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I just posted my second chapter, Enchantment, for my Eren series, From the Dining Table (FTDT). Why am I more terrified of the html headings messing up than typos rn...if wattpad wasnt so ew now I'd post there.
FROM THE DINING TABLE e. jaeger
Chapter Two - Enchantment
summary Your first impression tends to leave people feeling charmed, confused, & intimidated. Eren's run-ins with you catch him off guard, yet he is still drawn to you despite his better judgement.
warnings none for now
words 5.8k
content college au | eren x fem!reader
Three years ago.
September. Orientation week.
The dusty air conditioner whirs in the fraternity house, causing you to cough in your nap, waking you up prematurely. A pair of black vintage sunglasses hides evidence of nightly bar hopping with your roommates Annie and Hitch.
"Reiner, turn this stupid thing off!" your new college friend, Hitch, yells into the party cup-filled living room.
"Don’t, it’s too hot. He’s gone. The boys left without him." Annie states, adjusting her nose ring.
“This house has terrible Feng Shui. My forehead broke out last night." Hitch moves your boots from the arms of the couch. You watch through the shaded lenses as she rummages through your purse, a common occurrence. She ties her bob with your claw clip, then sprays a tropical glow mist all over the exposed body parts of her cottage dress. A waxy-coconut and vanilla odor fills the room. "Is she sleeping?"
"She never sleeps. Maybe the acne’s a sign to hold off on all that alcohol," Annie says, replacing your feet onto the couch restfully.
"I can see you," you grumble, squirming as you sit upright, fixing your posture.
"Thank the Founders, thought you were bailing on us." Hitch chirps.
"Still on my agenda. Annie, vouch for me?" you plead.
“No one is forcing you to go," she states dryly. The dour girl was correct. You made it your mission to make up for a barren social life in high school by refusing to turn down invites during orientation, entering every phone number request, whilst reluctantly making your social media accounts public.
"I'd kill for my life to be that hard. Whyyy?!" Hitch dramatically cries out to no one in particular, "Why does everyone keep inviting me places?"
"You're such a theatre kid," you say defensively.
Annie's solemn eyes study you. "Sleep, I’ll let Reiner know the house is being looked after."
Hitch protests, "We’re not canceling on Reiner's event tonight."
"I didn't say we were. I'll go with you to the pre-game. Besides, Bertolt wants moral support while he recruits freshmen for the basketball team."
"Thanks, Ann. I won’t cancel tonight. I need to be there too." You yawn.
"Exactly. I need you." Hitch claims.
"I guess." You huff.
Hitch throws a flat cushion at you. "I know you love me.”
"Gross! I don’t know what frat ass-crack that's been inside of." You block the cushion, sending it back.
“Hitch, where's our ride? Is Number Two on his way?” Annie asks grumpily.
"The tires are fixed; he said they're two minutes away," Hitch assures, putting on a bolero.
“Which one is Two, again? The Avatar guy?” You inquire.
“He has a buzzcut," Hitch corrects, "And wrong, that's Annie and Number One's friend from Scouts. He's old news, so Number One is The French Stallion.”
"I thought Mullet Guy was in third place. Why are you switching up the order already? It's only Thursday," you complain, scratching your head. “Can I borrow that mist? My hair’s dry.”
“If you referred to them by the code names I made, then you'd be able to keep up,” Hitch passes you the mist.
"Number One is Mullet Guy, Number Two is Jawline, Number Three is the Bowlcut," you count out loud on your hand.
"Ladies! Sorry to keep you waiting. Porco stayed behind with Bertolt to help Reiner, so we've got more room in the back to head to the bar. Let's go.” The man in the out-of-fashion bowlcut, Marlo, barges in through the door.
Annie is the first to walk out, "Saved by the bell." She stomps towards the parked car. Marlo, frightened, follows behind her.
You take the opportunity to bargain with the gleeful girl in front of you, "Hitch, dear," you coax, motioning her over to sit next to you.
"Uh uh. Don’t call me that. I know what you’re doing," she complies, despite your deceptively sweet tone.
"My social battery is out," you express, holding her upper arms.
"I know a room full of young men impassioned by sports pregaming isn’t enticing to you, but I want you to keep us company." Hitch mirrors you.
"A room with men in it isn’t enticing to me at all," you say flatly.
"Yesterday, you told me the spreadsheet I made for orientation week was helping," she affirms.
"Yes, I am thankful you finished your dad’s printing paper for me, however, would you rather have Annie or a lightweight, no-fun-me there? I’ll suck the life out of a room if it can give me back my sleep," you say in a testy tone.
"Ugh," she relents, slumping into the sofa.
"Yay." You spring up from the sofa, with newfound zest. "What should I do first? Open a textbook? Show my bras their new home, or maybe breathe air that isn’t infused with radioactive watermelon-flavored fumes?"
“I’ll give you ten, and I get to wear this.” Hitch walks to the kitchen counter to take your green baseball cap.
“Deal. Ten hours?” You amuse her.
“Minutes. House keys, catch.” She throws a bundle of keys.
“Three hours,” you counter, catching the bundle, then spinning them on your index finger.
“Two hours. It takes twenty minutes to get to the football field from our dorm, so use your time wisely.” Your stubborn friend crosses her arms.
“When have I ever been late to anything?” You play with the keys, throwing them up and down in the air.
Hitch sashays down to Porco’s car. "Try not to have too much fun without me. Don't forget to lock up!"
~~~
Rethinking the night you have ahead, the most plausible thing to do is pregame on your own. You appreciate the momentary bliss of having some time to stretch as you walk to the university café. More so, without a gregarious peer telling you to stop mid-path to greet faces you'd forget in two weeks. All the lively tumult spread across campus makes your head pound. You have no room to judge, as you were one of the many wide-eyed fresh faces fervently exploring the school grounds this week. The One Piece graphic tee Hitch gifted you is useless against the summer heat; you can't name a single character from the series, plus the poor choice to pair it with dark-wash jeans irks you. You trigger yourself into stressing. Regretting that you gave away your baseball cap, worrying your t-shirt is ugly, the marching band's trumpets blasting in the distance, your purse hanging diagonally instead of over the shoulder, together with the sparrows shrilling in the dying cherry blossoms. You want to maintain a relaxed demeanor before someone becomes the object of your irritation. As you approach the café entrance, you decide to divert your mind away from the cotton sticking onto your skin to a young man sitting at an outdoor dining table. He sits slouched over, nose buried in a book. Wearing a moss-green ribbed Henley, similar to the half-empty matcha on the steel accent table.
So performative. You think overcritically.
The cranky observation is interrupted when the man looks up innocently at you, straightening his back as if he had heard your internal judgements. You look away quickly, calmly strolling past him. His eyes squint, blinded by sunlight, as he sees you enter the café. You look away quickly, calmly striding past him. The crisp AC consoles your nerves. The peeling paint on the industrial concrete walls, alongside the vines hanging across the ceiling, gives the space an organic ambience, complemented by trendy, modern maximalist furnishings. Rich burnt coffee anchored the café. Clearly, this is a haven for students, as many huddled in groups on the eclectic sofas. The first thing you catch sight of is an antique record player, next to a vibrant row of crates with records. You're compelled to walk towards the corner. Tilting your head to read the name of the song being played, you recognize that it is the same song playing throughout the speakers. Her by The American Dawn. Naturally, your fingers begin swiping through each record, picking up to gawk at the covers of your favorite artists. You nod to the drums of the melody, humming along to the familiar lyrics:
In another life, I've seen your eyes before...
In the corner of your eye, you see a group of teenagers gasp, hitting each other's arms as they point their phones' lenses towards the entrance. The same guy who was sitting outside ambles in, ducking under the short doors. He nonchalantly tucks his novel in the back pocket of his jeans. You turn, gasping, not because of him but the record you find peaking at the bottom of a crate. A 2001 limited edition release for the Spirited Away Original Soundtrack. Whoever hid it did a poor job, because you take it, already imagining it joining the rest of the knick-knacks decorating a small corner of your dorm room. You walk to the counter, feeling like you hit the jackpot.
"Hello, Welcome to Krueger's Corner. Corner with a K, because why not. What would you like today?" the barista's voice trails off monotonously. She yawns loudly, puffing the curtain bangs on her dull brown wolf-cut.
"I want to pay for this, and one Americano, extra shot of espresso, please. Do you guys have almond or oat milk?" you begin unzipping your purse.
Another young female employee chimes in, "I'll check in the back."
"Gimme a second to help her; she won't have a clue what to do. Anything else?" she asks.
"One more thing, this is for sale, right?" you inquire, holding up the Studio Ghibli vinyl cover.
"Pretty sure. As long as it was in the crates," she confirms, stretching as she strolls down to the storage room.
A large hand waves in front of you. You jerk your head up to see a man towering next to you. You jolt back quickly, clutching your bag. A relief washes over you when you realize it's the performative guy who walked in a few minutes ago.
He staggers back when you meet his eyes. "Hi, sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. The music's pretty loud." His voice is deep, yet simultaneously soft-spoken.
"Hi? It's okay, I didn't hear you. What's up?" you ask. Your eyes skim him up and down.
"I figured. Wanted to let you know, unfortunately, that one's not for sale. We put the older records there for decor," he informs, pointing in the direction of the records, the silver rings on his fingers glimmering.
"Really? The girl at the register said it is."
He nods his head slowly. "I'm sorry, dear," he informs regretfully, his gaze ping-ponging between the storage room and the cash register,
"I’ll double-check with the girl who was here. She'll be back,” you maintain your initial stance.
"No need. She's not coming back. I can take that off your hands," he maintains, moving to stand behind the counter.
"Do you work here?" You study his outfit, looking for any indicator of uniform. None.
The young man nods his head again, but his body exposes his true thoughts as he makes the mistake of shaking his left and right.
"Weren’t you sitting outside earlier?" you press further, eyes narrowing.
"I’m stepping in for the day. The barista is my friend," he explains, not meeting your gaze.
"The one with curly hair, up to here? You gesture towards your shoulder.
"Yes, that one," he answers with a self-satisfied smile. Flashing his perfect teeth.
He's trying to charm you into relinquishing the record, but you won't give him the satisfaction. "You're a terrible liar. The brunette in the ponytail helped me."
"She’s my friend too," he cuts in, smile dropping, appearing genuinely offended by the honest comment.
"Who are we talking about? Me, I hope?" The ponytailed worker chips in. We only have almond milk in stock. How else can I help you, Gorgeous?"
"Almond is fine. I'd like to buy this too." You lift the vinyl.
"Ooh Ghibli! I didn’t know we had that one?" she beams, taking the item in her hands.
"Me too," the man chuckles nervously, rocking on the heels of his shoes.
"I think someone hid it." You pretend to be baffled. "It’s my lucky day," you say, looking at the disheartened boy.
"Lucky girl. I wonder how it got there?” The barista says.
"Who would do such a thing? We need to organize that area better," he mutters.
She shoves him to the side with her hip to get him out of her spot. "We need new hires. Until then, you organize nothing."
"That packaging looks shredded.” The man persists, rubbing the back of his neck.
You watch the barista carefully assess the cover, playing right into the boy's trick. "I don’t mind a vintage look. Go ahead, please," you implore, eyes pointing daggers into the back of his head.
"Don't blame me when Levi finds out," he surrenders.
"Pfft, please. Levi already doesn't want you in here." The barista proceeds to check out the items, a male barista handing her your coffee. "Anyway, that’ll be about fifty. Do you have a student card or account for discounts?"
"No, I’ll pay cash," you decline.
"Only takes a minute, want me to sign you up?" she suggests.
"Alright, sure. Thanks." You cave, unable to resist the girl’s warm appeal.
"Of course, babe. Enter your details here." She passes you an iPad to help complete the payment while packaging your purchase. Her very obviously displeased friend still lingers next to her, pretending to look at the ceiling whilst whistling along to a tune playing through the speakers.
"You good?" she asks her friend, annoyed, whispering loudly enough for you to hear. In your peripheral vision, you catch him motioning his head towards the takeaway bag. "Huh? I'm busy. Go turn the vinyl or something!" she shoos, placing the bag in front of you.
"Done!" You finish paying, taking the chance to probe, “Who can I speak to about applying to work here? I can leave my resume here if you’d need it today.”
“Ackerman isn’t in; maybe if you can get here before eight Saturday morning, I’ll let my manager know someone’s coming in for an interview. Please don't tell anyone he usually works via email,” the barista advises.
"Thank you so much,” you say, grabbing the bag swiftly, like someone could snatch it if you dared blink.
“No problem. Enjoy the rest of your day!” The joyous brunette barista wishes you a parting compliment, winking cheekily.
“You too!” you sing merrily, returning a wink in the direction of both the kind barista and her troublesome friend, swinging your parting gift in his face as you walk out.
The second the heat hits you outside of Krueger’s Corner, your eyes dart around the campus for a good place to stay out of the sun. There is only one facility that has the safest place you know: The stage. You hike to the main spectacle of Ymir University, the Royal Arts Center. The avant-garde construction sits magnificently on a hill. An enormous glass entrance greets you into the world-class building. The midday light overcasts you through the enormous glass ceiling. Medieval arches and stained-glass windows create a modern sanctuary. The bone-white marble floors echo your careful steps to the reception. There, an engraved marble stone sign has directions to the different venues on each floor. The drama theatre, one lecture hall, an auditorium, practice rooms, an office, and break rooms.
The auditorium is grand, grounded by a premium light fawn carpet. Putting your takeaway bag outside the entrance, you wander past the hundreds of seats down to the sub-levels of the opera stage. Making sure to hold every shiny instrument. Every woodwind, percussion, string, and most importantly, the grand piano. You stand in the center of the main stage, feeling small, closing your eyes, imagining figures waltzing to the opera.
“Lectures don't start until next week.” A teacher calls out. “No way. The rumors are true; you really are attending the school," A voice gushes.
“Pardon, miss?” you voice. Whipping your head around, seeking the owner of the voice.
“Yelena, will do." She appears at the apron of the theatre, near a harp. "I played the cello for one of your World Ballet performances, The Nutcracker. You were still young, under the Paris Opera Ballet school. Many wins ago. Never in my days would I have guessed I’d be the conductor of the Black Swan.”
She calls you by a nickname that haunts you. You did not will for it to become an official stage name. It kept floating around in Marley arts circles until you had no choice but to embrace it.
"That's me," you concede.
“I usually stick out like a sore thumb, although I don’t expect you to see what happens below the stage.” “How’d you manage to get in if you're retired?" Yelena strides onto the main stage.
You cringe internally, offended by the implication that your celebrity is the reason for the academic admission rather than merit. You clarify, “I was already enrolled in Music and Dance at Liberio Arts Academy, so naturally I applied for the university’s Royal Artistry scholarship.”
“Impressive. On which recommendation?" she asks.
“No recommendation. Got one reference, specifically for part-time jobs.”
“I know everyone in this field. Who was your reference?” she presses.
“Just a childhood friend I volunteered with. His name’s Onyankopon.”
“The Prince? I gave him cello lessons when he was in high school.” Yelena says pridefully.
“Wow,” you give an arid response, bored by the many unsolicited tales people bring to you once they found out your relation to him.
“Why do I ask? There’s only one Onyankopon someone like you would know, or else a rapid success story like that wouldn't be possible. It's a shame. The spotlight loved you, especially after you transformed into the black swan in the second act. How could a young girl play such a temptress, leaping in agony like she’s lived a dozen lifetimes?” She takes a deep breath, shuts her eyes, crooning the Swan Lake theme off-key.
You recoil, watching your teacher. Not wanting to witness more, you break her self-induced trance. “I appreciate the support,” you say, standing stiffly.
“I will do everything in my power to have that same feeling as I did playing for you. Ask anything of me, thy will will be done,” she declares, gripping your shoulders. Her soulless smile displays the void that she admittantly wants filled.
You cross your arms to put up a physical barrier. Unsettled by how easily she casts a shadow over you in an otherwise brightly lit room. You gulp, "It is an honor that I get to learn under someone who contributed to my previous successes. Nevertheless, I have quit. I'm prioritizing this degree.
“Well, that’s no fun. "Oh well, we've got the best instruments for you." Yelena walks towards the grand piano, patting it. You can take the player out of the game, but you can’t take the game out of the player."
“Glad I could meet you before class. I think— that's my friend outside.” You end the peculiar conversation, speed-walking to grab your bag, then get away from the Arts Center. Yelena’s goodbye fades in the background.
~~~
You exit your dorm house after changing out of the breezy outfit you wore into dense attire, more fitting for the fall climate. Wrinkled leaves of red and gold scatter your path to the football field. As summer comes to ahead, a dusk veils the school, leaving the blaze that thawed in the afternoon to slumber. The astonishing mountainous views of Paradis Island contrast the droughty plains of Marley. The land's rich foliage creeps onto the school's columns, reminding people of its ancient origins. The grandstands of the field where you perch overlook the Trost Harbour and iridescent sea. There is no doubt, materially, you made the right choice to attend the school. You hope you won't come to regret that choice later, emotionally. A highly corporate brand event takes place in your rear view. Nike is sponsoring its top athletes and influencers attending the private university. Banners, merch, broadcasting, catering with the slogan take over this side of the campus. Your associates are nowhere to be seen as yet, so you surveil the crowd. Falling back into the lonesome pastime of people watching. The night arrives when you pick out your dad with a group of staff members, congregating around three familiar faces. He locates you, waving you over to join the group.
"Did you get lost, sweetheart? I want you guys to meet my daughter. She's enrolled in the Royal Arts Scholarship for a degree in music, playing in the Ymir Symphony Orchestra with a minor in Philosophy." Your father stands proudly, introducing you formally to the group. "This is Dean Zachary, Dr. Zoe, Dr. Jaeger, Jaeger Jr., Mikasa, Professor Erwin, Coach Pixis, and Professor Ral."
"Good evening," you greet courteously. You notice the guy from the Krueger's Corner standing beside Reiner.
The teacher in thick-rimmed glasses is the first to greet you, "Hello. I'm Dr. Zoe; call me Hange. I saw you from afar sitting on those steps, wondering who the swan with perfect posture might be. Are you a ballerina?"
"I was, yes," you say sheepishly.
"Knew it. I can tell which sport any student in here does. Reiner's football legs, Mikasa's volleyball hands, and his swimmer shoulders." Hange motions to each of your peers.
"Good call with Philosophy. Dr. Zoe teaches Chemistry; I think you'd have become her next test subject." Professor Erwin greets you with his left hand. You notice his amputated right arm.
"Finally, I get to meet Reiner's famous little sister. You made a good choice. My name is Professor Ral, but I let my philosophy students call me Petra." Petra extends her hand.
"I'm looking forward to your classes," you say, shaking her hand.
"We're fortunate to have such accomplished individuals attend our university. We’ll ensure your father gets his money's worth while you're here. And, Dr. Jaeger, your gracious donation to the Medical Research Lab will be fruitful." Dean Zachary appeals calculatively.
"I only hope our children will enjoy it," your dad says.
"I can promise you, my son will be at those venues so much, he'll eventually have to move his furniture in." Dr. Jaeger assures light-heartedly. The grown adults laugh, while you and your peers hold out the uninteresting conversation.
Coach Pixis interjects, "Olympic Swimming and med school. Quite a lot to manage, no?
Dr. Jaeger pronounces, "He’s a gold medalist. I think he can manage." He pats his son on the back, smiling, his child standing emotionless.
"What are we training these kids for, Zachary, war?" Pixis jokes.
"On that note, Pixis, let's not take up too much of this young girl's orientation week. I want us to meet the Nike team in my office," Dean Zachary announces.
"You guys go have fun. If you need me, I'll be in the teachers' lounge." Your father tells you, Reiner, his son, and Mikasa. He gives you an embarrassing reassuring thumbs up as he walks off.
The four of you are left behind, standing awkwardly for a whole minute. You clear your throat, “Should we hold hands and ring around the rosy?”
Silence.
“Tough crowd,” you press your mouth into a thin line.
Jaeger Jr. snorts, rubbing his nose to hide his laughter whilst looking at the ground. Reiner rolls his eyes, shaking his head at your antics.
"Guys, meet my little sister," Reiner says, placing a hand on your shoulder.
"Step-sister," you correct. Shoving his hand off.
"That makes sense; you guys look nothing alike," Mikasa says, her tone sharp and velvety. She is a couple of inches taller than you, even more with the platform leather boots she's wearing. She is out of her volleyball uniform, plastered on the Nike banners even while wearing layers of casual goth clothes; you can tell her physique is impressive.
"I know. I got the good genes in the family," Reiner says with a smug grin.
"Is it opposite day?" Jaeger. Jr remarks dryly, pulling out a small digital camera from the pockets of his army-green utility jacket.
"What was that, Jaeger Jr?" Reiner scowls.
"Don't call me that," he asserts back, not sparing Reiner a look. Continuing to fiddle with the camera battery.
You pry, "Are you two also siblings?"
"God, no! He's like family. We're not related." Mikasa's voice suddenly raises in volume, amused.
You nod your head, everyone nodding along with you, unsure of how to keep the conversation going.
"Hey guys, over here!!" A bright-voiced girl in a low ponytail shouts directly in your direction.
All your heads turn towards the high-pitched sound. A larger group with all your friends and acquaintances stands a few feet away, next to a catering table under a pavilion. You all meet up with them, Hitch jogging to you in open arms. You smash into each other, giggling.
Hitch is petite compared to you, but still uses her strength to lift you. "Look, Annie, she made it out alive!"
"They grow up so fast," Annie says, brushing your head like a child, standing on her toes to reach you.
The entire group disperses into the pavilion and quad. Reuniting with acquaintances amongst different years.
A male student bumps into you. "My bad. Have we met before?" The ginger-haired man pardons.
"Creative," you say sarcastically.
"We were the winning ensemble in the Reiss International Ballet Competition. You were the lead, Ciara, in The Nutcracker; I played the Mouse King."
"That performance was years ago. I don’t remember," you say apologetically.
"Nah, it's calm. My name’s Floch Forster. It was a once-off thing. Understudy."
"Ah, I see," you reply politely, attempting to recall the insignificant memory.
"I heard you're in the music program. So am I. You’re so much prettier in person," he says, his voice unsteady.
He gives you the confirmation your gut instinct needed. Floch is a fan. "It was nice to meet you, Floch. See you around." You walk off, joining Hitch and Marlo.
Hitch pulls you into another unimportant conversation with some mutual friends. You drown it out. You catch a glimpse of the café guy, staring at you from across the quad. The two of you share a few more bashful glances at each other, until he decides to stare back without refraining. Afraid of looking meek, you stare back temptingly. Neither of you makes the first move to look away. The sensuous look he is giving you makes your heart flutter. You have to keep your cool, even if you feel like you're underwater. He smirks, averting his eyes back to his group, but does not forget to steal an eye-full up and down your figure. The end of your little battle leaves you inhaling intensely.
~~~
October. Halloween
The weight of the angel wings slows you down, as they bounce heavily on your back. You and Hitch were bolting downhill on a quiet boulevard in your Halloween costumes. The bonfire party at Lake Hegel got busted, and since you're unaccustomed to the town, you were leading Hitch in all the wrong directions after you lost sight of your friends. The both of you are inebriated, as a whistle blares into the dark streets, most likely waking up overworked civilians. Your friend's Tinkerbell costume twinkles enough to be in the line of sight of the old police officer chasing you.
"I know this street, turn here!" Hitch pulls you hard into a corner of a crystal shop.
Turning into the corner, your costume hits a man in the face. Him.
"You're Number One’s friend!" Hitch exclaims to the acquaintance dressed as a pirate. She guides you to crouch next to her behind a parked car, out of view from the man chasing you.
"Hitch? Hey, you," He says with an unlit cigarette in his mouth, keeping his eyes on you, bemused by the bizarre scene.
"Hi there, uhh. I don’t remember your name, sorry,' you whisper.
"I don't believe I ever shared it," he apologizes quietly, sauntering to throw the cigarette into a trash bin in front of you.
"Hey!!" The police man shouts, trampling down to the young man. "You see two girls in costumes running down here? One dressed like an angel, the other a fairy?" The man examines the young man and his surroundings.
"Nope. Didn’t see anyone in costumes," he lies, shaking his head up and down in a yes motion. "But I may have seen a young woman in a white dress head west?"
Internally, you smack your head. Dummy.
"I don’t get paid enough for this." The officer clutches his chest.
"The economy, right?" the young man empathizes.
"Hey, you do know you’re trespassing?" The police man tugs on his handcuffs.
"Run."
"Who are you talking to, son?" The old man looks around. Walking to the corner that you and Hitch left.
The pirate begins running down the street. You and Hitch follow behind him.
"Hey, stop!" The officer shouts, taking out a torch.
The three of you speed down to an alleyway close to Old Sina Park, just four minutes short of the Ymir University's back gates. You turn into a dark alley. The pirate-dressed man pulls you to hide with him in a corner.
Hitch stands on the opposite side of the alley, facing the two of you hiding against the wall of the building's trash bin area. Her face scrunches in disgust.
A medium-sized chain-link fence that borders Old Sina Park is straight ahead out of the corners. You have to hide in silence, ensuring to time the escape perfectly. You're stuck in a tight squeeze with the attractive man from the café, almost chest to chest. At your height, you can see the loose strings of his slightly transparent ruffled shirt, revealing his chest, and a black-stringed gold key necklace.
"My eyes are up here," he teases, his voice low and hushed. You blink up at him, the corner of his lips curling upwards. You purse your lips to suppress laughter, playfully pushing his pirate hat down onto his face.
Hitch throws a pebble at your head to get your attention, gesturing her hands towards the fence. You point, telling her to go first. She sulks, shaking her no. "You. Are. Small," you signal strictly, "Go. now!"
She sprints to the fence, climbing up the thick wire, jumping over, and landing with a loud thud. She hurries deeper into the dim park.
A bright flashlight shines directly in the alleyway.
You peer your head into the corner, the old police officer stomping laboriously down the alley. A hand in front of you counts you down, dropping a finger slowly.
Three...two...
The pirate grabs your hand quickly, and the two of you begin running to the fence. A loud whistle and torch in the distance impend. When you get to the fence, he bends slightly, picking you up by the waist. Swiftly and with ease. As he aids you up the fence, one of your angel wings latches onto barbed wire. The old man is yelling down to your way. You tear it off the fence frustratingly, detaching it from your costume. The pirate resumes helping you over the fence, your dress riding up. He pushes your leg over, and your dress accidentally rides up. His hands are cold on your thighs as they move the other leg over the fence. The contact causes you to fall backward onto your bottom. You propel yourself up in pain, holding the broken wing, making sure he jumps over before you dart to find Hitch.
He jumps over easily, narrowly escaping the police officer. He follows behind you silently, watching your back just in case the old man musters up the strength of all his good years to snatch you.
In the middle of the park, you halt, dropping onto the damp grass. You lie on your back, splaying your arms and legs outwards.
"There you are!" Hitch jogs to you.
"The moon. Someone took my moon," you lament, looking up into the empty indigo sky. A new moon nestled in clouds stares down at you, creating a charcoal night.
"Are there stars out tonight?" Hitch asks.
"There's stars every night, silly," you chuckle. A blustery gust of wind cools your face.
"After all this partying, you’re still a lightweight?" she bemoans, rubbing her hands on her exposed arms.
"If you can see the stars, then the moon shouldn't be too far.” The pirate-dressed man appears above you.
"There you are," you say sweetly.
"How much did you two drink?" He asks, bewildered. Your face is drunkenly flushed and your eyes glassy.
"Shhh. She's speaking," you shush him.
"How do you feel, angel?" he asks.
"I feel wonderful! Look at the state of me." You jiggle the angel wing in your hand. "I think half my ass got flattened when you dropped me."
"The ground was right there; your grip was terrible," he contends.
"And I'm freezing off what’s left of mine! I'm leaving!" Hitch says angrily.
"Where are you going?!" You sit up.
"To Number Three!" Your friend abandons you and the pirate in the park.
You defend your friend who helped you tonight. "It’s not what you think. It’s our code name."
"I don't really want to know what that means." He kneels on one leg to meet you at eye-level. "Can you walk?"
"I’m scared to try," you say, feeling lethargic.
"I’m gonna carry you. Is that okay?" he offers.
"Yes."
"Front or back?" He takes off his pirate hat and places it on your head. He ties his mocha shoulder-length hair in a bun behind his ears. Messily leaving out two strands that frame his temple.
"Back," you request. You choose the back to avoid facing him.
He turns his back for you to piggyback. "Hop on."
You climb. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me, it's my fault." He takes the angel wing off your hand.
"Did you hit your head back there?"
"When you dropped me to my death?" You poke fun.
"Before that," he says.
"When we ran into each other?" you ask, confused.
"Even before before that. When you were a child, maybe?" he suggests.
"Haha. Make fun of the drunk girl," you say, not noticing your glittery makeup decorating the back of his hair.
"Does this drunk girl have a name?" he asks.
“Y/n.”
"Y/n, that’s a lovely name. Does a last name follow it?" The pirate-dressed guy implores.
"Depends on who’s asking," you reply coyly.
"Top secret stuff. I ran into a special girl tonight."
"Sure did. I know your last name, so is it followed by a first?" you ask in return.
"Sure is. I’m Eren. Eren Jaeger."
"Pleasure to meet you, Eren," you mumble sweetly. You rest your eyes and head on his back.
"It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Y/n."
© | chapter one
a/n Hi angels 👀👼 I almost shit my pants posting this. Idk why I triggered myself into not finishing it sooner. I've never shared this much writing before so let me know if you want to be beta-reading buddies!
Crazy enough I've also used all this stalling time to draft the entire story. All the meat & potatoes of the story are complete. Gotta organize them in a way that makes sense. I'm starting my 2nd semester so pls have mercy. Again, to all those who take the time to read it I luv u to bits! - Sunny ☼
I bought The Odyssey book to read after watching the film last night. First page gave me an aneurysm but not as much as seeing Travis Scott in a Nolan movie.
The amount of aura farming after the final World Cup win was comical.
Anyways shout out to Yamal, free Palestine!
Haaland is very Reiner-coded. Press post.
i get so serious about this
Isayama kind of being a Greek mythology fan makes him so much cooler to me, because there are so many parallels between Attack on Titan and the lore of the Olympians?
I was feeling super productive on my birthday, so this week, I will be posting two new chapters for the Eren x reader series (FTDT). I want to be more active with writing instead talking random shit per usual 😍 and as a thank you to everyone who read the 1st chapter, despite me abandoning the Armin/Eren x reader summer fic. smooches- Sunny ☼
Musical Theatre/Greek mythology fans: Which is your favorite? 🤔
Hadestown
The Lighting Thief
Epic: The Musical
ALL is that even a question?
no correct answers except Hadestown is the correct answer
As I was watching The Odyssey, the score got to a point where I was half-expecting them to break into song. Is this a sign from the gods for me to get into Epic: The Musical or Hadestown?
Matt Damon on the beach. Matt Damon on the beach. Matt Damon on the beach. Matt Damon on the beach.
I love The Odyssey. Christopher Nolan needs to have a camera named after him at this point.
Just remembered AOT takes place mostly in Africa and Paradis is Madagascar (world map upside down).
Which means I’m half Eldian and Marleyan since I’m closest to the Indian Ocean. Eren and I are canon istg!
The struggle of being a non-American fanfic writer is the habit of using American terminology.
I’ll write Fahrenheit, but I draw the line at aluminum.
in a polyamorous relationship with the oxford comma and the em dash
FROM THE DINING TABLE e. jaeger
Chapter One - When a good man cries
summary: Two years into your Ymir University experience, you never expected your walls to come down so soon. Despite a bad first impression, you finally feel ready to share a secret with those closest to you, including your best-friend-turned-lover, Eren Jaeger. But as the relationship grows turbulent, you're left reconsidering sharing it.
warnings: None for now
words: 2.5k
content: College au | found family | eren x fem!reader
aot masterlist
The chill spring ushers in an approaching dawn, painting the slumbering campus in soft shades of honey and coral. Burnt-out students are only now just entering their dream states. The morning feels still, but Eren’s thoughts are anything but. He sits at an outdoor dining table of the school's café, crouching forward, elbows resting on his knees, sweaty hands loosely clasped. His aged, dark green hoodie is pulled up slightly at the sleeves, revealing his fingers, which pick at a fraying thread absentmindedly. It's been thirty minutes. Maybe more. He wasn’t sure whether you’d respond, let alone show up. But then…there you are.
The second he sees you walking up, his legs start shaking involuntarily.
Shit.
He assumed the time apart might dull the potential tension of a reunion. If anything, the space between you has only made it sharper.
You carried yourself differently today, not in a way anyone else but those closest to you would notice. In an unhurried manner, as if coming here is tedious. Eren swallows harshly, his jaw clenching slightly. Not sure what to say first, he remains watching you. Both of your expressions are unreadable. He knows he’s been unfair. Avoidant. Dragging his feet, trying, yet failing to beat you at your own game. Who cares more? Who will call first? Whatever happens next, he cannot combat, because you already appear resigned. Despite his apprehension, when you finally step closer and meet his gaze, your inherent warmth flares up his chest, like clover soothing a cold. And even now, a part of him still wants to hold onto it selfishly. Eren stands up too quickly and stumbles.
Your eyes glaze over his figure, spotting the Charlie Brown pyjama top peeking through his hoodie. Residue of cigarette smoke loiters in the air. The obvious disarray he's been in since being separated does enough to satisfy you.
“Sorry, sir, I don’t have change.” You approach his table with a fake apologetic look on your face.
The moment you throw that jab at him, his lips press into a thin line, attempting to hide a smirk, albeit with irritation flickering beneath the surface. He deserves this, so all he can do is awkwardly nod in response. You never pause, walking right past him, not sparing him a chance to say anything, like any other inconvenient customer who arrives too early in the day. Eren exhales sharply, watching you unlock the café doors and step inside. The slight stuffiness in the café rushes out, carrying the homey scent of coffee beans and pastries, yet it does nothing to ease the frigid ambience. Without hesitation, the nervous boy follows behind you.
Inside, the cafe is vacant. The faint hum of the espresso machines and freezer fills the quiet space as you settle behind the cash register. He watches as you shrug off your trench coat and begin logging in the shift on an iPad. Your movements are practised, precise, efficient, as if today is no different.
Your voice is calm, "What were you going to do if I didn’t come today?"
He hears the edge in it, the quiet challenge. Of course you're pissed, but he opts out of the test for honesty.
"I don’t know," Eren steps towards a barstool, closing some of the distance but stopping just before the counter to sit. His hands slip into the pockets of his hoodie, eyes flickering between the register and you. Your focus is mesmerising. The natural elegance when brushing hair out of your face to wear your uniform. The way your soft hands carefully graze each object in your vicinity, curing a pain it recently discovered it had. One could only wish to have a gaze as attentive as yours on them.
"Would’ve waited, I guess," his voice is low and dry from the change in weather, paired with self-induced insomnia. Purposefully not adding that he memorized the employee schedule to catch you alone, or named a hidden calendar after you on his phone where he's been crossing off the days that passed since you last spoke. Repeating old voice notes so he doesn't forget your voice. His gaze lingers on you, searching your features for an emotion. Disappointment? Exhaustion? Anything that tells him what’s coming next. Nothing. "You came." Eren continues cautiously.
"Mhm, I wonder why?" You sigh, looking up at him, also sleep-deprived. "Do you want anything to drink?”
Your words land less heavily than they should. Only now does Eren register the tired, hollow look in your eyes. The way you’re scanning him as if you’ve already made up your mind, about what this meeting is.
I allowed it to get to this point? It's only a counter, but she feels so far.
You huff. The impatience in your breath causes his hands to start fidgeting in his hoodie. "Eren? Would you like coffee?" you ask again.
Eren snaps out of his daze, dragging a hand through his hair. “Sure, just don't add–"
"Sugar, I know. Only milk," you finish.
“How’ve you been?”
"Finals are coming up so y'know...you?" you respond while looking down, multitasking, making coffee as you scroll aimlessly at the café schedule. Eren watches you move through tasks, never meeting his eyes. The machine’s timer ticks, counting down the boiling pressure between you two. Three weeks. This is his longest time-out. One that is overdue, because he can't keep up with the affable act; it's not him. It never has been.
"Nothing much. My girlfriend ignored me for 3 weeks, but y'know...what's new?" he remarks, leaning both elbows on the counter. "How much longer are you planning to keep this up?
You bite your bottom lip, glaring up at him in vexation. You begin rushing to finish his drink, leaving out the milk, then slide the hot beverage to him. "What are you talking about?" You cross your arms, finally facing him.
Eren watches you gnaw your lip, forming an expression that twists into something between indignation and disgust. It should make him feel guiltier than he already does, yet it mostly upsets him further.
Your habit of coy inference is still the perfect opposite to his bluntness. He picks up the mug, holding it between his palms, staring at its inky center. "This," he nudges towards his hands. "Pretending that it's been business as usual, like we didn’t just go almost a month without speaking." Eren plainly states, hoping it'll break something out of you.
The wall doesn’t crack.
He continues, "You’ve got the routine down now. So, what was the plan? Keep ignoring me until I disappear?"
"That's what you did”, you retort instantly.
"You blocked my number. When I was in your peripheral, you bolted all over campus. That's when I wanted to apologize. To come back"
Your patience snaps as you approach the counter slowly, resting a hand on the mature wood. "Did you?"
Eren shakes his head as he leans back on the barstool, slightly intimidated by the closing of proximity. "It wasn't the middle of nowhere; we were three minutes away from the party. Was I supposed to chase after you after I was yelled at to stop the car, again?" he defends, his tone edged with irritation. The first forced sip of the coffee is taken, as he sets it down with a soft clink. Sleepy eyes dart back to you, frustration simmering into his voice, "The one time you tell me to fuck off, I do, then you left me with an even longer path of eggshells to walk on just to get to you. You always do this."
"This is the last time then," you murmur, dropping your arms in defeat.
"Darling, I'm so sorry. I didn't come here to change how you feel. I promise you, I thought I was giving you real space this time. The entire night was a shit show. C'mon, standard procedure, right? You say things you don't mean, I take it, then we act like it didn’t happen." To him it’s simple. You fight, he runs after you, meeting in the middle, rinse, repeat.
“That's what you remember? Nothing else?” you add, like there’s a missing part of the puzzle. He's always missing something. You recall the events to him like he’s the only one who messed up that night, which is confusing. You interject before he can chime in, "I was drunk, Eren; not stupid. Only one of us was sober that night. Sure, what we said in the car was careless, but those were sober thoughts. Everything after that as well. I told you to leave me alone; you did. No one needs to panic."
His fingers drum against ceramic plates, biting the inside of his cheek. “I’m not; I figured you’d get over it, like you always do. I don't remember every detail. The day caught up to me too," he runs his sleeves down his face before gripping his mug again. "You tell me to go, I go. You tell me to stay, I stay. But if you don’t even know what you want, then am I supposed to? Why are we still talking about this? What about tomorrow?”
"We're not. I told you this is the last time. You win," you express matter-of-factly.
"I win?" his lips part again, unsure about how to implore further.
"You think I say things I don't mean, but I really meant it. I don't like who I am when I’m with you," you dig into the fresh wound. "We've been speaking different languages this whole time. Let's end it. Then...business as usual, mhm?"
Eren’s breath hitches, preferring that you'd at least raise your volume; incite another dramatic back and forth to show regard, but you remain as composed as you did stepping into the cafe. His posture straightens, refusing to look away from you, "Stop.”
"It's okay, we don't have to do this anymore,” you force a fatigued chuckle, occupying yourself with cutlery. Reluctantly, you sneak a glance at his face only to regret it instantly. A pair of jade irises glint back at you, glassy, as if a jeweller polished them for you to see. A timid quiver tries not to escape as his lips press together for a moment. A hand curls over the counter, almost reaching out to be held before clenching back into his jeans just as fast. "Okay,” he whispers, rejecting a challenge.
No more expectations for either person to run back into the other's arms. For the first time, he’s scared you won’t.
Sharp inhales fill the cafe as the poor young man’s throat works around a response that never comes. Something cocky, witty, maybe something to insinuate you've still got him in the palms of your hands. To keep you from letting him go. Nothing. The most appropriate action at his disposal is to pull his hood over his head and withdraw.
"Enjoy your birthday," you dissolve with a sorrowful smile.
"You too," Eren turns his back to you, fiddling once more with a birthday gift swaddled in the pockets of his hoodie.
The stuffiness in the room collapses as the entrance doors swing shut. Once he is out of sight, a force as heavy as the heart moves your trembling body into the storage room. The force breaks down the thin barrier that refused to shudder before the man you love. Eren left with a part of you when he walked out, and that other half is moving on autopilot. A distraught form misaligning with the pavement as he steps on misty grass, passing the early-birds on a jog, missing the cherry-blossoms awakening above him.
To get you back, he always begged. To learn you, for a title, for forgiveness, he begged. Besides himself with a tail tucked behind him, all in the pursuit of feeling wanted, he begged. In the pit of his stomach, he knows he could be letting a good thing slip away. Even so, pride will not allow him, because you were the only one brave enough to say the quiet part out loud. ''We don't have to do this anymore.'' The phrase loops in his mind relentlessly like a commandment, and he tearfully prays to be woken up from the nightmare.
What gets under his skin is the conviction behind it. The woman he loves has already mourned him.
But we always come back. Always. The pounding in between his ribcage accelerates, and all he wants to do is rip the ache straight out of his chest. Instead, he keeps walking, not minding swallowing pollen in the air, or how it makes his eyes water, as long as if it means pushing through shallow breathing. He ignores the concerned onlookers stopping in their tracks to watch him weep as he leaves the Ymir campus grounds. The cafe reeked of self-sabotage. A pathetic lack of will, while stubbornness held the room together. You made him feel like he was enough when most people made him feel like he was too much. You were not supposed to be one of those people.
© | chapter two
Notes: Sad? Don't be there's worse to come lol. Kidding guys, it's actually good vibes after this one I swear. I just felt like starting at the breakup was more interesting, then working backwards.
And I'll be damned writer's block can be conquered! I'm so excited to write for a different character! I came back from a family trip and finished exams, but this draft weighed heavy on my mind. The entire story has been sitting in my drafts for two years, so I thought why not? I lived some life & have more to say I guess...
All that's left is to edit the other chapters. My bday is coming up & I'm dramatic af so it only made sense to post this today. K bye - Sunny ☼
oh, & I'm pausing on the armin/eren fic for a bit. I'm just getting this one out of my system. I'm sorry to everyone who was anticipating it.
