A touch on her belly—warm, compressed, slipping under her shirt to touch naked skin. The curl of strong fingers pressed into her navel. Their bodies melded together beneath the sheets. Her back curved into his abdomen, feeling his nose delve into the contour of her neck. The way she become a part of him when he breathed her in, and the warmth of his breath as he exhaled into her skin.
Mikasa tried to open her eyes, her lashes stuck together as she fluttered them clumsily. But she murmured into her moan, fidgeting on the bed as she felt him envelope her. His mouth sinking into her neck, palms fondling her breasts. When he thumbed her nipple, she felt the flex and warmth of her pelvis, the aroused pull that settled deep in her belly.
She let him have his way with her, kissing her skin, squeezing her breasts. When he pinched and rubbed her pink tips, she created friction against her thighs, cupping her hands over his. The curve to her back was painful, but automatic, feeling him touch her, unable to open her eyes and embrace the light of day.
His thumb grazed her nipple again and her breath hitched. Lips gently parted to release a clearer noise, a delicate gasp. And when she kneaded her butt against his hips, she could feel his arousal, how solid and hard he was.
She rolled towards him, her forehead touching his. Strong arms swiftly enclosed her, lulling her against him. Eyes still closed, succumbed to the darkness, with nothing but the feel of him and the minty smell of his breath to move her forward.
Her palm melted into his cheek, her pelvis touching his as she curled her leg around his thigh. Soft, warm skin, the mist of his breath infusing her face. Their lips caressed gently. Another hot breath warming her, heaved from his nose. They kissed again, a bit longer. Still delicate and sweet, her spit coating his lips. Their bodies entangled, squirming on his bed. His palm gripped her thigh, pressing dimples into her skin.
She opened her eyes. Cautiously, her stare squinted as the light encompassed her vision, until she could see his face. His forehead pressed against her own, lips lingering over her mouth. Eyes still closed as strands of hair drifted towards his temples. When she kissed his chin, he opened his eyes, met suddenly by the vivid jade hue.
Glistening emeralds perched on his face. Ample and beautiful. And she held his cheek, tracing the line of his jaw, the lift of his cheekbone. She thumbed his brow, memorizing the shape of his bone, the feel of the bushy, neat hair. His features were sharp, yet delicate. And she could look at him all day if she could.
"Hey," he breathed, his lips curving into a smile as he pressed her against him.
"Good morning."
She stifled a gasp when he grabbed her butt aggressively, fingers dipping into the fatty flesh. And a giggle fluttered in her throat as he delved himself into her shoulder once more, dousing her with kisses, inhaling her scent. Their bodies blended together in a lustful frenzy.
Her fingers became tangled in his hair, her hips buckling to feel the grind of his stiffness. He pulled at her shirt. They sat up to remove what little clothing they wore. The dog had jumped off the bed. Mikasa hated when he did that, always worried he was going to hurt himself.
A cool draft of air caressed her nipples, and she felt them pebble. So hard it was almost painful, begging to be touched again, to feel the gloss of his tongue against puckered needy skin. Her body just as naked as his, her skin so fair and milky compared to the tint of his own, a light bronze. The contrast was striking and beautiful, especially as they melted together, like two pieces of a heart.
Flesh against flesh, heat colliding. He did as her body craved and kissed her nipple, his tongue swirling at her needy peak. Holding her shoulders as they sat on his bed, his back hunched so he could serenade her with his mouth. She could see the flex of his arms, the glorious curl of his biceps while the veins on his forearms pulsed. His hands were strong, tendons lifted at his knuckles. Smooth skin coated solid lean muscle. His body was so fucking beautiful—from every sensual dip of his musculature, to the softness of his flesh.
She stiffened, fingers grasping the bed sheets. White and cotton and easily soiled, her body pressing wrinkles into the fabric. He kissed the other nipple—flicked his tongue along her rosy tip, the way he tickled her skin as he savored her. And her head fell to her shoulder, her lips parted as a gentle song hummed from her throat.
The flutter of her lashes impaired her vision. Eyes half-closed, a drumming in her heart. Feeling herself drench between her thighs as he sucked on her breasts. Warmth and longing pulled at her belly. A flex in her groin. Her vision was hazy as she watched him put on the condom. And when he pressed his back onto the mattress, he lulled her on top of him.
Her knees locked against his hips, the inside of her thighs slick with her essence. She felt the prodding of his length tucked against her belly as she pressed herself on his chest. Her heart was racing, thoughts scattered as she felt her own arousal consume her. From the burning desire in her center to the throbbing of her breasts. Her throat felt so dry, that she kissed him to steal his spit.
Palms cradling his neck, his skin felt so hot. Tasting the mint in his mouth as she slipped her tongue inside, met with the gentleness of his own. Fingers dug into the fat of her bum, curling into the roundness of plump flesh. She felt his longing twitch against her.
Her lips pulled away from his languidly, such a sensuous separation. She exhaled hotly on his face, finding the sanctuary of his eyes. His hair was undone and shrouded the pillow messily. As she smoothed several strands away from his face, she smiled bashfully.
"Girls aren't supposed to start on top."
Eren's brows twisted as a strange look spread on his face. His hands trickled over to the swells of her thighs, pawing at her skin. "Says who?"
She felt her fluid slip from her core, her desire seeping from her and yet, she stalled, suddenly embarrassed of her position. Especially now, that it was so bright and he could see everything. She leaned more of her weight onto him for modesty.
"That's how it is in romance novels," she clarified, her lips squirming uncomfortably. "The guy is always on top."
He chuckled however, a grin claiming his expression. She felt the smooth trail of his palms over the small of her back. It was a creeping blaze igniting her skin. Pins and needles, a trembling burn. A dimple indented near his mouth. The way his eyes squinted whenever he smiled. She always wanted to see him like this.
"You must be reading some pretty boring stuff."
Her hands planted on the bed near his shoulders, her torso lifted slightly off of him, that her breasts were caressed by the air, wilting beautifully. Naturally ample mounds of flesh, soft and fat. He manipulated her nipple again and she ground her hips into his pelvis.
"I like you on top," he said to her with a low voice, a solemness sinking into his gaze as his eyes locked on hers. "I like watching you."
The way his hands touched her, tracing the curve of her waist, finding her thighs again as she straddled him. Her excitement leaked between her legs. She only needed to move her hips a little and they would be connected.
"Unless you don't like it?" he added.
Her breath caught in her throat when she shook her head. "I like it." As she squirmed on top of him, she forced an exhale. "I like it a lot."
And she positioned herself, lifting her hips before she grasped his length between curled fingers. He felt hard and stiff, a wanting pulse she could feel throbbing in her grasp. She rolled her hand against him, watching him fidget, the sensuous way he bit down on his lip. He dug into her thighs. She fingered every ridge, relished in how her touch made him melt beneath her. And slowly did she slip him inside of her. Clamping rigid palms onto his chest for support as she slid against his length, feeling him nestle into her belly.
They moaned in unison. And a slouch took her back from the overwhelming feeling of fullness. Her face scrunched in sweet agony. She clenched against him, feeling the quiver of his arousal, prodding into her core. He was so deep inside her. She almost started crying.
It felt like fire caressing her skin when he cupped her cheek. Her hand cradled his own, her face nuzzling into his palm as she traced the shape of those beautiful tendons on top of his hand.
"Are you alright?" he asked her gently.
She nodded. "I'm just…really sore." Her blush punctuated her statement.
"Do you want to stop?"
Her lips puckered against the edge of his palm. He was growing hotter by the second. "No. It still feels good."
And she lowered herself down onto him. Her breasts smothered his chest as her fingers delved into his hair, thumbs kneading his forehead. Their bodies were slick against one another, a dangerous arch to her back. Chaotic heartbeats melded into one frenzied rhythm, the mists of their breath warm and minty. She traced his brow again, ruffling the neat hair.
And her eyes fluttered halfway closed as she kissed him. Slowly, gingerly. Her hips found their rhythm, claiming his body for her own. Grinding her pelvis, shoving onto him with a bold tenderness. The way she felt him fill her repeatedly, over and over again. Seeping her essence onto his length the more and more aroused she grew.
Warm palms embraced her back, dipping into her shoulder blades. And she moaned into his mouth, her lips then slipping from his own as she explored his jaw, cascading down his neck.
"Eren…" Her voice was unsteady, masked with the quavering hum of her pleasure.
He squeezed her shoulders as he kissed her cheek, the remnants of his gesture wet and pulsing on her skin.
"I want to spend the day with you," she continued, quickening the pace of her motions, prolonging each thrust as she slipped him inside of her. Her moans multiplied, spilling from her throat messily from the impact of every plunge. She was so wet that she could hear the slosh of their bodies reconnecting. It turned her on even more.
And he nodded eagerly, kissing her mouth with the same enthusiasm. "Yes—of course—"
"But tomorrow I…" she trailed off, lost in a sea of pleasure, clenching her face as she released a deep, glorious groan that rumbled in the base of her chest. She plunged her hips once. Hard. He grappled the fat of her butt and opened her further.
"Tomorrow I want you to spend the day with yourself," she concluded through pursed lips and a cluster of sharp breaths. Her eyes sunk into his like silver bullets. She never stopped moving.
He winced. From the pleasure of her movements, from confusion. "What am I supposed to do?"
"Anything. Start getting to know yourself. I want you to be ok being with yourself. And to love yourself."
She knew he wouldn't combat her request. Not when she was fucking him this good, connecting to him this deeply. His eyes shut, his neck elongating as she glided her tongue against the torrid, tanned skin. She could taste the bitterness of his cologne as the scent seeped into her nostrils.
"Can I…Can I still call you?" he asked through shuddered breaths.
She smiled against his mouth, feeling the pucker of desperate lips. And she kissed him, their bodies infused, feeling the strumming of his heart like the petrified strings of a harp.
"Of course, baby."
~oOo~
The next morning Mikasa waddled home.
Stiff, overstretched legs. Her center felt raw, thighs chaffed. It hurt to walk. Her backpack slung over her shoulders as she held Jax's leash. Wearing sweatpants without underwear. A university sweatshirt beneath her coat. Messy hair, clean face.
It didn't help that when she opened the door, Sasha was sitting at her bed, watching TV in shorts and a spaghetti strap top. Brown hair parted in the center as a zigzag, she drank from a large can of Surge with a pink swirly straw. Mikasa could see the liquid seep towards her mouth as she sipped.
Their eyes collided frantically, that the instant Mikasa closed the door, Sasha stood from the bed, placing the drink on their night stand. Thank god she had tossed that condom from the other night.
She dropped the leash and Jax galloped towards Sasha, wagging his tail energetically as she kneeled to greet him. It was a momentary distraction for Mikasa to remove her coat and shoes, placing her backpack near her desk as she tried to get somewhat comfortable.
As Sasha detached the leash from his collar, she refocused her attention back to her guilty roommate, sitting at the edge of her bed as Mikasa plopped herself stomach first in exhaustion.
"I called yesterday. You didn't answer."
Her voice was stern, sharp. Mikasa groaned into her pillow, too weak from the non-stop fucking of the last thirty-six hours. "I'm sorry. I wasn't home."
"I know a walk of shame when I see one." Sasha shoved her shoulder, forcing her to open her eyes. Their stares collided in a very uncomfortable way. Jax jumped onto the bed, nearly falling from his attempt. Mikasa groaned again.
"So…what happened?" she pressed, her brows falling to a slant. "Did you guys make up?"
Mikasa took one deep breath. Shutting her eyes to prepare for the impact of her answer. "Yes."
And Sasha grunted. Lowly, elongating the disappointed noise. "What the hell, Mikasa—you were doing so well. Why? Why would you fall back into the trap? When you know he's a cheater, and hot tempered. Knowing that he hit Armin?"
Everything she was saying made sense, that for a moment even Mikasa began to doubt herself. But Sasha wasn't there. She didn't cradle Eren in her arms as he confessed the worst thing that ever happened to him. To hear the agony in his apology, the extent of his remorse. She wasn't there, and she wouldn't understand unless she was. And it wasn't her story to tell.
She found the courage to open her eyes, meeting the intense brown gaze of her friend. Silence fluttered back and forth between them. It was her turn to answer. But she lacked the words to convince her of her choice.
"I love him, Sasha," she answered simply, feeling Jax cuddle into her leg. She could hear the disappointment in her sigh, and Mikasa felt the pulsing in her head, that she lifted her hand to rub at her temple.
Something sparkled in Sasha's eyes, her jaw dropping open.
And suddenly, Mikasa felt herself dragged from the bed as Sasha grabbed her wrist, heaving her forward. Her hand trembled, and the ring sat firmly on her finger, on full display between them.
The emerald glistened gorgeously, highlighted by the shine of diamonds sprinkled throughout the band. Sasha nearly salivated at the mouth as she pressed her thumbs into Mikasa's knuckles, bring the jewelry closer to her face for inspection.
"What is that?" she stammered, her tone loud and wavering. Mikasa chuckled nervously, swiping fringe away from her eyes.
So she said it again, louder and more dramatically. "Whaaattttt is THATTTTT?!" She shook her hand for emphasis, her clutch near painful. Mikasa could see the reflection of the jewelry in her eyes.
"Eren gave it to me." Her voice was subdued, hush. "I…I have to get it sized, though."
"What the fuck does it mean? What does it mean?!"
Mikasa yanked her hand away, a blush tinting her cheeks. "Nothing. It was just a gift."
"It has to mean something!" Sasha grabbed her shoulders frantically, her long nails gathering the fabric of her pullover. "Are you engaged? Are you getting married?"
"I—"
"Diamonds and an emerald and solid gold? Please Mikasa! Don't be stupid like the rest of us! Falling for the sparkle of pretty things!"
"No! Jeez!" She pushed Sasha off of her, twisting the ring so it sat straight on her finger. Her grip rested there, tracing the edges of the jewels fondly. "We're not engaged. Relax! We're only back together. Nobody is getting married."
Sasha clutched at her heart, exhaling in relief. "Oh thank god." But she gripped Mikasa's hand again just as quickly, resuming her admiration of the jewelry.
"This is insane. It's incredible. He knows he fucked up big time. Holy fucking shit."
But then she was shaking her head, long brown hair swishing towards her face like velvety ribbons. "This is bad, real bad. I shouldn't have let you leave with him. He's only going to hurt you again, Mikasa. This is a mistake, a huge mistake."
And perhaps it was a mistake. A foolish, lovestruck decision on her part. Maybe he would hurt her again—the same way, a different way. It wasn't going to be easy standing by him, helping him get onto a path of self-love and healing. There would be pain. Probably a lot of it. He might hurt her again. And it would always hurt heavily, because she loved him with the same vigor.
But she decided on her own accord to endure this with him. After leaving him for a month, accepting the concept of being alone. She chose him because she loved him. Despite the difficulty, the challenges they would face. She chose him because he was choosing her. She chose him to end their suffering, because it hurt more being apart than it did when they were together. She chose him because he was finally choosing himself too.
"It's my mistake to make," Mikasa thought out loud, placing her hands on her lap. She stretched her fingers, admiring the ring. The glare of its sharp edges, how it sparkled in the light. The jewel, the same color as his eyes. Deep and vivid, trembling with a beautiful sadness. One that moved her, settled in the pit of her heart.
Maybe it was a mistake. It probably was. But it was her mistake.
~oOo~
Early December 1999, Paradis
It was the Saturday before finals. And while others were studying, Jean had an important meeting for his internship in the city to attend.
He stood in the cold in the campus parking lot, huddled into his coat. A light drizzle of snow blanketed the cement as the sun shone brightly, though it did little to heat the air around them.
His hand gathered into fists for warmth, plunged into his pockets, watching Armin with arched brows as he frantically cleaned the interior of his car.
Biting down onto his lip, that it changed from pink to a swollen red as he heaved into intricate concentration. Wiping down the dashboard, the seats. He sprayed the gearshift heavily and began to scrub.
Jean fidgeted, his lips pursed. What the fuck were he and Annie doing in there?
Armin sprayed the dashboard again. Jean tilted his head.
"You already cleaned that."
Armin hunched forward, in defeat. Shame. A gentle sigh fled his mouth as he sunk into pine green coat. He swiped his hand through dirty blonde hair. "Yea. I know."
Jean watched several more minutes of this—Armin sanitizing his car with a chaotic frenzy, finding scattered condom wrappers and shoving them into his pockets. Even more amusing was the flustered expression that dripped over his face and the flush that pressed onto his cheeks.
"You know, if you guys ever need the room, you can just ask."
And Armin again sulked in the seat, refusing to make eye contact. "Yea…I know."
Driving in the car after that was very strange. It reeked of multipurpose cleaner, as if Armin had just covered up a crime scene. Every time he shifted the gear it felt oddly personal, like some kind of invasion into Armin's weird sex life.
He tried to listen to music, but his thoughts kept drifting. It had been a rough few weeks since he and Mikasa had spoken. He'd been avoiding her, trying to move on. He knew whatever it was between them, that it was over. And Armin had told him she had gotten back together with Eren.
The fucking asshole did it, he managed to win her back. And good for them, he supposed. He wanted her to be happy. Even if it was with a complete douchebag like Eren Jaeger.
But it hurt. It still fucking hurt. It was hard not to think of her—remember touching her, the warmth of her body on his skin. The sound of her laugh, the lift of her smile. He felt guilty not going to her performance. But he couldn't do that to himself anymore. Holding onto hope. He would never get over her. He would never stop hurting. He had to let her go.
The worst part of the day, however, wasn't until after he had arrived back to campus, after several hours in the office. That he realized he had forgotten his keys, and the ones Armin had given him were only for the car.
He banged on their door. Silence. No muffled moans or any frantic hustling that would have indicated they were in there fucking, which for the first time ever Jean hoped would be the case. His coat wrinkled as he rubbed at his temples, an aggravated grunt rumbling in his throat.
"One hundred dollars for a weekend lockout fee?"
He echoed the words spoken to him from the student working in the office. Working was putting it loosely, as she just sat at the desk reading comic books, tilting her glasses as she looked up at him.
"Charged to your account for next semester," she clarified.
Dark brows clumped together apprehensively, and he thumbed at the scruff of hair on his chin, a wrinkle to his nose. "Can I just pay it now?"
She turned a page of her book, her gaze focused downward. "Nope."
His mom was going to fucking kill him if she saw that charge. He would rather wait for Armin to get back in the lobby than let her see it on the next statement. He had one final idea before he would sulk in his defeat.
He had been to Annie's building once, when they picked her up for her fight a few weeks ago. He remembered her floor, her room number. Hopefully they were fucking in there. At least he could get the keys.
His hand hovered over the door for a moment. It was quiet, especially for a Saturday afternoon. Fingers curled into a fist, his lips pursed. He never wanted Armin to get laid so badly in his life.
Jean knocked three times, each one growing progressively louder. He held his breath as stillness ensued. Yet, when he saw the knob turn, he exhaled in relief.
Toes painted pink. A bit messily, some polish dripped onto her skin, toes curled into the fibers of the carpet. Small, curvy feet, dipping into petite ankles. Even curvier shins. Naked. Slim thighs. Soft peach skin. She wore nothing but a robe for modesty, also pink, the tie snug at a thin waist. Strawberry blonde hair rolled into curlers. Long curled lashes, ample green eyes, scanning him up and down. And she leaned against the doorway, thin brows lifted.
"Oh shit," she mused, manicured nails rubbing at her chin in interest. "The Mormons are getting sexy."
Jean blinked once. Twice. Looking down at her as his eyes squinted. She was petite, and very pretty. There was something very familiar about her, he couldn't quite pin it.
"I'm…I'm not a Mormon."
"Then who the fuck are you?" she mused with narrowed eyes. "And why the fuck are you wearing a suit?"
It clicked all so suddenly. He knew who she reminded him of. "I'm Jean, Armin's roommate." He paused. "…Are you Annie's sister?"
She chocked a laugh, folding her arms over her chest, pressing into her cleavage. "Guten tag, bitch." Her tone was flat, void of an accent. Both brows raised. "Do I sound like Annie's fucking sister to you?"
Jean scratched at his jaw. "Yes. You do, actually." He didn't know if it freaked him the fuck out or kind of turned him on.
"I'm Hitch, her roommate." She tilted her head towards her shoulder. "Are you looking for Annie?"
"Armin. I got locked out of our room. I was hoping he might be here."
She shrugged, however, a hint of a smile tugging at pink lips. "Nope. Just me in here."
He looked her at her again a bit too intently. Standing there in her robe, the way her eyes glittered as she stared at him. It made him flustered, that he scratched at his head, his eyes wandering uncomfortably.
"Okay, then. Sorry to bother you."
He turned to leave abruptly, but he felt her coil her fingers over his wrist, stopping him from taking another step. He looked down at her hand. Nails long, painted the same shade of pink. She must have done it herself, some of her cuticles stained. Her fingers were small, barely gripping the entirety of his wrist. He found her eyes then, and there was an almost sinister gleam to them.
"Would hate for you to mope around waiting for him," she rationed, her voice suddenly light and friendly. "Do you want to wait here?"
A flush drenched his cheeks then, and he felt her grasp on him tighten, as if inching him closer to her. A smile painted her lips. Curled, black lashes summoned him inside. He tried to resist the temptation, because he was not that kind of guy. And his heart was still fucking hurting.
But pretty eyes glittered and pretty nails pressed into his skin. He tried to look away, but his gaze was stuck on her. "I wouldn't want to interrupt you."
"I wasn't doing anything," she shot back quickly.
He stuttered, growing more nervous as he skimmed fingers through gelled brown hair. "I wouldn't be very interesting company."
Her smile evolved into a smirk. It was flirtatious, teasing. The edge of her robe gently began to slip towards her shoulder, and the soft light of the hallway embraced the blushing hue of her skin.
"I'm sure we can find something to do."
Jean grunted as she yanked him inside, locking the door behind her.
~oOo~
Her body was small, but elongated. That when she moved, she extended every limb. From the arch of her small feet, to the lift in her neck. It made her appear much taller, as she stood on the tips of her toes, throwing her body to the rhythm of the music.
She hadn't realized he was watching. For a few minutes now. Taking in her form, her posture. The way her face scrunched in concentration. Pretty, but filled with anguish, distraction. Elegant music vibrated from the boom box on the studio floor. Overly loud. More distraction.
The white light of the room hit her almost like a spotlight. Striking blonde hair rolled into a tight bun. She wore leggings and a sports bra, both black. She was slim, cute. Tiny. Concentrated, yet distracted. So distracted. That when she started turning, she lost her spot in the mirror.
Her balance impaired and she rolled in her ankle, stumbling from her series of spins. And she released an aggravated grunt. Louder than her music, a low groan. She crawled to the radio, stopping the cassette tape. And she sat there on her knees, her back slouched. Lost, defeated.
Eren could see their reflections in the mirror as he stood by the door. He could still feel the frost from outside on his fingertips, curling into his palms for warmth. The strain of his bandana tugged at his hairline and scalp, his hair pulled away from his face. Black leather jacket unzipped, showing the thick navy sweater he wore beneath. Dark denim tucked into black Harley Davidson boots. He felt the stitch of his brows, his lips pursed as they made eye contact through the mirror.
Pink lips pressed into a frown. Blue eyes glimmering with some sort of emotion—anger, surprise. Regret. She moved loose tendrils of golden hair behind her ear, shifting her attention away from him. She seemed so sad, unmotivated. As if she were giving up.
He walked inside, the patter of his boots calculated and slow against the black flooring. Remnants of the snow stained the surface. How many hours had she been in here practicing? Mikasa had seen on the schedule that Historia booked this room every Saturday. Would she spend most of her time like this—sulking, trying to perfect herself over and over again only to end up sprawled on the floor close to tears?
"Hey," he began unsteadily, his voice light and airy. Unsure. He found himself standing several feet behind her. "Historia—"
She stood from the ground briskly, dusting off her knees. A scowl crossed her face, and she maintained a lack of eye contact. "What do you want, Eren?"
Bare feet tapped weightlessly as she went to her bag by the mirrors, finding her socks and slipping them on. The studio was rather cold, but she seemed hot and flushed, her body pressed with dried sweat. Perhaps now that she had stopped pushing herself so hard, she began to feel the draft.
He watched her for a moment, having lost the words he prepared for her. It was a slight tremor to his heart, a dryness in his throat and he lacked the spit to swallow. It felt so fucking weird seeing her again, after what had happened. It wasn't like meeting with a past lover, but coming face to face with a mistake. One that had ruined so many relationships.
But being this close to her, how her pained aura resonated in the room and bounced off the walls towards him—he saw her differently. Not just as a mistake. But as a person. One that he had hurt.
"I came here to apologize to you."
She chocked a laugh, grabbing her sweatshirt off the floor and luring it over her body. Grey, faded, overly large on her. "Oh really? And who put you up to that? Mikasa?"
His lips fumbled, and when he didn't respond, Historia sighed, a generous roll to her eyes. "I don't need or want your fucking apology."
She tried to walk past him, but he grabbed her arm, twisting her towards him. Her bone was small, so thin. He felt like if he squeezed, he would snap it. It startled him so much that he let her go instantaneously. And her brows slanted, a heaviness looming over her form.
"What good will your apology do, Eren?" she shot at him, her tone hushed yet stern. "It doesn't fucking matter. I'll still be the slut who fucked Mikasa's boyfriend. It won't change anything."
He grazed a thumb over his temple, looking down at her with unease. "I'm sorry for what I did. For not telling you. You didn't know, it wasn't your fault—"
"Please just shut the fuck up," she snapped, her fingers clenched at the bun atop her head. She pulled at it, releasing frenzied strands of hair. It cascaded down the length of her neck—tangled, wavy. She made no effort to fix it.
"I don't want to hear it. I don't care. This isn't even about you."
But he insisted, following her as she went to grab her sneakers. "But I know you've been hurting. Because of what I did. You dropped out of the show. You've been struggling. And I hate that I did that to you. I never wanted to hurt you."
Historia groaned, slipping on her shoes without undoing the laces. She struggled to push in her heels. "You have no idea what the fuck you are even talking about."
"But I do—I know that I fucked up, I hurt a lot of people. If there's anything I can say, or do—anything—to help you feel better—"
"Eren—" her voice quavered as she spoke his name, a coat of wetness glossing her eyes.
But he kept going, stumbling over his words, barely even looking at her as he tried to force the apology from his mouth. He said whatever he could to get through to her, to convince her of how sorry he was for what happened.
"If you can just hear me out. And I'll never have to bother you again. But I just have to try to make things right—"
A tear slipped from her eye and she was quick to wipe it away, her face contorting to showcase the grief and heartbreak that had been evident through her chaotic dancing. "Shut up, Eren. Just shut up!"
But he grabbed her wrist again, careful not to hurt her delicate bone. "I'm sorry, Historia. I'm so sorry. Neither of you deserved this. You, and Mikasa—"
"I don't care. Eren, I don't fucking care!"
"You don't have to forgive me," he explained hastily, trying to relinquish his guilt before she interrupted him again as fingers traced the stiff veins on the inside of her wrist. Several more tears escaped her, and her arm became a damp mess as she hastily rubbed at her face, smearing the wetness over her cheeks.
"You don't have to forgive me," he repeated, a but more gently. "I just wanted you to know that I'm sorry. I'm sorry for what I did. I'm sorry for how it impacted you—"
She yanked her arm from his clutch. "Eren—"
"I'm sorry for all the pain that I caused. That I hurt you—"
"Eren!" His name bellowed from her mouth, echoing powerfully in the room. Her voice was loud, manic. Wet eyes turned to even wetter cheeks, her pupils enlarged to two black holes he could easily fall into towards his death.
"Eren! I'm gay!"
Historia curled into herself. A desperate embrace, her arms furling over her chest as she released a cry so deeply agonizing that he could feel its impact in the pit of his stomach. The fated word continued to bounce against the walls, clamoring into his head. He stood there stunned, lips parted to continue apologizing, but the ability to speak has suddenly been taken from him.
Her sobs engulfed her, that she stumbled to hold herself upright. Endless tears pouring down the plane of her cheeks, trickling over her chin as they continued their desperate travels down her neck. A downpour of her misery, her lovelorn confession. It felt like something he wasn't supposed to hear, was never supposed to know.
And suddenly, he wasn't so insistent on his apology. His devotion to get her to listen to him, to hear his side—it was all gone in an instant. Because she was right, it didn't fucking matter. This wasn't about him. It had nothing to do with him.
The way she crumbled into herself, trying to be her own source of comfort as she fell apart before him. The deformation of her pretty face, now tainted with thick tears and twisted brows. She struggled to breathe, her nose congested. He reached out to touch her, but she recoiled.
"There is someone who I love. Who I want to be with." Her voice quavered at she spoke, using bunched fists to clear the wetness from her eyes. "But I can't be with her. Not in the way she wants me to. And it's not because I don't want to. I'm just too afraid. Afraid of what others will think of me. Afraid of my family. Of losing everything that's important to me."
She fell to her knees, enveloped by her grief. Eren tried to shake off his startlement, to attempt to ease her. He had never experienced anything like this. Did he even know anyone who was gay? It was so bizarre to him, because he never would have thought her to be that way. Yet, he wasn't even sure what gay was supposed to look like. And for her to be opening up to him, a total stranger at this point—the fucking villain of this narrative. Spilling her guts about something she had been keeping bottled in her for so long. He didn't know what to do, what he could possibly say to make things better.
"I hate this, I fucking hate it," she cursed, bringing her knees to her chest. He sat beside her, staring into his lap. He could feel the tremble of her body against his shoulder, the way she wept so viciously. It was hard to watch. Fucking heartbreaking.
"I don't want to be gay. I would do anything to change," she confessed as she pulled her sweater over her hand and dabbed at her eyes, "And I thought I could. I thought I could fix it. That I could prove to myself and prove to her that I decided who I was."
Historia rested her cheek against her knee cap, burying her hands into her hair. "I feel disgusting. Defective. I didn't prove shit. Except that I am a fucking dyke. And now she hates me. Mikasa hates me. I hate my fucking self."
Eren placed a hand on her shoulder carefully, feeling the vibration of her tremor. "Mikasa isn't mad at you."
But she flinched from his touch, her brows sewn together. "I can't even find the guts to apologize to her. I'm so ashamed for what I did. I feel like the worst person in the world."
"You're not a bad person," he assured her, his voice soft and hushed. "And you can't help who you love. Times are changing. People are more accepting. One day, it won't even matter if anyone is gay."
Her eyes narrowed at him then, a fury brewing within her that he could see heave from her nostrils. Her posture stiffened, back straight. She jerked her shoulder and he pulled his hand away from her.
"Times are changing—when will they finish changing, Eren?" she snapped at him, her voice loud and quavering, words cracking as she spoke to him. "Ten years? Twenty years?" She pushed him, hard. The gesture barely moved him, and she pounded at his shoulders with solid fists, on the verge of collapsing. "Thirty fucking years?"
She was shaking, her sobs starting again as tears collided into swollen skin. He grabbed her to support her, and she resisted, shoving him away, groaning into her cries. Crying so hard that at times she made no noise at all, just an endless stream of tears, gasping for breath, her body shaking.
"How long do I have to wait before I can be happy? Before I can be myself?"
And he didn't have an answer for her. There was no way he could comfort her, tell her reassuring words that everything was going to be ok. Because this time, he wasn't sure it was. This was the world they lived in. And he never realized until then just how difficult it was to feel this way. To love in secret, in shame. To hate yourself for who you were. He saw it in her breakdown, the way she mourned her love. It was so horrific, so heart-wrenching.
She gave in and allowed him to hold her, her face huddled into his jacket. It didn't ease her cries, but at least he could be there for her in someway. It wouldn't make a difference in the end. For that moment, it was something.
"It hurt so bad. It was painful, invasive," she began again. "But with her…She was so soft, and gentle. The way she touched me. How she held me. And now she won't even look at me."
He held her in the solitude, listening to her whimpers, her faltered breathing. The manic drumming of her heart. He felt so close to her then, in a strange way. That they would probably never speak again after this, never to discuss the forbidden truth she spilled from the depth of her heart. He would go to build with Mikasa, and she would continue to hide from herself, pretending, living but never being alive. Just like he had done for so many years.
And there was nothing he could do. Nothing anyone could do to alleviate her suffering. It was a choice she would need to make, one with sacrifices he could never even begin to comprehend. And he would never understand why being born this way had to be such a fucking curse, that the thought of simply loving somebody could destroy someone's life.
"Please don't tell anyone about this. Please."
He heard the urgency in her pleading, and he nodded carefully, caressing the top of her head.
"I won't say anything. I promise."
~oOo~
He saw her as he descended the stairs. Standing against the wall, a denim bucket bat concealing her eyes. But he could see the smile that had taken her lips, her palm extended as she admired her ring.
It glistened in the light, and Mikasa stretched her fingers, holding her wrist. She twisted her hand in different angles just to see the reflect of the emerald. And she looked so cute standing there, bundled in her coat, sweatpants stuffed into her boots. She sunk her head into her scarf—his scarf. Crimson and velvety, taking the entire vicinity of her neck as it draped her shoulders. It belonged on her. Because it still had her scent. From the night she had taken it off in her fury and misery. It never stopped smelling like her. He kept it to remember her. But he would rather see her wear it, for more of her aroma to encase itself within the garment.
His shadow engulfed her, and when she lifted her gaze, he saw the twinkle in her eyes, how the skin near them crinkled as her smile broadened. Soft glossy lips, lashes long and curled. A smile so addicting that it forced one onto his very shaken expression. And he couldn't help but to kiss her, pressing her weight against the wall, breathing onto her neck. Their lips met gingerly, hands intertwining between them. She smelled liked vanilla. Warm, sweet, comforting. He let her scent engulf his senses, and he kissed her again, with the same gentleness and longing.
Her fingers curled against his. He could feel her lashes flutter along his nose. Eyes half opened, digging into his gaze. Her tongue glossed over her bottom lip.
"How did it go?"
Their faces were still so close, and he hesitated, the words hanging at the edge of his mouth, but he didn't know what to say to her. For it to make sense without betraying her secret. He thumbed her knuckles, felt the delicate rise and dips of her hand.
"It was…rough."
Her smile softened, not quite a frown, but uneasy. He could see the uncomfortable glisten in her eyes, like tarnished silver, growing duller and stained. But still beautiful, because it was still her. And he kissed her cheek, just to taste her skin again, feeling the vibration of her moan, so light and airy. Her grip on his hands tightened.
"Thank you, Eren." She spoke slowly, as if unsure of herself. Her eyes flickered uncomfortably for a moment before returning to the familiar haven of his own. "Thank you for doing that."
He wanted to tell her not to thank him—apologizing for the wrong he had done should have expected, not a delicacy. But he knew how hard this was for her, even then, the pain it brought her just speaking about it. He knew it still hurt her. Thinking of what he did—it must have replayed itself in her mind endlessly. And he wondered what exactly she saw when she thought of them. If only he could correct her, that her imagination was fooling her. That it wasn't good or sexy but fucking horrible. But to do that would be even worse. Hurt her more, to actually talk about it. Her imagination was cruel, but reality could be much crueler.
So he nodded instead, hoping it would be enough of a gesture to soothe her.
Her stare morphed then, that her eyes narrowed as she glanced him over. And she tugged on his jacket, grasping the zipper.
"This isn't a winter coat, Eren. You do know it's snowing outside?"
As she zipped him up, he smiled, a hint of a laugh cradling his lips. "It's not that cold out."
She gave him a knowing look, settling the zipper below his chin. "You're more worried about looking cute than being warm."
"So you think I'm cute?"
She pinched his cheek a bit harder than she needed to prove her point. "Adorable." Mikasa tugged at his bandana, bringing the fabric forward on both sides to cover his ears. "Who you trying to look cute for, anyway? Me?"
He laughed at the comment, slipping his hands from hers and underneath her coat until he found the dramatic curve of her waist. He could feel the thick, soft fabric of the sweater she was wearing. "Of course. Being this cute isn't easy, you know. It's a full-time job."
The glisten returned to her eyes—bright, alert. A sensual gleam in them as they glittered a mischievous silver. Her lips curved upwards, her palms pressing into his forearms. "Then I guess I better put you to work."
He was ready to pick her up and march her to his room, seeing that look cross her face, the way her teeth sliced over her bottom lip. His thumbs kneaded her waist as his nose brushed against hers. And then he tipped her hat playfully, his mouth skimming her lips.
They kissed alone and isolated in the corner. The same one, he realized, where he had confronted her, begging for her forgiveness, right before storming off. They kissed slowly, yet heatedly, feeling the heave of her breath as he opened his mouth to taste her, one palm clamped to her waist, her jacket hiked up over her hip, while the other rested delicately on her cheek. She pulled on the collar of his jacket, bringing him closer. A light murmur echoed in her throat, like a sweet gentle song.
He could feel himself grow hard, his body stiff against his jeans. So he pulled away from her, carefully, languidly, feeling the gradual pull of their lips as they separated.
Her mouth was parted, cheeks flushed. She was the prettiest thing he had ever seen.
"What do you want to do now?" he asked her, his finger tracing the line of her jaw, and hoping for a very specific answer.
She smiled at him cleverly. "Probably the same thing you want to do." Her expression fell slightly. "But, I told Armin I'd hang out with all them for a while—"
His face must have contorted into something bizarre because she stopped for a moment, a tilt to her head. "—And I want you to come with me."
Eyes squinted, crinkles pressed into his nose. And he rubbed at his head as his lips squirmed about his face. "I don't think they like me very much."
"They…" she began, her eyes drifting as she took his hand in hers for support. "They're getting used to the idea of you. We're going to have to break the ice eventually, you know."
Eren hesitated, trying to focus on the feel of her hand, the slenderness of her fingers, how soft her skin felt. The way he melted into her touch.
"Is the crazy little one gonna be there too?"
Mikasa narrowed her eyes. "You mean Annie?" And almost immediately, she chuckled, the motion forcing her chest to jut forward as a smug smile encompassed her. "Are you afraid of her?"
"No," he clarified quickly. "She's like three feet tall. But I don't think she'd be too accepting of me after what happened."
Mikasa shrugged, however, that cleverness still etched on her pretty face. "Well, don't go hitting her boyfriend and you two won't have any problems."
It was still unsettling to him, facing everyone after everything that happened. But he saw that determination in her eyes, the way she lulled him forward, holding his hand as his fingers filled the hollows of her own.
And there he realized it was time to try to make some fucking friends.
~oOo~
"Pieck, who would you choose? Brad, Johnny, or Leo?"
Sasha gazed intently into her girly magazine, biting into her nail as she herself seemed to be seriously considering the answer to such an important question. Her legs crossed as she sat on the couch. Bell bottom jeans hugged low on her hips, a sliver of skin exposed as a violet cardigan clung to her torso. When she turned her head to garner the opinion of her friend, her ponytail bounced. Sparkly butterfly clips glittered like a multicolored crown on her scalp.
Pieck sat beside her, with her legs spread open, back hunched forward as she smoked a cigarette. The stick balanced between loose fingers, her eyes half closed. She wore her usual Catholic school girl attire, legs bare as her thighs pressed into the blue fabric of the couch.
She inhaled, deeply, thoughtfully. A cloud of smoke enveloped them as she released her exhale through her mouth.
"Three men. Three holes." She sipped from the cigarette once more, nodding into her reply. "But I'd let Brad call dibs on the cunt."
Sasha's lips separated, twitching upwards towards a smile. And she stared at her curiously then, fingers clutching the glossy pages of her magazine. She looked around her anxiously for a moment before scooting closer to the drugged out girl.
"So what's going on with you and Connie?"
Pieck huffed another foggy breath, not even turning to look at her. She moved several twisted strands of matted hair away from her eyes. "Who the fuck is Connie?"
Sasha stumbled, a slew of unintelligible words leaving her mouth before forming anything comprehensible. "Mikasa's dance partner."
It took a moment for it to click with Pieck. A smile crossed her lips, that she leaned back against the couch and nestled herself there comfortably, her pleated skirt draped between open thighs.
"Oh yea. He's fun."
Sasha looked around again for discretion. But it didn't fucking matter because everyone was going to hear her anyway. "I slept with Connie once too."
The motion of her neck was slow and languid, the way Pieck turned to look at her. Almost seductive. "Oh yea? Were you trying to compare notes?"
Sasha's cheeks tinted to a bright crimson, her thighs clamping together as she shuffled awkwardly on the couch. They sat alone on a love seat together, and she could not escape the conversation she had started.
"No—I wasn't—"
Annie could only get a glimpse into that fucking weird exchange, because Armin was too busy inspecting her face on the sofa next to them. The entire group sat together in the student lounge. Even Mikasa's dog was there, and he had taken a strange liking to her. She couldn't get rid of him, hovering beside her, his little legs draped over her thigh.
Annie's palm melted into his fur, feeling him mold him self against her. And she could feel the pressure of Armin's fingers grazing her cheeks, over the bridge of her nose, concentration stitched his face. There was a glaze of concern in his eyes, such a penetrating shade of blue. The way his lips squirmed about his face, a crinkle pressed into his nose.
He had rolled up the sleeves of his flannel shirt, his forearms strong and nude. And despite how fucking annoyed she was with him at the moment, she let her fingers coil around his wrist, just to feel the jut of his veins and the strength of his solid bone.
"When did this happen?" he asked her quietly.
"I just noticed it this morning."
A soft sigh left his nostrils as he licked his lips. "Does it hurt?"
"No. It's just ugly."
He huffed lightly in amusement, his thumb swiping the apple of her cheek. "That's impossible."
Annie rolled her eyes, her fingers digging into his skin. "It's not that bad. It can get a lot worse."
His palm felt warm as he cupped her face, and if she wasn't so stubborn, she would have rested into his embrace. She knew he was worried about her, showing up with that fated rash which could only mean one shitty thing was happening to her. And it would be the first time he would see it live.
"You notice anything anywhere else?"
A grunt rumbled in her throat, that she ceased her caress of the dog to show him her hand. Jax lifted his head at the loss of contact, seeming to look at her with the same level of concern.
Her ring and pinky fingers were swollen at the joints, and she couldn't find the strength to straighten them because the pain would be fucking unbearable if she even tried.
"Before you ask, yes, this does hurt."
Armin frowned, his brows furrowing. She expected him to take her hand and inspect it the same way, but he didn't. He let go of her face, his knuckles trickling down the length of her neck.
"Are you going to be alright until Monday?"
She averted his gaze, refocusing her attention on the small dog glued to her side. "Yes. I'll call my doctor. I'll be fine. Relax."
Annie fixed the strap of her overalls, as it had begun to slide down her shoulder. The other was completely undone, folded into the pocket of her chest. And her hair fell loosely in front of her, roots exposed, a gentle shade of blonde compared to the dramatic yellow of the rest of her dyed locks. She must have looked like a diseased freak, with this rash on her face and knubby fingers. She had hoped it would be a while before her next flare-up, kind of embarrassed for him to see her this way.
But would she be a horrible person to admit she kind of liked the attention? That when he entrapped her in his arms and lulled him against her, she felt a sense of comfort and reassurance as she melded into him? Her head found solace on his shoulder, as her back nestled into his form. She lifted her legs onto the couch, combat boots pressing indentations in the cushion. And Jax found his way onto her thighs, little paws kneading at her denim before he positioned himself in comfort, the same way she had with Armin. It was all so cute she wanted to fucking throw up.
When she felt Armin press his mouth onto her cheek, she shoved him gently.
"Armin, quit it—not in front of the guys."
But she didn't object when he kissed her again, at the edge of her mouth, his lips soft and supple as they puckered against her skin. She felt his fingers curl into her navel, dipping into her overalls.
The waft of smoke seemed to impede on her moment of serenity. Her face scrunched, brows furrowing into her nose.
"You're not supposed to fucking smoke in here, Pieck."
She barely acknowledged her as she took a thick whiff of her cigarette. "What are they gonna do? Expel me?"
Sasha turned her attention towards them, a gentle yet apprehensive smile pursing her mouth. "Are you okay, sweetie?"
Maybe this was too much attention. "I'm fine."
Of course the two bozos sitting on the arm rests of the sofa across from them joined in. Reiner leaned his weight against his knee, the leg of his jeans rolled up to make room for his scuffed brown combat boot. His oversized red and black checkered sweater did little to conceal the burl of his muscular frame. His hair seemed much blonder from the stark light that blazed directly at him from the window.
"Where's it at this time, kid?"
Annie wanted to flip him off, but she couldn't move the rest of her fingers to do so without agonizing fucking pain. So she showcased her hand briefly, before dropping it back down to pet the sleeping dog on her lap.
Reiner shifted his gaze to the other freakishly tall man sitting on the opposing arm rest. He sat with legs spread, almost as wide as Pieck, the flare of his jnco jeans obnoxious, that the edges of his pants were still wet from the snow outside. And he wore a graphic tee promoting probably the worst fucking rock band in the world.
"Well good—" Bertolt spoke, and her eyes froze on them, as if locking on a target.
"You won't be hitting us for a couple of days."
It was hard to conceal the smile that wanted to conquer her lips. They always had a way of making her feel completely fucking normal during shitty times like this. She cuddled deeper into Armin's hold, feeling the drop of his chin snuggled into her scalp.
"My legs still work, assholes."
Annie's gaze plunged into the large windows, how the brightness of the afternoon shone vividly despite the snow that drizzled lightly from the sky. The light encompassed them, that it was inviting, beautiful. But something caught her attention then, that she solidified, instantly uncomfortable, sucking in her lips.
"Oh god, here they come…"
Everyone turned to face the window. Mikasa and Eren were making their way towards the building, hand-in-hand. They seemed to be laughing, talking to each other. He looked like such a fucking douchebag. She felt the automatic twitch of her leg.
"Everyone—be nice," Sasha ordered, shutting her magazine and placing it into the crevice of the cushion. "We have to do this. For Mikasa."
Everyone seemed to focus in on her then, and Annie shuffled uncomfortably.
"Especially you," Sasha finished, a lift to her perfectly plucked brow.
Annie shrugged, relishing in the pull of her boyfriend's arms as he eased her against him. Really—she was just lying there, fucking sick, minding her own business and petting a dog for fucks sake. What the fuck did they think she was going to do?
"If he doesn't start something, I won't have to finish it."
Reiner chocked a laugh, rubbing at his chin as he nodded towards them. "Better get them hands up, Armin!"
She felt him huff in amusement, the breath of air warm as it grazed her scalp. Annie hugged his arms that were pressed into her belly protectively, feeling the nuzzle of his nose against her neck.
"I'm sure everything will be fine," Armin mused. "We just need to give him a chance."
Annie's face scrunched. "You sure are optimistic, considering you were one of his victims." She squinted when he kissed her neck. "But I guess a little black eye won't stop you from always being so nauseatingly nice."
She heard the shuffle of the door when they walked in, and she could feel the discomfort sweep over their group. A gentle patter of footsteps approaching them. Eren adjusted his bandana, moving the fabric behind his ears. They were red, cold, the rest of his skin its usual tanned complexion, except for his cheeks that were painted with a light blush. She wasn't sure if it was from the weather or because of his nervousness.
And the more she looked at him, she could kind of see what Mikasa saw in him. No doubt about it—he was a first-class douchebag. But he was cute, in that douchey sort of way. Armin had mentioned there was something magnetic about him. She didn't quite get it yet.
Mikasa never let go of his hand, and before they could even take a seat, Annie decided to do the honor of being the first one to break the awkward silence.
"How cute, it's Tommy and Kimberly."
Her tone was bold and brazen, a smugness capturing her face as she watched them settle in the same sofa she shared with Armin. Oh god—she smelled him instantly. The thick scent of mint mixed with the overbearing fragrance of his cologne. She had to hold her breath to keep from gagging.
The dog left her lap, sensing his companion, as he crawled over herself and Eren to get to Mikasa.
Reiner repositioned himself on the armrest, arms crossed over his chest. "Mikasa wouldn't be Kimberly. She'd be Trini."
And Annie scowled, startling Armin as she suddenly lifted herself and attempted to curl her fingers into a fist. She cringed from the pain, growing even more heated.
"Shut up, Reiner! That's fucking racist. Why would she be Trini? Because she's Asian?!"
Reiner hesitated, rubbing at his chin generously. "Well…why would she be Kimberly? She doesn't look like her."
A low, desolate moan grumbled in her throat then, the palm of her hand slapping into her forehead. "The joke isn't that Mikasa looks like Kimberly, asshole. It's that Eren is a Tommy wannabe." She pointed directly at him with her good finger. Eren stiffened, and she could see him squeeze Mikasa's hand. She loved it when men feared her.
"And Tommy wasn't fucking Trini. He was fucking Kimberly," she clarified.
Blue eyes locked into green. It would have been a pretty blend of colors, but Annie's gaze was stern, narrowed. Eren would not let go of Mikasa's hand, their connection bound as a solid fist. Mikasa seemed so comforting—nurturing. Jax cuddled into her lap, and she caressed his fur. Annie could see the graze of her thumb over his knuckles.
And she tilted her head towards him, neon fringe falling in front of her eyes. "What's up."
Eren tugged at the edge of his bandana, pulling it further from his hairline. "Uh, hey."
Mikasa leaned forward, a look of heed wiping over her expression. "Annie, are you feeling okay? Your skin is so red."
She flung her shoulders carelessly, crossing her leg over the other. "I'm good. I let the cum sit on my face too long before I washed it off."
Annie smiled when she felt Armin fidget beneath her. "She's kidding."
"Am I?" she looked up at him innocently, curiously. He almost turned just as red as her.
And green eyes met with blue again. But this time the contact was calmer, less chaotic. Armin's eyes were much kinder. He was always so annoyingly nice, a source of comfort and clarity. That when he and Eren looked at each other, it wasn't a glare of hostility or anger. Annie could feel him smiling. She didn't even need to peek to confirm her suspicion.
Eren hesitated, lips pursed, as he grazed the hairs on his brow. She could see the glisten of his watch nestled into the sleeve of his jacket.
"Hey man, I'm really sorry about—"
"It's cool, don't worry about it." Armin paused, fingers pressing into her ribs gently. "We're all friends now, aren't we?"
She saw the falter of Eren's lips. He settled on a half-smile. Suddenly she felt kind of bad for kicking him in the face. He seemed kind of sweet, in a sad pathetic way. Like he clearly had some fucking issues, but Mikasa was bringing out this nicer side of him. Annie figured it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world if he hung out with them. He couldn't be any worse than Reiner and Bertolt's stupid asses—
"Oh shit—is that a Limp Bizkit shirt?"
Annie and Mikasa balked in a simultaneous collective groan. Eren had caught sight of Bertolt's hideous apparel. And that seemed to ignite a fire in the duo seated messily on the opposing couch, that they leaned in eagerly to dwell on their shared interest in trash rock.
Bertolt ran a hand through his short brown hair, dimples creasing all over his chin as a smile enveloped his mouth. "Fuck yea! Are you a fan?"
"Huge."
"Oh god," Annie muttered, shrinking into Armin's arms as the desire to kick Eren grew strong and overwhelming. He was so close, she could get away with it if she wanted to. But she held herself back, mostly from the resistance of Armin's rather taut embrace. He was getting too good at reading her. "He's one of them."
"We were at Woodstock this past summer. We got to see them live." Reiner chimed in.
Make it stop. Make it STOP.
"No fucking way!" Maybe it was nice to see Eren smiling so much? It sure made Mikasa happy, that she rubbed his shoulder fondly, dipping her nose into the crook of his neck. How could she stand smelling him? She must have liked it. Maybe they really were meant for each other.
"So you got to see Creed too?" he added, leaning forward onto his thighs like an excited little kid. Annie was ready to suggest that the three of them get a room.
"You bet—Creed, Korn. We even saw that chick you like, Annie. Alanis Morrisette."
"Shut up, Reiner."
"It was fucking wild." Bertolt grew animated, gesturing with erect palms. "During Limp Bizkit's set, people starting fucking shit up. We barely made it out alive!"
And as the laughter and conversation grew bolder and more comfortable, Annie scanned their group as she wondered—how the fuck did all these different people come together? From dancers, to girly girls, nice guys, grunge guys, guys fucked in the head. Annie's sick bitchy self, and whatever the hell Pieck was. A fucking dog. They all couldn't be any more different. And yet, at that moment, it all just made fucking sense. That it didn't matter who they were, what category they fit into. They all connected in different ways, found friendship and solace in their differences, which somehow seemed to bring them together.
And it was all thanks to Annie, because she asked a stranger she met on a bench one night to fuck her.
And Eren—she didn't know anything about him. What his deal was, how he had made up with Mikasa. She figured it had something to do with the giant fucking ring on her finger. But it was kind of nice seeing Armin's best friend so happy, they way she held his hand and molded into him. The electricity that sprung between them, the radiating aura of love that leaked from their bodies almost as strongly as his cologne.
His smile was wide, authentic. Handsome. The green of his eyes flickered with a spark that was ready to ignite. Annie thought she could see it then, that magnetism Armin mentioned. He was drawing them all in, whether they liked it or not. And perhaps whatever issues he had, he would work through them. With the help of Mikasa's tenderness and love. And maybe through the weight of budding friendship.
But she'd always be ready to fuck him up if he messed up. Just a roundhouse kick away if he ever even thought of touching Armin's pretty face again.
~oOo~
The light of day dimmed through closed blinds. Lines of the brightness snuck through, shining streaks against his body. She smelled like candy, her lips tasted like strawberry. And her touch was gentle, almost affectionate. The way she her thumb caressed his collar bone, fingers grazing the line of his neck. A soft trickle along his skin, that it made him shudder.
And Jean closed his eyes. Because he couldn't look at her. He felt sick to his stomach. She had removed his coat, his blazer. Delicate fingers undid the buttons of his dress shirt. Tuned into his senses—touch, smell, taste. Hearing the gentle patter of her breath, how hotly it hit his skin.
He wasn't this kind of guy. This wasn't him. It felt wrong, so fucking wrong. That he opened his eyes to confess to her, attempting to trudge away. He caught a glimpse of her bedsheets. Just as pink and soft as her robe. It fell past her shoulder, and he could see the pebble of her nipple, perched on the swell of her breast.
"I don't know if I can do this," he said to her.
Hitch tilted her head, hair in bouncy curls. They sat on the edge of her bed together, and she opened her thighs, touching his own. Her gaze remained locked on his as her hand slid within his slacks. His breath hitched when she circled him—slender, petite fingers curling along his length. She was warm, tender.
"It feels like you can," she teased, her tone barely above a whisper.
Jean shuddered into his breath, feeling the tremor of his heartbeat block his eardrums. Her fist began to slide down his length. Slowly, with caution, until she held her hand there unmoving. Her mouth pressed into his neck.
"Who are you thinking about?"
He didn't answer her. He couldn't. It was a rule he had set for himself. To never talk about Mikasa again. And yet, she continued to plague his mind, her smile haunting his dreams. Though he refrained to speak of her, he couldn't stop thinking about her. And even now, as he sought solace in the touch of another, her image returned to him.
He felt the pucker of her lips against his skin. "Do you want to feel special?"
Her eyes lifted to his. The way the green of her irises swirled, mingling with the dark holes of her pupils was hypnotic. The curve of her lips, the dip of her lashes. Long and thick and black. Hitch released her grip, slipping her hand out of his pants. Instead, she carefully guided him to lay down on her bed.
"I can make you feel special."
The light of the ceiling shone down on her form. He couldn't tell if it was like an angelic gleam, or the fires of hell caressing her beautiful body. Knees straddled his hips as her breasts spilled from her robe.
He felt the press of her chest on his ribs as she leaned forward, melting her body into his. And she embraced his face, breathing heated breaths onto his skin. The sweet smell of candy filled his nose. And for the first time in a long time, he felt himself relax, his hands resting on her back, fingers delving into the soft fabric of her covering.
"I can make you feel special," she repeated, her voice luscious and inviting. He felt her mouth the words against his lips, losing himself to a euphoric haze.
"Even if it's only for a little while. Even if it's just pretend."
It was the sultriness of her voice, the gentleness of her touch. The sweet innocence of her scent. He allowed himself to fall into her seduction, to be taken fully and mercilessly. Because he did want to feel special. So desperately. That her offer sounded so good, so fucking wonderful.
All he had to do was close his eyes, feel her touch. And it felt so good to escape, to abandon his pain in the back of his mind, surrendering to the power of her body. Maybe she was some sort of angel, relieving him of his heartache. But when he touched her, and felt the glorious heat of her flesh, he was convinced that she must have bathed in hell's sinful flames.
And it was nice to just feel—not think, but feel. To be consumed by bodily desire. To lose all thought and reason. Nothing but the panting of their breaths, the bonding of their bodies. Lost in a world of lust and pleasure. Maybe he would feel differently once it was all over, resuming back to his inner lovelorn torment.
But at the moment—he just wanted to feel special. Only for a little while. Even if it was just pretend.