, Ma’am, but we’re closing,” that you internally screamed oh God, no, this isn’t a dream, what have I done?

“So that’s what he said.” Eren’s smile was sheepish with a hint of teasing, and your heart moved on its own, yearning for him to display you another one. “But if you still have time to spare, we can go get some coffee or something. I can fill you in on the details.”

“D-details?” Your voice was hoarse from sleep, embarrassingly so. “About what?”

“About the movie you just missed.” The grin he showcased grew wider and this time, it was so utterly mischievous that you had to break your gaze before heat rushed to your face. “The fact that you’re here watching a movie by yourself must mean you’re interested to see how the trilogy ends. I can help you with that.”

“Umm—” You rummaged your purse, pretending like you were searching for something when it was only a poor excuse for you to not be captivated by his eyes longer than you already were. “It’s fine, I can look it up online.”

“But then what should I do with this?” He brought his right hand in the air, pursing his lips. “My arm’s falling asleep. Shouldn’t you take responsibility for it?”

The horrified look on your face made him laugh, and his laughter became the reason why you decided to throw all common sense away and just went with what felt right. “I-I’ll pay for the coffee.”

“Well, then, I’ll make sure to go somewhere expensive.” He threw a wink before he rose to his feet, offering you a hand to help you stand from your seat. “I’m Eren, by the way.” When your skin met, his palm was scorching against your icy one. You told him your name, stammering as you did it and he chuckled. 

You turned flustered. “W-why are you laughing?”

You’re just so cute, he thought. “Nothing. I just thought your name fit you so well.” 

You frowned, not sure if you should take it as a compliment but Eren didn’t give you much time to think. “Umm…” He tarries, looking down to see the way you’re still clutching onto his hand. You were too enticed by his charm, too comfortable with his warmth that you failed to notice anything else.

You followed his gaze, panicking before you released your hold. “I’m sorry, I–”

But he retrieved it again, gripping it tighter than before. “I don’t mind,” he grinned. “It’s too dark to see and I don’t want you to fall down the stairs. But you’re gonna have to treat me to some bagels too. I don’t do this for free.” 

Your jaw dropped but you could only follow after him without a word, your body being tugged forward as he led the way.

You had expected that he would let go once you were out of the theater, knowing how weird it was for strangers to hold hands as lovers do. But when he did, you were still left surprised, not because of his action but the way your heart shriveled in disappointment at the absence of his warmth.

You didn’t realize that you wanted him to hold it longer.

***

Awkward conversations made you anxious but they died before you could finish your coffee. Like a phoenix, they were reborn into something that was supposed to only be shared between friends instead of strangers. With Eren, everything felt so natural, you didn’t even find the will to question it. Stories after stories, you talked to him like he was the most interesting book you’d ever read. His affable, carefree attitude was almost inspiring, breaking through your facade as easy as counting his fingers.

“So, how come you went to the movies by yourself?” Eren asked, his coffee long abandoned on the table as he was more drawn to you and the little smile you retained on your lips. “Boyfriend too busy to come along?”

A bit embarrassed, you brought your head down, hiding your eyes behind your fringe. “I don’t… have a boyfriend.”

Eren raised an eyebrow, lying his chin on his palm as he rested his elbow on the table. The way he stared at you made your stomach flip, and he reciprocated with nothing but a hum, tapping a finger to his cheek. His tiny smile held a thousand meanings.

You hurriedly took a sip of your coffee. “I, uh, I had some free time today and it’s my favorite movie franchise so I just had to see how it ended. But all my friends have seen it, so…”

“They didn’t invite you?”

“They did. I was just busy with work.”

His voice dropped an octave lower. “And they didn’t wait for you.”

“It’s—” Your chest tightened. “It’s fine, really. I mean, it would only make me feel bad if they waited for me. My schedule is crazy. I haven’t been sleeping properly for three days because of my deadlines.”

“Yeah, I noticed that.” He chuckled and you noticed how his teeth were a little jagged. “I could still smell your drool on my shirt, actually.”

“Oh, God,” you spluttered. “I’m—Please let me wash it for you.”

“And you expect me to walk home half-naked?” His naughty eyebrow raise made your skin tingle. “Or are you inviting me to stay over?” Seeing you part your mouth but lost for words, Eren tittered. “I’m kidding. I would’ve waited for you, though. To see that movie together, I mean. No matter how busy you were, I would. And even if I had watched it first, I wouldn’t mind watching it with you again.”

You shook your head, both in an attempt to disagree with his words and to erase your bashfulness away. “But that would be a waste of money—”

“That wouldn’t be a waste, and you know why?” He leaned closer, body almost halfway through the table. “Because for me, it’s never about the movie. It’s about watching it together with you. About us complaining about the plot holes, talking about the bad acting, laughing at each other when something reminds us of one of our inside jokes. That’s what makes it worth it.” As Eren realized how your eyes were locked with his, your breath hitching in your throat with the sudden proximity, he quickly plummeted back to his seat, flushed. “I mean, it applies to everyone—not you, specifically.”

So he could be shy, you concluded in your mind. And what else could he be? Maybe buried underneath those impish grins, laid a caring heart. Maybe he could be the one who’d understand when you missed three of his calls as you tried to survive your deadlines. Maybe he would cook you breakfast instead of just reminding you to take one. Maybe he could taste sweeter than any boy you’d ever kissed.

So when his curiosity for you matched the intensity you had towards him, you let your walls crumble, welcoming him with open arms.

***

“It’s going to rain,” Eren mentioned, eyes observing the night sky. Dark clouds rumbled deeply as they hovered above you, giving an ominous feeling. You were walking next to him, knuckles nearly grazing one another from how near you were though none of you was brave enough to close the distance.

Although obvious, you decided to humor him. “Yeah? How can you tell?”

“‘Cause I’m psychic.” The added wink at the end was a bonus but to you, it became the main reason why you had to drag your gaze to your feet. Funny how for the past three hours, your smile never faded away–almost to the point that your cheekbones began to hurt–when you could barely remember the last time you found amusement in anything.

“Are you cold?” he asked, and you promptly shook your head no. Unfortunately for you, your body betrayed you. Eren chuckled softly when he noticed the shivers that ran through your spine. “Want me to lend you my jacket?”

“Oh—no, it’s fine, I’m—”

“It was a rhetorical question, dummy.” The body heat that was imprinted on his black leather jacket made you feel well aware of just how warm he actually was. The scent of his bergamot perfume was overwhelmingly delightful, but there was another scent underneath it; something that reminded you of summer, sunlight, and sandalwood which made you wonder, maybe, if he wasn’t wearing this perfume, he’d smell just like this.

He pushed your hair away from your collar, straightening the jacket until it enveloped you entirely with its warmth. “Better?”  

You eventually managed to snap yourself out of your reverie. “Were you always this smooth with women?”

“No, I just practiced in front of my mirror a lot.”

“Practiced what?”

He wiggled his eyebrows. “The art of seduction.”

“Is that so?” Your cheeks began to warm but it was probably because of the jacket. “Guess I should try that sometimes,” you joked.

“I don’t think you need it,” he cooed, bending himself down a little so you were eye-to-eye. “You already have me wrapped around your fingers from the second I laid my eyes on you.” When you turned petrified by his words, his laughter reverberated through the air. “Now, that’s an example. How did I do?”

Ignoring your racing heart, you retorted, “Terrible.”

“Then will you let me practice on you so I can get better?”

Just like that, you found yourself sporting another smile. “Now, that was smooth.”

Life had been dull, with you repeating the same routines over and over again. Your job had taken up most of your precious hours. Being with Eren was a breath of fresh air. A stranger who was attentive to every little gesture you made, every little word that escaped your mouth, as much as he easily stole your attention away. His confidence was inspiring, his laughter was contagious, and you adored every little bit of his quirkiness. Once you opened yourself to him, Eren burst in like fireworks, painting a million shades of colors on your monochromatic world.

“This feels like a date,” he said, smiling diffidently to himself. “Would it be okay for me to think of it as a date?”

Suddenly, your vocabulary had diminished into nothing but his name. You nodded, and surprisingly enough for you, Eren snickered, hand reaching out to playfully—almost childishly—ruffle your strands. “Thanks. Then a date it is.”

You wished time could go slower so you could savor the moment, memorizing the heart shape of his lips when he grinned.

You stopped in front of your apartment building, a breeze of cold night wind caressing your cheeks. “Umm, this is me,” you announced stiffly, dismantling his jacket from your body. “Thank you�� for this.”

Eren’s fingertips grazed against your knuckles and it took longer than necessary for him to retrieve it from your hand. “You’re welcome.”

“And also…” Your mind strayed away from forming the right words as you watched him wear back his jacket, how it fitted him so perfectly, how effortlessly handsome he looked in a simple white tee and a pair of dark jeans. “Umm, thank you for walking me home.”

“Thank you for giving me the chance.” His smile reminded you of spring, your favorite season, the way it blossomed on his face, so warm and beautiful. “I could’ve been a serial killer, you know. Showing me where you live isn’t too smart.”

“You don’t look like a serial killer to me.”

“Yeah?” The same angelic smile turned devilish. “Then, how do I look like to you?”

You were fast to pivot on your heels. “It’s late. I should go.”

His laughter filled the air. “Wait, you haven’t said good night yet.”

“Then good ni—“ Your word died on your tongue when a pair of plump lips found their way to your cheek. They only lightly brushed against your skin but they stole your entire breath away as if he was tasting your mouth. He retraced his steps before you could respond properly, biting the corner of his lip as uncertainty filled his eyes. 

“Sorry if that’s—“ Eren cleared his throat. He was visibly worried, afraid that he might have gone too fast and too far. “Umm, good night.”

You felt lightheaded, and you shortly blamed it on the amount of espresso you’d gulped too much during the day. “Good night…”

Eren was too timorous to meet your eyes, which was why you were brave enough to sneak a glimpse at his face. You decided that his sly, confident grin looked alluring on his face, but they were nothing compared to how adorable he seemed when he evinced that nervous, shy look on his face.

It took a few seconds before he gave you a meek nod and walked away, taking the same direction from where you came. Something queasy grew inside your stomach, your grip around your purse tightened. Is it all there is? Am I never going to see him again? With a heavy sigh, you walked toward your building.

Maybe he doesn’t like me that much, you continued to ponder. But what do I do now? I still want to see him. I don’t want to let him go without knowing whether I could see him again.

God, for once, just do something for yourself. You clenched your jaw, reprimanding yourself. Do something that makes you happy! Be brave!

Taking a deep breath, you chose to gamble.

At the same time you turned on your heels, shouting his name, Eren was calling upon yours and you both met each other halfway, breathless when it didn’t even take you more than twenty steps to reach one another.

“H-hi,” you greeted, voice quivering but not as much as the fingers you curled around the hem of your blouse.

“Hey.” Eren’s gaze softened. “I was wondering—”

“Can we meet again?” You didn’t intend to cut him off so abruptly, but the anxiety within you nearly made your heart burst that you ended up asking the question without waiting for him to finish his. “I—I mean—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt—”

“Yes, a thousand times yes,” he answered in one breath, with his sentence ending in chuckles. “God, you’re so adorable, do you know that?”

Your heart was still about to burst but for an entirely different reason. “That’s…” You tucked a loose strand of your hair behind your ear—a habit that seemed to appear whenever you were too embarrassed to function. “That’s great. I mean, the fact that you want to see me again, not about you calling me adorable, I—” Oh, God, okay, stop. “I guess I should leave now…”

He concealed his grin. “Aren’t you going to ask for my number or something?”

You mentally slapped yourself. “Y-yes, that would make it easier.”

The way Eren was gazing at you made you feel like you were about to fall from the edge of your seat. He must think I’m an idiot. But had you been brave enough to see the gleam in his eyes, you would’ve noticed how he was staring at you so adoringly. “Give me your phone then.” When you just stood still, too busy trying to comprehend that a cute boy was really going to give you his number, Eren added, “To add my numbers, Sweetheart. What, do I look like someone who flirts with pretty girls just to steal their phones away?”

“I wasn’t—” You quickly handed him your phone. “Here.”

Eren’s smile grew playful again. “Care to make it interesting?”

“What?”

“I’ll add my numbers except for the last digit. You gotta guess it.”

“What? Why—”

“Because you’re cute,” he repeated, cocking his head as he returned your phone. “And it makes me want to tease you even more.” You unconsciously began to pout and he nearly whimpered at the sight. “Don’t do that, that’s not fair.”

You mumbled quietly, “I don’t like being made fun of.”

“I’m not making fun of you, I’m teasing you. There’s a difference.” He sighed, fingertips aching to reach out and swat your bangs away from your eyes. “A huge difference.”

You jutted out your bottom lip. “Feels the same to me.”

Eren leaned in, his calloused palm finding its way to cup your cheek, lifting your face so the streetlight could illuminate your features. “You need to wash that pout away,” he whispered, eyes slowly drifting down to your lips that you had to remind yourself to breathe. “Or else I won’t be able to hold myself back.”

It was supposed to be just another attempt at teasing you. You knew he only meant it that way. But all traces of playfulness quickly vanished from his face when he noticed your eyes shifting to his lips—just for a split second—but that was enough. He saw the sign, he felt the chemistry, and there was no way he was going to let it pass just like that. Not when he had been thinking the same thing repeatedly for the last three hours you’d spent together.

It wasn’t your first kiss—nor your second or third—but it was the kiss that mattered and you weren’t sure why. Three hours ago, he was a stranger. Now, he sent a trickle of electricity coursing through your bloodstream, as if he was your first love. As if you had been wanting him for years.

A gentle rain began to pour over your heads, tiny droplets staining your cheeks but all you could think about was the way his thumb was caressing your cheekbone, how his lips were warmer and softer than anything you could have imagined, yet fierce and powerful at the same time.

“Am I going too fast?” He asked in a broken whisper, parting away just enough to murmur the question but close enough that you could still feel his words grazing your lips.

“Yes.” But you curled your fingers on the front of his shirt, tugging him closer. Eren sighed into your mouth, eyebrows furrowing as he let himself drown deeper in passion. What started as a chaste kiss became ardent, and you allowed him to taste you enough so that he would fall asleep thinking about your lips. Eren took a hold of your wrist, detaching your grip from his fabric, and moved it up, silently telling you to wind your arms around his neck instead. The second you did it, he melded his lips with yours in a passion that matched the blazing sun, entangling his long arms around your waist, nearly lifting you off your feet as he embraced you tighter.

You wanted to preserve this moment. Right here, kissing fervidly under the soft rain in the arms of a stranger, drowned in the feelings of excitement. Because if you were oxygen, then Eren was dying to breathe.

When it ended, you wished it didn’t have to. Eren’s eyes were heavy and intense as they peered into yours, growing a bit half-lidded when he shifted them back to your lips. “Hey…”

You mirrored his gentle smile, forehead pressing against his. “Hi…”

“I don’t know about you,” he chuckled deeply. “But as far as first kisses go, I think that was the best one the world has ever known.”

You tried to suppress your laughter but failed instantly. “Ren?”

He loved how you were bold enough to call him that way. The way his name rolled off your tongue… It was like you were playing on his heartstrings. “Yeah?”

“Judging from that line, I think you need to practice harder on your art of seduction.”

He pulled you in again, exchanging muffled giggles between playful kisses. “Let’s just go back to kissing for now. I like kissing.”

And if happiness had a form, it would’ve had his smile.

***

It’s almost laughable that the memories that once sparked so much joy in his heart have taken the shape of a javelin, striking him deep in his chest, right where he ached for you the most. It tasted like summer when he kissed you in the rain, and the pain that swells in Eren’s heart whenever the memory of it resurfaces is harder than the storm. And now, it’s the silence of the room—the absence of your presence—that pierces like a dagger through his skin.

But what am I now? What am I now?

What if I’m someone I don’t want around?

I’m falling again. I’m falling again.

I’m falling.

It was easy for him to fall in love with you. So easy, it frightened him at first. After his first relationship, the way his first love shed his heart to pieces, he thought he wouldn’t be able to love someone ever again. Wouldn’t have the courage to even try. But when you came into the picture, Eren didn’t even have the strength to resist. You were everything he ever wanted, an epitome of the woman that graced his dreams. And he was a prisoner, trapped under your spell.

So, why does everything have to end like this?

Now that he’s falling without you catching him, what is he going to do?

He hates who he’s become. He loathes the fact that he can no longer smile as easily as he used to. He despises how grimly he envisions the world these days. As if you were his entire future, and now that you’re gone, his whole world collapses. Eren no longer knows himself as you were the one who defines him. The one who gave meaning to his life. The one who mended his broken heart.

What if I’m down? What if I’m out?

What if I’m someone you won’t talk about?

I’m falling again. I’m falling again.

I’m falling.

You must hate me now, Eren muses, bringing his arm over his face, nibbling at the corner of his lip. The things I said… How I let you go without even giving us a chance… I must have hurt you…

“I’m sorry.”

***

It all began that night, on the day of your twenty-sixth birthday. Two years had passed since you shared your first kiss. Little fights over your differences couldn’t be avoided, but they helped nurture the bond you had with him, making it stronger. And each forgiveness was sincere and rich in kisses. Eren always made sure of that.

As you were fond of movies, your perfect date must involve watching a movie together with him so Eren, dressed unusually handsomely in a white button-down shirt, a pair of black khakis, and a matching black blazer that caught you off guard, took you out to the movie theater—the place where fate once meddled in and brought you to one another.

Knowing your taste, he paid two tickets to see the latest romantic movie, two buckets of salt caramel popcorns, and a coke for him but iced green tea for you, realizing full well how soda had become one of your biggest enemies ever since your diet started. He made sure that your seats were located on the corner top of the theater, private enough for him to snuggle close to you or steal kisses whenever he felt like doing it. You didn’t mind because Eren would only kiss you when you seemed bored, never wanting to bother you when you were too immersed in the movie. He simply kept his hand laced with yours the whole time to make up for the loss.

Complaining about the plot holes and making jokes that only you two could understand had become his habit to keep you entertained during the movie and it was something you always looked forward to. But that night, he was quiet, his eyebrows creasing in irritation but because of what, you were clueless.

“Are you okay?” You asked as you exited the building, this time being the one who reached out for his hand first. Eren stiffened but his shoulders soon relaxed as he intertwined your fingers together.

“I’m fine,” he assured, though his grin never reached his eyes. “Why, do I not look fine?”

You weakly smiled back, uncertain. “You just seem awfully quiet, that’s all.”

He rubbed his nape, somehow looking a bit perturbed. “I just… It made me remember something I’ve been trying my best to forget.”

“You mean the movie?”

“Yeah.” He sighed into the night, puffs of hot air erupting from his slightly chapped lips. “I don’t know about you, but I think the way the movie depicted their long-distance relationship is just bullshit.”

There was so much bitterness in his words that it nearly made you stop walking. Suddenly, there was a thick tension shrouding you, one that made you feel aware that it would be wiser to drop the conversation. But curiosity was eating you from the inside, gnawing like a starving wolf. He looked so crushed, so angry, and Eren was turning into a whole other person before you.

You asked him what happened.

“I don’t think I want to talk about my past relationship when I’m celebrating a special night with my girlfriend.” He forced himself to laugh about it, but it sounded hollow.

You unconsciously tightened your grip around his hand. “I just wanted to understand you better.”

“Hey.” He pulled you toward him so abruptly that you ended up falling on his chest. His smile was warmer when he looked at you. “Even without knowing about my past, you already understand me better than anyone.”

You were still unsettled when Eren kissed your lips to divert your attention, softly biting your lower one just to joke around to ease the tension. “Ah, I can’t wait until we’re home,” he whispered when all laughter had receded, his fingers tucking your loose strands behind your ear. “I want to make love to you.”

Your heart beat thunderously inside your chest. “You’re—you’re just gonna say it so blatantly like that?” He used to be so shy about it, asking you to join him in bed by pressing open-mouthed kisses down your neck instead of using words.

“Just wanted you to know my plans beforehand,” he simpered. “Or do you not want to?”

Face aflame, you hurriedly took a couple of strides forward, leading the way with your hand clamping his wrist. “Where are we going?” Eren frowned but followed you nonetheless. “The restaurant is right there. Our reservation is in ten minutes.”

“We can have dinner after.” You threw a look over your shoulder, too nervous to smile, but you hoped your words would deliver. “We’re going to make love, aren't we?”

His astonished look soon turned delicate. Eren’s smiles were always beautiful, but the ones that were caused by you were the brightest. 

As soon as the door clicked open, Eren half-pushed, half-carried you inside his apartment that smelled pleasantly like him. He didn’t wait until it was properly closed before he latched his parted lips on your softer ones, fusing perfectly in the way no one ever could. You tore your own coat away before you pushed his blazer off his shoulders, and he let it slide down to the floor as you struggled with his buttons. He kicked off his shoes, his giggles muffled by your lips when he almost tripped from taking off his socks.

With his shirt now pooling around his elbows, Eren drove you to the wall. A stinging pain erupted from the back of your head as he did it too hard, not knowing his own strength, but when you groaned against his mouth, it was solely because you needed him as much as he needed you.

“I love you,” he breathlessly said against your neck, fingers dancing up your thigh and slipping underneath your dress. “I love you so much, it’s insane.”

It had been a few months since you first exchanged the sacred three words, but no matter how much Eren had whispered them in your ears and painted them to your skin with his lips, it still felt like it was the first time you heard him say the words. It wasn’t just because of how many promises he held underneath them, it was the way he said them—so sincerely, so desperately, as if you were running out of time and he needed you to hear them before you disappeared from his life.

“I—” You flinched, pulling him for another kiss again when Eren hooked his fingers on the side of your lingerie, hastily pushing it down your legs. “I love you too.”

The bed was not more than twenty steps away but it was long forgotten when Eren, still with his teeth ghosting across your lower lip, hastily unzipped himself and pushed his pants and briefs lower enough for your hand to find and stroke him to life. “God, baby,” he hissed when you curled your fingers around him, hot breath caressing your jawline. “I want—I need to be inside you—just—Ah, now, please, I need it.”

No one had ever wanted you the way he did. Every kiss was nearly bruising, every hug was almost suffocating, the thrill of it all was overwhelming. 

It was almost a whine that escaped his lips when he vocalized your name. As soon as his desperate gasp and pleading moan reached your ears, the butterflies came alive in your stomach. Your skin tingled even with the lightest brush of his lips. Your fingers found home in his hair when he kissed the valley between your breasts, tugging at his soft strands and earning a low grunt in response.

You gave him a sign, affirming that it was okay for him to continue and Eren wasted no time. He lifted you up the wall, your shocked yelp cut short by his lips on yours. His hand slid along your thigh as your legs circled his waist, his hips pressing firmly into yours to pin you harder. “Ah, Ren—” Your gasp turned louder when he adjusted you higher, angling so that his hardness pressed right against the wetness of your folds, the friction setting your nerves alight. 

Pushing the fabric of your dress as much as he could until it pooled around your waist, he shifted one hand to prop up your thigh, the other one aligning his tip against your entrance. He teased the head of his cock against your lips, the glide coursing waves of bliss through both of you. “Wet…” He spoke sotto voce, his breathing tattered at the sensation of your slick coating his tip. He repeatedly pressed it into your clit at an even, steady pace that had you floating and whining.

“You want me?” He asked breathlessly, his eyes having the hardest time tearing themselves away from your lips but they managed. “Tell me you want me…”

Eren needed confirmation. It wasn’t to feed his ego, nor to build on his self-esteem. He needed you to say it so he knew it was real. That someone as perfect as you were wanted him just as much as he wanted you. That he wasn’t the only one with his sanity deteriorating. That your feelings were just as intense.

“I want you,” you breathed out. Winding your arms around his neck, your fingers carded through his hair, accidentally unfastening his hair tie before they scratched his nape. “I want no one else but you—Ah!”

The friction made you moan, both in pain and passion, as Eren slid himself in one swift motion. The second he was sheathed deep inside, waiting for you to adjust to his size, he drew out a long sigh, eyes shut close as he relished the sensation. But when your gaze met, his half-lidded eyes were gentler than they had been the entire day. 

Careful fingers framed your face, his thumb rubbing comforting circles along your cheekbone. “You okay?”

You weakly nodded, smiling sheepishly. “Are you?”

His chuckles were light and bashful. “I’m feeling great,” he said. He moved his hips without warning, just a little, not too fast, not too deep, but the sensation was enough to make you whimper and Eren swallowed every little noise you made directly with his lips. For every movement, he shoved you up and down the wall, your hair mussing and clumping against the surface. The fabric of his shirt slid down his shoulders in languid fragments, slowly revealing his lean back muscles into which you dig your fingertips. 

A certain thrust made you squeeze around him and he drowned out his moan by mouthing against your shoulder, teeth prickling against the skin. “Fuck, do that again, baby, please.” And as he continued hitting the same spot, it was a given that you provided him with the same reaction.

Eren was insanely good at making you feel good, and in return, you wanted to give him everything that he desired. “I love how you feel around me,” he confessed under his breath as if he was talking to himself. “Perfect—you’re so perfect for me—”

Your arms were frantically clutching around his neck, trying to maintain stability as you fought against gravity. He buried himself deeper, snapped his hips into you with isolated precision, fucking you harder, and kissed you with the desperation of a dying man.

You tried to hold back but you couldn’t. It was too much. His breathless moans in your ear, the frantic sway of his hips, the closeness of your bodies—everything was overwhelming and you came hard on his length, legs wrapping tightly around his waist as Eren chased after your lips. 

“Fuck,” he breathed heavily, his jaw hung low. The way you quivered and clenched around him sent fire through his veins. “Did you just come?” he whispered and you bit your lip in shame. The tiny laugh that broke free from his lips was both playful and filled with tenderness. “Already? That was fast.”

Flustered but not given the chance to react, you inhaled sharply when he picked up the pace. He was almost growling when his lips grazed against the shell of your ear. “Actually, me too,” he moaned, “Baby—fuck–can I come inside?”

“Yes.” You embraced him tighter. “Please, come inside me–ah, Ren–” 

“Shit, I’m coming–” He buried his head in the crook of your neck, hips stuttering as he came.

When he let you slide down to your feet, your knees gave out under your weight and you stumbled back to his chest. He held you close, chortling as he kissed the top of your head. “I’m sorry, come here.” Bending down slightly, Eren hooked one arm under your knees and another one behind your back. He carried you in his arms, teasing, “Fucked you so good, you could barely stand, huh?”

Unable to deny it, you playfully slapped his chest. “Shut up.”

But all of his mischievousness dissipated as soon as you both slipped under the duvet, his bedsheets felt silky smooth under your spine. He cleaned the stain that dripped down your thighs with a warm towel, but dipped his head down to taste you directly with his tongue the second he was finished with it. Eren’s eyes never left yours, placing gentle kisses on the inner sides of your thighs and two more on your clit before he slid his tongue along your folds, slowly, as if he had the whole time in the world to please you.

He was always gentler the second time, slower with more feelings instead of sheer passion. So when he slid himself into you again, his forehead was pressed against yours, lips curving up into an innocent smile. “I never want to let you go,” he confessed between faint moans. “I want to stay just like this with you, forever.”

“I don’t think that’s physically possible,” you giggled, raking your nails down his spine and he arched his back in response. 

“Wouldn’t it be great if we could stay connected like this all the time, though?” Eren broke away, sitting on his heels as he rested one of your legs on his shoulder. His fingers were kneading the skin of your thigh, hugging your leg close to his chest as he rocked his hips slowly, savoring every moment. “I mean—ah, God, baby—doesn’t this feel good?”

You nibbled at your lip, sighing. Good was an understatement but you weren’t sure you could find a term to perfectly define how amazing he felt around you. “It feels like you’re made just for me,” Eren said and you couldn’t have phrased it better.

From where you laid on the bed, you could take a good look at Eren’s viridian eyes—the way they drooped slightly, clouded with both affection and infatuation every time they met yours. How the muscles in his abs were flexing with every movement. The sinful, obscene sway of his hips. The little smirk that broke on his face when you accidentally moaned his name too loud—Eren was… Beautiful. Irresistible. Sensual. 

“Baby?” Eren called, chuckling softly as he peppered open-mouthed kisses to your ankle that made you stare in a haze. “You okay down there?”

You pursed your lips. “Just enjoying the view.”

“Yeah?” He brought your leg down so he could fall back into your arms, his mouth meeting your jawline before he landed a peck on the tip of your nose. “Well, I’ve got something else you could also enjoy.”

You hummed, trying your best to contain your whimper when he suddenly brought his fingers down to rub against your clit. “And what’s that?” Though the way he slammed his hips harder against yours served as an obvious answer.

“Some caramel puddings,” he replied, nipping against your neck as he grinned, careful enough not to leave any marks as you had an important meeting with your executives tomorrow. “They’re in the fridge. You’ll love them.”

It was hard to focus when he kept hitting the spot that made you curl your toes. “Eren…” You pushed a stray lock of his long hair behind his ear before you caressed his cheek. “I love you.”

His movements stopped. You both might have exchanged the same words three or four times today, but he was always the one who uttered them first. Eren melted into a smile, one that was softer than the breath of summer. “I love you too.” His lips never left yours as they spoke each loving word with more sentimentality and less urgency. “Happy birthday, baby…”

You closed your eyes, indulging in the soft sense of his warmth, and during that moment, your heart, your soul, and your mind, they formed the same words. 

Ah, so this is what happiness feels like.

***

“Ren?”

“Hmm?”

Both of you no longer had the strength to do anything but cuddle in each other’s arms. As Eren wallowed in the sweet moment of silence where your breath sounded like a soothing lullaby in his ears, you gathered the courage to ask once more. “I still want to know, after all. About what happened to you earlier, I mean. You looked so distraught… I can’t rest before I know what upset you.”

He stiffened, his fingers stopped momentarily from stroking your strands. With a sense of weariness filling his eyes, he surrendered.

It was his first relationship with his first love, back when he was fifteen. They were together for four years but knew each other for ten. She was a close friend that grew into something more. Even loving words didn’t need to be exchanged as they could practically finish each other’s thoughts. You felt a pang of jealousy gnawing at you from the inside, at the thought of him having someone so important in his life—someone who had stayed with him longer than you’d met him—someone whose name couldn’t be spoken as it triggered too many emotions.

But for the sake of understanding him, you cast your jealousy aside, no matter how much it lit your body on fire.

Eren’s voice had lost its usual cheeriness when he reminisced about his past. By the time they graduated high school, she decided to continue her study in another country. Eren let her go, supporting her plans and dreams like the perfect boyfriend that he was. They were committed to each other, faithful to one another. Eren never doubted her, not even once.

Until one day, during the summer break of their first year of separation, he decided to pay her a visit. He bought airplane tickets with the money he’d saved up for months, along with a thoughtful gift for her birthday. But the second he saw her opening the door to her apartment, he realized that she wasn’t alone.

She was never alone. He was.

“Why are you here?” She asked as if his presence was a bother. Him, the man whom she claimed she’d loved with her entire soul for the last four years. The man whom she had made love to on his bed just six months earlier. Eren would never forget the look she had on her face that day.

“It’s funny how you’ve been with this person your whole life,” Eren said, his words laced with venom as he kept his gaze fixated on the ceiling. “And you thought you knew them like the back of your hand and then one day, they betrayed you in the way you thought they were incapable of doing.”

You couldn’t find your voice, blending in with the silence of the room.

But he didn’t hate her, Eren confessed. He hated himself. He hated how stupid—how innocent and gullible he was. He hated how easily he had let someone else carry his heart around and let them do whatever they wanted with it. He knew that she wouldn’t have the power to destroy him if he had never given her the chance. Maybe, if his thoughts weren’t as clouded by his feelings, he would’ve noticed the little sighs she made whenever he told her he loved her. He would’ve noticed the way she sounded much brighter when she talked about her life instead of their lives together during their late-night calls. He would’ve noticed how distant she sounded whenever she spoke his name as if it was just another meaningless word and not the one that she used to murmur in short gasps near his ear.

And maybe if I hadn’t fallen in love…

Eren fell mute for a few seconds as if he was being drifted to another time and space. The hurting look on his face was so vivid that it broke you apart just by seeing it. Attempting to wash the pain away, you placed a hand on his cheek and Eren grew rigid before he discovered the strength to smile.

“I had to stay for a whole week in a country I didn’t know because I couldn’t refund my ticket,” he said, leaning into your touch. “All alone, since my girlfriend cheated on me and didn’t even care to apologize about it.” He snorted, still sounding bitter but his taut muscles had grown loose. “So yeah, I probably have some trust issues now because of that.” He tried to conceal the pain behind his laughter. “But it’s all right. I don’t care. I have you now, right?” He laid on his side, facing you with a boyish smile that made your heart race just a little bit faster. “I’m starting on a new page with you. And as long as you’re here with me, I’m the happiest man in the world.”

You reflected his smile though your heart was still left unsettled. “You’re lame.”

“Excuse me, I’m in love,” he corrected, pouting. But when his hand found yours, his expression grew tender again. Kissing each of your fingertips, he murmured, “We’ll always be together, right? Promise you won’t do that to me.”

“I will never cheat on you, Ren.”

“No, it’s not just that.” He gazed deep into your eyes. “Promise me you won’t leave me. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He knew what loving you could cost him, but you were different. And he was different. He wouldn’t fall into the same trap. He knew how to protect himself this time. So he allowed himself to love you just as much, if not more, moving on but never forgetting.

Your eyes were focusing on the way he brought your index finger between his lips, your digit pressing against his hot tongue. “Yes,” you softly whispered, hooking a finger around his silver necklace, and pulling him in for a kiss. “We’ll always be together.”

“Forever?”

“Forever.”

***

Your forever did not last long.

When you received a job promotion a year later, you didn’t know what to say to him. It was your dream job, finally achieving that position after practically hanging on for dear life for five years working in the company. The salary exceeded your expectation, and you would be working under a senior that you admired. The company would pay for all your living expenses and give you your own flat to live in with a balcony where you could see the sun rising behind the skyscrapers. It all sounded so perfect. Too perfect.

Except for the part where you had to move to another country that stood three thousand miles away from where he was.

You knew you should’ve said something to Eren the first time your director broke the news to you. But you couldn’t as you didn’t know how. During the three years of your relationship, both of you had avoided talking about matters that could lead to fights, only allowing yourselves to discuss trivial, mundane things that would make the other pout in annoyance but not fury. The first time you noticed this happened was when both of you became too busy dealing with your own lives. You had your job to think about, while Eren had his thesis to work on and there wasn’t much time to focus on each other even when you were staying in the same apartment.

Eren often released his stress by nuzzling his nose against the side of your neck, pulling you into his lap, whispering, “I miss you,” and you reciprocated each time with a kiss. But you always stopped before it got too much with you patting his cheek, apologizing to him using both your words and your gaze. “I’m sorry, Ren, but I have a Zoom meeting in an hour. I really need to get my presentation done.”

He just sighed, pressing a tiny kiss between your eyebrows. “Well then, I’m gonna go catch some sleep. Don’t work too hard.”

And as he walked to the bedroom, closing the door behind him and leaving you alone in his living room, you realized the distance that grew between you. He used to look back, peek his head through the door, saying, “Would it really kill you to just join me for, like, fifteen minutes? I’ll be fast, I swear,” which you would answer with a laugh, assuming he was joking. “Why are you laughing? I’m serious!”

But now, he doesn’t even stop to say good night.

You knew you could fix it. He knew he could fix it too. But none of you ever said anything about it, afraid that it would trigger something bigger that neither of you would be able to mend.

It didn’t mean that you didn’t try. Every weekend, you would commit yourself fully to him and Eren would accept your unspoken apology with all his heart. You once attempted to drop some clues about your promotion during dinner when he made you your favorite dish, grinning from ear-to-ear as he waited for your reaction. Eren’s Spaghetti Aglio e Olio never disappointed you, but you know your words would. So when he was smiling at you, his thumb gliding along your knuckles as he took your hand in his, how could you tell him? 

I just need more time to prepare myself. To find a better way to explain.

But before you could find your words, Eren found your promotion letter.

“What is this?” He asked to your horror, body leaning against the doorframe, your letter in his hand.

The maroon dress you were trying to fold fell from your lap as you stood up abruptly, eyes widening in shock. “That’s—where did you get—”

“What is this?”

You turned rigid. The weight in his tone was terrifying. “It’s… My promotion letter.”

“Are you planning to tell me about it?” He wasn’t shouting, didn’t even raise his voice, but to your ears, his voice was thunderous.  

You fidgeted, fingers fisting the hemline of your shirt, desperate for comfort. “Of course, I—” But there were no words. Your brain was too jumbled to find a proper excuse because you knew, he didn’t wish to hear one. 

Eren didn’t want to repeat himself. His heart was already breaking. He just lowered his gaze, emerald eyes turning darker and colder. Then he left the room without a word. 

“Eren.” You followed after him, legs turning frail underneath your weight. “Eren, please, can we talk?”

He only stopped in his tracks when you grasped his wrist. “Did you say yes to this?” He turned around to face you, raising the letter he gripped so tightly in his hand. His voice was quiet, eerily so, that it sent shivers down your spine.

Your heart was somewhere in your stomach. “I was—”

“Yes or no?”

He only allowed you to choose, not explain. With a deep breath, you mumbled out, “Yes.”

There was a moment of silence where you could only hear your stuttered breathing but none of his. “Three months,” he murmured, voice deep and hoarse that you barely recognized. “The letter is three months old. You had all this time to tell me.”

Panic rose quickly in your chest. “I know. I was going to tell you but—”

The rest of your words died instantly the second Eren slammed the letter on the dining table. Your breath caught in your throat at the sound. Had his fist met porcelains, he would’ve shattered everything to pieces with how forceful he was. 

Without another word, he stomped off to the front door, grabbing his coat with him.

“Wait!” You chased after his trails, knees wobbling. “Where are you—”

The door was shut with a bang.

No matter how many times you tried to call him, he never answered. The only thing you could do was stay in his apartment and wait until he came back to his senses. Now that you were alone in the living room, you began to notice just how many of your belongings were positioned in every corner of his apartment. Your toothbrush was next to his, your clothes were hanging inside his wardrobe, your favorite books were on his shelf, and the walls were painted with more photographs of you than his own. In every picture, you could see yourself smiling in his arms, laughing at something he did or said because that was it, wasn’t it? Eren was the source of your happiness. He was the only one who could make you smile so freely without a care in the world.

So why are we in this position now?

It was your first big fight and you had no one else to blame but yourself. Hours had passed by and tears began to well from how frustrated you were with yourself, but the front door flung open before they could outline your cheeks.

“Ren,” you called out, your heart ruptured at the sound of his name. Eren’s hair was ruffled by the wind, his bun turning messier than ever. His nose and cheeks were bitten by the cold night air, turning scarlet. His hands were inside the pockets of his coat, his eyes glazed by his temper as he kicked his shoes away. He walked past you as if you weren’t there, heading straight to the bedroom.

Judging from the scent and his slightly unfocused eyes, you knew he had been drinking. “Are you okay?”

No answer. He took his coat off, throwing it on the bed along with his phone which was clearly functional as always. You had expected him to dismiss your calls, but it still hurt being ignored.

With your eyebrows knitted in concern, you went to the kitchen to make him a cup of coffee, hoping that a little caffeine would ease the tension as it was something you were both fond of. You stopped to catch your breath, noticing that it was already two in the morning.

What should I do?

“Eren…” You carefully began, voice quieter than usual as you walked into the bedroom and closed the door behind you. “I’ve made you some coffee. It’ll help warm you up.”

Your lover was sitting at the edge of the bed, his phone between his hands, blatantly ignoring you.

“Can we…” You hesitated, fingers curling into tiny balls of fists. “Can we talk?”

The silence was deafening.

“Ren—”

“What?!” He suddenly roared, making you take a step back, flinching. “What do you want to talk about?”

“I…” You swallowed your breath, your voice is as shaky as your fingers were. “I know you’re upset about me leaving and I’m sorry—”

“Oh, so now you want to talk about this? After I found out about your letter?” Eren didn’t wait for your response. “I can’t believe you’ve been keeping this a secret from me! What else are you not telling me?”

Heart plummeting to the ground, you timorously replied, “Nothing, just… I was going to tell you—”

“Yeah? When, exactly?” Eren stood up, throwing his phone to the bed. “When you’re about to go? When you’re about to disappear from my life just like her?”

Being put in the same position as the person who tore his heart to pieces was both sickening and infuriating. “Of course not, I won’t do that to you!” Your voice gradually turned louder, more frantic. “I won’t leave you—”

“But that’s all everybody fucking said!” He threw his hands in the air, eyes blazing with fury. “That’s what she said when—”

“Well, I’m not her!” The booming sound of your voice startled you both, but it grew weak in comparison when the eerie silence followed. “Eren, you can’t blame me for what she did. I’m not her. I’m not her replacement. Don’t compare me with her.”

For a moment, Eren’s lips were pressed tightly until they grew white. “I never compared you with her,” he said through gritted teeth, his husky voice thundered like a rainstorm. “Not until now when you’re doing the same thing, saying the exact same thing she said to me.”

You cowered slightly under his gaze. The sound of the ticking clock had never felt so loud when you fought for words to say. “I’m sorry for not telling you about this sooner.”

“I don’t need your apology,” he snapped back. “I don’t care.”

“It’s my dream job, Ren…” Your posture drooped, grave sadness written on your face. “I’ve been waiting my whole life to get this position–”

“Congratulations,” he scoffed, clenching his jaw. “I’m so glad you got what you wanted.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. His words hurt more than you thought they would. “You don’t have to force yourself to say words you don’t mean.”

He clicked his tongue in vexation. “Yeah, well, I would’ve meant them, if you had told me about this.”

“I wasn’t able to tell you because I thought you’d be upset about it—”

"I suppose postponing it until we’re counting days till your leave is going to make me feel fucking elated, isn’t that right, Sweetheart?” There had never been a day where you thought his adorable, warm laughter could turn into something so spiteful. “Let me guess. You’re leaving in like, what, a month?”

You rubbed your tears away before they fell. “Six weeks.”

“Oh, that makes everything so much better! Six weeks!” He cynically laughed, throwing his head back. “You know what? You’re right. I’m so happy. Never been this fucking happy in my whole goddamn life—”

“What do you want me to do?!” The frustration that welled inside your chest finally broke through your lips. “You want me to turn back time so I could tell you right after I heard the news three months ago?”

Eren averted his gaze, his hand going to his head, pulling at his hair roots. “I just don’t understand why if this is so important to you—and if I’m so important to you—why didn’t you talk this out with me? Don’t you care about what I think? About how I’d feel?”

Tears were running faster than you could wipe them off your cheeks. “I couldn’t find the right time to tell you.” You choked out. “ And you were so busy working on your final thesis too. I didn’t want to bother you—”

“That’s your excuse?!” he gasped in disbelief. “I don’t fucking care about my thesis. I care about you! And you knew how I felt about being in a long-distance relationship—"

“That was the reason why I was waiting for the right time until—“

“Until you can tell me that you’re leaving.” He sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose. “Look, I’m tired and we’re going in circles. Why are we even discussing this when you’ve made the decision all by yourself? This is pointless.”

Embittered, you asked, “Do you want me to choose between you and my career?”

“No. I don’t.” He finally looked into your eyes, and you could see how there was not as much anger as sadness that emerged behind his lenses. “But I’m making my own decision.” When you frowned in confusion, Eren looked away, staring at the wall that was filled with memories as he spoke. “I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”

“What?” It felt like the world was swallowing you whole. “What did you say?”

Exchanging stares with you, Eren appeared more weary than furious. “I just don’t see how this is going to work.”

For a moment, every cherished memory you shared with him fleeted across your eyes. Eren was standing before you, wearing the same clothes as he did on the night he spent embracing you on his bed, and yet right now, he felt like a stranger. He sounded like one, looking at you like you just betrayed him and drove a knife into his back.

“You’re drunk.” You reasoned out, both to calm him down and to wash the fear away from your chest. “You won’t be saying any of this if you were sober.”

“If that’s what helps you sleep at night, sure.” Both his eyes and his tone were glacial. “Go ahead and think that way. I don’t care.”

Dread was running through your veins, making you feel anxious about what was coming. “Wait,” you almost pleaded. “We need to talk about this.”

“I think we’ve talked enough.”

“Can’t we at least try—”

“I can’t.” The confession escaped his lips, and your facade shattered. Tears pooled in your eyes and his heart twisted as sadness washed over him too. His eyes finally spoke the true shape of his heart—how it was smashed apart, broken with neither of you being able to collect the pieces. He gazed at you as if it was you who was breaking up with him and not the other way around. “You know I can’t do this,” he said. “I don’t want to repeat the same mistakes. I don’t want to be that guy who constantly gets suspicious or overly protective of you because of my past. It won’t be fair to you.”

“I don’t care if you’re being unfair,” you replied shakily, “I just don’t want us to end what we have now.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.” His voice grew softer. “If we continue this, I know I’ll end up saying things I never meant to say. With three thousand miles between us, how often do you think we can see each other? With you being so busy with your new job, how often can we speak?” But the bitterness in his voice came alive when he added, “We could barely do that even when we were in the same room before.”

“It’s about that..?” Realization washed over you like a wave. “Why didn’t you say anything before?”

“Same reason as you,” he replied, “To keep our relationship the way it was. That’s what we always do, isn’t it? Pretending everything is fine when it’s not?”

A fresh swell of turmoil rose within you. “Eren, I’ve tried my best to spend time with you… I thought you’d understand that I have a job—”

“You’re right, but unlike you, I don’t.” Eren weakly smiled. “I don’t have anything going on with my life except you. I don’t even know if I can graduate college in time. But you’ve achieved so much. You’re only a few years older than me and yet you’ve already had everything figured out, and I admire you for that.” His words sounded sincere but they only tore your heart open even more. Eren walked closer, his fingers pushing the bangs out of your eyes like the way he used to do but it didn’t feel the same. Instead of giving you the comfort you needed, he only inflicted more pain. “You’re already perfect the way you are now. You don’t need me in your life.”

“No.” The desperation was so thick in your voice, that it made you wince but not in regret. “You’re wrong, you—There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t need you, Ren. I want you to stay with me. Come with me. We still have time.”

You don’t mean that. Eren brought his head down, unable to meet your eyes. If you did, you would’ve told me about this sooner. “And then what?” he sighed, sounding so tired. “What am I going to do if I come with you? I haven’t even finished my study yet, let alone have a job.”

“You can find one in—”

“In a country where I can’t even speak the language? I doubt it. I’m not gonna let you pay for my needs—”

“Then, I’ll make some time for you, I promise. Better this time.” Your fingernails were sinking into your palms from how tightly you curled them. “No matter how far we are from each other, I’ll call you every day.”

“I don’t want that.” His words were laced with frustration. “I don’t want you to force yourself to do something for me. And I don’t want to spend my nights imagining whether you’re spending yours with someone else.”

“You…” You were so quiet, you wondered if he could hear you properly. “You don’t trust me?”

But Eren shook his head, gaze softening. “I do. I just don’t trust myself.”

Your mind turned into a blank slate, unable to form a word. Eren’s breathing tattered a little when he exhaled, walking to his wardrobe to pick out some clothes. “I’m gonna go stay at Armin’s place for the weekend. Feel free to take out your stuff. Just drop the keys at the lobby when you’re finished.”

You stood still, icebound to the ground. It almost felt like a heart attack from the way your heart was hammering against your rib cages. “I don’t want to lose you,” you quietly professed, “I thought we could work this out…”

Eren’s movements were put to a halt just for a couple of seconds before he continued shoving his clothes down his bag. You stood on the side as he walked past you, his natural sandalwood scent had disappeared, buried under the amount of alcohol he’d consumed. 

“So, this is it…?” You fretted. “For us..?”

Eren stopped taking another stride, glancing at you from over his shoulder. “It’s better for both of us, don’t you think?”

But he didn’t wait to hear your answer.

***

When you dared to appear at his front door six weeks later, it was on the night before your departure. He hadn’t called, hadn’t sent you a single text. He was a ghost, living solely in your imagination. But knowing it was your last chance to see him, you gathered your courage and took the first step.

Eren was wearing the same navy blue knitted sweater that he wore the first time you told him you loved him. You remembered how startled he was back then, unsure of what to say as he was afraid to love someone else after knowing how it felt like to have his heart shattered to pieces. The words I love you were merely reciprocated with a small “Thank you” and an awkward hug to serve as a bandaid. As you laid in his arms later that night, you spent every second with your eyes closed but your thoughts awake, trying to figure out why won’t he say it back? 

You left for work early the next morning, your mind so distraught that you forgot to put some cream in your coffee. With one arm holding an umbrella over your head to protect you from the morning showers, you stepped outside with an anchor for a heart, bidding him farewell without having your smile reach your eyes.

Was it a mistake? You pondered. Should I have not told him? He didn’t look so happy about it…

Does he not… love me?

Before your eyes were misted with your tears, you heard your name being called. Turning around, you saw Eren chasing after you in the same knitted sweater, his hair still messy from sleep but soon to be drenched by the rain.

“Wait!” he shouted, breathlessly, both from running and the rush of adrenaline that pumped through his veins.

Your eyes turned wide in astonishment even when you failed to catch his words. “What—” You were about to run so you could shelter him from the rain, but he reached your spot faster than you could reach him. “Eren, what are you doing? Why didn’t you take an umbrella with you?” You dropped your handbag to the ground, not caring if it got wet from the rain as you focused more on the man who was shivering before you. You rubbed his arm up and down, providing him with warmth before you cupped his face. “Go back inside. You’re shivering.”

“I’m fine. I just have something to say before you go.” He broke into a tender smile, pressing his palm against the back of your hand. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it back last night. I was… I was afraid,” he admitted. “Being in love with someone means you’re giving your heart for them to hold or to crush and I didn’t want to go through that pain ever again but—” He stepped closer, his temple nearly touching yours as he brought his head down. “I love you. I want you to know that I love you too. I don’t want to lie to myself anymore. I don’t care what’s gonna happen in the future. I just love you, so much, that both my heart and my head feel like they’re going to burst.”

For a moment, you could only stare back, dumbstruck and in awe. Eren’s eyes shook as they searched yours, growing frantic when he couldn’t understand the feelings that churned inside you. “Say something, please?” He begged, cold fingers caressing your cheek. “Otherwise, I might have to crawl into a hole and die from shame.”

You chuckled lightly, overwhelmed by the sheer happiness that washed over you. “I love you too.”

He seemed so relieved, almost as much as you were, and he twisted his fingers around your strands, chasing after your lips. The kiss was sweeter than honey but knowing him, even the sweetest kiss emitted so much passion, it left you breathless.

“I’m sorry, I know you have to go to work,” he said, pushing you away just for a couple of seconds before his emotions defeated him once more. Your mouths collided yet again, a frenzied kiss that left your skin burning. “God, I know you have to go,” he whispered between needy kisses. “But just—one more—”

You let him. You let him kiss you as much as he wanted. You let him steal you away from the world as much as he pleased. After all, you were his. Body, mind, and soul, you offered everything to him.

When he finally had the strength to break apart from you, his eyes were conflicted. “Must you go?” His thumb caressed your cheek, and Eren wetted his already glistened lip as he stared at yours. “I want to be with you today.”

It didn’t matter that the two of you just spent the entire weekend together. No amount of time would be enough to satisfy your needs for each other’s touch. So you answered him with your lips meeting him in a frantic kiss, casting your umbrella aside. You didn’t care that it was cold, with big droplets of rain easily drenching you from head to toe because Eren was always ready to warm you up. 

“Then take me home, Ren.”

But you realized as he tugged you back into his arms, soft lips pressing against your temple, you were already home.

Now… That memory felt like a fantasy, one that you could only dream of having.

“I…” Standing right before him after six weeks of separation was so nerve-racking that you found yourself unable to meet his eyes. “I just wanted to get the books I left on your shelf.”

He didn’t say a word, only stepping to the side to give you some space to enter. His apartment still smelled delightfully like him, so familiar that it felt like you were coming home, but instead of suffusing your chest with joy, it only broke your heart even harder.  

“They’re in my room,” he said, all stern with no warmth like he used to have. Not our room anymore, only his. You nodded, making your way inside. When you closed the bedroom door behind you, hot tears were about to spill and you tried your best not to be suffocated with the memories of the nights you shared your feelings with him, bodies tangled underneath the sheets, lips carving marks on each other’s skins.

You couldn’t breathe.

By the time you managed to collect yourself, you came out of his room with two of your books in your hands while you left ten more on his shelf. You didn’t need any of them. It was only a poor excuse for you to see his face once more before you bid your final farewell.

“I made you some coffee,” he said, leaning against the kitchen counter. “It’s cold outside so…”

You timidly smiled. “Thank you.”

You used to spend hours chattering behind a few cups of coffee, talking about the things that mattered and things that didn’t because everything felt special when you shared them with someone you loved. But today, every sip of your coffee sounded louder than your voice as no words were shared.

You said you care

And you missed me too

And I’m well aware I write too many songs about you

“How are you?”

“I’m doing great,” he answered formally. It’s funny how he didn’t need spiteful words to hurt you. The absence of his affection in his sentences was more than enough to smother you.

“That’s good…” You tapped your fingers against the side of your mug. “Are you still writing lyrics for Armin’s songs these days?”

“No. I’ve been busy.”

“Oh… With your thesis?”

“Sure.”

Eren didn’t tell you the truth. He didn’t tell you how many notes had been written, scratched, and discarded just so he could deal with the thoughts of you. Didn’t tell you the words he wrote about your pretty eyes, your pretty smiles, your kindness, your passion, your everything. And how, despite his choice of leaving you, he still longed for them. Still loved them with all his heart.

The reason why he let you go was that he knew you would probably stay with him if he’d asked you to. He didn’t want you to have any regrets. Didn’t want you to choose him because you felt like you had no other way. Because when you love someone, truly, you’re ready to be cast aside for them to attain their happiness. You just happen to be walking on a different path, and Eren is not strong, nor fast enough, to walk with you just yet. Rather than wishing for you to stop, he wants you to walk faster even if it means he won’t be able to chase after you.

And Eren still couldn’t forget the pain. It felt like you betrayed him when you kept it a secret for months.

What else will you keep from me, if you can’t even tell me you’re leaving? Will you keep it a secret when you no longer love me the way you used to? Will you keep it a secret when you find someone new, someone better, someone who can stay to wipe your tears and hold you in their arms while I’m three thousand miles away from you? Will you pretend like everything is fine when we’re straying further away from each other every day?

In Eren’s mind, he thought you’d be better on your own. At such a young age, you had already managed to chase after your dreams while he was still unsure of what he wanted to have in the future. To him, you were always a step ahead. And tomorrow, you’d be taking your first step to another place where he wouldn’t have the strength to follow. 

His thoughts about you were never-ending. And he wrote so much, pouring every feeling down on papers, that now as you stood before him in person, there were no more words left to be said and he could only reply to your sentences with silence.

And the coffee’s out

At the Beachwood Cafe

And it kills me ‘cause I know we’ve run out of things we can say

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” you eventually said and Eren glanced at you from underneath his eyelashes, but he never let his gaze stay for a second longer.

He knew. Of course, he did. He had been counting the days, dreading every second of it. “Take care of yourself,” he responded in a way a stranger would say to another stranger at the end of their brief meeting. “Good luck with your job. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

There were no pet names at the end of his sentence, no sweet terms he’d once associated with you. He even refrained himself from calling your name out loud as he was afraid it would shatter the walls he’d built around him. The walls he created to protect himself from hurting even more. You were truly strangers now.

“Thanks.” You forced yourself to smile, nails sinking into your thighs as you brought your hands to your lap. “You too. Don’t forget to eat your breakfast every day. You always skip it.”

It was your job to remind him, who used to serve fried eggs and toasts on his plate while Eren was the one who cooked dinner. Perhaps he remembered that too because as soon as the words departed from your lips, Eren brought his head down, simply replying with a hum so you wouldn’t notice the tremble in his voice.

When you took your leave, you handed him a note to your new address. “Just… Come and visit me whenever you’re in the country. I’d love to show you around.” It sickened you how formal you sounded, but you couldn’t say it any other way.

When Eren took the note, your fingers brushed against his, it almost seemed like time stopped, just for a little, and he wanted to pull you into his embrace, to tell you how much he’d been missing you the same way you’d been missing him. To tell you how much he wanted to be selfish, to have you choose him over everything else in your life because that was how you meant to him. You were everything to him.

Just like how you are to me.

So when he dropped his hand, tucking it inside his pocket, you knew it was really over. Finally, the word goodbye took its true form.

And I get the feeling that you’ll never need me again.

***

Three years passed by like eternity. Time progresses so slowly that your mind can only recall the taste of euphoria just like how your lips remember the softness of his kiss. But you don’t feel them, not anymore. The joy, the thrill of being in love, the burning desire of wanting someone and being wanted. You remember everything but your body starts to forget. And when your mind decides to abandon those memories too, what’s going to be left of you then?

Birthday parties had the taste of farewells. Love confessions, even when they came from a gentleman you respected, would never be able to fill the void in your chest. Ardent kisses only felt nice on your lips but they always left a bitter taste on your tongue. And your body felt incomplete, cold as if you had been standing in the snow for hours, missing the warmth he used to give you on the passenger seat of his car.

I wonder what you are doing now, Ren…

Have you met someone new? Have you ever thought about me?

Did you ever miss me?

“Because I do,” you heard yourself murmur one day in the darkness of your apartment, your mind intoxicated as you had drunk more alcohol than you intended. “I never stopped thinking about you… I miss you…”

I miss you so much.

Three years. Three years and he is still the only man your heart yearns for, so desperately, it hurts. You have his phone number memorized in your head but you can’t lift your finger to punch down the buttons. Three years and you never found the courage to do it, so scared of the thoughts of him dismissing your call, or worse, answering only to tell you to leave him alone. And you know he has your number too, but the fact that your phone never rang with his name flashing on your screen only meant one thing.

Eren no longer wants to have anything to do with you. Not anymore.

The four walls of your apartment are the only witnesses of the tears you cried and the ones that dried on your cheeks as you sobbed yourself to sleep. Some nights could feel exceptionally lonely that you had to drown yourself in sleeping pills to forget the sound of his laughter that once felt like music to your ears. Days, especially like today, feel longer when you have to stay home and you don’t have your job to distract you from him. 

And when you start imagining him there, breathing the same air that you breathe, your heart constricts like you’re trapped inside a box, buried ten feet under the ground. The human mind is a powerful thing. As your eyes turn vacant, it runs on its own, playing scenes after scenes like an old movie. You can see Eren walking around your apartment in nothing but his plaid pajama pants, his top missing as you’d stolen it away, draping it over your own body while wearing nothing more underneath. You can see him hugging the old version of yourself in the kitchen, his chest completing the dip of your spine, his nose nuzzling against your neck.

“Morning,” you can hear him say, his voice hoarse from sleep. “You woke up early.”

Your giggle echoes in your ears. “Eren, it’s two in the afternoon.”

“Yeah, that’s early. Let’s go back to bed.”

“Wait, let me make you some food. You must be hungry.”

But Eren doesn’t listen, he never did. You see him lifting your body off the ground, throwing you over his shoulder with one hand wrapped around the back of your thighs. “It can wait. I want to cuddle,” he insists as you laugh. “You’re going to be the big spoon now.”

“Aren’t I always the big spoon?”

“That’s right, so you better spoon me right.”

“What does that even mean?”

Funny how a conversation like this is what you miss the most. You can never find and share a moment like this with anyone else. Or maybe you just don’t allow yourself to?

I want to see him, you confess deep within your thoughts as you lay your cheek on the coffee table. Your fingers are still wrapped against an empty can of beer, the taste of alcohol sitting thickly on your tongue. You just realize that you’re wearing Eren’s old hoodie again, its color fading from scarlet to salmon pink from how many times you’ve washed it. It was the only thing that’s left of him, something that you forgot to return and Eren didn’t care enough to ask for it back. You nuzzle your nose against its long sleeve, still trying to catch a hint of his scent lingering on its fabric even when you’ve failed so many times. There’s nothing left of him that lingers near. With your legs stretched out on the carpeted floor, skin sliding against polyester, you feel tears brimming in your eyes. 

Eren…

Your doorbell rings, breaking the smothering silence. You attempt to ignore it, just wanting to be swallowed by the earth for now and never resurface. But when it keeps resounding through your hallway, you have no choice but to groan and return to your feet.

You wipe your tears away, your eyes still puffy and red as you take long strides toward your front door. Your hair is a tangled mess, your clothes rumpled and worn-out. You’ve never really cared about your appearance these days. You haven’t really cared about anything else.

You turn around your doorknob. “I’m sorry, but I don’t feel well today, so if you… can…”

Your eyes grow wide, incapable of blinking as Eren Jaeger, the same man whose face has been haunting you night and day for the last three years, stands before you with his hand stopping mid-air, about to ring your doorbell once more before you suddenly swang your door open.

“H-hi…” He says, in the same husky voice that trickles down like honey. It feels so surreal to hear him again—to see him again. You’ve been imagining him standing on the other side of your door like this countless times before but you never allowed yourself to see what happened past that, knowing that it would only hurt you even more.

And now that he’s here…

What am I supposed to say? 

He looks exactly the same, not a day older. He’s still the most handsome man you’ve ever seen, with smooth golden skin kissed by the sun. He still owns the same high cheekbones, the same inviting plump lips, and the same beautiful long brown hair that’s cascading down to his shoulders. It’s as if not a second has passed by since the day you bid each other farewell with your hearts being trampled to the ground. 

You can’t speak. It’s already a miracle that you can still suck air into your lungs.

Just like you, his mind turns blank as his eyes grow twice their size. You’re wearing his hoodie. Three years after your break-up, and you still wear it as if you had never stopped being his lover. Something claws against the walls of his stomach as the memories of those morning kisses you shared with him are revived in his head. You look just as adorable, just as beautiful, and God, it hurts him. Seeing you wear his clothes used to be his favorite thing to wake up to and now it just feels like God is playing the vilest joke on him.

You’ve lost weight. That’s the other thing he can tell once he’s calmed himself down. Even when half of your body is hidden underneath his oversized hoodie, he can still tell by the dip of your collarbones and the little protruding bones on your wrists. You seem pale with dark circles under your eyes, but none of them shocks him as much as the fact that you’ve been crying. He hates it. He always hates it when you cry, even when you look beautiful when you do. Tears don’t belong in your eyes. He wants you to have a smile written on your lips and nothing more. And he wants to be the reason for that smile. And yet, just standing before you like this, he becomes the reason behind your tears.

It takes everything within him not to reach out a hand and stroke your cheek, wanting to provide comfort with every fiber of his being. “It’s been a while,” he says, a delicate smile gracing his lips. “How are you?”

You feel layers of unsettling emotion, a sob threatening to rise fast to your lips. “Umm… Yeah… I’m—” Your words are strangled in your throat. “I’m doing well.”

“I’m glad.” Eren is wearing a denim jacket over a white tee, his bag slinging on one shoulder. His grip tightens around the strap as he tries to sort out his words. “Sorry for showing up so suddenly like this. I’m in the country for the next two weeks. I’ve got, umm… I’ve got a gig.”

“Oh…” You swallow. “So you’ve… graduated, huh?”

“Yeah, finally,” he chuckles, still sounding a bit tense but he’s doing much better than you do in masking his emotions. “I thought I was going to get expelled for taking too long. But I graduated two years ago, actually. And I got myself a job as a photojournalist. It sucks. I hate it. But it pays well and I get to travel for free so...”

You hear his words but you can’t seem to let them sink in. He’s like a ghost, materializing out of thin air, and your brain can’t differentiate between your dream and reality. “Congratulations,” you can only say.

“Thanks.”

Silence is like a pair of invisible hands that strangulate you by the throat and Eren can feel it too. Casting his gaze downward, he shifts his weight from one foot to another. “So, umm…” He clears his throat. “I just… I just thought I’d swing by to say hi since I’m in the country. I’m glad to see you’re doing well.”

You’re not. And he can tell that you’re not. He’s just not sure if you would allow him to get close enough to you to ask the questions he’s itching to say. He’s afraid that you’d reject him. After what he’s done to you in the past, choosing to end your relationship without giving you a proper chance to explain, it’s only right for you to distance yourself away from him. Because that’s the reason why you hadn’t called, right? You were angry with him. Maybe you still are. But that’s where he’s wrong. You didn’t call because you were angry. You never called because you thought he was.

To Eren, the thought of you walking away from him isn’t as terrifying as the thought of you having another man’s name on your tongue. You don’t know how nerve-racking it was for him to press a finger against your doorbell. How every ring made his blood curdle, his brain creating a string of mental images of you sharing kisses with a new lover on the other side of your door. 

What if I’m too late? Eren’s fear echoes through the maze of his mind. What if she’s moved on to someone else? 

What if she doesn’t want to see me again?

What if this is a mistake?

His thoughts turn clamorous by the second that he has to curl his fingers against the side of his black jeans to stop him from acting irrationally. “Sorry,” he says, the rush of adrenaline that filled his system before dissipating fast. “I shouldn’t have come here. I—I’m gonna go—”

A hand finds his wrist before he could escape. You keep your head low, your bangs the perfect curtain to conceal your reddened eyes and the tears that mist over them. 

“Coffee,” you say, your lower lip trembling as you form your next sentence. “Would you… stay for a cup of coffee?”

Eren’s gaze shifts down to where your hands are connected, fire dancing on his skin. Just how many nights has he spent thinking about feeling your touch again?

With his heart in his throat, he answers, “I would love to.”

***

The clock on the wall is a better conversationalist than you are as it constantly replies to Eren's words with a steady, monotonous rhythm, while you are drowning further in silence with nothing but your heartbeat ringing vehemently in your ears. 

“Your apartment looks nice.”

“I think I understand why you like living in this country. It’s beautiful.” 

“Armin is doing well. He asks about you from time to time. Said he missed arguing with you about Breaking Bad.” 

You answer his every line almost with a nod or a shake of your head and nothing more. You’re afraid to use your words. Afraid that he’ll notice the crack in your voice. Afraid that that little crack would trigger the rest of your feelings to burst and explode like a broken dam.

Eren, despite his successful attempts at moving from one topic to another, feels like he’s been stalling and repeating himself. He doesn’t want to talk about the country you’re in, or Armin, or your apartment–he doesn’t care about any of those. Why are you still wearing my clothes? Do you still think about me? Do you still see me in everything you do? Is there another person in your life or are you still wishing for me to come back just as much as I’m dying to tell you how much I’m still in love with you now? These are the questions he’s yearning to say. He just needs to part his lips and form the words, but fear is a vicious murderer. It crushes his hope to dust before he can let it spread to his nerves. So he waits for you to say them, waits for you to be the stronger one.

But you don’t say anything.

Eternity seems to pass by in reticence–both of you sitting on the dining table with your mugs between your hands and your shoulders slumped forward. The coffee you made him tasted like nostalgia. The sweetness of your first kiss, the bitterness of your last goodbye. Funny how your coffee would usually be left cold and forgotten as you were both too caught up in conversation. But right now, you let it burn your tongue, wishing that it would give you an excuse to remain silent. 

Eren’s phone rings and both of your bodies jolt in surprise. “Excuse me,” he says a moment before he picks up the call. “Yes? Oh, no, it’s okay. I’m at my friend’s place right now.”

His friend, you chew on your lip, feeling your heart drop. Of course. I should be thankful that at least he still regards me as a friend. And yet, your eyes grow hot, your fingers clawing against the coffee mug that’s been resting between your hands.

The call ends and Eren comes back to you with his bottom lip caught between his teeth. “I, uhh… I have to go,” Eren says as he returns his phone inside the pocket of his jeans. “That was my director calling. There’s a sudden change in tomorrow’s schedule so I have to meet up and reshape our plans.”

He’s leaving. You panic. He’s going to leave me again. Am I just going to let him go like this? What if this is truly going to be the last time I’ll ever be able to see him? I still have so many questions I want him to answer. I still want to hear your voice. 

Eren…

I still want to see you, so, please…

Please don’t go.

But your body betrays you in the end, your lips only moving to say, “Okay.”

“Okay.” He feigns another smile, just like what he’s been doing for the past half an hour. When he rises back to his feet, you mimic his action. “Thank you for the coffee,” he says, so politely that it feels unsettling. “It was really nice to see you again.”

You sink your nails into your palms, hard enough to make yourself bleed. You give him a nod and nothing else.

Shackles bound your feet together as you walk him to your front door. The doorknob feels cold underneath your quivering fingers but it feels like you’re sinking into a frozen lake with ice daggers piercing through your skin the moment Eren walks past you without stopping to offer you a last embrace. He keeps his hand tight around the strap of his bag, turning around just to say, “Please take care of yourself,” while he keeps the rest of his line to himself. 

I wish you can be happy without me, I really do, he says only for the demons in his head to hear. But if you wish for me to stay… If there’s even a fragment of you that still wants me, I pray that you will act on it now.

Because I can’t live without you.

I don’t want to go.

I want to be with you. 

I want you to love me again.

Please…

Please say that you love me.

But when you say nothing, he has to face reality. The reality where he’s nothing more but a memory, maybe even one that you wish to forget. And so, there’s only one thing left to say.

“Goodbye.”

When he walks away, Eren feels like walking barefoot on top of broken shards. He’s bleeding. He can feel his heart is, but you’re not there anymore to mend his wound. He smiles brokenly to himself.

I'm an idiot.

I shouldn't have come here.

But then he feels your hand grabbing the edge of his jacket’s sleeve and he turns around, radiant jade green eyes growing wide at the sight of you staring at him with your lips parted in a silent call of his name, your glassy eyes shaking. 

For a second, the earth stands still.

“I’m…” You retract your hand, your stomach churning that you feel you’re on the verge of collapsing. You couldn’t stop your body from moving, only realizing once it did. It was a mistake. You shouldn’t have done it. You’re only going to make things even more unbearable than it is now. If you tell him the truth, if you wish for him not to go, then you can’t even be his friend anymore. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I… I’m sorry.”

But a moment of weakness is a moment of honesty. And Eren sees it. He understands it.

And that’s enough for him to abandon everything.

“Fuck this.”

Eren traps your jaw between his long fingers and smashes your lips together. You fall back, almost losing your balance as he pushes you inside your apartment and uses your body to slam the front door closed. He tosses his bag to the ground, driving you further up the door with his mouth scorching hot against yours. You’re doing everything at once—calling his name between short gasps, fingers clawing against the front of his shirt, tears lining down your cheeks. 

Eren, Eren, Eren. 

He kisses you with a degree of passion that can’t be found in anyone else. He plays music with your heartstrings and dances with your body in the way no one else ever did. You have found him again, your puppeteer, and he feels the same way. It’s easy for you to let loose, to let him take control and own you like he did before. This feels right.

If he’s being honest, Eren feels like he wants to cry. The taste of your lips, even if it’s layered by the saltiness of your tears, this is what he’s yearned during your years of separation—craved it until his whole body feels like it was burning to ashes. You’re here. You’re finally here in his arms again. The amount of happiness that surges through him paralyzes him, but your fingers sliding against his chest keep him alive.

“I love you,” he says between a string of heavy kisses, his voice muted by your lips. “I’m still in love with you.” He takes a hold of your wrist before he laces his fingers with yours, bringing your hand over your head and pinning it against the door. “Fuck, I can never love anyone else but you.”

You whimper against his mouth, struggling to return the words as you’re choked by your own sobs and submerged in his kisses. But Eren can tell and that’s enough. He will let your body speak for you.

Eren lifts your body enough for you to tangle your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. He makes his way to the bedroom, two bodies meshed together in a queen-size bed. Clothes are shed in an instant, fabrics being pulled and tugged so harshly, you almost tear holes on his shirt. But once your bare skin grazes him, the softness of your belly plastered against the ridges of his abdomen, time seems to slow down. And it’s only when Eren’s lips are carving delicate strokes on the skin that covers your heart, that you can finally express the words you’ve been dying to say. 

“Me too,” you breathe out, cradling his head in your arms, fingers weaving through his long strands. “I’m still in love with you, Ren…”

Eren feels his heart tremble. “You are..?”

You nod, capturing his lips in a chaste kiss. “I’ve never stopped loving you. I think about you every day. You don’t know how happy I am to see you–to be with you like this. Honestly, I–” A peal of laughter escapes your lips, just as soft and heartwarming as your smile. “It still feels like a dream to me.”

He feels tears prickling in the corner of his eyes. “It’s not a dream,” he says, nuzzling his nose into your neck. “I’m here with you now.” 

And I’ll never let you go again.

Eren tries to avoid meeting your gaze as he knows he will break apart if he does. There’s just too much happiness for him to bear. He crawls down your body, each kiss he paints on your skin is a form of praise and affection on its own. He closes his eyes, his eyelashes damp with the tears he doesn’t allow to fall.

“I’ve missed you,” he says, mouthing the words against your thigh as he settles himself between your legs. “I’ve missed you so much, baby…”

He takes his time, and you’re thankful that he does. Burned by his passion is a great way to cure your longing, but the pang in your chest can only be healed if you’re smothered by his love. And Eren is ready to give it to you. He’s ready to do anything, give you everything, even if it means destroying himself in the process.

But you’ll never destroy his heart, will you? After all, even when you left him, your heart remained where it was. With him. Right now, he can truly believe it.

His lips carve love marks on your thighs, his beautiful eyes making their way to yours. He moves to your center, mouth moving agonizingly slow. He kisses the spot he’s kissed million times before and you almost close your legs around his head. He smiles. Your reaction is still the same. No matter how many times he’s done this to you, it always feels like the first time. And when he hasn’t done this in three years, it’s only natural for your body to scream with every bit of his touch.

“Ren…” you sigh in bliss, pushing back his hair. He moans at the sound of his name rolling off your tongue, clamping his lips around your clit as his gaze turns hazy. You’re beautiful. So fucking beautiful. Even without your make-up, even when your eyes are still glassy and puffy from all the tears you shed, even when he can still taste the alcohol on your tongue, you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. It’s your heart that makes you different. It’s your love for him that turns you into a goddess in his eyes. And it’s his love for you that makes you beautiful—makes you feel beautiful. 

Eren can spend hours pleasuring you like this, with his stomach pressed against the sheets, his arms hooked around your thighs, and his tongue savoring your taste from your slit. But you gently tug on his hair, putting a halt to his movement. One look at your face and he knows you can’t wait. Neither of you can.

He climbs up your body, his lips returning to where they belong. You circle your legs around his waist, lifting your hips as he presses down, two souls moaning in pleasure at the sensation.

“I didn’t bring a condom with me,” he says against your neck, almost deliriously.

“It’s okay–ah–” you gasp out, arching your back when he draws your nipple between his mouth, rolling the bud between his teeth before he sucks hard enough to paint purplish blooms on your chest. “I want you so please, just–just hold me, Ren…”

The desperation in your voice causes his desire to cloud his senses. He wants to take this slow, savoring every moment, but you’re making it harder by the second. He kisses you in the way he knows you adore, and that’s anywhere, everywhere, so long as it’s his lips on your skin. “Say it again.” He frames your cheek, thumb sliding against your bruised bottom lip. “Tell me you want me.”

He’s grinding against your folds, the underside of his length rubbing over your clit. “I want you.” You tangle your fingers around his necklace, pulling him down even further until his lips are just a breath away. “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything else.” Satisfied with your answer, he melds his lips over yours in a way that bonds you to him, and you lose all semblance of reality. In his arms, you feel safe. At this moment, you feel infinite.

Eren aligns himself, his forehead pressing against yours as you taste each other’s breath. “Baby…” He gradually presses in, eyebrows furrowed and his gaze intent. He fills you up in the best way possible, his cock velvety hot, pulsing inside you. “God, you’re perfect.” 

The corner of his lower lip is tucked between his teeth as he tries to hold himself back but you urge him to move, digging your fingertips into his shoulders as you ride the thrill he gives you. After spending years in the absence of his warmth, every slide of your skin against his evokes raw emotions that leave your mind dysfunctional. “I want to be with you, Ren.” You hold him close, letting him bury his head into your neck. “In all sense of meaning. I made a mistake and I regret it every single day. You’re the only man I’ve ever loved, the only man I will ever love, so please…” You quietly sob. “Don’t leave me again…”

His tear falls to your cheek, unable to put a lid on his emotions when you told him the words he didn’t know he had been wishing to hear. And despite your tears, you smile like it’s the only thing you know how. Contentment fills your heart as you kiss his tears away, and he laughs quietly, sheepishly, ashamed that he’s showing this vulnerable side of him in front of you. But that’s the whole point, isn’t it? He can only be like this—shedding every layer of his facade, tearing down every wall he has built—when he’s with you. You give him the freedom to do whatever he wants, and in return, he’ll grant you your every wish.

And if you wish for him to stay, then he will. Right here in your arms where you both feel complete. “I won’t,” he promises, his lips brushing against your temple. “I’ll stay with you. As long as you want me to.”

The contact and drag of his body flow in waves as he pushes in and out with fluid thrusts, and you match his movement, swaying to the rhythm that he sets. “I want to stay just like this with you, forever.”

It feels like Deja Vu when you hear the words you spoke and Eren feels it too. He plants a brief kiss on your lips before he says, “I don’t think it’s physically possible.” He offers you the same answer you gave him that night, his voice laced with mirth even when it still trembles. 

You hear yourself giggling at his words, something that you thought you’d forgotten how to do. You tangle your limbs around his body, your lips forming his name as they graze the shell of his ear. Eren’s heart swells twice its size in his chest. He’s spurred on by the idea of you loving him, completely out of your mind, body twisting in his grasp.

“Baby,” he calls breathlessly, groaning at the feeling of your walls clenching tight around him. “I won’t last long if–ah–if you keep doing that–” 

You catch his lips again, drowning in every bit of the sweet sounds he makes. “It’s okay.” Because you’re just the same, feeling like you’re about to explode in ecstasy. ​​You melt together, effortless and flowing, whole and light, and so filled with love. It’s terrifying how good this feels. How every thrust, every kiss, and every moan, they satisfy you not only physically, but soulfully and eternally too.

Your fingers are buried in his strands, twirling and pulling at the tufts, earning a soft hum from him that’s lost on your lips as he leans into you. “Eren, I’m–I’m close–”

“Me too–ah–baby, you gotta let go or I'll–”

“It's okay.” Your legs are shaking as you wrap them tighter around his waist, pulling him lower until there’s not an inch of space between your chests. “Come inside me.”

I never want to let you go.

Eren kisses you deep and hard as you crash over with a cry of his name. Hearing and feeling you come apart around him has his hips stuttering and his voice caught. He follows soon after, his fingers clawing against the sheets as he rides the rush of pleasure. The erratic movements of his hips turn lazy, uncoordinated, and he lets out the softest of giggles when he kisses you again. “I’m so happy I could die,” you hear him say and they match the words you’ve been saying in the back of your mind.

“Me too.” You pull his hair off his forehead and tilt his face toward you to view him as best as you can in the dimness of your room. He’s trapped in a haze, lost himself even more in the depth of your eyes. He’s about to taste your lips again when you whisper, “Welcome home, Ren…”

Eren pauses, his blush smearing fast from his cheeks to the tip of his ears. His face contorts as though he’s struggling not to cry again. “I’m home,” he murmurs back, his lips beautifully dawning into a smile. He gently swats your hair out of your face, his gaze softens as he rakes his eyes all over your features. There are so many things to say, and he wonders if he has the time to say them all. Even if he does, will words suffice? Will they be enough to describe the things you make him feel? How complete, how infinite, how every bit of his soul is burned with a fierce joy that he’s never felt before–will his words ever be enough?

No, they won’t. 

“Eren?” You incline your head, frowning. “Is there something wrong?”

Maybe someday, he’ll find them. The words that are beautiful enough to elucidate your divine grace and this profound happiness that you shroud him with. And when he says them, they won’t just be sentences to sway your heart. They will be a string of vows, and he wants the world to hear them. He wants his Lord to stand as his witness.

Until then…

“I have a question I’ve been wanting to ask you for years,” Eren says, intertwining your fingers together. “Even after we broke up, I kept thinking about it. In my head, there was only you. I would never be able–no, I would never want to ask anyone else. It has to be you. And maybe this isn’t the perfect time to do this but I just–I feel like my heart is about to burst if I don’t ask you now.” 

You search his eyes, wanting to catch a clue and when you fail, you turn tense. “What is it?”

Truthfully, he feels just as nervous as you are. If you are anxious by the thought of his question, he’s terrified of how your answer would be. Even so, he decides to risk it all.

His lips dance on your knuckles before he pulls away to call upon your name. He peppers the sweetest of kisses slowly, deliberately to your cheeks, your nose, and finally your lips. And when he speaks, you can feel his words and his smile blooming on your skin.

“Will you marry me?”

***

AN: Finally, it's out! Sorry for the long wait, I was having the hardest time trying to finish this one. I'm not really proud of this but I really hope you enjoyed it! Thank you so much for reading and let me know what you think ❤️ Massive thanks to Sandra who beta-ed this for me, you're the real MVP, babe, I love you!

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