#clay just sits and stares. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

coralinnii · 9 months

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❋ Crushing on a game character ❋ ↳ bonus: he kinda reminds you of your bf feat ⎸Leona ⭑ Azul ⭑ Jack ⭑ Kalim genre ⎸fluff, humour note ⎸no pronouns used with reader, established relationships, reader is kinda oblivious and scatterbrained.

part one

Ugghh, the disgusted looks this man would give. Stop, I can’t handle the judgemental stares!

Jokes aside, Leona’s not really going to care too much. It’s your life so you can like whatever you want so long as it doesn’t bother him.

He may look like he isn’t listening to you as you gush about your ult fav, but he’s listening enough to get the gist of this fictional character that seems to capture your attention.

“He sounds like a real jerk. You got some weird taste”

“He’s actually a good guy, I swear!”

“Well, for a good guy he sure acts like an as-“

Am I getting too meta on this?

Despite his supposed indifference, he pays enough attention to notice some similarities appearance-wise between him and your favorite character and of course he had to point it out at any given chance.

“Can’t get your mind off of me, can ya?”

He can sleep through your gaming and your giggling well enough, and at the end of the day he’s the one that gets to have you in his arms as you fall asleep after a long gaming session.

But soon, you started buying some merch. At first, it was just some photo cards and keychains so it’s nothing too crazy. He almost can’t believe that people would actually spend time and money collecting those kinds of things. But when he realized that he could quell your anger a lot better now by handing you merch he made Ruggie get, he can’t complain about an easy out.

Then the bigger stuff started coming in, and Leona starts to notice that this fictional bastard is taking more than just space in your phone. He doesn’t like sharing what’s his, fictional or not.

“You can’t be serious”

Your lips curled into a pout as you glanced back at your new purchase that somehow offended Leona for some reason. “What? It looks cool, doesn’t it?”

Leona doesn’t agree as he stood face to face with the monstrosity sitting on your desk.

A giant figurine of a certain character he’s starting to think he’s seeing way too much of.

It was a detailed piece with decor and props surrounding the character, showing off more of its 3D splendor. The smug expression on the figure, regardless if simply painted on, made Leona growled under his breath as it rubbed him the wrong way.

Your beastman boyfriend was waiting for you in his bedroom when the school day was done, expecting some quality time with his mate. Instead, he was practically left forgotten when you heard that a package was dropped off for you and you were excited to unbox your long-awaited splurge. Leona finally got your attention when he unceremoniously burst through your bedroom doors to find you rearranging your desk to fit your new figure.

“The damn thing is takin’ up your whole desk,” Leona sneered down at the piece of clay as though it offended his honor. “And it’s ugly as hell”

“How dare you! He’s a masterpiece!” Leona felt a vein tense on his forehead. Did you really have to call it a he? “Besides, I still have space on my desk and just looking at him while I study relaxes me”

As if to prove your point, you bent down to gaze at your new figure and a fond smile immediately found its place on your face. You playfully tapped the top of your character’s head, giddy as you took in the well-crafted design of the model.

Leona on the other hand, can only feel a headache forming as he has to watch his lover go gaga over a cheap piece of clay (cheap to him, maybe!). It’s one thing to have your attention away from him when you're gaming, but he’s not gonna fight with a freaking toy for your loving looks outside of that. He’s the boyfriend here.

You felt yourself pulled back by your collar, making you fall backwards unceremoniously onto your bed. You wanted to get up but Leona immediately joined you, trapping you as he laid his body atop of you, wrapping both his arms and his tail to keep you in his hold. He didn’t say anything but you could see his flattened ears and a sour expression across his face.

“Do you really not like it?” You asked him, carefully caressing his head in hopes to ease his tense ears. Leona tried to ignore your question but one glance at your worried look just wouldn’t let him.

“It’s fine… now stop talkin’ and just sleep already.” Quickly snuffing the conversation, Leona pulled you close to rest his head on you, being lulled by your heartbeat. Leona isn’t gonna tell you to stop if you really like this stuff, but his time with you is not negotiable.

His first thought was how obsessi- I mean passionate you must be.

Though, having been around Idia and even Jade long enough, Azul wouldn’t be that surprised as he assumed that this sort of infatuation with such a trivial thing is not something uncommon. Not something he would do but not surprised if you have something you like to such an extent.

Azul would be curious and have many questions about your fixation. What’s enticing you so? How is it addicting for you? How can he possibly market on this-

Being a doting partner, Azul would let you play your game in his office while he works on some paperwork. But Azul would secretly listen to you as you gush about the game and your favorite character.

And I mean, ACTUALLY listen. He remembers your expressions as you ramble about that character’s favorite food or how good he looks in his new “skin” as you call it. He’s very attentive and he does find your goofy smiling very cute.

But if this goes on, Azul might start to get worried. Is this character perhaps your ideal type all along? This suave and admittedly well-designed game character better suits your fancy than anything or anyone else.

Azul would start comparing himself to this fictional character and wondered…is that who you wanted?

You were starting to worry about your boyfriend so you made your way to his office. He seemed to be a lot busier lately and you noticed there were more papers on his desk than the usual contracts and bills. However, whenever you near him Azul was quick to hide certain things on his desk from your sight which you tried to convince yourself that something like that should be expected considering the confidential documents he may have as an owner of an establishment. But the way he forces a tight-lipped smile when he does so…it leads your mind to upsetting thoughts.

Working to dispel those thoughts, you knocked on his door but there was no response. That was strange since Jade assured you that the Housewarden was in his office and Azul would always respond back from beyond the door.

Your worries deepened, you carefully opened the door just slightly in case Azul was actually preoccupied with a client. Thankfully, you saw no one on the guest seats and when you pushed the door further, you noticed your fair-haired boyfriend slouched in his seat pouring over some papers, mumbling to himself.

“Azul?”

Your voice startled the merman as he flinched out from his trance, his hands accidentally scattering his papers off his desk and close to your feet.

“Ah no, wait!” Azul yelled in panic but you already took a good look at what was printed on the sheets of paper.

It was your current favorite from the game you’ve been playing, with facts taken from the game lore as well as from fan theories. There were also pictures of his CGs with special dialogues catered to the players.

Upon closer inspection, you soon noticed written memos and certain sections highlighted on these fact sheets, all in Azul’s intricate handwriting.

Light-colored attire… prince-like aesthetic

Skilled with swords…athletic appeal?

Potential date sites? Food-sharing ideas….Hand-holding opportunities…

Littered all over the papers were scribbles as such which made you initially assume that it was for research purposes only. However, between these notes were details about you which made you rethink that assumption.

You saw your personal interests, your food preferences, whether you would enjoy such date scenarios. Notes pondering if you would enjoy such a thing or if you find this attractive on Azul.

Your boyfriend must have gone through so many websites, forums, and postings to find this much information without playing the game. Heck, you recognized some of these CGs from mini events that weren’t promoted as much as others. All this detailed research…you smiled at how adorably Azul-like of him.

Azul eventually built his courage to break the awkward silence. “I can explain, my dear”

You raised your brow but nodded. “Ok”

“I became intrigued by your fixation of this game and decided on checking on myself the appeals of this game” Azul pushed his glasses to cover his nervous countenance. “I must say, I am quite impressed with the details this company puts into their characters. Perhaps I can find some way to implement these elements into Mostro Lounge as a limited time event”

You couldn't help but chuckle seeing Azul trying to compose himself, but the flushing of his pale skin betrays him. “I see. Well needless to say, I agree with your thoughts from what I can see, especially the date scenarios”

Your tease successfully flustered your Azul even more, but you want to fluster your cute lover further “While I do like the aesthetic of the handsome, princely type…”

Azul watched you approach him at his desk, wary of the cheeky look on your face. Smiling, you proceeded to surprise him with a kiss on his face, teasingly close to his beauty mark.

“…I like the very cute and clever merman better”

How skilled you are to turn an octopus boiling red without fire.

Very confused. He understands that people have their own preferences and interests but he’s just…so, so confused.

He supports you and your passions but you will have to explain the concepts like “simping” and “biases” to him. Very much a normie, but a supportive one.

He makes sure that you balance your gaming life with your personal life, which means no late night gaming, no 3AM game check-ins, and he paces your grinding sessions with breaks.

We don’t deserve him

He would notice that your favorite character seems to be a beastman like him, but doesn’t connect the reason why you would be so infatuated with this silent wolf-like character in particular.

Such a coincidence they look similar to each other, huh…

He would chastise you if you get too absorbed into the game but he does respect your dedication and your gaming knowledge.

If you offer, he wouldn’t mind trying out the game you love so much just so he can understand your interest better.

“Ughh, I lost”

You laughed as you watched your tall boyfriend groan, ruffling his hair in frustration. Jack decided to finally try out your new obsession and after a quick crash-course explanation from you, Jack tried his hand at the battle portion of the game. It ended unfortunately in his defeat as all his players died and the screen on your phone darkened.

“You were really good for your first time, though” you tried to cheer him up. “Sometimes it just comes down to luck”

You could tell however that Jack was still bummed about his loss, his tail slowly flicking around and his ears flattening on his head.

“This is actually pretty tough” Jack grumbled under his breath, not realizing how complicated the game mechanics were. “I always thought you were amazing with how good you were at this game but wow…”

“This man, complimenting me like it’s nothing…”

Trying to cover your flustered expression, you crawled over to your boyfriend who was currently sitting down. Gently, you pushed his arms in order to climb onto his lap, your back resting against his chest which flinched upon your touch. You took back your phone from Jack’s hands.

“Here, I’ll show you some stuff to boost your chances” you looked to your boyfriend, who went suspiciously quiet…quieter than usual. “Jack?”

You could feel how Jack immediately stiffened at his name before he slightly yelled out his response “Right, got it!”

Stifling your laugh, you made yourself comfortable as you continued with your gaming. Although, you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling when you felt a pair of muscular arms wrapping around your waist, and a fluffy tail resting on your legs.

Another clueless but supportive partner.

Kalim’s really glad you have something you really love and is happy to hear you talk for hours about anything and everything related to the game and your favorite game character.

“He can do that? Wow!” “What? That’s such a sad story, poor guy!”

He understands why you would like this character, seeing how jovial and sweet-natured your ult fav seem to be.

“What a real nice guy, you must really like these types of guys, huh?”

“Yea…guess I do”

He’ll go to conventions with you, even wait in long lines with you, and listen to fan theories while not understanding a single thing, all because seeing you so happy is worth it.

You will have to be the one with self-control because the moment Kalim finds out there’s merch out there, he’s buying them without hesitation.

Even the less…subtle merchandise out there

“Kalim…where did you get this?”

“Do you like it? I saw this while searching for stuff you might like”

You questioned what Kalim thought of you if he assumed that this would be something you like, because you’re faced with a large body pillow of your bias character laying on your bed, with your boyfriend joyously showing it off. The picture printed on the cover showcased your favorite character in a cute pose, which you were honestly grateful for because you wouldn’t know the best reaction to have if Kalim bought a less than school-friendly image.

“It’s…wow” despite the insanity of the situation, you started to smile in amusing absurdity “I mean…I never thought I would have the chance to hold a body pillow, let alone have a cute looking one”

Kalim, oblivious as ever, grinned as he assumed you were happy with his purchase “Right?! I heard from some people at the convention that pillows like these were really popular!”

Ah, so that’s where he learned about this side of the fandom. Kalim is such an easy guy to talk with so he would occasionally start conversations with other convention attendees despite being a “normie”, so to speak.

“I managed to get one commissioned with the fluffiest pillow I could get.” Grabbing the pillow, Kalim proudly held it out in front of you. “Here, feel it!”

You did what your boyfriend asked, and your eyes widened at luxurious sensations under your fingertips. “Holy crap, this is so soft! And the picture quality is super good too”

Any experience or expectations you had about body pillows is now blown out of the park as you can’t imagine anything ever beating the softness and quality of this body pillow. Heck, your regular pillows can’t be compared to the feeling of heaven you’re feeling.

Kalim grinned at you, satisfaction and joy clear on his cute face. Gently, the tanned man pulled you onto your bed, making you lay onto the mattress with your boyfriend and your new body pillow. Wrapping his arms around you, you were now sleeping between the Housewarden and your printed-out ult bias.

“See, even if I can’t be here, you still have something with you when you’re tired” Kalim’s ruby eyes shined with affection. “Though I don’t ever want to leave your side, I wanna make sure you’re never alone even if I can’t be with you”

Internally screaming, you swore to protect this cinnamon roll.

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yandere-daydreams · 1 year

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tw - nonconsensual drug use, kidnapping/imprisonment, nonconsensual touching, and obsessive behavior.

One of them put something in your tea.

You think it was Alhaitham – smug, scheming Alhaitham, who never greeted you with anything more than a dead-eyed stare and never kept you for anything less than an hour when he called you aside for a one-sided conversation in his rarely used office nestled in among the highest alcoves of the Akademiya. You didn’t trust him, didn’t like how willing he was to abandon his duties in favor of chasing whatever his fickle curiosity latched onto, didn’t feel comfortable with the way his eyes pried into you when you were alone together. He’d been the one to invite you over to the apartments he and Kaveh shared, too, to ignore your requests to see the artifacts he claimed to have found during his latest expedition in favor of forcing one of Kaveh's well-love clay mugs into your hands. It’d probably been him. It’d make sense, to both your rational mind and the sentimental creature inside of you, if it’d been him.

Which is exactly why the scholar constantly gnawing at the back of your mind – ever-doubtful, ever-distrusting – screamed that it had to have been Kaveh. You liked him more than you liked Alhaitham, trusted him more than you could ever trust Alhaitham, and he’d had just as much time with the drink that’d just barely touched your lips, muttering about Alhaitham’s nonexistent sense of taste as he shoveled sugar into your mug by the spoonful. You admired him, too; unlike Alhaitham, Kaveh threw himself wholly and entirely into his work, his research, and he’d never had to corner you to have your full attention. That was why it was so easy to tell yourself that you should’ve been more careful, that you should’ve been more wary of the threat that presented itself as aid than the one who wore its true colors proudly. It was definitely Kaveh. Or, it was definitely Alhaitham.

Or, it didn’t matter which one of them put something in your tea, because one of them had put something in your tea and neither of them seemed to care.

You could already feel some of the more pronounced effects setting in; your hands limp and numb where they’d fallen into your lap, your tongue dry and swollen in your mouth, your vision already beginning to blur around the edges. You were still sitting at their claustrophobic kitchen table, Kaveh less than arm’s length to your right and Alhaitham far enough to stare you down from a careful distance, but you had to strain to listen to their conversation. “You’re never home,” Kaveh droned, in the tone he only seemed to use when talking to Alhaitham. “The poor thing would die of neglect in the first week. You couldn’t take care of a houseplant, much less a person.”

“Houseplants require a great deal of research and intuition. People tend to be much louder about their wants and needs.” Likewise, Alhaitham was using the tone he saved exclusively for Kaveh; one of self-gratifying neutrality, as if the pedestal he’d put himself on was too tall to let him notice something as insignificant as Kaveh’s frustration. “And it's not as if you can be trusted with this kind of responsibility. Not for any longer than a few hours, at least.”

There was a beat of silence. When Alhaitham failed to go on, Kaveh let out an exasperated groan. “What’s that supposed to mean, scribe?”

“Oh, only that an architect as passionate as you are tends to be easily distracted. I’d give it...” He quirked his head to the side, gaze shifting to something purposefully distant. “…three days before a new proposal catches your eye, and I know how difficult it can be for you to balance more than one project at a time.”

“See, that’s your problem. You think of them as an object that must be dusted off once or twice a week, whereas I see them as my beautiful and beloved lover who I want nothing more than to spend time with.” Something about Alhaitham’s frown quirked, and Kaveh hastily corrected himself. “Alright, my soon-to-be lover. It doesn’t matter – even if I don’t take the first turn, they’ll be in my loving arms eventually, and once they are, they'll never want to go back to yours. I’d tell you to save yourself a heartbreak, but I’m still not sure if you have a heart.”

Now it was Alhaitham’s turn to put on a façade of mock-exasperation, letting out a breathy exhale as he leaned onto the tabletop. “Timing can be very important. Whatever we do, whoever gets to do it – they’re going to set a precedent. Since I don’t want to have another brat under my roof, we have to be careful.”

To his credit, Kaveh didn’t try to deny it, merely leveling the accusation back at Alhaitham. “You? Careful? Which one of us thought he could take the General Mahamatra in a fight?”

And, to Alhaitham’s credit, he didn’t waste his breath trying to fight for his innocence, either. Rather, he turned to you, sharp eyes immediately piercing the very depths of your soul. “(Y/n),” and then, in a voice slightly softer than the one he’d addressed Kaveh with, “What do you think? You’re rational enough to know who’d take better care of you.”

You managed to open your mouth, to pry your lips apart and start to spit out something halfway coherent.

Then, without making a sound, you collapsed onto their table, knocking your mug to its side and spilling Alhaitham's awful tea onto their tiled floor.

Kaveh reacted first, gasping as he gathered you in his arms. You were dead weight, barely able to hold your own head up, but he made an effort to keep you upright, to pretend you were in any way acting of your own will as he pulled you against his chest and raked his calloused fingers against your damp hair. “Aw, look at the poor thing! I told you to use a smaller dose.”

The gratification was minimal, dampened by panic and exhaustion too ebbing to be natural. Something seemed to light behind Alhaitham’s dull eyes, and in turn, something jagged turned in your stomach. “I still need an answer,” he reiterated. You did your best to glare, to thrash Kaveh’s hold, but you could barely twitch, barely keep yourself conscious, and Alhaitham went on undeterred. “We’ll have to ask again once your head’s started to clear. The effect should only last for a few days – a week, at most, to give you time to adjust.”

Kaveh’s attention drifted downward, his lips brushing against the side of your throat. You felt his hair ghost over your shoulder as his head dipped lower, as his heart beat just a little faster against your back. Your eyes found Alhaitham, and for the first time since you’d first met him, his scowl broke to reveal a small, sharp smile.

“Until then, there should be enough of you to share.”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere drabbles #yandere genshin imagines #yandere genshin #yandere genshin x you #yandere genshin impact #genshin imagines #genshin impact #alhaitham x reader #yandere alhaitham #yandere kaveh #kaveh x reader #yanderecore #yancore

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pigcowboys · 6 months

Note

hiii!!! may i request headcannons or smth for doing arts n crafts or pottery with percy pleaseee!!! :3 thank youuu have a nice dayyy

pairing: percy jackson x gn!reader

warning(s): mutual pining, kissing, fluff, incorrect pottery knowledge, physical touch.

summary: percy helps you with your pottery assignment

a/n: HI!! TYSM FOR REQUESTING :D, this request is adorable too I’ve always loved this pottery trope it’s so cliche 😭😭 im currently working on the missing FIC but! I wanted to post SOMETHING cause it’s been so long.

happy halloween to anyone who celebrates it!

percy peered into the arts and craft room curiously, looking around at the abandoned looking room. a smile made its way onto his face as he took notice of you, practically skipping over to you.

you huffed as you picked at the dried up clay on your hands, flinching slightly when percy slung a hand over you, pulling you towards him with a smile.

“what’re you doing?” he asked, peering over your shoulder curiously. you barely moved, adjusting your shoulder so he’d rest comfortably.

“making — or well, trying to make a vase.” you turned to look at him through your peripheral. percy stared at the discombobulated mess of clay that he assumed was your attempt at that.

“i’m guessing this is a more..artistic take on that.” he joked, nuzzling his face further into your shoulder. “did you come here to laugh at me or something?”

“truth? maybe.” he grinned. “that and, i just missed you.” you rested your head against his own which laid in the crook of your shoulder, cradling it with your clay stained hands.

“flattery will get you nowhere, percy.” you smiled at him. “but, i missed you too.” you leaned forward, moving Percy’s head out of your shoulder in the process. he moved to sit beside you, looking at the mess in front of you with a confused look. you met his gaze, offering him a dazed grin.

“do you want some help?”

“yes, please.”

percy laughed slightly, standing up and plopping down behind you. you adjusted to the feeling of him behind you, giggling slightly when his hands brushed your rib cage as it came to hold onto your waist.

you eyed him curiously before clearing the kiln of any excess clay. Percy watched closely as you placed a fresh lump of clay onto the wheel, watching closely as you began to toy with the shape of the clay. his head found it’s way over your shoulder as he braved against your back, removing his hands for your waist.

your breath caught in your throat at the proximity but paid it no mind, pushing down your anxiety in favor of focusing.

“here,” you said, motioning for Percy to bring his hands forward to which he did, hovering on the wheel with uncertainty as he waited for your next command. “shape the lower half, i’ll work on the top half, okay?”

percy hummed in agreement, leaning to the right of you as he used his lithe fingers to curve the lower half of the vase. you two worked in tandem despite the close proximity and the straying thoughts that would flash in your mind every few minutes about how you could feel percy’a breath against your neck.

you felt like you were going crazy, especially when your hands absentmindedly wander further down towards the lower half of the vase, grazing Percy’s own hands which were moving up at the same time. in real time the contact only lasted about a minute or two but you felt like the lasted well over ten.

it seriously didn’t help when Percy inched forward as you were turning to observer the wall mounted clock in the arts in crafts room, locking eyes with him for moment before whipping your head back to focus on what you were actually supposed to be doing.

the situation was so awkward and it was only punctuated by percy talking enthusiastically about something that crossed his mind as you tried your best to listen to what he had to say. though, at this point you were down for the count and there wasn’t anyway to just slip out from the position you’d put yourself in.

your mind wandered and you turned to look at percy as he spoke, mind getting caught on the pinkish hue of his lips. they looked, regular — you guessed. just..really nice. and inviting. and cute kind of? can lips be cute? maybe not, but, his were.

Percy trailed off as he caught wind of the fact you were zoned out, fixating his eyes towards wherever it was you were looking at and flushing when he did. a nervous laugh slipped through him that caused you to snap out your daze as he murmured out your name.

“you’re not listening are you?”

“i am.”

“y’know I hate that I doubt that.”

you frowned, a bad attempt at looking offended by the complete and total truth that Percy was accusing you of doing.

“what makes you think I’m not?” you asked, turning back to focus on shaping the clay. percy stilled for a moment before leaning forward, breath fanning against the shell of your ear.

“ the fact you keep staring longingly at my lips.”

you flinched at the sound of his voice, whipping your head back to look at him and simultaneously digging into the clay that was still rotating. you cursed, removing your hands from the wheel as you shifted out from your spot in-front of Percy.

he looked at you with slight amusement as he stopped the spinning, getting up to follow after you, who had walked over to the sink — washing your hands furiously while also trying to calm your racing heart.

percy walked over slowly, observing you silently before taking a spot next to you to wash his hands. you didn’t spare him a glance when he did, only shifting slightly so he’d get access to the sink as well.

“ are you embarrassed or something?” he spoke up suddenly

“wh—” You snapped your head towards Percy with a genuine look of bewilderment in your face. “no!” you frowned at him, heart beating in your ears and he stared you down. well, you had to give it to him, the guy had amazing eye contact.

“you just caught me off guard.”

“caught off guard or caught red handed?”

“caught off guard.”

percy looked at you like he trying to analyze you, hands flapping in the wind as he shook off the water that was on his hands. you turned your back towards him, reaching for the towel that was a near the sink, drying your hands. now, how were you supposed to come up with an excuse that could get you out of this?

“hey,” Percy spoke once more, a slight seriousness in the tone of his voice. you turned your head towards him curiously. “we could try it.”

“try..?”

“kissing.”

“each other?” you asked, complete shock on your face.

“no, the clay.” he quipped, expression faltering when his response was met with silence from your end. “it’s..okay if you don’t want to — i just thought it would be.. uhm, good for practice?”

“yeah, cause i kiss people every other month or so.”

he shrugged. “you could be living a double life.” you shot him a look, a sigh escaping you. he wasn’t joking right? like, this wasn’t a prank..right? you racked your brain from specifics, trying your hardest to walk through the idea before reluctantly opting to give into it.

it was a once in a lifetime opportunity.

“c’mere,” you murmured, and Percy obeyed your order almost immediately. your breath caught in your throat as he approached you carefully, placing his hand on your shoulder. you looked up at him like a deer in headlights, causing a laugh — or more like a cackle to escape his lips.

you gave him an unamused look. percy smiled warmly, clearing his throat before moving his hands towards the underside of your chin, angling it up. you closed your eyes expectantly, gulping as Percy’s breath fanned over your lips.

he hesitated for a moment before leaning in and locking lips with you after a pause. you pursued your lips against his own, hands coming to rest on his chest as you fiddled with the strings of his hoodie.

you were stiff in his hold, something that he could feel as he pressed into your body. his other hand reached up to rest on your hands which was rested against his chest in attempt to soothe your nerves. you relaxed in his hold, titling your head slightly as you pull back for air before going back in.

Percy pulled away from the kiss finally, a small sigh escaping his lips as he gazed at you longingly. he opened his mouth to say something, lips pressing shut as he stood in silence. you felt as if it was now your turn to ease the tension, a smile breaking out on your face in an attempt to soothe his fears.

“that was..a solid 8/10..”

percy grinned, removing his hand from under your chin as he cradled your torso. “2 points off?” he smiled. “How come?”

You shrugged. “you were pretty stiff.”

“you’re talking?”

you punched him playfully, sliding out of his grip carefully as you inches back towards the wheel.

“come on, let’s finish this, okay?” you turned towards him. “i’lil let you do a redo afterwards.”

percy stared at you with starstruck eyes, briskly walking back over to the pottery station.

#percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson fluff #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson x y/n #percy jackson x you #x reader fluff #x reader #pjo fluff

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bloatedandalone04 · 6 months

Text

In The Way I Need You | Part 1

Series Masterlist

➪in which joey starts school and clay realizes he might have to listen to his mothers advice of hiring a sitter, but quickly warms up to that after idea meeting a seemingly sweet girl while on his way to work.

PSA: strongly suggested to read the warnings before proceeding.

WC; 3.6k | Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡

“Clayton Beresford, get up,” the sound of his mother’s voice made Clay cringe as he grabbed his pillow and placed it over his head. “Clay, get up. Joey has been asking for his dad for the last half hour, you need to get up.”

Clay groaned as she ripped the pillow away from him and threw it on the opposite side of the bed before walking over to the curtains and pulling them open. “Mother,”

“Don’t mother me, Clay,” Lilith scolds as she moves back around the bed and stands over him. “You need to get ready for work, and get Joey ready for school, it’s his first day.”

With a huff, Clay sits up and throws the sheets off him. “You couldn’t have gotten him dressed for me?”

Lilith scoffs, walking towards the door. “I made him breakfast, you can pick out his clothing,” and then she was gone and Clay was left alone in the bed that felt all too big for just one person.

Looking around his room, he sighs at how messy it had gotten since his last attempt at cleaning it. He grew up damn near spoiled and never had to worry about cleaning his room or making his bed, so now at the age of twenty seven, he was terrible at both those tasks.

He looks over at the right side of the bed, and more specifically at how empty it was. That spot should be filled. She should be here, with him and with their son, but life really enjoys playing with him sometimes.

Sighing again, he gets up and throws on his work clothing, which really felt more like a formal event outfit than anything else. He finishes buttoning up his white shirt as he enters the kitchen, his eyes instantly landing on his son. “Hey, buddy,” he greets as he leans down and kisses the top of his head. “Did you have a good sleep?”

Joey nods and sets the crust of his toast down on the plate. “I’m still tired,”

Clay laughs and picks up the half eaten toast. “You are?” He asks and finishes his kids breakfast, his mind going back to when he was Joey’s age and also didn’t like crust. “You went to bed pretty early last night. Unless you were just pretending to be asleep when I came and checked in on you.”

Joey shakes his head quickly as Lilith laughs from her place at the sink, her arms crossed as she blows on the coffee mug in her hand. “No, dad,” he answers as he stares up into Clay’s matching blue eyes.

“No?” Clay hums, picking up the now empty plate and walking over to his mom.

She stays still as he reaches around her to set the plate down in the sink, a teasing smile on her lips. “He’s got you wrapped around his finger,” she stated. “You’re aware of that, right?”

Clay laughs and nods, looking back at his son as he scribbled on a blank piece of paper with a yellow crayon. “I know,” he agrees, looking down at his mom’s attire. “Are you staying home today?”

Lilith glances down at her housecoat clad body with a shrug. “I’m wrapped around that kid’s finger, too,” she grinned, finishing off her coffee and putting the mug in the sink as well. “I’ll get my work done early so I can be here when he gets home, but I really think it’s time we start looking for a more stable sitter. I know you don’t like talking about it, but I think you should consider hiring a nanny.”

Clay sighs and moves away, standing behind Joey and placing his hands on the back of his chair. “I said I’d think about it,” he muttered. “I haven’t come to a conclusion yet.”

“It’s not a bad idea to have someone here to look after him while we’re at work. Someone to get him to and from school, helps get him ready in the mornings,” she pointed out. “Like a nanny.”

“He doesn’t need a nanny,” Clay mumbled, reaching a hand up to flatten out Joey’s messy hair. “I don’t want my son growing up in that kind of environment.”

“You had a nanny when you were little, Clay,” she reminded as she moved away from the sink. “You turned out pretty well.”

“I’m a single dad at the age of twenty seven, mother,” he rasped. “And I still live with my mother.”

“I told you I never liked that girl, Clayton,” she scolded as she wrapped her robe tighter around her body. “And I also told you that this is your home for as long as you want it to be. You want to move out, fine, but then who will be there to help look after Joey? No one. Unless you listen to me and hire someone to do it.”

And then she was disappearing down the hall to get ready for the day. Grunting under his breath, Clay leaned down and pulled Joey’s chair out. “Come on, let’s get you dressed,” he held his hand out, grinning when the much smaller one grabbed it.

The phone rang five times before Clay was sent to voicemail.

He wasn’t surprised, but the silence still irked him. Glancing at his driver, Clay turned a bit and tried to make it a little more private, but he was literally in the backseat of a car on his way to work. How private could it really be? “Hey, it’s me again,” he started, not missing the way Rick, his driver, glanced back at him. “Joey started school today. Can you believe it? Our son started school.”

Rick straightened up at the harsh tone of Clay’s voice and quickly put his attention back on the busy street of New York, surely sensing that this would not be a nice voicemail.

Clay paid him no mind as he continued, “He’s four now. Did you know that? You should, he’s your kid, too. You should know how old he is and you should’ve been there for his first day of school,”

He wasn’t entirely sure if his ex even still used this number, or if he was just making these calls for nothing. She must, seeing as her voicemail hasn’t gotten full yet, and he’s been giving her these updates for the past three years now as a way to cope with not having her in his life anymore.

Clay knew she didn’t deserve to know about what’s been going on in Joey’s life, and he knew he shouldn’t be wasting time leaving her messages, but he couldn’t help it.

He didn’t know if he wanted to rub it in her face about how good of a parent he turned out to be, or how amazing their son is. He just wanted her to know that she royally fucked up when she decided to leave before Joey even turned one.

“You should’ve been there, Sam,” he said again, his voice wavering as he let his anger that had been building up since she left get to his head. “How the fuck could you do that to him? To us?”

Clay looks out the window and sees that he’s almost to the building in which he would be spending the next eight hours in.

Sighing, he wraps up the call. “Whatever, Sam. I hope you realize one day how much you’ve missed out on and how much our son has missed out on,” he muttered. “Not that you even care. Delete this, listen to it, do whatever you want. That’s what you’re best at.”

And then he hung up and was left feeling even worse.

It always ended that way, with him heated up with anger and with Sam probably feeling great at the fact that she is still able to rile him up without even being there.

Rick pulls off to the side of the street and looks back at Clay. “We’ve arrived, Mr. Beresford,”

Clay scoffs quietly, shrugging off his jacket since his skin had begun to sport a thin layer of sweat from how annoyed he got during the one-sided call. “Mr. Beresford was my dad,” he says, leaning back against the seat. He wasn’t ready to go in there yet. He was so frustrated and didn’t want to accidentally go off on anyone in that building because he still isn’t over his ex. “It’s just Clay. You know that.”

“I do,” Rick nods, sending him an apologetic smile in the rearview mirror. “Everything alright, Clay?”

Nodding, Clay looks out the window. “Everything is fine,” he lies as he watches a girl pace back and forth on the sidewalk. New York was a massive place and not easy to navigate through, but it was clear that she was new here. She wore a pale pink skirt and a white top that ended just above the hem of the skirt, which is not something people here usually wear.

Clay has lived here a long time and the people of New York were stereotypical in the way they wore their favorite sports teams logos on their clothes or baggy jeans and a t-shirt.

Most of them didn’t care and didn’t put a lot of effort into their appearance, simply because no one would notice. It was why he got a lot of stares whenever he walked around in dress pants and a tie.

The girl looked confused and lost and Clay felt a bit bad for her. Even he got a bit turned around at times, and he’s lived here his whole life. He owns half of it, too.

He also couldn’t ignore how pretty this girl is.

Maybe it was because he hadn’t seen his ex in years and he hadn’t let himself look at any of the women in the city as a potential partner as he was overly protective of both his son and his heart.

Or maybe it was because he simply felt bad for the girl and her clear lack of directions.

Whatever it was, it had him opening the car door without much of a second thought.

“Fuck,” you muttered as you looked up at the street sign then back at the paper in your hand.

After living in New York for the last couple weeks, you were beginning to think you would never get to know your way around it. The place was massive and so confusing to navigate through if you didn’t know where you were going, and you clearly didn’t.

You had been waiting to hear back from this job for days now and when you were finally given a chance for an interview, you couldn’t figure out how to get there. Your coffee did nothing to wake your brain up enough for you to be able to think clearly, and you debated on just throwing the rest of it away, but you were raised not to waste food or drinks when there are others who are less fortunate than you.

With an annoyed sigh, you stopped walking and stared down at the page again, not paying any attention to the car you were now standing beside as the door opened and someone stepped out.

You don’t look up from the paper as you move forward and walk straight into another person, your coffee slipping from your hand and spilling onto the pristine white shirt of a man. “Oh, my God,” you gasp, not noticing that the page that held the address had also gotten soaked from the spill. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry.”

It was the least of your worries as your eyes trailed up and met a pair of blue ones. Your breath hitched as the stranger smiled and shook his head as if he didn’t care at all that his white shirt was now stained with warm coffee. “It’s okay,” he said and his voice lived up to his appearance. Dreamy. Hot. Intimidating, even.

“That looks expensive,” you think out loud when you look back down at his ruined button up, then quickly wipe the worry off your face and replace it with fake confidence. “Which is totally fine, I can pay to have it fixed or cleaned or…whatever.” Really, you most likely couldn’t afford to do that, but he didn’t need to know that.

The stranger laughed and it was probably the sexiest thing you had ever heard. “Don’t worry about it,” he waved you off and took the napkin from you when you held it out to him.

You chew on your bottom lip as he begins to wipe up some of the coffee, though you both knew it wouldn’t do a thing to save the shirt. “Were you just going to work or something? I’d hate for you to have to wear that for the rest of the day,” you gestured to the mess on his shirt but he just shrugged and threw the napkin into the trash can that was nearby.

“I was actually debating on whether or not I should go home and skip work, then I saw you and thought you looked a little lost,” he grinned at the way your face flushed and how your cheeks were tinted pink. “Thought I could help you out a bit but ended up wearing your drink, instead.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and let out a small, embarrassed laugh. “I’m so sorry,”

“It’s fine,” he brushed you off again then looked a bit hesitant as he added, “I’m Clay.”

He holds his hand out to you, making you look down at it before back up at his eyes. “Y/n,”

You shake hands and hate how you found yourself wanting to hold his for much longer than a few seconds. “So, in hopes I don’t sound like a total creep when I ask,” he begins, giving you a somewhat nervous smile. “Where were you trying to get to?”

Laughing, you shake your head and look down at the ruined paper. “No, not at all,” you say, throwing the paper into the trash as well. “It’s that obvious that I’m lost, huh?”

Clay shrugged again, stepping back towards the car and opening the backseat door. “Only a little,” he teased and pulled out his jacket, efficiently covering up most of his shirt. “I’ve lived here my whole life. Maybe I can point you in the right direction, if you want.”

You knew you were late for the interview, but you wanted to stay and talk with him for a bit longer. What was wrong with you? Why do you always do this around cute guys? Though, calling Clay cute felt a bit like an understatement. He was by far the hottest man you had ever seen in your life. “Please,” you say quietly, stepping towards him. “I was trying to get to this interview at the Milton Hotel, but the directions were hard to understand even before I got coffee all over them.”

Clay laughs and closes the door, turning around and nodding towards the intersection down the street. “You were pretty close, believe it or not,” of course, you wanted to say but held back. “You just take a left at the lights and go straight for about three blocks until you reach a bookstore that’s across from the old jail.”

He turned back to face you and you realized you were barely paying attention to his directions as you were far too focused on how good his backside looks.

“The hotel is above the bookstore,” he finished and you gave him a grateful smile. “So, not too far now.”

“Thank you,” you say and look down the street, not quite ready to leave the presence of him.

Maybe he didn’t want you to leave, either. “What’s the interview for? If you don’t mind me asking,”

You wave your hand. “Not at all,” you say again. “Just some babysitting gig. I finally got my CPR certificate and know how busy New York is. Thought it would be a good place to start.”

What are the odds..

Clay nods and tries to come off as casual as he leaned against the backdoor of the car. “Babysitting? Do you have much experience?”

“Yeah, about three years worth,” you answer, fidgeting with your fingers and Clay found himself hoping he wasn’t making you uncomfortable with all his questions. It had been too long since he actually let himself talk to a girl for more than a minute since Sam, so he was glad to see he was still able to decently hold a conversation. “I did it a lot through high school.”

“Yeah? When’d you graduate?” He wasn’t sure why he wanted to know so much about you, but it was clear the two of you got along pretty well for two strangers. He was sure he could hook you up with a job if you didn’t get this one, and now he was once again wondering why he cared so much.

“Two years ago,” you replied and it didn’t seem like you were uncomfortable with him at all, so he decided to try his luck.

“Well, I hope the interview goes well,” he says and thinks about how he wouldn’t mind having someone like you around his son for the hours he was at work. Though Clay has some massive trust issues, he knew he would need to find someone to look after Joey soon. “And if it doesn’t, there’s many other opportunities that are waiting for you in this city.”

“Yeah?” You gave him a teasing smile and Clay had to physically hold back a smirk in response. “Like what?”

Clay stiffened a bit as he chose his words carefully. “You said you’re a babysitter, right?” And when you nodded, he continued, “My son started school today, but he still needs someone to watch him until I get back from work. If that is something you’re interested in, there’s an opportunity for you right there. But I’m sure the interview will go great.”

You study his face for a bit, making Clay think he said something wrong, before you grin up at him. “Thanks for the boost of confidence,” you soften your smile. “I might take you up on that offer, if your kid is cool, that is.”

Clay laughed as he reached into his pocket and retrieved his phone. “He’s the coolest kid in New York, that’s for sure,” he says and hands his phone to you. “Let me know how it goes? And if you’re interested in looking after the coolest kid you’ll probably ever meet for a few hours of your day.”

Your laugh reaches his ears just as you take his phone and quickly type in a number, one he hoped was actually yours and not a fake one. He couldn’t lie, it wasn’t often he asked for girls’ numbers, but you seemed sweet and like you knew what you were doing. Except for when it came to reading directions, but even that was understandable. He was also doing this to give his poor mom a break, and to make sure his son was in good hands when he was gone. “I’ll text you,” you promised as you handed him back his phone. “Thanks for the help. I really appreciate it.”

He took his phone and pocketed it. “It was nice to meet you, Y/n,”

You begin backing away as you smile at him. “You too,” you wave. “Sorry again about your shirt. You wear that coffee well, if it helps.”

Clay laughs again as you turn around and begin heading down the street in the direction of the lights.

The window of the car rolls down and he briefly hears Rick clear his throat. “I’ll pick you up at four, Mr. Beresford?”

And Clay was far too distracted to be able to correct him again, so he just nodded before tearing his eyes away from your retreating form and heading into the building.

Clay had gotten held up today and he had to text his mom and ask if she could pick Joey up from school. He knew it would be so much easier if he had a stable sitter to ask, and he was quickly beginning to agree with his mothers requests of hiring one.

While Clay wanted to be the one to pick Joey up from his first day, he was glad he would have his grandma there. He knew his mom was probably his son’s favorite person, and he couldn’t even get mad at that fact because Clay had to admit; Lilith Beresford was an amazing woman and an even better mom.

As he began packing up his things, his mind drifted back to you for what felt like the tenth time since meeting you all those hours ago. He didn’t know what it was, but Clay felt captivated by you.

Maybe it was because he hadn’t let himself get close to another girl since Sam, let alone have a full on conversation with one.

Maybe it was because he found you cute and sweet and a bit funny.

Either way, he was thinking about you as he shrugged his jacket back on and over his stained shirt at the same time his phone went off.

He checked it as he turned off the lights to his office, a genuine smile finding its way onto his lips as he read the text,

The interview was a fail. I think it was over before it even began. Any chance I could set up one with you? Very curious about this supposed coolest kid in New York.

And when you added a,

This is Y/n, by the way. The one who ruined your shirt because I have no sense of direction.

He knew he was probably screwed.

#clay beresford #clay beresford imagines #clay beresford x reader #clayton beresford #Clayton beresford x reader #clayton beresford imagines #hayden christensen blurb #hayden christensen x reader #hayden christensen smut #hayden christensen imagine #hayden christensen edit #hayden christensen icons #hayden christensen gif #hayden christensen #awake 2007 #awake #in the way i need you series #in the way i need you

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letorip · 6 days

Text

i heard your name [ii]

“i want you so, i can hardly let you go, please be mine for a time, now and forever”

===+++===

pairing: cairo sweet x reader

summary: after several weeks of trying to run in the opposite direction, you find you can no longer evade the magnetic pull yanking you towards her

warnings: explicit but gender neutral sexual content, being used both physically and emotionally, 'lover boy' is used ironic and is still considered gender neutral, implied teacher-student relationships

word count: 6.4k

A/N: definitely making another already because it’s kind of getting juicy. again inspired by pale fire and hot summer nights.

===+++===

You had always heard that people looked like their pets, but it had never occurred to you that someone could look like their house. Standing in front of Lovell Hill, it was impossible anyone else but Cairo Sweet lived there.

The building stood tall, with white towering ionic columns that reached to hold up the dark clay tile roofing like soft angelic hands lifted to the sky. Everything about the house was big, with a giant, wide cedar porch and a towering balcony that looked out over the small garden in front of its door.

You had figured Cairo was well off from her clothes and general overabundance of education, but this screamed a wealth so extreme it almost wasn’t computing in your brain. Not with your own tawdry house that had only been built two years ago and was about the size of Cairo’s home if you sliced it by a quarter.

You had seen homes like these in movies or on the home improvement channels. Most motels had the home improvement channels on the TV, and you had watched with a sense of awe, sitting on the mouldy carpet late at night with your mom asleep behind you, looking at the muted tours of the homes with a private envy.

Such grandeur was incomprehensible and didn’t exist beyond the screen and TV magic. Or, that’s what you thought until you stood at the end of her garden, with all its greenery and a few lines of flowers, looking up at the front door.

It was quite the dilemma, to knock or not to knock. You could turn around right now, save yourself a whole bunch of sleepless nights and half a brain if you just told her you felt sick and had to cancel. She’d be annoyed, sure, but maybe Cairo being angry was better than Cairo being hungry.

You weren’t all too sure you wouldn’t try to satiate her hunger, and that was a dangerous game to play. Since she had sat down beside you in class, fleeting had been slowly drifting away, and you found yourself clutching onto what little of it you had left, rebuking the witchcraft that seemed to tug you to her.

You were about to do that, walk away, but then the door to the balcony swung open, and out Cairo came, leaning over the railing with a smile, and you felt your own heart clutch to your ribs. She propped her head up on her palm, peering down at you.

“Are you coming in?” She asked, laughing. “You’ve been standing there for ten minutes.”

“I’m just looking. At the landscaping,” you called up to her, and it was mostly true, though Cairo laughed like you were being funny. You felt a blush rising to your cheeks. Fleeting, you idiot.

“It’s my parents’ house. I know it’s a bit much,” said Cairo, standing up straighter.

“A bit?” you said, the sarcasm worming its way into your voice. It was a lot much.

“Yeah,” she replied, smiling at you again all bright. “A bit.” You smiled back, holding a hand up to cover your eyes so you could continue to stare at her on the balcony in the sun, like your own Juliet.

“Can I come inside?” You asked, taking a few steps forward into the shadow the roof of her house casted over the ground. Cairo seemed to find a playfulness with the question, and you were left there like a moron, wondering why she was laughing again.

“No, actually,” she said. “I invited you here to make you walk over here and then walk home.”

“Did you."

“I did,” she nodded, having fun. “I’ll be down in a minute when I’m done with something; the front door is unlocked."

"That seems unsafe," you said.

She raised her eyebrows at you. "Why, are you worried for my safety?"

You shrugged, deciding neutrality was the best policy. There wasn't anything wrong with saying you were worried about her as a friend, but you knew she would draw some strange entendre. "I would worry about random people wandering in, to be honest."

Cairo shook her head. "Not here in Tennessee. Now go inside. The longer you stall me the longer it takes me to finish what I'm doing." With that, she disappeared back inside, leaving you on her porch. You swallowed the lump in your throat and went inside.

Cairo Sweet's house was much like her soul, in grandeur and in wealth. Even in the foyer, which was where you found yourself, the walls seemed to reach up much like the pillars, raised towards the covered sky. A grand staircase led up to the second floor, and with the soft closing of the door behind you, Cairo called out from up the stairs.

"You can go into the kitchen, I left some wine out on the counter."

You blinked. "Wine?" You said back, making sure you were hearing correctly. Cairo's laugh floated down from the second floor.

"Yes, 'wine.'" You had never had anything like wine before, though the way she threw it out so casually made you think she was no stranger to the concept.

The kitchen was the room right off to the left of the foyer, with a large bay window and some checkered ceramic tiling on the floor. In the centre sat an old gas range stove, a similar shade of green as the walls. The brass handle curved down to the drawer on the bottom, and it looked like a droll little mouth underneath the knobs.

On the white marbled countertop that boxed the stove in was a set of two glasses and a bottle of reddish wine that was three quarters full. The entire room was immaculately clean, with the perfectly angled chairs sitting around the nook table in the corner and the utterly spotless surfaces, both floor and table.

It looked just like those staged houses on the home improvement channels, and you wandered over to peer into the glass hutch, which was piled up with books in stacks around it. The top cabinet held an array of glassware, some of them gathering dust. They were pretty, and you leaned in to the ceramic ones with antique designs etched into the sides. You wanted to own dishes like those, someday.

"The plates are pretty, aren't they? It’s a real shame about the led.” You spun around to find Cairo behind you. Your heart immediately started doing a backflip in your chest. Cairo was no longer in the soft shirt and shorts she had been wearing on her balcony— no. Instead, she was now in a silky cream-coloured dress, one that clung to the curves of her body and hung elegantly from her shoulders in a way that made the tips of your ears warm.

She walked right up to you as if there was no difference, staring at the plate you had been looking at with what couldn't possibly be a genuine curiosity. Up close it was clear she had put on some makeup, her lips glossy and pink and her eyes dark. She had to know she was playing you like a fiddle.

You watched her in laser focus as she nodded at the plate. "My parents bought that one from a village in the Swiss Alps."

"What?" you mumbled, clever as always.

"The plate," she said, like it was obvious. "Most of the plates in there are from Switzerland or China."

"Oh...cool."

Cairo brushed past it, gesturing back to the bottle that sat on the counter. "Would you like some?" she asked, clasping her hands behind her back.

"But what would your parents say?" you asked. Mostly you were looking for any excuse not to, but you were also filled with curiosity. Cairo Sweet hadn't just fallen out of a coconut tree— she was the product of whatever her parents were like and you desired to put two and two together, and for that to make it make sense.

"They're not here right now," she replied, walking right over to the bottle and pulling the cork straight out. You swallowed but followed her over, and Cairo grabbed a glass to pour it into.

"So you live here?" It was a genuine question, and part of you was still struggling to understand that this was just someone's everyday lifestyle. Cairo nodded.

"That's what Winnie asked me too, when she first saw it. People say my house is haunted."

"They do?"

"Yeah," she said. "Lovell Hill. It's famous, or at least around here it is."

"Well... is it true?"

Cairo shook her head. "Sorry to disappoint. Only thing that lives here is me."

"And your parents?"

Her mouth thinned into a line at the question, but she spoke quickly. "Yes, them too." Then Cairo held up a glass. "Would you like some?"

"Uh, no thanks. We should probably start on the assignment...," you trailed off. Cairo was staring you down with a certain glint in her eye. “What?”

"You've never drank before," she said. It wasn't a question, and you could feel heat going back to your face. To any other person, you'd have no problem saying no, but to her you felt your breath catch in your throat.

"Uh, I have, I just don't want any right now," you lied. And Cairo knew you were lying, judging from the smile she watched you with. But she only shrugged.

"You can have some of mine later, then," she said, straightening up and walking out of the kitchen. You followed her like a proper guest, like she was a tour guide helping you through the jungle. You warily tailed her out of there and up the stairs.

On the landing there were even more books, in large, towering stacks near the railing, ended on each side by potted plants and small floor decorations. You stopped, taking a thick paperback from off the top of one stack and turning it over to read the back. “Have you really read all of these?” You asked. Cairo turned.

“Not all of them, no. Most of them belong to my parents, so they’re cheesy spy thrillers and soapy romances.”

You nodded. “My mom reads those ones too.”

“Anyways, what do you read?” Cairo asked, walking over to you and taking the book from your hands to look at it herself. You shrugged.

“For a while there, anything I could get my hands on.”

She tilted her head. "What do you mean?"

"Uh, just that my mother didn't take me to bookstores a lot," you said, having gotten comfortable with lying. In reality, you had mostly read travel books and magazines from gas stations, since those were really the only places you and your mother stopped often. You didn't start actually reading book-books until you were about ten, and your mom bought you a kindle for your birthday.

But giving Cairo the truth would mean telling her you were on the road a lot, which would mean telling her about why it was you moved so often, which would mean telling her you would probably be leaving soon, so you lied. It was typically a better idea to vanish without warning one day, off to another state like you had been one giant bad dream.

"Mm," she hummed it agreement, putting the book back down and leading the way into a door that stood at the far end of the hall. "My parents didn't either, when they realised I bought like ten or twelve at a time," she said, tugging you into her bedroom.

It was exactly like you could have imagined it, with a darker shade of green and ebony wainscoting that matched the grand bed in the middle of the room with fluffy, lush bedding and a near mountain of pillows in the centre.

"Well then," Cairo drawled. "Shall we?"

The smirk she was staring at you with sent a shiver down your spine. You gave her a cautious nod and pulled your backpack off of your back.

===+++===

You had your paper almost completely done within an hour of laying down on Cairo's bed to write it, though in the corner where Cairo sat typing hers, she seemed incredibly frustrated. You had only been observing her a little, watching her type what could've maybe been a few words and then immediately holding down the delete key until they were all gone.

You understood to a certain extent— windows were so unbelievably symbolic it was possible to go in millions of directions when writing your story. But you were almost done, and inspiration had hit you from the moment you knew what your symbol was meant to be.

You put the final finishing sentences in where they were meant to go, and put down your pen, sitting up to crack your fingers and stretch your back. Cairo looked up at you, eyes glaring.

"You're finished?" Her tone was sharp, and you looked around the room in surprise.

"Yeah?" You replied. Cairo narrowed her eyes at you.

"How," she demanded sitting up in her chair and slamming her laptop shut.

You shrugged. "I don't know, I kind of rushed it anyhow."

"Let me read it, (Y/n)," Cairo said, holding her hand out. You leaned forwards and tossed the paper to her, rolling over onto your back to stare up at the ceiling while she read it. She had one of those popcorn roofs, with bumps all over it, and you found yourself tracing a little path in your mind.

"This is..." she said after a few minutes. You turned your head to look at her sideways. "This is really good," said Cairo, but in a way that made your eyebrows furrow.

"Why'd you say it like that?" you asked, sitting up from where you had been laying.

"Like what?" She asked standing up from her chair and walking towards you, to lean on one of the bedposts. You swallowed.

"I... don't know," you muttered.

"Hm," she hummed. "I have a question."

"Yeah?"

"The astronaut. The one who goes crazy in outer space from looking out the window on his solo mission. Is that supposed to be you?"

"Oh. No, he isn't. He's just a character I thought of," you shook your head. Cairo raised an eyebrow at you.

"But he is a lot like you, isn't he? Alone, I mean. That's why you lied to Winnie about lunch." She got you with that line. You stared at her, frowning. Your mind screamed LIE over and over, but you knew there was no point. Not when she was reading you like a book. She took another step towards you, until she was standing in between your legs where you sat. You hadn't realised there was any connection with the astronaut when you thought of him, but maybe he was?

"Are you lonely, (Y/n)?"

"No? I mean, I don't think I am." It came out in a whisper; you didn't need to speak loudly when Cairo was so close. You could feel her hot breath on your cheeks like a fan.

"I've been thinking of you, since you arrived," Cairo murmured. Her fingers crawled up your knee slowly, the pads of her fingers brushing the hem of your shorts. She looked down at the small space between you.

"Yeah?" You asked.

"You're captivating," she said. "It's annoying. Shrouded in mystery and answering to no one."

"Yeah?" Pink was flushing towards your cheeks.

She smiled, looking up at your face again. "Yeah. It would be less distracting if you didn't come with such nice eyes."

You swallowed. It felt like everywhere her fingers went she left behind a trail of pure fire, churning up your insides. Your mind was screaming at you to not be an idiot. You'd probably regret this in a month or two when your mom told you you would be leaving again. Stop, right now and save yourself so much sleep, you idiot. That would've been the smart thing to do.

Her hands came up slowly, skimming gently up your neck until they landed at the nape, and you were reminded of the lollipop she had plucked from your lips to place in her own for a moment.

"Cairo, what're we doing?" you managed. Cairo shrugged.

"You ask me that but I'm not entirely sure. I just know it feels nice," she whispered to you. "So shut up and let me feel nice," she said with a smile.

Within an instant, her lips pressed hard into your own. You pulled your head back in surprise but Cairo's soft palms held you firmly where you sat, and you found yourself melting at the feeling. It was messy and it wasn't graceful, but it spoke of the passion that bubbled under Cairo's removed exterior. She started to move against you then, and you against her.

You found yourself entranced at the sensation, and pulled away just to get a look at her face. She was breathing heavily, lips red and eyes wild, and you only came back wanting more, reconnecting the both of you, your hands moving to her waist and then up her back.

"Cairo..." you mumbled, her lips moving to your jaw and then hastily to your ear.

"Mm," she hummed.

"Cairo, I can't," you managed, trying to pull away but finding her still on you. Your mind was yelling at you horrible, horrible things, not only about yourself but about what you wanted to do to her.

"Mm," she sounded again, moving down your neck in a way that left you tingly.

"Really, I just—"

"Take my hands off of you, then," she challenged, in between peppering kisses and sucking on a spot directly over your pulse. You shivered.

"I can't."

"Well, I guess we're at a crossroads," she said. Her right hand slid down your chest to the hem of your shirt, sliding gently underneath and laying itself flat against your stomach. She smirked when she reconnected your lips, knowing she was winning.

"This is a really bad idea."

"You talk too much."

"No, because this is really a conflict of interest. We're supposed to uh..." you stammered, getting distracted by he hand on your stomach slowly getting lower and lower, creeping towards the top of your shorts. "We're supposed read each other's stuff and be honest."

Cairo stopped, pulling away, raising her eyebrows at you. "Are you serious? You don't want to have sex with me —when you've been practically eye-fucking me since we met— so that you can be an honest peer grader???"

"Well, when you say it like that, it sounds stupid."

"That's because it is stupid."

"I— I just can't do that with someone."

She scoffed. "Are you waiting until marriage or something?"

"No."

"Are you asexual?"

"No."

"Is it Winnie?"

"No."

"Do you like boys?"

"No!"

"Then why? I mean, come on. We both knew this would end one of two ways."

"We're better off as just classmates, trust me."

Cairo blinked at you for a moment, like you were the most confusing person she had ever met. Then she got up off of you. Your lap felt lighter, but also emptier, and you wanted to scream up at the stars for not being able to just indulge this one little desire.

"Fine," she said, and her tone caught you off guard. Most people would probably be upset or angry, but it just seemed like Cairo was challenged and endeared. Like she was going to work out your problem and get right back to this situation, only this time she'd get exactly as she wanted.

She wouldn't, you promised yourself. Never ever. The heartbreak wasn't worth it. Cairo checked her watch. "Could you come over tomorrow too? I'm not done with my story yet, and I want you to read it."

"Uh," you thought out loud. You didn't see why not. Maybe you wouldn't be lovers, but just innocent friends? You weren't so much a monster that you wouldn't be able to stop yourself if you hung out with her. Innocent friends were much easier to forget anyways. "Sure," you said, unknowingly giving her exactly what she wanted.

===+++===

You had gone to her house almost every night for the past week, laying on her bed while she sat in the corner in the same familiar chair, typing the same bloody story that she refused to be satisfied with. It was becoming a pattern, even an unconscious one. The next day had been entirely as awkward as expected, with you trying to act as unbothered as possible.

The friendship was going better than you had anticipated, and you were very pleased with your own self restraint. Winnie had come over too, once or twice, and you enjoyed existing within the context but still on the periphery of a friendship.

Cairo Sweet would hunt you down as her friend or as her whatever-you-were, so you figured giving into one would be the path of least resistance anyhow.

She must have been an insanely picky writer. She wrote every word with an overabundant caution, like she was trying so hard to craft perfection. It was like she wanted her keyboard to drip liquid gold onto the page, and the critics to all collectively clap when she finished a sentence.

"You're like George R. R. Martin with how slow you finish a story," you had said once, out of the blue. Cairo looked up at you, offended, and thrown a pillow in your direction that connected with your face.

"I'm trying to cultivate perfection of the written word," she said, and you rolled your eyes.

"God, writers are so pretentious," you wrinkled your nose. "The only people who like to read annoying writers' books are annoying people."

Cairo scoffed. "Yeah, what, you want to be surrounded by James Bond fans? Stephen King fanboys?"

"That's cool, though," you shrugged. "Gets the point across, isn't badly written, and makes a sometimes beautiful passage along the way."

"Oh, so your writing," she joked, smiling at you. It was an innocent smile, and one that so starkly contrasted the lustful one she had looked at you with only a few days ago. Even in memory, her eyes sent a shiver up your spine.

"Yeah, well, people seem to like it. I guess I’m doing something right," you said. Cairo frowned.

"I don't get it," she shook her head. "And you still won't let me read that first one you wrote."

"It's not exactly something I want to talk about to you."

"Why? Is it bad?" she asked, sitting up straight. You knew she meant 'tell me your dirty secrets' by that.

"I just don't want to."

"Hm," she grumbled, laying back in the chair. "And anyways, if what you say about that thing is true, I don't know why Miller liked it. His book is full of the flowery stuff you complain about."

"He wrote a book???" You were incredulous.

Cairo nodded. "A while ago. Apostrophes and Ampersands."

"Never heard of it."

Cairo shrugged. "It didn't exactly make massive waves. It was ingenious though. Grand and tragic."

"You read it then?" You asked, sitting up and turning towards her.

"Yes, I did," she replied nonchalantly. "I enjoyed it."

You looked out the window for a moment, then back to her. Friends should be friends. "Can I borrow your copy?"

===+++===

"God," you groaned, reading Mr. Miller's book with it held over your head, laying on your back. Cairo had given it to you two days ago and now you were slogging through it, waiting for it to get interesting. "'Human ruins of a madman's love,'" you mocked.

"It's gorgeous," Cairo said. She wasn't in her usual chair, she was sitting by the window with it cracked open, a cigarette in her hand.

"It's not— wait, are you smoking?" You asked, sitting up. Cairo rolled her eyes, grinning at you.

"No, I'm just sitting here with a cigarette lit in my fingers."

"God. Wine and a cigarette, what are you, thirty-four."

"Shut up," she said, putting the cigarette in between her lips and puffing out the window. "And anyways that quote is beautiful."

"Maybe," you challenged. "But what is it actually saying?"

"She means everything to him and he's going crazy for her," Cairo said, like it was obvious. You nodded.

"That's the thought and THAT'S what's good there. That's universal. He's losing the plot— getting lost in the sauce— of trying to sound like he's saying something, to the point where he's losing the entire meat of the message."

"Maybe," said Cairo. "But you said one of your books was If You Give a Mouse a Cookie. Not exactly the height of literature."

"And I stand by that," You said. "That's actually enjoyable. You don't enjoy reading this, you enjoy being clever enough to read this, when it's saying something you've heard a million times in a million more decipherable ways. And those ways end up being more beautiful, too.”

"Perhaps," she said. "Or maybe I think the writing is beautiful."

"Well then, I think you're crazy."

"You're welcome to do that," Cairo replied, smile still wide. "You probably will."

===+++===

You managed not to cave until a warmer day, about a week after that. Cairo Sweet had previously been a sweet exterior with absolutely nothing on the inside for you to feel a deep pull towards. Only now, after slowly becoming comfortable, was the magnetic pull becoming physically painful.

Winnie had been absolutely beside herself, miffed at Cairo coming down and swiping you for herself. For a friend or for something more, it didn't matter. You were indisputably hers. And after a life of belonging to no one, you thought maybe Cairo took some sort of glee over making you belong to her.

Class was boring, Mr. Miller was fine, your mom seemed to be doing better, and school seemed to drone on. So when you came back to Cairo's house like normal, you were entirely unaware of how quickly you would fail your mission.

You were barely in door before she was running down the stairs, and the look of worry and surprise in your face only worsened when she got so up close to you, just for a second, and then just as hungry and hurriedly as before, kissed you with a brutal ferocity.

You were taken aback. Something was off. You pulled your head away and Cairo's palms pressed to your cheeks, thumbs brushing against the side of your face. She pulled you back and you had to turn your head away. "Cairo, what—"

"Shut up for once, please. Just kiss me the way a girl wants to be kissed."

You could feel every neuron telling you to get away from her. This was exactly what you had said you didn't want. And then there was the other side of you. The one that wanted to take her right then and then. You swallowed.

"I can't do these kinds of connections, Cairo. I told you."

"That's fine," Cairo rushed, her hand resting on your shoulder blade now. "I need one thing from you, and that's it. I don't ask for much, but I really need this."

Your eyebrows furrowed at her. "What are you talking about?"

"You've said you don't want anything, and okay, that’s fine. At least give me your body for the night. No strings attached.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I don’t owe you anything, you don’t owe me. We just do whatever this is. You make me feel good, and that’s it.” Her fingers had slithered back up to your hair, scratching gently at your scalp in a way that pulled your focus.

It just took a final glance at her face, for the dam to break. Her cheeks were a dusty red, eyes dilated and staring at you, and though you cursed yourself and your idiot Cro-Magnon mind, your palms went to her legs, tugging her up harshly and wrapping her legs around your waist.

“Shit,” you muttered, highly aware this was probably a bad idea. Cairo wrapped her arms around your neck, kissing you with a smile, and then once that broke, a passionate fervour. It was so much but it was so good. You carried her like that, up the stairs to her room, throwing her down on the bed.

She flipped you over, sitting on your lap like she had been back when the both of you first tried this, and it was all too intoxicating. Cairo’s hands went to your shoulders, pushing you back against the mattress before she leaned over, kissing you softly for a moment until it grew into more.

“Wait—” You said, and Cairo sat up, glaring at you.

“You did not get me all the way up here just to back out now,” said Cairo, annoyed beyond belief. You shook your head, tugging her back onto you. Her hair fell around you like a shield to your little private moment.

“I’m not backing out,” you promised, whispering because you felt like you didn’t want to be too loud. “I mean I’ve never … before.”

Cairo smiled at you, looking into your eyes for a moment. “Me neither,” she whispered back.

“Really?” you asked. Cairo raised her eyebrows.

“Fuck you.”

“No,” you shook your head, hand reaching up to move some of her hair out of her face. That wasn’t how you meant it. “…Really?”

She paused, eyes boring into yours. Then she gently nodded, and lowered herself down onto you, placing her lips on yours for another divine moment. It was all too hot in there. She let out a gasp when you tugged down her skirt.

===+++===

It was about five weeks after you had arrived, and you had gone to Cairo's house almost every week day, to continue exactly what had latched around your throat and tugged you harshly towards her.

There, in the milky white lighting of Cairo's table lamp, with her body snugly laying back against you and her book out in front of her, you fell in love for the first time. Really, fell in love.

Not the kind of "love" that swirls around your head as a child and wraps around the leg of the pretty girl in your class who has shiny hair. That kind of “love” where you can't get out a real sentence while talking to her. In comparison to the heavy feeling growing in your chest like a tumour, that was a mild liking.

No, this was the real thing. Adults had always said cryptic things about love, like "when you know, you'll know," and it hadn't ever really made sense, until it did.

As you looked down to watch her nose scrunch from the Nabokov, those three little words took on a whole new meaning. Her dark hair tickled the bare skin of your chest where she laid. Unlike her you still hadn't put your shirt back on, and you shivered a bit, even from under her blanket and her body heat. Her eyes, dark and focused, scanned across the paper, before elegantly flipping past the page with her thumb.

It was one of those renaissance paintings people cried for, in the Louvre, only it was playing out right in front of your eyes. And with that sudden rush of messy emotion, came the dastardly realisation that you were truly fucked.

"You're staring," she said, pulling you from your thoughts. She looked up at you, curious eyes focusing on your own. "What're you staring for?"

You shrugged, the movement shaking her against you. "What's the book you're reading?" You asked. "You seem mad at it."

She hummed, leaving her finger as a bookmark and flipping the cover towards you. The cover read Pale Fire. "That's because it's mostly incoherent rambling," she said. "Makes no sense."

You raised your eyebrows at her. "You don't understand Pale Fire?"

She tilted her head back, challenging you. “And you do?" You nodded. You had written a report during the two months you were in Maine. "Of course you do,” Cairo groaned, rolling her eyes.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You asked.

Cairo shook her head, patting the side of your leg with her free hand. “Nothing.”

You sat up. “No, seriously. What do you mean?”

She sighed, closing the book around her index finger to hold her page. Cairo shut her eyes for a second, choosing her words carefully. “I mean... you’re annoyingly clever at something you don’t really care about.”

You laughed. "Careful, Sweet. If I didn't know any better I'd say you're jealous."

"Well, I am," said Cairo. "I care about writing so much, and here you come along with literally no passion for it, and you're out-writing me."

"Uh, sorry?" You said with a smile. But the frown you saw on her face told you she wasn't really joking. Cairo scoffed, sitting up and turning towards you.

"No, I'm serious. You barely even try and you spill some amazing few paragraphs, and Mr. Miller loves you like you're his favourite student," she lamented, throwing her hands up in frustration.

"I promise," you sighed, "that I really don't mean to. I don't get it either, so—"

"—See, but that's what's so frustrating!" She cut you off. "You don't mean to. You don't mean to get in my way, but you do because you're so unbelievably perfect at everything, and Mr. Miller loves you so much."

"Okay, wait a minute," you said. "That's not fair."

"What's 'not fair' is me working my ass off until senior year to get to do what I've ALWAYS wanted to do, WRITE, and then you come along and pull all the praise and probably the recommendation letter too!"

You sat there for a moment, taking her words in, your mouth open in surprise. There had always been an inkling that Cairo was unhappy with having you in her class, but you had drowned the thought out with her lips on yours and treasuring every moment you made her smile with something stupid you said.

You cleared your throat and Cairo was already apologising. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that," she said, reaching towards you. "It's just so important to me, I get really worked up..."

"It's fine," you rushed. You knew people screamed and said nasty stuff when they were mad. It's just how people were, and it made sense to you. Your mom was like that too, with the yelling and stuff. "Do you..." you mumbled, trying to figure out how to solve her problem. "Do you want me to stop trying?" You asked.

Cairo's eyes lit up within an instant at the idea. "That would be amazing," she breathed. "Thank you so much." She reached across the space between you, kissing with a softness that hadn't previously been there. It was sweet, just like she was, and you breathed a sigh of relief, with the confrontation being over.

You nodded. "Sure." Then your gaze went out the window, realising the sun was starting to set and rain clouds were starting to form. Your hand flew to your leg, having forgotten you were only in your underwear.

"You left it downstairs, remember?" Cairo said, almost playful. When the two of you had gotten to her house, her lips had been so firmly ravaging your neck that your pants hadn't even made it up the stairs before she tugged them off and flung them to the marble bust that stood nearby. You sighed.

"Do you know what time it is?" You asked, getting up from the bed and around to the other side to pick your shirt up off the floor. Cairo also got up, throwing the sheets off herself and walking right over to her closet.

"No, I left my phone at school on accident," she replied, opening the door and flicking through the hangers. You pulled the shirt on over your head and fixed the soft collar. On the opposite side of the room, Cairo pulled out the same cream-coloured dress she had been wearing when you first came to study with her. You paused.

"You're getting all fancy?" You asked, turning to her floor mirror and attempting to fix your absolutely messy hair in a way that it wouldn't be clear Cairo had run her hands through it and gripped on tight.

"Mhm," Cairo said. "Having a guest over tonight."

"Oh. They work with your parents or something?" You said, turning to watch her with curiosity over her answer. Cairo pulled off her shirt so that she was now completely naked. She turned back to you with a smile.

"Do you like what you see?" said Cairo, and it made you blush a bit. You nodded.

"You're absolutely beautiful," you said. If you weren't worried about getting home before dinner, you would have walked right over to her and tugged her back into her bed. Cairo waved you off.

"You're too kind," she said. "Now run on home, lover boy." Cairo disappeared into the bathroom with the dress in her hand, and you heard her rustling around with the sink, probably doing her makeup.

"I... I guess I'll see you, then," you said, left alone in the room.

"Mhm," she called from the bathroom. You frowned, but did a final scan for anything you needed to take before heading out her bedroom door and down the stairs, to where your jeans were clumsily thrown over the Roman statue's head. You tugged your phone and keys from the pocket.

"Fuck," you cursed. Only around thirty minutes to get the whole way across town to your house before your mom started worrying. You walked right over to the door... only to find it was also pouring down rain, now. Dammit. You tugged on your jacket from where it had been hanging on a steel coatrack by the door, pulling the hood up.

You walked out onto the porch, shut the door behind you, and took off running, going as fast as you could down the garden and then up the street into the woods. You got about a hundred metres from her house, that was, until you stopped.

Driving right past you, barely able to see him in the storm, was Mr. Miller. Driving right to Cairo's house in his little sedan. You froze, stopping dead in the rain to watch him go. Even after his license plate retreated in the distance, you felt a sickening sense of dread begin to pool in your gut, one that was already tarnishing your prior bliss.

===+++===

part three perhaps? i also have a tara carpenter one in the works and a lorraine day that's mostly done so hopefully i'll be updating more frequently

#jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #cairo sweet x reader #cairo sweet #miller's girl #letorip #jenna #jenna ortega imagine

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theragethatisdesire · 1 month

Text

quick bright things - eren jaeger x afab!reader, 18+!!

okay hi. after my many-months writing hiatus, i am offering up this humble creation. welcome to the world of quick bright things, caught somewhere between a fairytale and a shakespeare play and a priceless piece of jewelry. this was inspired by....a lot of things, from midsummer night's dream to saltburn to the secret history to romeo & juliet like, you name it and i've probably crammed it in here. eren is a lot different than i normally write him (or read him, for that matter), i hope you all find him as lovely as i do! this will be 2 parts (for now...), i'm not sure what else to say except i'm happy to be back and i hope you all love part 1 ₊˚⊹♡

pairing: eren jaeger x reader

wc: 10.4k

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

cws: alcohol, swearing, smut, fingering, reader has female anatomy, wet dreams, allusions to cannibalism (idk that's a stretch it's more of a metaphor), exhibitionism, cum-eating, creepy stepsiblings, rich assholes, throat-closing amounts of sexual tension, i honestly don't even know what to put here

without further ado...

"Last year I abstained / this year I devour / without guilt / which is also an art."

“Now don’t forget: university is for discovery, for adventure.” Your mother tucks the front of your shirt into your skirt, tugs at your collar until it’s sitting prettily against the cliff of your collarbones. It’s not a good fabric, this shirt; it’s cheap and scratches uncomfortably at the summer sunburn still lingering on your chest. “It’s for finding your passions, your life path, yourself…”

“Darling, you’ve been philosophizing since breakfast. You’re going to give the poor girl a conniption.” Your father chuckles lightly, swinging the hammer at the wall of your dormitory and finishing the hanging of one of your many posters over your creaky, lofted bed. The posters are bright and colorful, almost garish in the pristine, ancient light pouring in from the windows. With a slow blink, you realize you’re going to take them down later, that they feel incongruous with the dust particles and the oak furniture.

“It’s alright, really.” You manage a smile of compromise, lips clamped tight to hold the flutter of nerves in your throat at bay. “I think I’ve got it from here.”

There’s an expectedly teary goodbye, a small monologue from your father about how much you’ve grown, and a few reminders from your mother to separate the darks and the lights when you do laundry, to focus on your studies. Just before she slips out behind her husband, she grabs you by the shoulders and presses her lips to the side of your head, kisses a blood-red print into the shell of your ear.

“Don’t forget. Find something.”

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

Whether it started with that conversation or with the buildup that accompanied the thirty-six months of monotonous paper-writing and numb boredom of your first three years at Oxford, you can’t be sure. In truth, maybe your first three years weren’t all that boring, and they only seem so by comparison of everything that came after, but you can’t be entirely sure of that either.

What you can be sure of is that something down the line—between meeting Sasha in that class on Milton and squeezing her hand as the plane landed and the dozens of bottles of champagne you’ve consumed over the last weeks—something led you to this moment, standing in this kitchen somewhere outside Verona with your bare feet against the hot clay tiles, staring at the sharp angle of an unfamiliar, tanned collarbone.

He’s coated in linen: a half-unbuttoned, burnt-orange drape of a shirt is rolled carefully up around strong forearms, and one large, boyish foot peeks out from his baggy jeans, propped up on its throne upon the opposite knee. A golden cross winks at you from his chest, nestled in the sparsest dusting of chest hair and dripping with the same peach juice that’s sliding down his Adam’s apple, from his strong chin, from the crooked smirk that’s pointed at you like a knife.

You recognize him before he speaks– this must be Eren. Sasha’s mentioned him enough times: the shock of rich, dark hair, the lakewater eyes, the way he leans back in his chair like a king and cocks his head like a trickster. This is Eren, and you tell him so.

“Guilty.” The sun compliments everything about him but his smile, a little too sharp with too much danger behind it. It’s a smile made for moonlight. “And you are?”

A memory surfaces in your mind, a cautionary childhood tale. “You can never let a fairy know your name,” Emma tells you, graver than death, crouched in the bushes beside you, “or they steal you away, and you can never be human again.”

“Well?” Eren says expectantly, head leaning even further to the left. He’s studying you, the baggy linen pants pooling around your toes and ruby-studded ears poking out of a fray of frazzled bedhead. You feel naked, feel a wild urge come over you and wonder how his eyes would glow at you if you were. You shiver, goosebumps raising in the stuffy summer air. When his lips twitch, you realize Eren’s noticed; you feel feverish.

You mumble your name at him, as if it’s something given unwillingly. Waking the espresso machine seems like the right thing to do with your hands, and you’re grateful for the noisy mechanical sounds it provides to shatter the still morning. You bring an absentminded hand to rub over the tip of your ear, feel if it’s grown to a point yet.

“We haven’t met, have we? I feel like if we had, I’d remember.”

God, you wish he’d stop talking.

“Well, do you go to Oxford?”

“Sometimes.” You roll your eyes, and he laughs, little bells and glass shattering. “I’ve been abroad for the last semester. I flew in from Egypt a couple of weeks ago.”

“Hm,” you hum to yourself, choosing a small red cup for your morning coffee. You aren’t sure what to say; the most exotic place you’ve ever visited was a seaside town three hours from your house.

You can hear his newspaper crinkling; the sound of him putting it down betrays his arrival behind you, but you still don’t expect the puff of warm breath over your shoulder. He comes into your space like he belongs there, like there’s never been a door that wasn’t held open for him to stride through. “Are you still asleep?”

Before you can answer, you hear a shriek from down the hallway, and you breathe a little sigh of relief, thanking whatever ancient gods that belong to the hills you’re in for the interruption. Venus springs to mind, and you swat her and her entourage of Graces away from you with a huff.

“You absolute asshole!” Historia comes barreling into the kitchen, dramatic, fluffy dressing robe spilling out into the unrelenting summer heat behind her. You realize that in the three weeks you’ve spent with her, you haven’t once seen her in the actual kitchen, watching the way the breakfast chef’s eyes widen at the sight of her as he hurries by with an armful of eggs.

“Stori!” Eren elegantly catches her best attempt at a tackle with the good grace you assume he does everything with, breaking out into a warm peal of laughter. “Since when do you not love a surprise?”

“Since always.” Historia’s face is scrunched up where she’s buried it into the crook of his neck, forehead red with the effort of squeezing Eren as hard as she can. “You could have at least called, I mean– ugh, I didn’t even get the chance to get your favorite–”

“Relax.” Eren urges her, rubbing soothing circles into the small of her back. He carries them both over to his seat, plopping down and curling her up in his lap like a child. Eren holds his cup of coffee to her lips temptingly, and Historia shoves it away with another scowl. You hide your giggle at her antics behind your espresso, not wanting to remind them of your presence, but enjoying the show all the same. “Brat.”

“Ow,” Historia hisses when he pinches her thigh, expression lightening when she catches sight of something on the wall. “I always forget how pretty the kitchen is here.”

“Where’s your brother?”

“Still getting dressed.” Historia’s blue eyes turn to the frescoed ceiling with an irritated huff. “You know he can’t stand to be seen in his pajamas.”

“That’s because he doesn’t wear any,” Eren remarks with an eye roll of his own. “You could have called to let me know we’d adopted such a pretty houseguest for the summer.”

Your face burns with acknowledgement, and you can feel your toes curling into the clay bricks of the floor hard enough to scrape the tip of your pinky. Eren seems satisfied at your bewilderment, letting his eyes drag over your hardly-covered chest lazy as a wandering mouth.

“Why would anyone wear pajamas under those heavy duvets? It’s almost thirty-two degrees out.” Armin breezes in in a feigned display of nonchalance, but you can see the way his eyes skim over Eren like a ship narrowly avoiding an iceberg. The Titanic was inevitable, and so is the gravity of Eren sitting golden on the other side of the room.

“You look good, Min.” Eren squints his eyes at Armin’s shirt, nearly identical to his own. “Where’d you get that?”

“You left it last summer,” Historia hums, tucking her head under Eren’s chin and nuzzling into his chest more completely. Armin makes a soft snort of irritation, grabbing for a fig in the bowl of fruit on the counter and beginning to rummage through the cabinet drawers.

“Do you want half a fig?” Armin’s cool gaze slides to you, and you shake your head, feeling a little underwater as two lifelong relationships unfurl in front of you, your mind still fuzzy from last night’s wine. “Historia?”

Historia says no as Eren says yes, and Armin makes his sound of annoyance again before continuing his rummaging, muttering about the inconvenience of finding a knife.

“Do my eyes deceive me?” Sasha, still disheveled with sleep and grinning bright as Christmas morning, pops her head around the doorway. “Shouldn’t you be overseeing the construction of your pyramid?”

“I’m not dead, Sasha,” Eren laughs—it really is distracting when he does that—pulling Sasha onto his other knee, ignoring Historia’s grumbles of discontent. The NYU Men’s Lacrosse t-shirt that Sasha cropped too short rides up, exposing the swell of her breast, but no one acknowledges it. Eren’s hand tucks in snugly around the curve of her hip, easy and natural, and you wonder if his fingers have ever itched to travel up under the hem of her tiny sleep shorts.

“Not dead yet.” Historia glares up at him venomously, reluctantly making room for Sasha to pile onto Eren and smother his face with kisses. Sasha pulls away from him suddenly and frowns.

“Peaches?”

“Where are the knives in this fucking kitchen?” Armin’s growl of frustration is loud enough to make you jump, and Sasha giggles at you.

“Jesus, Armin, you’re going to kill her, and it’s not even noon.” Sasha slips off of Eren’s knee, practically bouncing over to where Armin’s viciously jiggling a locked drawer. She slides open the drawer next to him and draws a long, wide knife from it, passing it to him with the blade extended and her eyes on you. “Did you meet Eren?”

“Careful of his hand!” Historia squeals, shooting an arm out towards Armin as if she can deflect the tip of the blade from across the room.

“It’s fine, Stor.” Armin’s voice floats across his nearly-bare shoulder, mild and careless as it grazes the collar of the too-big button down sliding off of his slim frame.

“That knife’s a little big for a fig, Sasha.” Eren stands, placing Historia on the table and pinching her cheek when she scowls at him.

“There’s no such thing as a too-big knife– listen to me. Did you meet Eren?” Sasha’s fingers are gripping into the flesh of your arm– hard. Your eyes widen in surprise at the urgency in her eyes, like if you haven’t been introduced to Eren, there’s grave danger afoot.

“We met.” It happens quickly and easily, the slide of his heavy arm around your shoulders. You can feel your body tense under the lazy weight of him, big hand wrapped around you like it belongs there. “I don’t think she’s particularly fond of me.”

Eren shoots you a wink that you’re sure is intended to mean something, a reference to an inside joke that you have yet to establish, maybe.

“I didn’t say that,” you say in your own defense, wanting to yank Sasha to the side and demand to know why she hadn’t warned you that Cupid himself was going to greet you in the kitchen this morning. Armin slices the fig neatly in half, a strangely practiced motion performed by small, soft hands. He offers it to you again insistently, and frowns when you shake your head.

“I said I wanted it, ‘Min,” Eren says with a hint of red to his words, snatching the halved fig from Armin’s hand and biting into it voraciously, little pieces of the flesh spattered around the corner of his mouth.

“You’re such a brute,” Armin scoffs, picking the meat of his half out gingerly with an oyster fork that you don’t remember him grabbing from the drawer.

“Why don’t you like Eren?” Sasha pouts at you, grabbing the hand that’s squashed between yours and Eren’s hips. Your palm feels hot against her fingers.

“I said I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t say much of anything, to be fair.” Eren’s got the fig pressed to his mouth, digging his teeth and tongue around in the husk of it obscenely enough to make your cheeks warm. Being so close to him is filthy, that cross around his neck is looking you straight in the eye to make sure you feel it.

“Eren’s always a pest,” Historia provides from her perch on the kitchen table, picking at her perfectly manicured toenails, “why would she like him?”

“You like him plenty,” Armin says, not looking at her. It’s not the first time that’s been brought up, if Historia’s answering sneer is anything to go by.

“You’ll love him if you give him a chance.” Sasha smiles hopefully at you, nodding.

“Yeah,” Eren grins down at you, teeth colored with fig, “give me a chance.”

“Eren, you’re going to scare her off,” Armin says with a roll of his eyes, peering around Eren’s broad shoulders to look you up and down. The way his eyes drag over you makes you feel like there might be a stab wound somewhere on your person that you don’t know about yet, the adrenaline of the moment keeping you numb.

“Back off her, Eren,” Historia echoes, “she’s fun, I don’t want you to make her leave.”

“She’s not going to leave.” Eren looks directly at you as he says it, something in his smile growing imperceptibly darker. A dare. How much will you let me get away with?

You stare and stare at him, ignoring the continued bickering of Armin and Historia in the background. He’s golden and blood-red, oil smeared on his forehead and a crown of thorns nestled in his dark thatch of hair if you look close enough. If you’re not imagining it, his hand might be tightening around your shoulder, maybe he’ll leave a purple bruise on it.

“Of course not,” Sasha interrupts your thoughts, thumbing at your cheek affectionately, “she belongs here. With us.”

“She’s our little fairy,” Historia giggles dreamily, referencing the long-winded fairy tales you drunkenly make up every night, casting each other as heroines and knights and dragons.

“Right,” Eren agrees, not breaking your gaze, “our little fairy.”

The only thing that comes to mind is your childhood friend, Emma, looking on at you sadly with her muddy toes, watching the wings sprout from your back.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

Days lug themselves by, barefooted and dragging their heels, and most of the time, even the monotonous rise and fall of the sun doesn’t help to differentiate one calendar block from the next. Like a bat, or maybe a slinky, silvery fish in an underwater cave, you rely on your other senses to track the passage of time.

For example, today, you know it’s a Wednesday because Maria, one of the three house chefs, brings fresh peaches up from the co-op down the hill every Wednesday. Sasha’s spent the last thirty minutes hand feeding you peach flesh as you lounge by the pool, insisting that you suck her fingers clean of juice and feeding you little sips of champagne each time you sober up enough to tell her that that’s lewd. Historia swats at you and giggles at the smacking and slurping sounds you make around Sasha’s fingers, oiled-up palm landing on oiled-up hip with a wet slap; Armin admonishes her quietly from his seat beside her, insisting the girlish noises emanating from the three of you are tearing him from his book. You can feel Eren watching, too– that’s all, though. Always just watching.

You wonder how opaque the lenses of Armin’s sunglasses are, perched haphazardly on your nose, wonder if they’re doing a good job of masking the slow lick of your gaze over Eren’s skin, wonder if you care. Maybe the champagne is finally getting to your head.

“We should go in soon,” Historia sighs, a hand tossed across her forehead. She’s a little movie star, built for the golden age. “It’s so hot.”

“It’s always this hot,” Sasha argues, and you can practically hear the furrow in her brow, not willing to take your eyes off of the trickle of sweat running down Eren’s chest to see it for yourself. You’re really getting the hang of it, this opposite-sense thing. Everything’s upside down here in the heat.

“She’s getting hungry,” Armin supplies, wiping the sweat off his palms to reach up and turn the page of his novel. Brideshead Revisited. A little on the nose, isn’t it?

“I am not!” Historia hates when people point out her appetite, but not really. She kicks up a fuss because it’s “ladylike”, and she’s advised you to do the same.

“You are,” you sigh, really feeling the heat sink into you even with the heavy, lazy movement of lolling your head to face her, “you always get hungry around this time.”

“What time is it, then?”

You don’t reply– you don’t know the answer.

“I think we’re all hungry,” Eren, ever the peacemaker when he can find the time to be so, sits up, letting the shirt that’s been shading his face fall into his lap. Your eyes track its descent– even that seems slow. He says something to you, managing a crooked grin while he squints in the heat of the sun, but you don’t hear it.

“Huh?”

“Everyone except you, anyway,” he repeats himself, reaching over Sasha and smearing his thumb through the peach juice collected on your chin. Eren’s thumb disappears between his pink lips, and when he sucks on it with a satisfied hum, your jaw clenches hard enough to hurt.

“I guess it’s getting close to dinner,” Sasha says regretfully, picking her wristwatch, a priceless Braus family heirloom, up from a puddle of orange juice and tanning oil. “We should probably clean off.”

“I might even shower twice,” Armin rubs a hand over his belly with a grimace, “this tanning oil makes my skin greasy.”

“I feel disgusting,” Historia agrees, sliding red toes into her sandals and standing with a dramatic stretch.

“Filthy,” Eren murmurs in agreement. He’s still staring at you.

“I’ll be in soon. I’m so close to the color I wanted for today– I just need, like, ten more minutes.” You peel down the strip of bathing suit stretched over your hip, showing off the distinct mark of yesterday’s color and today’s tan.

“You’re crazy,” Sasha scoffs, throwing some designer sarong her mother lent her over her shoulder, “I’m melting.”

Armin and Historia pause their bickering over who gets to wear Armin’s Cucinelli belt to dinner—Armin wants it for his trousers, Historia for her maxi dress—just long enough to offer a momentary goodbye, breezing along into the house with Sasha. You settle back into your chair and take a deep breath, letting the sun sink into you just long enough to forget that you’re not alone.

“Open up.”

You’ve been enjoying this game of trading one sense for another, and you keep your eyes shut firmly, letting your jaw fall open and your tongue hang out. A piece of peach, fleshy and dripping with juice, finds its way onto your tongue, pinched too roughly between strong fingers. When you close your lips around the fruit, the fingers stay with it, frozen in their pinched position and forcing you to suck the peach from them, to swallow around them, to run your tongue along them and get as much of the meat as you can. When the fingers withdraw from your lips, you open your eyes and gasp quietly.

Eren’s leaning over you, a solar eclipse that smells like tan skin and sounds like Campari, and in the silhouette of the sunlight, you think he’s smiling.

“You’re still hungry,” he says, a question that’s left its punctuation mark behind. You think of Historia, of the improper shame of revealing your appetite. You dodge.

“I’m never hungry.”

“Never?” Eren crawls over you to kneel between your legs, propping one of your ankles up on his shoulder. The game you started is ripped out of your hands, chess pieces flying into the pool, scattering across the table, knocking over bottles and matchbooks. It’s so silent out here in the sun it hurts, and you almost miss the constant buzzing horseflies of early summer.

“Never.”

“If you’ve never been hungry,” Eren muses, tilting his head so that his cheekbone fits into the sensitive arch of your foot, reaching a hand down to splay it wide on your belly, “you’ve never been full.”

“How do you figure?” Your words come out throaty, waterlogged.

“Can’t have one without the other.” Eren shrugs, turning his head to the side. His lips brush against your heel, your Achilles’, the swirly seashell dangling from your anklet. You dig your teeth into your bottom lip, toes twitching behind his ear. “I don’t believe you, anyway.”

“No?” You try to tilt your head coyly, like your heart’s not clawing and scratching against your throat to get to him. Hungry, indeed.

“You wouldn’t stare like that if you didn’t want to.”

You’re taken aback, but not enough to fall out of the moment– Eren’s lips closing around the knob of your ankle slowly, like the pit of a fruit, make sure of that.

“Didn’t want to what?”

Eren’s hands meet the cushion on either side of your head hard enough to rattle the chair, his long, tanned body stretching over yours. He’s close enough to brush his nose against yours, but you can still see the hazy green of his eyes flicking here and there on your face: from your eyes to your lips to the beauty mark on your cheek. Your poolside lounge feels more like a butcher’s block under your taut spine.

Sasha’s told you about the wolves in these hills, that they howl murder at night, but they’re sleepy and indulgent in the heat of the sun. One of Eren’s canines catches the light and glints at you as he grins.

“Eat yourself sick.” He practically spits it into your mouth, one thigh pressed into where you’re sticky and sinful, and he chuckles under his breath when you shudder under him, feverish in the late-afternoon heat.

Before you can even think of biting back, Eren’s off of you, picking your sandals off of the ground and sliding them gently onto your feet, stopping to run his palm from your ankle to your kneecap with an appraising hum.

“We should head inside,” he says evenly, offering a hand to pull you to your feet, “I’d hate for us to miss dinner.”

You don’t have anything to say back to him, letting him lace his fingers through yours like lines in a play, interspersing seamlessly with the summer scenery. Eren leads you through the kitchen, waits patiently for you to take your sandals off, and waves you on your way up the stairs, saying he needs a cigarette. As the distance between you grows, your mind grows clearer, and you turn on your heel, calling down to him from the top of the stairs.

“Eren? Eren? Where are you, Eren?”

“Call me something else,” Eren pokes his head around the corner, smoke pouring from the grin on his face, “whatever you want, really. Make your own name for me.”

“You stare at me, too,” you say, tearing through his impishness. Eren cocks his head, unperturbed, smile growing wide as he nods.

“I do.”

“So you’re…” You can’t bring yourself to say it, not where it might echo in the cavernous hallway, where it might take the form of a confession. You scamper down the stairs, nearly sliding on bare feet, almost crashing into Eren when he appears at the foot of the staircase, catching you with two broad palms on either side of your ribcage. You pluck the cigarette from his mouth, stick it between your own teeth, narrow your eyes accusingly, and whisper: “You’re hungry too.”

“For every man hath business and desire, Such it is.” Eren takes the cigarette back, pulling on it and making a clear show of trying to hide a smirk.

“Hamlet?”

“A woman with teeth and a brain,” Eren tilts his head at you, “aren’t you something?”

“Do you always quote Shakespeare when you want to fuck somebody?”

“Only when I want to fuck you.” Eren stubs the cigarette out on the ancient oak of the staircase railing, grins up at you brilliantly, smiles brighter when he notices how obviously flustered you are.

“I need to go take a shower,” you say hurriedly, choking on the remnants of your shame and your confidence as they burn out in your throat, making an attempt to back up the stairs away from him. Eren laughs at your attempted escape, catching you by the wrist and pulling you close to him, close enough to dizzy you on the tendrils of smoke still sticking to him. Your breath stills, your heart slows as Eren wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you together, skin on tacky skin.

“Oh, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?” Eren coos to you, mouth moving against your cheekbone. “C’mon, just one bite.”

“He that is proud eats up himself,” you hiss a quote back at him in response, ripping yourself from his grip and scrambling up the stairs, heart pounding and cheeks burning. You can hear a lovesick sigh follow you up to your room, and hope that the slam of the door behind you is enough to keep it from touching you.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

The murky waters of your vision ripple out into clarity, and you’ve found yourself in a forest. You’ve been here before, you recognize the tall, thick trunks and the bed of fallen leaves under your feet. You’ve been coming here since you were a little girl, been wiggling your toes in the greenery since before you could remember. You never come alone.

It appears just as you remembered: a blinding glimmer of light, a flame for a head, and ribbonlike wisps of energy that beckon you like arms, like love. One step towards it, and it disappears, vanishing into nothing with an echo that might be laughter. You think it’s happy to see you.

When it reappears a few feet away, you take your first steps, sighing at the feeling of the wild enveloping you, of the prickling of your skin, kissed by the chill winding through the trees. You wish you could explore this place, so familiar and so strange all at once, but you know you have to keep moving, keep following the lights as they lead you deeper and deeper into the forest. They won’t hurt you; you aren’t sure why that’s true, aren’t sure why you keep moving. You just know better than to stop.

They lead you over a familiar path, winding past a creek, over a bed of flat stones with an ice-cold creek running over them. You never tire here, legs pumping and arms working to push yourself faster. You’ve never caught the lights, and you aren’t sure if you ever will, but again, you know better than to doubt. It feels like hours, feels like minutes, feels like purpose, chasing these lights through the forest, but suddenly, something’s new.

There’s a little chirping sound, almost conversational and too high-pitched for you to understand; you’re not even sure if you recognize the language. It ricochets around the bones in your body, touches something ancient in their marrow. You almost jerk your head to the right to find the source, but you resist, pushing ahead on your path as the lights lead you deeper. You get the feeling that you’ve gone off-script somewhere, that this is a part of the forest you haven’t seen before, but the warmth in your bones shoos your doubts away. You’ve never been this far, but it feels like home.

A growl curls around the shell of your ear, plants fear right in the center of your chest. Your eyes widen at the light before you before it disappears; you frown at the next one, not daring to speak but demanding an answer anyhow. The lights will save you, won’t they?

Shrieks from overhead, guttural, animalistic calls, howls and chatters of excitement; you never presumed to be alone in this forest, but you never presumed to be in danger, either. The lights urge you on, vanishing and regenerating at an alarming rate, your feet drumming against the forest floor faster and faster. A sliver of moonlight begins to glow from the trees a ways off, an indication that there’s a clearing ahead, and you shove the bile in your throat down, swing your arms faster, ignore the frantic fluttering of your pulse in time with the bestial chorus ringing clearer and louder from the trees with each passing second.

You do, against all odds, manage to launch yourself into the clearing, and the moment you feel the soft cushion of moss under your feet, as opposed to the branch-littered, crunchy path of the forest, you nearly stumble to your knees as your eyes adjust to the sudden brightness of the clearing. The grumblings of the woodland entities have quieted, an almost awestruck silence settling in the open space around you.

“There you are.”

Your head snaps up comically fast– “You?”

“Me,” Eren says, that razor-sharp, moonlight smile lighting up his face. He looks…right here, as if the forest is extending a sense of belonging, as if he’s been here longer than the ancient trees themselves. Even the little crown nestled atop his head is fitting: a tangle of brambles and thorns and leaves tucked into his dark locks. Is that a throne under him, that mass of branches and leaves and some silvery metal you can’t place?

His eyes glow in the starlight, illuminated with a certain hunger that you can feel reverberating through your bones. It should be frightening, but it’s enticing. You feel welcome.

“What are you doing here?” Your tongue is slower on the uptake than your mind, and you can feel the suspicious expression folding your facial features, hiding the thrum of anticipation the sight of him brings.

Eren cocks his head pityingly, smiling at you in a way that would seem predatory if it wasn’t so entirely disarming, so entirely inviting. Your feet are bringing you closer before he even speaks— you know why you’re here before he says it.

“I’ve been waiting so long,” Eren beckons you onto his lap, firmly grabbing your shoulder and silently demanding you straddle him when you try to turn away from him, “you’re beautiful, so…alive here.”

He takes a bit of your hair between your fingers and rubs it, satisfaction flickering over his face. It’s then that you realize how little fabric covers you; really, it’s only a thin, wispy excuse of a dress, hanging in tatters around your body and leaving your skin free for the taking. Taking notice of your dress leads you to take notice of another pressing matter: Eren’s naked beneath you.

“Where are we?”

“Does it matter?” Eren reaches up to toy with your hair again, smiling gently. He tilts his head up, asking you for something you can’t identify, but that you already know you’re willing to give. Your soul, maybe.

Your lips meet his in a tentative brush, a motion that feels shy, but practiced. It’s a reflex, an instinct, to kiss him this way. Eren groans gutturally against your mouth, pressing into you deeper, digging his fingertips into your bare skin. The chorus of inhuman chatter erupts around you both again, and you jump, almost pushing away from him before he stops you with a firm hand against the small of your back.

“Sh,” he whispers, nipping at your chin, “don’t pay them any mind. You’re with me, remember?”

It’s difficult at first with the ever-growing hum of life around you, but it grows increasingly easier to melt into him, to lose yourself in the rhythm of him. He’s thick and hard underneath you, pressed right where you’re already slick and ready for him, and he’s got a tight grip on your hips, working you against him to make sure you feel it and oh– do you feel it.

A debauched gasp pours from your mouth to his; Eren sinks sharp teeth into your bottom lip with a grunt of approval, pulls you up to situate you over his twitching cock. You can feel the lecherous eyes of the woodland creatures, spirits, monsters, whatever they may be around you, looking in on the sticky, tangible arousal building between your bodies. The steady glow of Eren’s eyes, the prick of the thorns in his hair under your fingertips, the insistent weight of him pressing against the wet heat of you: all of it keeps you grounded, keeps your hips rolling into Eren like your life depends on it, like it’s what you were born to do.

“Are you ready?” Eren murmurs, quiet as the grave, stilling your hips and lifting you.

“I’m not sure, I–”

“I’ve been waiting so long,” Eren interrupts, “so long for you– you’re ready for me, I know you are.”

And with that, he’s sliding you down onto his cock, splitting you open, dropping your jaw. The cacophony from the forest grows deafening, but the glowing eyes in the brush streak and blur as your eyes flutter closed, a stuttered moan falling from your lips.

“Oh–”

“Knew you were ready,” Eren sinks his teeth into your collarbone, lets you wiggle and roll your hips until he’s situated comfortably inside of you. “You were born for this. For me.”

You can’t even bring yourself to disagree, to refute, to question. It’s godly, the way he fills you, the twinge of pain in the pit of your belly that doesn’t waver, no matter which way you squirm. The longer you sit, perched upon him– you feel something akin to divinity, akin to prophecy ringing through your bones. You were born for this.

“Eren…” It’s more of a sigh than anything, a confession and an admittance of guilt, a repentance. He likes the way it tastes, you can tell by the way his hands grip you harder, roll you along his cock faster with an urgency that betrays his calm, adoring gaze. He’s sinking his claws into you, bit by bit, and you’re better for it. You belong here, with the night on your skin and Eren nestled inside of you.

“Don’t ever leave,” Eren smiles gently, as if it’s a choice, “stay with me forever.”

The pleasure’s beginning to peak in your stomach, the howls swirling in the air around you start to feel more like a blanket, the moonlight like a crown. His hands are so hot they almost burn, his tongue licking up your neck feels like a baptism. Your back is arching, your blood is rushing, the stars are speaking to you– what are they saying?

Your fingernails have left angry indents in your throat where you’ve clutched into the skin in a desperate attempt to regain your breath, shooting up out of your slumber with a vicious jolt. Your head spins with the sudden movement, the antique furnishings of the room bleeding into candlelit blurs as you heave for breath.

“Sleeping?”

You nearly jump out of your skin at the gravel of Eren’s voice, having believed yourself to be alone. Some instinctual part of your mind almost remembers falling asleep on the loveseat in the glass-enclosed sunroom earlier, one too many martinis to thank for that, but you can worry about that later– Eren’s your priority now, shirtless and leaned against the doorframe with one eyebrow raised and a very telling flush rising to his cheeks. The chilly wetness between your legs brings your dream to the forefront of your mind. Had he heard, somehow?

“What are you doing down here?” You do your best to narrow your eyes into something convincing enough to pass for annoyance, unsure if you’ve managed to pull it off with the rapid rise and fall of your chest.

“Water,” Eren says simply, raising a glass you hadn’t noticed he was holding, “but it seems like you might need it more than I do.”

“I don’t–” He ignores you, crossing the room to hand you the ornate glass. Your throat is dry, and so you drink, eyeing him suspiciously as you sip.

“Dreaming?” The corner of his mouth twitches almost imperceptibly.

“Nightmare.” You push yourself up to sit, crossing your arms defensively over your chest. “How’d you know?”

A long pause, Eren’s eyes dragging over you slowly, your skin burning. “You were squirming.”

“It was disturbing,” you say truthfully, looking over your shoulder and half-expecting to see some horrible monster leering at you from the doorway, salivating over you and Eren, “but I’ve had this same dream since I was a kid. Part of it, anyway.”

“Need company?”

“No,” you say quickly, shaken by the dream and how low Eren’s pajama pants hang on his hips, “I just need to get to my real bed. I’m sure sleeping outside had something to do with it.”

“That’s not true.” Eren’s scooping you up into his arms before you can open your mouth to argue, as if you even would. This isn’t unusual for him; you’ve grown used to his tendency to touch you, to hold you close to his chest as though you belong there. It echoes in your head, you were born for this. A shudder wracks through your body. “Cold?”

“Mhm,” you hum, not trusting your own voice. Eren nuzzles your head deeper into his shoulder, lets you get a noseful of the scent of him. Dewdrops, mankind, a rotting forest floor. It gives you a disconcerting sense of deja vu.

“Sleeping outside is good for you,” Eren goes on, scaling the stairs with impossible ease, “my mom used to tell me that.”

“Is that so?” It brings a sleepy little smile to your face, despite yourself: the image of a messy-haired, fussy baby Eren, curled up in his mother’s lap and looking up at the night sky.

“Sure.” You can hear the nostalgia in his voice. “The stars can talk to you that way, through your dreams. They show you where you’re supposed to go.”

Your blood runs cold at that– does he know? How could he? He’s a man, not a mind-reader, not a mystic. Right? You let him carry you to your door in silence, the only noise being the padding of his bare feet down the Turkish carpet runner in the hall. When he gets to your door, Eren finally starts to move to let you down, and your mouth moves without your permission, voice small and echoing in the still nighttime air.

“Eren?”

He freezes, muscles locking you in place against his chest. “Yeah?”

“Was I talking in my sleep?”

Eren settles you on your feet before answering, leaving one lingering hand on your hip and bringing the other up to brush at your cheek. Your eye must have been watering– his thumb catches a stray tear. His smile is a little too sharp when he answers.

“No, why?”

“Just wondering.” Relief courses through your body, but your muscles stay taut under his touch.

“Okay,” Eren looks you up and down one more time, as if he’s making sure you’re all there, “goodnight, then. I hope your dreams get better.”

When he turns to go, the broad silhouette of him growing darker as he retreats, you remember something fragile underneath the floorboards.

“Wait, Eren! You forgot your water.”

“My what?” When he turns to face you, he’s still grinning– baring his teeth, more like. You think you’re imagining the glow in his eyes, too fresh from that dream.

“Your water. I think I have a cup in my room if you need it.”

“Oh.” Eren waves a hand nonchalantly through the air, catching a stray stream of moonlight. You can see the dust particles dancing around his hand, enchanted by his movement. “Wasn’t thirsty."

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

It’s a slinky, dazzling dress; Elie Saab, Spring 2005, maybe? 2006? Sasha had lent it to you, insisted upon you taking it, really. It’s got to be worth at least your years’ rent payment, dripping with Swarovski and cut low and square across your chest, and easily the most decadent thing you’ve ever worn but– it’s family dinner night. No expense is spared.

Historia sits across from you, reaching one dainty hand out for Armin’s negroni, nearly dipping the massive drop-pearl charm on her bracelet into the first course: a cold, cucumber soup. Armin nudges her meaningfully, scowling and handing his glass to her, glancing apologetically at the stiff-backed butler across the room, who wasn’t looking anyway. Sasha’s at the head of the table, working on Historia’s serving of the cucumber soup, dunking focaccia bread into it in a voracious manner that you’re sure wasn’t outlined in the etiquette courses she’d endured as a child. And he’s next to you, naturally.

His dinner jacket looks out of place on him, oddly enough: angular and overly formal, as well-fitting as it is. You wish it was a little greener, a little more playful, something to match the Eren you’ve gotten to know under all the glitz and glamour. It’s too human for him, really, but that thought makes you shudder faster than you can shove it to the side.

“Wasn’t that the girl from Luxembourg?” Sasha asks through a giggle, finally leaning back to allow the butler to collect the remnants of her first course. Historia frowns at her, gulps back nearly half of Armin’s cocktail.

“No, the girl from Luxembourg was a slut. He wouldn’t have touched her.”

Armin and Eren exchange a look that implies that, whoever the slut from Luxembourg might have been, she didn’t escape their clutches unscathed. Historia notices the guilty smile dimpling Eren’s cheek and smacks Armin in retaliation.

“Ouch, Stori!” Armin scowls right back at her; if you didn’t know about Armin’s father’s remarriage to Historia’s mother, you’d think they were actually related.

“She was a slut,” Historia sniffs, finishing the rest of Armin’s cocktail in a second swig.

“It was Eren’s idea– you’re always punishing me for what he does.” When the staff place the second course, some sort of ceviche, in front of him, Armin crosses his arms over his chest and looks away like a huffy child. Sasha laughs and swats at his shoulder.

“Don’t pretend you don’t have your own hand in things. You can’t blame everything on Eren.”

“Maybe he can,” you shrug, the champagne going to your head. You’re feeling impish, feeling like one of them. Wildly, you reach a hand up to pinch at Eren’s cheek, smiling to yourself when you feel it turn warm under your fingers. “I mean, just look at him. He’s a devil.”

“Am not,” Eren scoffs, slapping a hand on your leg and shaking it playfully, “you weren’t there anyway. Min’s very convincing when he wants to be.”

“I am.” Armin smiles at you, head tilting intrepidly. “I can get Eren to share anything I want, I bet.”

It feels loaded, like a challenge, and Eren’s fingers tighten where he’s gripping your leg. When you chance a glance to the side at him, his jaw is tense, gaze focused on Armin like a threat, like a predator.

“Not anything,” Eren says, voice low and dangerous, more somber than you’ve ever heard him. Armin’s face falls for a millisecond, scrunching his nose at the murderous glint in Eren’s eyes, before he clenches his jaw and glances between the two of you with a haughty smirk.

“Est-ce vrai? En êtes-vous sûr? Tu l'as dit toi-même - je suis convaincant quand je veux quelque chose.”

“Ne commencez pas avec moi, pas pour ça.” It’s hardly louder than a murmur, but the threat carries all the same. You look to Sasha with widened eyes, hoping for a translation, but she’s chewing slowly on a bite of her ceviche, looking at Armin, Eren, then Armin again with a strange expression you’ve never seen before.

A heavy silence settles over the table, Eren’s fingertips leaving sore spots through your dress where they’re digging into your thigh, and Armin’s eyes dancing over Eren’s face, that same smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. Daring.

“You two are so in love,” Historia gripes with a roll of her eyes, smashing the carefully-cubed ceviche on her plate into a mush. You eye the smear of meat on her fork disdainfully and set down the bite you had been about to pop in your mouth, opting for your glass of bubbles instead.

The jokingly grumpy lilt of Historia’s comment seems to cut the thread of tension that had grown taut between the two men, as Armin allows Sasha to pull him away from Eren and back into his corner of the table with her and Historia. Their conversation drones on, the ethics of Eren and Armin’s tendency to tag-team women fading into the background as you wait for Eren’s hand to slip from your thigh. It doesn’t.

His thumb rubs idly over the slit of your dress, brushing it back and forth over your bare skin for just long enough to get you used to the pressure of his palm beaming heat through the thin fabric, get your guard down. And then his fingers slip underneath, grabbing into the hot flesh of your thigh.

You jump ever so slightly, flighty as a fawn, and Eren chuckles under his breath beside you when you choke a bit on your champagne. He’s cool—stoic, even—as he bashfully bats away the scandalous insinuations of Sasha and Historia’s storytelling, the lewd raise of Armin’s eyebrows at the mention of a certain leggy redhead in Prague. His hand stays steady, possessive and permanent on your leg. When Armin and Historia start arguing over yet another of Armin’s alleged missteps with one of her college friends, Eren takes the opening to lean into you, murmuring into your ear.

“What’s got you so jumpy?” His breath puffs out hot and sensual against the shell of your ear, and you can feel your earring lifting with the movement of his lips. He’s so close.

“Not jumpy,” you answer under your breath, trying to keep your composure.

“Hm,” Eren hums, leaning back just enough to study your profile, “wasn’t sure if you’d dozed off, started dreaming again.”

Your head whips towards him in what is surely an uncouth accusation of insinuation, borne of shock, but luckily, Armin’s too busy being hand-fed ceviche by Sasha and scolded by Historia to notice. Other than his eyes, Eren’s stiller than death, watching over the antics with the littlest smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. His eyes, though, flick down to you, glinting like a dare.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means something?” It’s a challenge, and you realize too late that the rope around your ankle has cinched, and you’re caught in his trap.

“No,” you say, hoping for more conviction in your voice, but it comes out as a breathy whisper. The corner of Eren’s mouth twitches, and it pulls an irritated huff from you.

“Tell me about your dream. The one that woke you up the other night.”

“Tell you– w-what? Here?”

“Yes, here,” Eren repeats you, quiet and calm, keeping one eye on your bickering friends to ensure you’re kept all to himself, “unless it’s something you can’t share.”

The blanching of your face tells him everything he needs to know, and that sickening admission almost overshadows the fact that he knows. He undeniably knows, now; maybe not the specifics, but enough to know that you had woken up sticky and gasping after a sinful dream. Maybe he even knows it was about him.

You’ve given up on trying to understand the otherworldly elements of Eren; the way he seems to appear at inopportune moments and know what you’re thinking at every turn, but this is too much. You quickly realize that while you’re not sober, you’re certainly not drunk enough to deal with him, and you finish your glass of champagne in a single gulp.

“You’re one to talk about sharing,” you hiss at him, trying to will away the goosebumps prickling your arms as his fingers inch higher, skating along soft skin. Eren’s demeanor falters, if only for a moment– he looks frustrated.

“Didn’t you hear me?” Eren leans into you, brows furrowing. “I don’t share just anything, and especially not just because ‘Min wants a taste.”

“Am I yours to share?” That heavy swig of champagne has gone straight to your head it seems, as you turn your face up to him defiantly, finally saying the quiet part out loud. The weight falls off your shoulders like a head, and you can almost feel the itch of the guillotine at your neck as the words leave your mouth. Eren, ever the gentle executioner, only lets the calm fascination return to his face, brings his fingers further up your thigh.

“Tell me about your dream, hm? They’re not listening, it’s just you and me.”

He’s only inches away from where you’re already beginning to grow hot and wet– he hasn’t even done anything, and you want to chastise yourself over the undeniable need beginning to bubble inside you. Eren’s smiling so sweetly, as if he’s lulling you into a sense of complacency, and your tongue hangs heavy in your mouth, eager to spill your secrets.

“I…I’m scared.”

Eren’s eyebrows raise and his smile grows a bit toothier, disbelief written plain on his face. “Of me?”

“Sometimes,” you say, small and honest as the grave, “it’s like you aren’t real.”

“I’m very real,” Eren insists, two fingers pressing against the damp silk of your panties, his eyes lighting up when you stifle a gasp, “doesn’t that feel real?”

“Wait–”

“The dream,” Eren says again, increasing the pressure of his fingers, “were you scared of me there, too?”

“Yes,” you whisper, ashamed and painfully cognizant of the feel of him between your legs, “I was in a forest, running after the little lights, they– I’ve seen them for a long time.”

“Since you were a child,” Eren repeats your confession from the other night. He’s reading you, you realize, not like a book, but like a poem. You couldn’t put the difference into words if you had to, but there’s a certain melody to the flickering of his gaze over your hot face.

“They’ve never led me anywhere before,” your words hitch in your throat, stopped dead when Eren’s fingers start rubbing circles over your swollen clit. The silk is thin and soaked, and his fingers slide over you in a way that feels god-given. Your jaw hangs ever-so-slightly, the butlers coming to change the course. You wait for Eren to slip his hand out from under your dress, fearful of the staff watching as he toys with you, but he only nods encouragingly.

“Keep going.”

“Um,” you stammer, swallowing thickly and glancing at the plate of bleeding, rare filet in front of you, “they took me to a clearing in the forest. There were creatures, ones I’ve never seen before.”

“Did they hurt you? Any of them?” A furrow appears between his eyebrows, deep and concerned. Some small part of your brain, muted since Eren’s hand slid beneath your dress, worries itself with why Eren seems so disquieted with your dream– it’s not like you actually could have been hurt, it was only a dream. Wasn’t it?

“No, they stayed away. They just made a lot of noise, but they all got quiet when…”

A knowing smirk. “When?”

“When I saw you.”

Eren pats your thighs gently, urging them apart; he looks relieved, exhilarated, unreal. If you didn’t know better, you’d think his eyes were glowing in the candlelight. Armin, Historia, and Sasha’s clamor across the table grows louder with each passing second, but as soon as you begin to wonder if you should be doing a better job of hiding what’s very clearly happening under the slit of your dress, Eren’s fingers have wiggled their way beneath the fabric of your silk thong. Your teeth dig into your bottom lip, eyes widening.

“I was glad to see you,” Eren says quietly, “in the dream, I mean.”

“You said you’d been waiting for me,” you whisper, keeping your voice low to hide the whine scratching at the back of your throat, “that you’d been waiting a long time.”

“I bet I was,” Eren hums thoughtfully, grinning viciously when he sinks a finger into you, clearly relishing the way your fingernails tighten into his wrist. “I never lie.”

“Even in a dream?” You feel fuzzy and warm, blinking moony, worried eyes up at him. Eren shakes his head in confirmation, curling his finger and making your thighs clench. “You put me in your lap, and–and, you had a crown. It was nighttime, I think, and the moon was really bright. You were inside me.”

Eren slides another finger in to match the first, and you’re hardly able to stifle a moan when it comes fluttering through your teeth, a breeze of a sound compared to what you’re struggling to keep captive in your chest. Eren’s other hand reaches forward to grab a small piece of the carved steak, brings the meat up to your mouth and brushes it over your lips.

“Eat,” Eren instructs, smiling placidly as you mindlessly obey, biting into the red meat, “but keep telling me.”

He waits patiently for you to chew around the bite of steak he’s offered you, eyes searching you for something– what it is, you can’t be sure. Your mind is wobbling around the flashes of memory of your dream, distracted every few steps by an overwhelming rush of pleasure from between your legs, Eren’s fingers curling incessantly against your walls. You swallow, never taking your eyes off of him.

“You fucked me.” The confession is breathless when it leaves you, and even through the haze of what you pray isn’t a rapidly-approaching orgasm, you don’t miss the way Eren’s shoulders stiffen, the way his eyes flash.

“Did I fuck you, or did you fuck me?” Eren murmurs back to you, mischief in his eyes and a tense gravel to his voice. “You said you were in my lap, after all.”

“I—oh, god—I don’t know,” you’re barely able to keep your voice low, a little whimper interrupting you, “Eren–”

“Keep going, it’s okay,” Eren’s fingers don’t slow– in fact, they begin to move more harshly, “you’re safe with me, you know that. I showed you in the forest, didn’t I?”

“Mhm.” You can’t stop your forehead from falling onto his shoulder, teeth digging into your lip so hard you aren’t sure if that coppery taste is from the steak, or your own blood. The conversation in the room, despite being made by only three people, feels like a deafening rush in your ears.

The realization hits home that Eren’s going to make you cum all over his fingers in front of your friends, the staff, and your dinner, and he’s going to wrench it out of you in a matter of seconds, if the tightening of your gut is anything to go by.

“What else?” Eren practically growls in your ear, low and hoarse. “Is there anything else?”

“You asked me– fuck, you asked me something.” Your hips are canting forward into his palm, your face tacky and warm thinking about the couture fabric under you, now drenched in your cum and sweat. “Eren, you have to slow down, please–”

He’s merciless, pumping his fingers into you ceaselessly, rendering you a lost cause. “What did I ask you?”

“You asked—oh, my god—asked if I, if I would stay with you forever.”

“What was your answer?”

You can’t respond, not with the way you’ve stopped breathing to swallow down the debauched moan bubbling in your chest. Your entire body tenses, strung tight as a bow around Eren’s fingers as the knot in your stomach unravels, cool, inevitable release finally crashing over you. Eren works you through it, murmuring little hushes into your hairline, and placing a comforting hand over your fingers that are digging into his wrist, smiling against your forehead as you slide your hips back and forth over his hand.

You manage to pull the whole thing off impressively subdued, no more than a tinny whimper leaving your lips, only to be absorbed by the sleeve of Eren’s dinner jacket. When you dare to sit up, to meet Eren’s eyes, he’s still looking at you expectantly, as if that wasn’t enough.

“I can’t believe you just did that,” you whisper, waiting for Historia to chastise you, or Armin to make a lewd comment. The three of them are still arguing, Sasha stealing bites from Armin’s plate each time he turns to snap at Historia, who’s now sitting amongst a crowd of empty crystal glasses.

“What was your answer?” Eren says again, pulling his fingers from you and smirking at the glisten that stretches down into his palm.

“I woke up,” you say with shaky conviction, trying to glare at him.

“Are you still scared of me?” Eren asks innocently, picking up a piece of his steak with his hand and feeding it to you again. Your cum mixes in with the flavor of the steak, gives it a certain tang and salinity that makes your heart beat faster, even though you’ve just floated back down to consciousness.

“I– I don’t think so, but…” you trail off, looking down at the plate. Eren brings another piece to your lips, letting you bite half and giving the rest to himself, not missing the opportunity to suck on the tips of his fingers. Your thighs press together when his eyes flutter shut, knowing what he’s tasting and watching him revel in it.

“But what?”

“I don’t think I understand you,” you confess breathlessly, “I think that’s what scares me. I spend all day looking at you, and I never feel closer to understanding you, to really touching you. It’s like you’re not…” you trail off in search of the right word.

“Real?” Eren cocks an eyebrow at you.

“Human,” you say without entirely meaning to, widening your eyes at him in apology. “I’m sorry, not in a bad way necessarily, but– you feel…like you’re above me. In a sense.”

“Above you?” Eren frowns, forgetting his dinner entirely and looking straight at you with rejection written all over his face, wrinkles you want to smoothe over with your thumb.

“I just…” you sigh, finding it harder to meet his gaze by the second, “I don’t understand what you want with me.”

“Still?” Eren tilts his head. “Even after that?”

“The dream?” You nearly chuckle in exasperation. “It was just a dream, that’s all.”

Eren frowns a little, reaches for your glass of champagne– oh, god, when had that been refilled?– and hands it to you. He watches you take one sip, and then another, that concentrated pull of his eyebrows never ceasing until you reach a shaky hand out for your fork, beginning to feed yourself small bites of steak. His perplexed expression ripples out into one of contentedness, smiling gently as he watches you take care of yourself.

“All days are nights to see till I see thee, and nights bright days when dreams do show me thee,” Eren finally says, looking at you very much like you’re supposed to be parsing something out from his quote.

“On to the sonnets now, are we?” You cock a playful eyebrow at him, despite your tired, slouching posture and your repeated attempts to keep your guard up. Eren grins mischievously, leaning in as if he means to press the tip of his nose to yours.

“I know no ways to mince it in love, but directly to say–”

“If it be love indeed, tell me how much?” You’re quicker than him on this one, a vicious little smirk cutting across your face when you manage to cut him off. Eren’s eyebrows raise, impressed, but you don’t keep him down for long.

“There’s beggary in love that can be reckoned,” Eren finally says, twirling the ring on your pinky absentmindedly. You don’t even remember when he laid his hand atop yours, but it feels heavy and comforting, and so you let it lie there, just for the time being.

Your post-orgasm exhaustion hits you like a train, the temptation to slump against Eren’s shoulder winning out over your propriety. You’ll sit back up by the fourth course, you tell yourself, nibbling on a large piece of parsley that had come as a garnish on your plate. Eren doesn’t seem to mind the weight of your fuzzy head nodded into the cotton of his shoulder; in fact, he seems to adjust himself so you can nuzzle closer, eyes blinking owlishly as you reach for your glass of bubbles. You’re teetering dangerously close to the edge of unconsciousness, and you almost wouldn’t care, until something catches your eye.

Over the rim of your glass, Historia is staring at you. It’s not a look of admonishment, but more…caution? Concern? Pity? All you can discern for certain is that Historia must have seen everything Eren did to you, everything he’s still doing to you, taking a caviar bump off the back of his hand and laughing at Armin, shoulder shaking under your cheek. Historia’s brows furrow at you, her bottom lip wavering slightly.

You sit up suddenly, ignoring the way the room spins with the speed of your action. Eren turns his head to you, surprised, only to follow your gaze across the table to Historia. You’re trying to keep from looking at him, but you can’t help yourself, watching his expression crumple into something stern and disparaging.

Historia withers for only a moment, before narrowing her eyes at him threateningly. Eren squeezes his hand around yours. Sasha shoves Historia admonishingly for not listening to her joke. Armin’s eyes focus in on where your fingers grip your champagne flute hard enough to turn white.

You think you see a few pairs of familiar, glowing eyes in the bushes outside, peering in on the scene at the table. You think you need to go to bed.

#eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren jaeger smut #eren yeager smut #eren jaeger fanfiction #aot #aot fanfic #eren jaeger x you #eren yeager x you #attack on titan x reader #aot x reader #that's all for now folks!!!!#more to come in part 2<3

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