a/n: Post-timeskip smut, because we really don't have enough of that regardless. Thanks to lunarcallisto for encouraging me to write something like this — it was a lot of fun! ;) Actually, there's a lot of plot, and it's hinting at a few topics I would be interested in covering in another fic that's not directly centered around the more intimate stuff. But that's all in good time.

EDIT: As of 12/14/18, I've elaborated a bit on certain scenes, like the opening tribunal, as well as hinted more explicitly at Armin and Eren's internal struggles and Annie's dynamic with others in general. Hopefully still succinct but better paced: it's over 7K words now.

Chapter title comes from the song "Before Your Very Eyes" by Atoms For Peace.


.07 - doggystyle / rough, biting, scratch

Rating: R


Her tribunal is held only a week or so after she's been collected from her self-made prison. They give her a new set of clothes (she's outgrown her old uniform anyway) but no emblem to distinguish herself from the soldiers flanking her.

"After all," Arlert explains during the carriage ride to her tribunal, "a fresh start may be just what you need."

She eyes him somewhat dubiously. "What difference does it make to you?"

He smiles. "Not much, really. It'll be best if we can spin our story as to put your crimes into a more... well, I wouldn't call it a positive context, but suffice to say, you're not much of a threat next to Eren."

"Jaeger's still alive?"

The smile tightens briefly into something resembling a grimace; then Armin blinks as though snapping from a reverie. "Well, I suppose you would have found out, sooner than later. Not that it matters, at least, not for now."

Armin could be saying this for any number of reasons. Annie declines him a response as the carrige comes to a stop and they exit with all eyes on her.


Commander Irvin died years ago in an unrelated operation to reclaim Shiganshina. Zackley, still commander-in-chief, looks greyer than ever before. Hanji is the new Commander of the Scouting Regiment, but it's Armin Arlert who speaks on behalf of their long-preserved prisoner.

In the hour or two it takes to reach a conclusion, a creeping unease or impatience has pervaded the room. But it's like Arlert said. Her war crimes against more than a dozen soldiers and the city of Stohess seem almost petty in comparison to the unthinkable quandary introduced by Eren Jaeger; still, it must be done for her sake, more than anything, before they reach a conclusion and shut her away to remain dormant until she is needed.

Jaeger is alive. Does he have the Progenitor? How many of the Scouts are dead? How many more will die, in the face of the oncoming war?


She's started to wonder if there's no point in fighting anymore. Father may as well be dead; the same goes for Reiner. Bertholdt looks at her sometimes, the impression of a persona etched into someone else's eyes — but Arlert hasn't visited in days, and she must infer such things for herself from the short exchanges between the changing guard and officers, or whenever the soldiers in charge of her turn to each other for conversation as though forgetting that she still exists.

She's caught sight of other faces, many unfamiliar. Some names remain imprinted within her memory and come back gradually — Dreyse, Arlert, Ackerman, Springer, Kirschtein, Jaeger —

No one will tell her anything. Perhaps that is to be her penance. Each day could be the last, but every morning brings another glimpse into this strange new world bereft of Titans.

She doesn't ask questions, anyway, because that's not what a proper soldier would do in enemy territory. Better instead to keep her mouth shut.


But as fate would have it, opportunity comes sooner than she expects. Succeeding a walk around the grounds, escorted by soldiers, the return to the cell is cut short by none-other-than Commander Hanji.

Though caught off guard, Annie quickly conceals her reaction, noting simultanously that Captain Levi is absent. The soldiers are not as skilled in hiding their surprise but nonetheless acknowledge the Commander accordingly; title, salute, at ease.

Annie looks her in the eye and says: "Commander."

"I'm glad I could catch you in time," says Hanji. She smiles, or at leasts attempts to make herself cordial; the single eye trained on Annie suggests the demeanour of a person not-so recently hardened by battles and loss. "I expect you must be getting sick of being kept locked up in a room with nothing to do. So I have a job for you."

Annie isn't sure where this conversation is headed, but it probably can't be good.

"A job?"


Several minutes later they're back in the catacombs.

"As you probably know by now, Eren is in a similar situation as you, in terms of incarceration. The trouble is, he hasn't been quite as cooperative."

Annie is listening intently.

"It's rather frustrating. But after I'd done some thinking, I considered that I may have gotten his reasoning all wrong. Perhaps he'll react differently to someone he percieves as more on his level," Hanji says, and there is an odd sentiment in her tone as she looks at Annie. "He's been in enemy country, separated from anyone he knows for over a year; it's not unreasonable to conclude he might be adversely affected. From this perspective, you're the most suited to talk with him."

"You want me to interrogate him?"

"Just try and lighten the mood, for now. I wouldn't ask this of you if our circumstances were not dire."

That could mean a lot of things, coming from the Commander. But maybe Hanji is right. What could it hurt, really?


"Leonhardt," the guard greets, permitting her into the cell.

Eren Jaeger is sitting by himself in the single chair, separated by iron bars. He appears to be in the process of convalescence; his hair is long and lank about his face, concealing his features, but he's cognisant enough to tense when the iron door screeches shut behind her.

"Come to gloat?" he asks without looking up.

"No."

He grunts. "Well, I guess you're the only one who gives a shit about what happens to me." He does not sound resentful, just matter-of-fact.

It could be true, Annie thinks, but minding the guard, says instead: "That's presumptuous."

He doesn't contest this, staring at his knees. Then he says: "I don't expect us to go back to the way things were."

It seems a little late to be clarifying loyalties. Annie has not asked anyone about War Chief Zeke, Reiner Braun, or the whereabouts of her father, although eavesdropping has given her scraps of what might be truth; Zeke is dying, Braun is most likely dead, and who can say what has happened back home?

(And who better to ask than the man in front of her?)

"Why are you in here, Jaeger?"

He finally looks up; the scowl wears him. "I guess I just like inflicting pain on myself."

Annie offers a wry smile. He blinks as if caught off guard by her lack of retort, his features unclouded by disgruntlement, and then he turns away again.

"Is there anything you'd like to know?" He speaks to the wall above her head, the torch in its sconce and the firelight plays over the room, lending what would otherwise be a somewhat cosy atmosphere to be much colder, otherworldly.

Annie remains quiet. He looks up at her.

"Come on. Don't you want to know the state of things in Marley?"

"I've been told what I need to know," she answers coolly. "You're just a prisoner of war."

He smiles harshly. "Reiner's alive. I don't know what became of your father."

It could be a lie, and yet it still hits her with all the grace of physical trauma. Annie bites her tongue.

"I expect he'd be proud of you, if he is alive," says Eren. "The Warrior kids were. I heard that you would have been Vice-Commander, even though you were unable to complete your assignment. But Reiner took your place."

He is looking for a reaction because he has no agency of his own. Do not allow him to win.

"How does it feel to have innocent blood on your hands?" she remarks, seeking to wound him.

Eren goes still. The guard to her left grips the rifle firmly; a nervous tic, perhaps. "Of course," says Eren quietly. "It's unavoidable. You should know that already."

"You're a traitor to your own people," she accuses, wishing for it to stop, show her a little mercy she does not deserve.

"What makes us any different?" His eyes harden. "We're not children anymore. It should be up to us to see that our country isn't destroyed."

"It's not my country to save." The words come out bitter; yet her feelings towards Paradis and Marley have never succeeded anything beyond detached ambivalence. Accepting the ambiguity of her situation is a touch more difficult than she cares to admit.

Eren shrugs. "I guess that's true."

She's wasted enough time here. She motions to the guard and steps towards the door as it scrapes open. Annie doesn't check to see if he's still looking, so she stops dead when he speaks:

"You're all I have left. I don't want to hurt you anymore."


In retrospect, Annie figures their interaction could have been worse; Commander Hanji even goes as far to call it "progress", which is better than none.

The next few days pass by in solitude. Falling back into line alongside the other soldiers with a winged emblem upon her back and the same unspoken certainty that comes before deployment. Perhaps in time she will be only a name in a record book.

Annie is more human now than she has ever been. Vulnerable, even when she's had her wounds dressed and cleaned due to an overall sluggish period of recovery; the crystal has done more than preserve her.

Mortality binds them all to the inevitable.

In time, she is permitted some level of responsibility; observing the new recruits, exchanging scarcely more than a few words in passing. She watches the faces of the people around them, superior officers and fresh blood and civilians when her name comes up, or Arlert's or Jaeger's, wondering how many are truthfully loyal to the cause.

Younger soldiers who were not present for the attack on Stohess regard her with some combination of awe and unease. The veterans seem restless. She gets the impression their combined dislike is not entirely reserved for her, but towards the man she has beguiled.

Arlert keeps his face a mask if he even talks to her at all. He has seen her weak, he has seen her broken and bloodied and weary, he'd spoken on her behalf at the tribunal — but it's never been for her sake. Annie can't fault him for this, but the trust between them remains tenuous at best.

("You've missed out on quite a lot," Arlert had told her, during her inital days of recovery. "I suppose it would be silly to expect you'd be perfectly adjusted in a week."

"I'll manage," she'd replied, quieter than usual. Armin had nodded, but he'd also seemed uneasy to be in the same room as her. That was almost two weeks ago.)

Wondering why he is often absent will get her no further to the truth; he's likely busy, as are the rest of the Scouts, preparing for the counterattack that will inevitably come from the world beyond the Walls.

Jaeger treats her no differently than anyone else, and she in turn extends him the same courtesy.

Perhaps it is no surprise that she begins to see him with a moderate amount of frequence, despite that rocky first impression.

They take walks alone or together, always with the guards, sometimes spar together, and one gloomy afternoon succeeding a bout of rain, they sit alone in his cell, separated by the bars, quietly telling each other things they have never told anyone else:

"When I was nine, I broke my father's leg."

It's not the best way to strike up a conversation, but talking to other people has never been her forte to begin with. Eren, to his credit, doesn't ask her anything besides: "How'd you manage it?"

"I lost my temper. I don't remember why, I think I was hurt, or we had been going for hours, and I wanted him to hurt." She frowns. "He was injured badly. He had to wear a cast afterward, but he was proud of me."

Eren seems to ruminate on this. Annie looks away from him, towards the tiny barred window, and wonders what the new recruits are up to to-day.

"There's…" he begins, pauses, "a woman. I keep seeing her in my father's memories. I think it was his first wife. But he never told me or Mikasa about her while he was alive, I don't know if my mum knew, either. Sometimes I wonder if he even loved us at all."

His eyes are greenish grey and not quite sunken, the scars prominent upon his face.

"I used to think," he clears his throat, "when I was a kid, about what I would say to you, if you ever got out. I wanted to know why you did — everything, I guess. I'm not even sure what good it'll do now, but…." He looks her in the eye, a shadow of the boy she had known so many years ago. "If we aren't enemies, then we should sort things out before it's too late."

She cannot be sure what he is insinuating until he says it outright. It sounds horribly like treason.

"I'm not looking for an answer right now," he adds, with the same casual air of drawing lots for menial labour. "But I don't have all the time in the world, so. I'd like to know sooner than later." He pauses, and a smile crosses his face. "Just know that whatever you choose, I won't hold it against you."


There is talk of war brewing over the ocean. Annie is sure that, once she is able, she will be put to good use out in the field, just as Reiner will invariably be if he's even alive.

She's noticed the way Eren sometimes looks at her when they are alone; the composed façade flickers, he's almost beseeching, as though he wants to be saved — though she's not sure what from.

She tries not to think about it most days.


One day, she rouses prematurely from slumber and cannot fall back asleep. It's still dark out. That could mean anything. A few minutes pass before it strikes her that nobody has called attention to her yet. She gives it another minute, and then decides to try the cell door.

It rattles, but upon trying to push it she finds it's unlocked; impeded prematurely by a force beyond her control.

"I really wouldn't do that if I were you." It's the boy on post. He looks young, with curly hair the colour of dirt and eyes to match, smattered with freckles. Annie briefly considers intimidation, but there's no need to expend her energy if it'll save her the trouble of a permanent detention.

"Do you have a name, cadet?"

He seems wary. "Er. Am I supposed to be talking to you?"

Annie sighs. "I guess not."

The boy shoulders the rifle that's only a bit taller than he is and speaks without prompt: "Andrew Fischer. I already know your name, Leonhardt. I'd say it was nice to meet you, but…" he kind of chuckles, shifting his weight from his right leg to his left, "gee, this isn't very formal, is it?" His unease seems to stem more from the awkwardness of the situation than any fear towards her. Annie wonders what the hell these kids are being taught in military academy.

"What's with the door?" she enquires.

Fischer pauses. "I'm not letting you out, if that's what you're going to ask. The other guy left a while ago…" he raises his fist to his mouth, stifling a yawn, "but I expect he should be back soon."

Annie decides she may as well humour the boy a little. "What time is it, Fischer?"

He blinks. "I dunno. I haven't a watch. It's probably around six? That's when I started, anyway. You can't really tell if the sun's up because of the clouds." He frowns. "But I heard you moving around in the cell, and that probably woke me." He looks suddenly sheepish. "Oh, my God. I shouldnt've said anything."

"Relax, Fischer. I won't tell anyone."

It's almost amusing, the way his face lights up, and then he quickly stifles the emotion. "How am I supposed to trust you, anyway? They say you're a war criminal from Marley."

"Yeah."

She waits for him to elaborate, but he doesn't. Supposing she may as well make herself ready, she gets to her feet and rifles through the beat-up dresser.

"What're you — oh, uh. Sorry."

He's an easy one to spook, but he's not stupid, or at least sharp enough to keep her in his peripherals despite the connotation. All she does is put on a new jacket, avoiding nudity. If she were in his position she would be more than a little terrified of turning away from any prisoner of her reputation.

Ten minutes pass before someone else comes down to check on her; a harassed looking boy with blonde hair, tailed by an older man, presumably the officer.

"Officer Behnke, sir!" says Fischer, springing to a salute. The man nods, turning his eyes upon her as though searching for bloodstains. Annie keeps her mouth a thin line.

"Where's Caison?" he asks, turning to Fischer.

"Sorry?"

"The boy who was on post before you," says the officer tersely. "Did he leave without checking the door?"

Fischer hesitates. "He reported it to the officer in charge, sir. We were told that it would be taken care of sometime in the morning, so I assumed that's what you were here for."

The man frowns. "I received no such notice." Fischer's visibly alarmed by this news, and the other boy glances from her to Officer Behnke as if taking stock of the situation. "Regardless, I'll have it taken care of to-day. Thank you for letting me know."

"No trouble, sir.

"Officer Behnke, sir?" says the second boy. "I haven't got anything pressing to attend to either, so I think I'll be all right down here. Someone needs to be sure the door is fixed."

Behnke nods. "Fine. You'll be notified when we send someone down to have a look."

Fischer still looks confused, but he doesn't press the matter further.

"As for you, Leonhardt," says Behnke to Annie, "I see you're already awake. If you've business to attend to, you should get on with it before someone else calls you."

Walking down the catacombs has become second nature. The only light comes from the torches set along the walls, and on rare occasion the soldiers will carry heavy, electric ones, usually when out on expeditions. There are ships carrying men across the ocean. There will surely be more.

The world she'd left behind has come to mesh with Paradis in recent years, and now there are all sorts that walk among her.


Perhaps it's the thought of war that directs her path, sub-consciously, towards the only person she wants to talk to:

"Jaeger?"

He goes still. Probably wasn't anticipating visitors this early, but that's fine by her.

His hair's in a messy bun and he has divested himself of a shirt to wash. This close, she's able to see how the wounds travel deeper, down the length of his spine, flourishing in patches that more closely resemble burns; in a certain light, it gives the illusion of flowering rot or raw flesh rent away from the skeleton beneath.

It seems pointless to reach out to him now when the popular opinion is to fear and revere him, or perhaps be justly angered by his actions. Annie is not devoid of emotion, after all, but even she has to wonder what she's doing here.

She brings her attention back to Eren, who isn't so much undressing her with his eyes as cutting straight through the skin, past the bones and blood and sinew and the wall behind her, waiting for her to hesitate or turn from him and leave like the rest, but she doesn't move.

"What," he starts, then hesitates, "are you doing here?" She affords him a glance, nothing more. His jaw sets. "I'm not sure why you'd bother visiting if you aren't going to talk."

"Aren't you cold?" she asks, if only to humour him.

Eren shrugs. This isn't going anywhere.

The shiver that chases up her spine carries a different connotation. She knows from the gooseflesh on her skin that the cell is cold, but the tension is stifling almost to the point of suffocation. He looks behind her head, at the corner of the room where the sentry should be, then back to her.

Annie does not smile. "Is it normal for them to leave you alone like this?" His eyes narrow. "Anyway, you must have an end-game," she continues. "You can't have accomplished all of this alone."

"What makes you think so, Leonhardt?"

It's always strange to hear him refer to her by surname; the Eren she'd known had never concerned himself with formalities, even to the point of irritation. But now he's distant by choice, which is itself uncomfortably close to home, and she's sure it irks him on some level that she is just as distant in spite of approaching him on her own terms.

"Have you heard from Arlert?" she enquires, and his eyes light up. Annie weighs her options, then decides she might as well go for the kill. "He seems different, don't you think? Almost as though he's not himself." Pacing up and down the length of the room, aware of the rusted iron bars, the only barrier between them. "It's the same with you, now."

He has turned his head enough to keep her in his peripherals.

"You both act as if you're afraid of what you'll see whenever I talk to you," Annie says, this time without a scrap of ire. "But Arlert isn't my friend. So I want to know what else you're running from."

She stops in front of him. He does a slow double take, as though anticipating some kind of threat.

"Who put you up to this?" he asks. "The Commander? Captain Levi?"

"No one did."

He scowls. "You're digging your own grave."

"What does it matter to you?" she snaps. "I've failed in every possible aspect to complete my mission and return home. What do you think will happen to these people you want to protect after you're dead?"

"I know I'm not getting any younger," says Eren. "But I won't be terminated by anyone else's wishes but my own."

"Well, I guess you have everything figured out," she says coldly. "I'll leave you to it." She turns as if to go through with this.

Eren says: "Wait a minute."

She almost ignores him but for the sake of his unexpected cooperation.

"In the past, I allowed my emotions to get in the way of my duty as a soldier. I blamed myself for the deaths of others around me, but it's inevitable in any war. There will probably be more graves to fill on every side before I'm done." As she turns back to face him, he looks her dead in the eye. "I can only accomplish what I'm able to with the time I have left. You're not so different."

"Don't compare us. I was taken prisoner before I could accomplish my mission. You betrayed your country for a suicide mission. It's lucky that they keep you alive at all."

"Then why don't you finish the job?" There is no trace of empathy in his words. "You could have easily overtaken me days ago and used the Warhammer to rescue Zeke. It wouldn't be impossible to fend for yourself thereafter. What's holding you back?"

Nothing is holding me back, she wants to say, but what comes out instead is: "You think I'm a coward."

Eren is smiling. She wants to leave him to his thoughts, but she's seething. What gives him the right to judge her?

He gets to his feet, approaching 'til they are face-to-face at the bars.

"Why," he asks deliberately, "are you here?"

Annie falters. Eren is just another human, prone to the same flaws, physical and moral. She's not so callous as to take advantage of him without a second thought — licks her lips, self-conscious, because anything she does can be easily construed as manipulation — but it's easier to convince herself otherwise within the empty room.

"I don't know," she says tersely.

He's in-reach. She should kill him while there are no witnesses and take back her honour to the Marley; but it's so obvious, it can't be anything but a trick.

With that motive still in mind, Annie reaches between the bars and feels him stiffen at the contact. His skin is warm, a little rough; he's in-need of a proper shave. Without a word, he allows her hand to slide lower, down the side of his throat and she can feel the pulse under her fingers, the jump of his adam's apple when he swallows.

He raises his hand to grip hers, and Annie half-wonders if he's about to break her wrist or draw her closer. She can figure the question in his eyes, lucidly green, certain of little else but his interest, whatever it may signify.

"It's unlocked," he tells her, very quietly, and releases her hand.

The iron door screeches upon closing and now the enemy towers over her. Not that height should matter; a tall man is no different from any other.

His palm is warm on the slope of her neck and Annie's primed to strike, telling herself over and over that her hands are shaking out of the desire to wound rather than hesitation. She's a coward, not a pacifist, so what does it matter when he gazes at her now?

Slowly, his other arm lifts and comes around her back. Before she can take stock of what this might mean he's already embraced her. She freezes up, arms at her sides, hearing him exhale harshly, the puff of his breath warm against her scalp. He won't let go completely even after pulling away.

His hands slide up to grip her shoulders, the texture of the leather jacket contrasting with his skin. She shoves him back, acting upon reflex, and Eren goes with the momentum. Anger flares in her, but it is almost laughable how easily he has laid the trap for her, how willingly she has played into his hands.

"Why aren't you fighting back," she demands, no inflection.

And Eren affixes her with a strange expression, not disappointment, more like incredulity. "Well… what do you expect to accomplish, here?"

Something snaps. Starts in her eyes or her jaw or her fists clenching white-knuckled, and sickens her even more to accept that she can no longer blame him for her own weakness; she just doesn't want to die alone in a cell, and he's the only one who will talk to her like an ordinary human being, not the monster beneath her skin. She tells herself that Eren Jaeger deserves to be the point on which to fix her anguish because he's just an Eldian, descended from another prisoner of war, nothing but scum who probably — she gasps when her back impacts the damp cell wall.

He's got her wrists above her head and she could kick him off easily, she could break him now and watch him bleed all over the dungeon floor while she's got any spine left in her. But she wants to see where this will go, lying to herself through gritted teeth to mask her own intentions.

"Annie?"

She's breathing hard. He's too close for innocence, smells like soap and something else human, and she can't help but think that she would much rather be executed by someone she knows, not a firing squad.

Releasing her, he tilts her up to face him — when she plants her palms against his naked breast, he's alarmingly tangible. She waits for him to crush her as he ought to have done many years ago, but it never happens. His eyes are dim in the sparse morning light. There's no animosity.

When he leans in she looks away, denying herself the impulse. His mouth brushes her temple and he pulls away, watching to see how she'll take it.

Annie is still trembling. Something brightens up his eyes and it's impossible to look at him without the words catching in her throat: oh, god, I don't want to die. Eren doesn't say a word as she nestles into him, but he doesn't have to — perhaps he's been here before.

Best not to think about it. He kisses her brow when at last she unfurls from him. Annie aims to kiss him back but it's a near miss, grazing his chin. He laughs lowly, tilting her into something deeper, ravenous and unrestrained.

Once she's rid of her jacket and shirt, he bows his head to her chest and she cradles him there. A quiet groan spills out of him, and she concludes that he must be in a similar state. They work together, strip her down to skin, and then he spreads her legs and she realises what he's going to do a second before he kneels, stifling a moan into the side of her fist, tangling her fingers in his damp hair. He grunts — for a moment, it's almost familiar.

He stops before she can come and gets to his feet; this time she's all-too aware of his erection, the colours of his pupil and iris bleeding together while he stares at her as if to say: Am I really who you want?

So she leans up on her toes and kisses him before she can think better of it. His teeth bare wolfishly. He spins her around, guiding her upon the bed, all-fours. She can hear him unbuckling and cranes her neck to see what he's doing.

"Hands and knees," he tells her. "Keep your head up."

She doesn't speak, begrudging him this compliance as he kneels behind her. His palm on her buttock slips between her legs, and she stifles the need to groan when he cups her roughly before guiding himself into her. She hears him inhale through his teeth and figures he's trying to stay composed; a half-glance over her shoulder divulges nothing but the physical presence of his body. There is no one else in the room.

"Face the wall," he re-emphasises, and she has little reason to disobey.

Filling her in one motion, a steady push; she's aware first of this, the coarse brush of his pubic hair against her arse once he bottoms out, gripping her waist to steady himself. Annie curses under her breath. Eren hardly makes any noise, but the shudder in his body is telling.

He gives her a moment to adjust before he moves, and even then she can't help but gasp because it's sudden this way, no purchase to keep but the mattress and sheets beneath her. Presently he drags her flush onto his cock and she arches up for want of contact.

He squeezes her hip and his free hand slides up over her nape, into her hair. Annie goes still.

"O.K.?" he asks.

She tries side-eying him but he curls his fingers and steers her forward. It's not enough to hurt, just gets her attention.

"Move," she grits.

She hears him exhale — sounds like her name — before shifting back. He's not going very fast, perhaps for her sake or to make this last, and the old bed squeaks to mark their pace. Unwilling to submit, Annie pushes decisively back upon the next thrust and he grunts, mussing her hair.

"Jaeger," she pants.

"Hm?"

In the interest of self-preservation, she does not elaborate and instead contracts around him. He swears audibly. Annie smirks to herself, unable to suppress her own shout when he grinds into her with a level of force she didn't quite anticipate but manages to catch herself before she connects with the wall.

Eren stops and leans down, his breath ghosting her jaw. "You want something?" he growls. "Say it."

He's not acting out of cruelty, nor some ostentatious level of concern, not even a reprieve; it's more like he's keeping himself in check, waiting for her to give him the word to take control — then, perhaps, the power had been in her hands from the start — and she is struck by the simplicity of that notion until he straightens up and snaps his hips.

"Fuck!" she hisses. Even without seeing his face, she can guess it's an attempt at provocation — but just because she'd do it in a heartbeat doesn't mean he'll act the same.

"Leonhardt?" He nudges her again and it sets her off in a few ways at once. "Whatever you want," he mutters, "you can tell me, 'else" — her shoulders slacken as his hands curl brusque on her waist and in her hair — "I'll just take you like this."

He still isn't moving fast enough. She groans in abject frustration, so he starts pressing her against the wall — the contrast of his body warming her and the cold stone in front coupled with his uncompromising rhythm shocks her into vocalisation.

Eren huffs low in his throat, which shouldn't make her stomach flutter because he may as well be toying with her. It's an easy explanation, and yet she cannot justify all his glances as a mere act, just as she cannot dismiss their hushed conversations about family, war and fears and everything else that's come to pass. Annie finds it impossible to reflect for long — even when he slows down, he isn't gentle.

"So?" he ushers, "how 'bout it?"

She's already gnawed her lip so much it's sore. He sets the pace a touch faster than before and she decides she may as well recant:

"You don't —" spinning around to side-eye him, he's watching her ardently, "— need me to hold your hand or —" his fingers scrape the tie and she gasps when he draws her up this way, sucking at the base of her neck and facing her forward. "Son-of-a-bitch!" she spits out, "just — nnh…."

"Mm?" He thrusts in spite of himself, or maybe just to tease her some more. The sting in her scalp is nothing compared to what she has endured at the hands of interrogators — hell, this is scarcely any different than sparring.

Pride or familiarity compels her to push back onto him and he concedes, looping his arm under her abdomen and keeping her suspended. The weight of him on her back is not enough to smother, but he's feverish. Ducking into her forearm, Annie shoves herself against him earnestly and he curses, this time in approval.

All this is not enough for her, so she reaches down, primarily in hopes of relieving some tension, but also to see what he will do. He's pretty quick to notice, pinning her arm behind her with enough force to make himself clear. The next thrust is harsher and she bites her tongue, struggling to keep in control. Eren repeats himself until he elicits another hoarse shout from her, then eases up.

"Oi. You need to be quieter," he chides, as if they're simply fooling around. "You can — manage that, yeah?"

Annie tries to sneer but in her desperation it feels more like baring teeth without any edge. "Try me."

He hums, remarking gruffly: "Guess that's not much of a threat if you want it." He leans down to her ear. "So, what am I gonna do with you?" He rolls his hips, elicits a breathy groan out of her before she hisses:

"Move, goddamit."

"Well, I reckon you're a little less noisy," he murmurs, bows his head to the gap between her shoulder-blades — all which cannot come to pass between them seems suddenly manifest, an ironic reunion — but his mercy is a moment of weakness, misguided.

Her eyes screw shut. "You're not… very good at talking."

"Oh?" A slight strain creeps into his voice when she squeezes. "I suppose — I never have been."

She opens her eyes just to glare at him.

"Actually," he amends, "I'm trying not to come."

It's such an ordinary, awkward statement that she's temporarily confused as to what his aim even is, then recalls she was supposed to be making a point and drawls: "Already?"

Eren scowls. His dick twitches anyway. "Oi, now," he tells her huskily, "I'm not finished yet."

He releases her so she can get a proper look at him. His eyes are dark and his hair shrouds his face; she doesn't expect the heavy, languid half-kiss he tips her into before mouthing down her jaw. "Eren —" her voice cracks without her volition and he stops "— god, I can take it," she pants.

"I know," he says bluntly.

"So fuck me, then."

A quiet chuckle. "That's all?"

"Yes."

"Well, O.K." Bowing his head and exhaling in a poof against her skin that vaguely tickles. He scoots back and drags her along too, returning them both to all-fours. Kissing the crown of her head before he starts to move, he quickly becomes incontrollable, whittling away at her resolve.

She chokes on a gasp. Faster, it needs to be faster and his hands are all over her body and his breath hot on her skin and his teeth scrape her shoulder before he bites down to stifle a noise. She snarls, rearing up in a mixture of pain and turbulent arousal — he hasn't drawn blood.

"Fffuck," Eren hisses, pressing her oblique against the mattress as she shudders, moaning louder than the stupid bedsprings. His hand slips down her stomach, cups her hard; a hoarse cry erupts half-formed from her mouth and she clenches accordingly.

He sucks in a breath then groans, affected. She finds he's gracious when close, leaning over to sneak a kiss or two before he's at her neck and shoulders, nuzzling the marks he's left.

"Annie," he mumbles into her skin, "oh, Annie." He hits something inside and she whimpers for the sheer, maddening intensity. Eren stutters to a halt. "Want more?" he rasps.

"Oh god, yes," is all she manages before he starts up again. He reaches down to heft her after her knees buckle and then goes harder still. Annie's struggling to raise herself on one arm.

He hasn't stopped touching her and his rhythm turns sloppy. He grunts something like: "Come for me."

She clenches as though it were an order, but neither of them are remotely in control anymore. Unable to consider the further implications of which side is betraying the other, or taunting him into going harder still, or anything much beyond the tactile sensation of his body, delirious with how close she is, shuddering silently when she finally does spend: even this does not deter him. He follows soon after, and she can feel his heart hammering against her back as he recovers.

In a minute he pulls out. Annie winces, and he gives her hips a gruff squeeze before he presses his nose into her hair. Sweat sheens them both, and she would pull away but he's got his arm around her, curled safe against his chest — at least, for a little while.

She glances over towards the cell door and finds the room vacant. Above, the window has lightened somewhat but she is unable to make sense of the dull colour of the sky; inhaling, she distinguishes petrichor and sweat, returning her mentally to the present.

"Jaeger." Her voice is raw. She aches for something she already possesses but can't put into words.

Eren hums. The hand between her legs plays idly against flesh, startling her into eye-contact. "Does it hurt?" he asks, laying perpendicular to her on his side.

Hesitantly she concedes, "no," then averts her eyes before she can have second thoughts. He rubs a little more intently, and she's breathless before his mouth is even on hers. It's the gentlest he has been since she let herself into this cage beside him, enough of a change in tactics that she lets her guard down for a moment — just a moment, and he is there, hushing her, holding her — and it strikes her now that, despite the scarring, he's unexpectedly beautiful in close quarters.

His fingers curl and she gasps, shying away but there's nowhere to hide — why would she want to, anyway? — and in a little while, he's pulled her back together, no worse for wear.

She takes longer than before to regain her bearings and he stays beside her, even though they both need a wash, and it'll be laughably obvious what has come to pass when she leaves — what does it matter…?

"Annie." He nudges her when she doesn't respond. "Oi."

"Nh?" Cognisant of how exhausted she really is, now the adrenaline has worn off. She has no idea how much sleep she's gotten.

"D'you remember," Eren murmurs, "when I said we needn't be enemies?" Her eyes flutter. "I'm nearly out of time," he continues, sitting up and braced on an elbow. "I'd meant to tell you sooner, but I guess this is all right."

"You're about to die?" she asks quietly.

He scoffs good naturedly. "No, nothing like that. But, you should know if you agree to this, you won't be here much longer."

"D'you mean?"

He seems to be steeling himself. When he speaks, it's scarcely above a whisper: "I'm cutting ties with the Regiment. I dunno how long that will last. Perhaps as long as I'm alive." He pauses, to allow her time to digest the information or accept it himself. "I won't be alone, though. There are others among us that feel the same about the war and what should be done."

"Arlert, as well?"

He scowls. "I doubt it." Then he glances at her. "You could come with me, if you wanted. As I've said, I wouldn't hold it against you."

Annie says nothing for a while. Uncertainty is etched across his face. She takes a breath, says: "What happens if…" I disagree? If I'm terminated before we can begin? Will you kill me afterward?

"Hm?"

"What would you say if I agreed?"

Eren falters, as though she'd been the first one to suggest it. "Well, I… I guess I'd have to plan accordingly." But she swears there's something like delight in his voice and in his eyes, barely masked. She's not sure what to make of him just yet.

"Now?" she offers warily.

"Now what?"

"Now we should talk about the plan, I mean." She sounds drowsier than she actually is. Eren ruffles her hair.

"Ah, right. Got any ideas?"

She rolls on her back, thinking. Eren's turned from her to redress.

"I don't think I'll be missed, at any rate," she admits, eyeing the corner where the guard will likely be in a few minutes. "What about you?"

"I'm ready to leave when you are."


a/n: So, uh. This is probably one of the more intense things I've written. I did my best to make it plausible. I'm also not sure if I'll be writing word monsters for every prompt, but we'll have to see. Your thoughts are always appreciated. :D