It's the last day of 2024, and City of Lights 2, the continuation of our cyberpunk slash mafia rivaere fic is finished. 45 chapters. Over 190,000 words (again!). @venom-for-free and I couldn't be prouder.
As usual, we have to thank Taedae for helping us with this project. Without her, it wouldn't be as good.
If you've missed Jena and Paradis, buckle up, because it's going to be a bumpy ride ending with a bang. Or two.
Summary:Â "Home. Eren blinks. Whereâs home? All around him, needle-like skyscrapers stab the dark sky. People recoil, stare, point their smartphones and other overpriced tech shit at him. Lifeless eye implants focus and record.
This isnât home. Itâsâ
A voice whispers into his ear.
He has to get moving. Has to find Levi. Wonât be able to confuse the pigs for much longer. Donât pick a fight. Run."
-
OR: It's summer in Jena and Paradis. The colorful streets shimmer and shine under the neon lightsâuntil they don't. Police sirens tear through the chatter and laughter. Someone's on the loose. Something is happening.
The city of lights never rests.
Chapters:Â 45/45
TW:Â Graphic depiction of violence, Angst, Gang Violence, Gun Violence, Drug Use, Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Class Differences/Social inequities talk, Child Death, Minor Character Death, Dysfunctional Family, explicit sex (see Ao3 for the full list of tags)
Ships:Â rivaere, Eren and Levi had past relationships, background relationships between secondary characters (honestly too many to list)
Illustrated: cards about the characters and places by @venom-for-free
Are you ready to travel to Jena and the sunken district of Paradis again?
Put some headphones on (yes, @venom-for-free also created a playlist for you) and get ready!
I've been working on Ablaze's continuation, and since I haven't updated my drafts in a while, I decided to give you Haywire's first chapter. Haywire is unedited and unfinished, so I don't want to upload it on Ao3 yet.
Haywire
Summary:Â Jean and Floch are together, for the best but also the worst. Navigating differences in their relationship isn't easy, especially for Jean, who struggles to find the right balance. But keeping his hormones in check is soon the least of Jean's worries when Commander ZoĂŤ announces their new planâto visit Marley to find new allies.
Chapters:Â 1/?
Ships:Â Flojean, past jeanmarco, past jeanrei
âSo, did you fuck last night?â
âConnie! I donât think thatâs anyoneâs business!â
âCome on, they left together pretty early, Jean is in rut, Floch is just fresh out of his first heat and weirdly late, I mean, do I even need to ask?â
âThen donât ask!â Armin cries out again, and Jean wincesâthe mess hall is loud enough already. If only he could be somewhere else. Anywhere else. âWhy are you so invested in this anyway?!â Yes, why is he?
Connie leans his elbows on the table, averting his gaze. His lips twist. âItâs either that or talking about Marley, and I donât wanna talk about Marley.â
Armin opens his mouth, looking ready to argue more, but steals Jean a nervous glance instead.
Great. At least one of them realises Jeanâs trying his very best not to punch Connieâs stupid face and make him run laps around the courtyard. By the walls, that would be glorious. Not punching Connie, because thatâs what any brain-dead alpha would do, and Jean prides himself to do better than acting on animalistic impulses. But itâs misty and rainy this morning, not a time to do any work outside. That would serve Connie right. Unfortunately, punishing Connie also means watching him to make sure he isnât slacking off, and Jean would rather finish his breakfast and go hide in his office rather than being chilled to the bones. Though, if Connie keeps prying, Jean might end up behind bars for murder.
Deep breath. While Connie and Armin resume their argument, Jean rubs tired eyes and refocuses on the sad porridge filling his bowl. But even with the best will in the world, his body still lets him know that he got to sleep alone, to wake up alone, and that violet melissa or not, it is very, very against his nature to be alone in such time.
Some ruts are harder than others. This one is competing for a spot on the podium.
It wasnât for lack of trying. Jean infused and drank some violet melissa flowers before going to sleep. But Flochâs scent still permeated everything in his roomâclothes, sheets, mattress, and, damn it, it took only a few minutes before Jean started to bite a pillow, thrusting into his own hand and chasing a release more pathetic than satisfying. If the flowers helped, Jean doesnât even want to think what wouldâve happened without them. Or if heâd caved in and let Floch spend the night with him, his warm body pressed against Jeanâs with just a thin, easy to rip layer of fabric between them.
His stomach heaves.
To Sashaâs greatest joy, Jean pushes his bowl towards her. The porridge is a far cry from last nightâs feast anyway. Armin gives him a sympathetic look. What does he think? That itâll alleviate Jeanâs torment? Cute. Heâs not hardânot yet. Maybe the violet melissa does work, after all. But every smell, sound, and movement grinds his senses.
The friction of his clothes on his overheated skin sends pins and needles along his limbs. Connieâs laugh rings in his ears like a gunshot. And the smell of a group of omega drifting to him reminds him that even if they arenât in heat, their wet, hot flesh pulsating around his knot would feel good all the same.
He could power through it. Not his first rut. Not his last. Mornings and evenings are always the worst because his mind isnât busy enough to ignore the intrusive thoughts and his body going haywire. But he doesnât want to trial his self-control today. And one glance across the mess hall to Hange tells him they already know heâs forfeiting and yearns for the quietness of his office, where no one will challenge his restraint. Even if thereâs also an amused sparkle in their eyes telling Jean they canât wait to see how things are going to turn out.
Jean finishes his tea in one gulp and gets up. But as he does, his nostrils tickle. Notes of lavender and irritation hit him before he even turns around and meets Flochâs pale face.
Bed hair and dark circles. Creased uniform smelling like slicky desires and urges. Did he sleep badly? Did his heat resume? Did he even change clothes, or does he still wear yesterdayâs? Stupid question. Of course Floch still wears yesterdayâs clothes.
Jean takes a step forward, aching with the need to reach, touch, kiss and steal his partner away. His omega. But piercing golden eyes bore into his, and he stills, a shiver running down his tensed spine.
People. Public. Floch doesnât want that. Intimacy isnât something heâs comfortable with yet, love another thing he doesnât know if heâs still capable of, whatever that means. Jean needs to back off. Back off. Right now!
So he backs off, peeling his eyes away.
Eren watches them from his seat with that bored, distant expression that never fails to make Jeanâs knuckles tickle. Fuck him. What does a beta like him know about what they go through? Has he ever fucked anyone? Armin? Mikasa? No, not Mikasa, for fuckâs sake! Armin, just Armin. Yes. Better. Though Armin is too cute and smart for Eren. Damn it! Jean balls his fists, the wildfire of his jealousy bursting.
Itâs not that he cares that much about Armin, itâs just that Eren shouldnât have all the nice things.
âJean.â Floch sighs, and Jean swears he moved closer, but he wonât turn his head to check. Because if he does âŚ
He steps to the side, glaring at Eren, who just chews on his food as if he couldnât care less. Is he trying to provoke him? And why did Armin and Mikasa join in the staring? What do they want? Are they siding with him? Oh, of course they are!
Jean grits his teeth. Exhales through his nose. Not the 104th training years anymore. Commanding officer, now. Canât pick a fight with Eren in the middle of the mess hall like he used to. Canât see if heâs as punchable as before.
A hand brushes Jeanâs arm. Little sparks of pleasure heat up his nerves and drowns the rage into syrup. He swallows. Hard. So. Hard. Fuck!
âFloch ⌠Iâll ⌠Iâll see you later.â Or in a couple of days, when the rut eases off, and he isnât picturing himself trailing his tongue along the curve of the omegaâs neck, hands kneading his firm ass. Heâd nuzzle the area over Flochâs scent glands. No bite, no claiming, of course. Just gentle licking and nibbling. Just a taste before he ⌠before he âŚ
Crap.
Pulling down on his jacket, Jean rushes out the mess hall. Canât think of any other way to fight off the hormonal storm brewing in him. Or to hide his embarrassing boner before someoneâConnie, it will be Connieâpoints at it.
He walks to his office in a daze, barely noticing the thin rain on his face as he crosses the courtyard, or the warmer air inside the administrative building once he enters it. His head is spinning by the time he closes the door and leans back against it.
The office is still a new thing Jean isnât quite used to yet, but the lack of omega scent hanging in the airâin particular the lack of Flochâs oh-so-alluring scentâhelps him to contain the fire. But not to extinguish it.
Wet hair sticks to his forehead. He should dry. Instead, Jean trails a hand down his stomach and between the lapel of his jacket to grab himself through his uniform pants. He groans. âFuck âŚ!â
The back of his head hits the door, but only jolts of pleasure shoot through his groin. He rubs his palm up and down along his trapped cock. It leaks. Pitifully.
Itâs nowhere the place, nor the time, but does it stop him from unclasping his belt buckle, opening his pants and lowering his boxer briefs? No, even if the air licking his wet tip tears a hiss from him. But it could be worse. It could be the damp, cold fabric of his underwear sticking to his skin for the rest of the day.
Jean spits into his hand and wraps it around his length. Itâs not his own touch he craves, but itâll do. Eyes closed, he can pretend for a second Floch is leaning against him, whispering intoxicating words into his ear. âLook at you, all hard and dripping for me. Do you like my hand that much?â Yes, yes, he does. Fuck! He does!
If only Flochâs heat and Jeanâs rut couldâve been perfectly in sync. He wants to return back in time, before that insane meeting in Mitras and the disappointing night he spent in his room, alone. It couldâve just been them, in bed, exploring each otherâs bodies and achieving new heights of pleasure. It doesnât matter that theyâve only been intimate for a few days, theyâve known each other for years. Comrades in arms. Friends. More than friends. How did they even live this whole time without even a kiss, an embrace.
Shit, Levi was right, Jeanâs been in love for quite a time, and Floch? Well, whatever this is, Floch cares about him. They just needed a pinch to be together. If it hadnât been Flochâs heat, itâd have been something else.
A bit of pressure on his swollen, oversensitive knot, and itâs enough to make him whimper and work his hips into, well, just his fist. But it could be different. It could be Floch surrendering to the pheromones and bending over for him. Heâd let Jean slide up and down between the cleft of his ass and tease his puckered, slicked entrance. Yes. Heâd beg for Jeanâs cock, his knot, his markâfuck!
The tightening of his hot flesh is the only warning he gets. Jean bites down on his lip to muffle another groan. Toes curling into boots, he rides waves of sheer ecstasy, only slumping back against the door once heâs spent. His chest heaves as he catches his breath, mouth spreading into a blissful grin.
But the cum rapidly cooling on his knuckles drags him back into the harsh reality. Heâs not in bed, his dick deep buried into Flochâs wet warmth. And the mess he made on the floor is more than beyond disgusting.
*~*
The cold air drifting from the open window is a caress Jean is aware of but not bothered by. Itâs better than the alternativeâsitting in the smell of his shame while heâs trying to tackle a report on the new recruits assigned to his squads.
Reports. Marco wouldâve loved that. Always writing down his observations, even if it was just scribbles on a scrap of paper. When Jean offered him a notebook for his last birthday, Marcoâs whole face lit up. Never thought Jean noticed his interest. How could he not?
But Marcoâs dead, and Jean lost more than his best friend that dayâMarco wouldâve been a better commanding officer than Jean could ever dream to be. And a better alpha. Not the kind to wank off at the thought of submitting and knotting an otherwise unwilling partner. Floch made his boundaries clear, and Jean promised heâd respect them. But can he?
Piece of shit.
Thatâs all Jean is, a piece of shit, getting high and hot at the fantasy of defiling Floch. But that sad realisation wonât get any of his work done.
Jean stares at the words he wrote until they blur and his eyes sting. âThe recruits from the 108th Training Division are âŚâ The recruits are what? Future dead meat, because once Marley attacks, most of them will die, no matter how harshly they are trained? No. He canât write that down even if itâs the truth.
What about their political views? It didnât escape to his attention some are radicalised already, especially the youngest. Floch is particularly good at rallying them up. But Jean canât report that either. Their feelings are only natural. They grew up in a world scared of the colossal titan breaking through Wall Rosa, and now they have to live with the fear of other humans plotting their end. They shouldnât be punished because no one can give them hope.
âThe recruits from the 108th Training Corps are still lacking in some areas. Despite three years of intense training, they struggle with 1) safely handling thunder spears 2) anti-titan ODM gear maneuvering. I recommendâ
Jean stops writing and raises his head, nostrils flaring. Leviâs scent reaches him before the Captain even knocks at the door.
Donât move. Donât say anything.
No. Thatâs stupid. Levi has to know Jeanâs here. Where else would he be? Obviously, heâs not supervising any training. Heâs not working in the quietness of the storage rooms, either. Or tending to the horses. The office is the only other place. Levi handled some of his administrative tasks during the past few days, but he must know how behind Jean is. Besides, itâs the perfect shelter for an alpha in rut who doesnât want any company.
Except it isnât anymore.
Jean clears his throat, but Levi lets himself in before heâs invited to. Typical.
Sharp steel eyes quickly survey the office and zero in on the open window. âDamn, brat, either you want to catch a cold or youâre trying to hide you shat your pants when you stormed out that mess hall.â Of course Jean knows better than looking guilty. And, of course, he still canât help a glance at that specific spot on the floor. He scrubbed it until he couldnât feel his fingers, and yet, when he returns his attention to Levi, the captain glowers harder.
âReally?â
Face burning, Jean ducks his head. So much for not looking guilty. âItâs not what youââ
âNo, itâs exactly what I think it is. But you look ashamed enough already.â Levi strides across the office and posts himself next to the window. Crossing his arms, he looks outside. âCome here. Thereâs something I want to show you.â
Jean doesnât move right away. But he canât just ignore Leviâs order, so he pushes his chair back and gets up from behind his desk. Wanting to keep a safe distance, he places himself on the other side of the window and forces his attention on the courtyard. A few recruits are doing laps around it, even if the rain is heavier now. The fat droplets crashing on the sill sprays Jeanâs hand with cold mist. Autumn is starting to show its true colors. And Levi smells like soap, tea, and unshakable resolve.
Donât breathe in. But of course Jean does, and his belly tightens with something that isnât quite arousal but isnât quite platonic either. Comfort? Safety? Is it because Levi is bonded to someone else, even if that person is gone? Or is it because nothing seems to shake him, not even the presence of an alpha in rut whoâs a head taller than him? Not that Jean could even dream of submitting the captain. He wouldnât even try to.
âThis is your doing.â
âWhat?â Jean detaches his eyes from Leviâwhen did he even start staring?âand glance down at the courtyard again.
âPack of little beta and alpha shitheads from the Garrison. 103th Training Corps. Trained together, served together. They teased the fuck out of Floch because you blew him off this morning and wasnât even there for lunch. So, guess what happened next?â
Jean shakes his head. âI didnât blow him off. I justââ
âThat wasnât my question, now, was it?â Levi narrows his eyes at him, and whatever warmth Jean felt congeals into the ice of the captainâs glare.
âFloch picked a fight.â Levi nods, and Jeanâs chest caves in. Because, if Floch isnât running laps too, where is he? The infirmary? Did they gang up on him? Is his omega wounded?
Jean spins around, a growl in his throat and eyes set on the door. But a firm hand grabs his elbow before he can go raise hell on the recruits.
âGlad to see you actually care, but Iâm not done yet. Why are you avoiding Floch? Surely you didnât notice his oh-so-charming personality just now?â
Does Levi really have to ask? Did he forget during the night? Jeanâs fingers twitch. âIâm in rut.â
âA fact Iâm disgustingly aware of.â Levi releases his grip and steps away from the window. Jean drills holes into the back of the captainâs neck. âUsually, when an alpha is in rut, they seek the omega they claimed.â
Jeanâs face burns. âI didnât claim him!â
Levi shrugs and sits down on Jeanâs chair, crossing his legs. His attention turns to the report for a second, then flicks back to Jean. âForget about markingâit can happen even between sworn enemies. Feelings matter more because they canât be forced on anyone. I saw the way you both behave. To me, you claimed each other. You should be skipping duty to fool around, and I should be chewing you out for that. But this morning?â Levi clicks his tongue. âThat was a pitiful show. And it gave those recruits the impression that you not only used Floch during his heat, but that heâs also not âgood enoughâ to satisfy you during your rut.â
âThatâs notââ Jean doesnât finish his sentence and rubs a palm over his face. Urgh. Why is everything so complicated? He wants to kick or punch something or someone, but he canât. So he just strides left and right, fists clenched by his side and anger trapped without a single crack to escape through. âFuck!â
This time, Levi doesnât say anything. He just grabs a sheet of blank paper and the fountain pen to scribble down what looks like a list. His calmness doesnât ease Jeanâs bubbling rage, but he eventually settles on the opposite seat, elbows propped on his thighs and chin resting on his clasped hands. However, it doesnât take long before he starts bouncing his leg.
Levi stops writing, folds the piece of paper and meets his eyes. âYouâre scared of hurting him, arenât you?â
Jean freezes. Then drops his gaze. âI crave things he canât give me.â
âCanât or wonât?â
âCanât.â Jean presses his lips together, waiting. But only silence answers back. Levi expects him to elaborate, doesnât he? Jean shakes his head and rubs the back of his neck. His whole body cringes at his vulnerability. He shouldnât be trapped in his own office, interrogated by an omega. No. He should be tearing through Levi, even if itâs just with words. But itâs also not who Jean is. So, he forces himself to still, rests his hands flat on his thighs and takes a deep breath. âWe talked about it. I can be very ⌠well, lustful and promiscuous, I guess. Heâs not. And Iâm fine with that. But. The rut ⌠Iâm scared of crossing boundaries.â Jean shivers. His heart sinks, and his fingers tingle. The same fingers he used to grab Flochâs hips before they went to sleep. Did Jean bruise him? âI ⌠I did that yesterday andââ
âDid you like crossing those boundaries?â
Jean jerks his head back up. âWhat?! No! I felt awful! I still feel awful! But part of me, my instinct, my body, really wants to. When Iâm with him ⌠Even when Iâm not with him ⌠Itâs all I can think of! And itâs wrong!â
Levi arches a brow. âWhatâs your plan, then? Stop yourself from thinking bad thoughts and never see Floch again?â
âMaybe itâs what I should do. For him.â Even if Jeanâs heart breaks at the notion.
Levi stands up, hitting his palm with the folded piece of paper. He moves to close the window and stays in front of it, as if he needs time to ponder. The silence between them drags long enough for Jean to stirs on his chair with relentless energy. So, when Levi finally speaks, he snaps to attention even faster.
âErwin wasnât interested in sex. You could barely tell when he was in rut. My heat didnât affect him at all. Was this another biological oddity or just his personality, I still donât know. But we made it work.â Levi doesnât add anything for a little while, and Jean doesnât dare pry. This confession is probably all Levi is willing to say about his relationship with the late commander. And after what happened yesterday during the meeting, Jean should be glad heâs willing to say anything at all. âYouâre scared of losing control and obeying your most primal instincts because of the rut, but here you are, having a conversation with me, an omega.â
âOmega.â The word feels so wrong in Leviâs mouth. Levi is so much more than an omega. Without him, theyâd already be dead. âYouâre my captain,â Jean corrects. âHumanityâs strongest.â
Levi turns around, a small, mocking smile tugging at the corner of his lip. âThe son of a whore who would be put in better use as one. A thug picked up from the Undergroundâs filthy streets by the Survey Corp. An omega slut that hasnât been properly tamed by his alpha. Or who needs a stronger, better one to break him into a more pliable plaything.â
Jean gapes. âCaptââ
âI heard it all from the nobles and the top brass, and often swore to myself Iâd slice their throats. Thoughts are just thoughts. You need to trust yourself more.â Levi crosses the distance separating him from Jean and tucks the piece of paper into his breast pocket. âI sent Floch to clean the stables before he maimed a recruit. Hopefully, the stench of horse shit will help you keep your mind clear. And if not, pretty sure the little prick can knee you in the balls.â
Jean snorts. Itâd hurt like a bitch.
Anger and worry melt down into a different feeling. Itâs not quite relief, but itâs warm and comforting enough for Jean to slump down on the chair, legs extending in front of him. Like the good kind of exhaustion that comes after a harsh but fruitful day.
Maybe Leviâs right. Floch isnât defenseless. He proves that again and again. And if Jean doesnât trust himself much right now, perhaps he should trust Floch.
He pats his breast pocket and fishes the piece of folded paper. âWhatâs that?â
âThe proper dosage and brewing technique for violet melissa.â Jeanâs brow shots up. How does LeviââFloch told me.â Oh.
Jean puts the paper back in his pocket. He licks his lips, nervousness growing in the pit of his stomach. âAre you going to tell the Commander?â
Levi curls his lips over his teeth, recoiling at the whole idea as it seems. âThat little weasel, stealing the Military Police? Hange would be far too entertained! I donât need that.â Even after years, Jean still canât tell if Levi likes Hange. What are they to him? A superior? A comrade? A friend? More than a friend? Itâs not like he can ask. Levi would tell him to mind his business.
Boots click on the floor. Levi moves to the door, and if Jean doesnât turn his head to watch him, he canât resist breathing in his scent one last time. Usually, the captain is more guarded, discreet. Maybe itâs how he shows his trust in Jean. Or, most likely, the peak of Jeanâs rut still exacerbates his sense of smell.
âTake the day off. Youâre useless anyway.â
Jean nods, then turns around on his chair to thank Levi. But the door closes.
*~*
Hay. Straw. Sweat. Shit.
The musky stench greeting Jean weighs on his tongue. Nose wrinkling, he walks further into the horse stable. Dust particles dance in the lights of the shining stone lamps. Low nickers and the stomping of hooves echo in his ears. But Floch is nowhere to be seen, which allows the courage Jean mustered up to wither even more.
He almost jolts out of his skin when Leviâs black mare sticks her head out of her stall, sniffing his hair and trying to chew on it. Despite the growing churning in his stomach, or perhaps because of it, Jean strokes the velvety coat of her muzzle up and down. But the mareâs nostrils flare, and she pulls back with a loud snort, most likely because he has no apple or carrot to give her. Bitch.
A few moments later, Jean finally finds Erenâs horse tied up outside a stall and, inside, Floch, napping on the clean bedding of straws he spread on the floor.
He looks so peaceful, with his eyes closed, his mess of bed hair, and his hand resting on his stomach, Jean doesnât dare to step in right away. Instead, he leans against the door frame to watch him, sighing with relief. No bruises despite the brawl. Or no bruise anywhere visible yet.
Breathing in Flochâs alluring scent, Jean moves closer like a moth drawn by the flames. He kneels in the straw and reaches out for his partner. His companion. His omeâ
âI havenât forgiven you.â Jean freezes, his hand only a few centimeters away from Flochâs cheek. The omega doesnât crack his eyes open, but his lips purse into one of his sullen pouts. âYouâve been an asshole.â
Jean blinks, then withdraws his hand and sits back on his heels. Flochâs irritation curls around them like a snake ready to strike. Itâd be so much easier to lash out, pin Floch to the floor, show him whoâs in charge, but ⌠Jean shakes his head, swallowing the angry impulse down, even if itâs like gravel scraping against his throat. âIâm sorry. I didnât mean to hurt you.â
âWell, you did,â Floch hisses. âAnd a lot of people seem to think itâs so fucking funny. âOh, look at that, the little male omega put back into his rightful placeâa slut, just good to be knotted. Jean will find a good omega woman to bear his kids soon enough.ââ
Jean flinches. Is it really how people see him? âYou know I wouldnât.â
âDo I?â Floch rolls to his side, offering his back.
Jean grabs a fistful of straw with a trembling hand. Itâs rough against his palm, and cracks when he tightens his grip. Or perhaps heâs just imagining the noise, because he wants to break the recruitsâ necks so damn hard. âIâm trying to protect you.â
âFrom what?â Floch scoffs with a small shrug.
Jean sucks in a breath, his heart beating fast. âFrom me. I was afraid of losing control.â
Floch turns around again and sits up, narrowed golden eyes fixed on Jean. Is he angry? Suspicious? Pondering? Hard to tell. But when he speaks again, his eyes are watery. âSo what now? Do you plan to avoid me whenever youâre in rut? Did you try the melissa, at least, or did I steal it for nothing? Because I stole it for you, not for me!â
âI know! And I did! I drank it!â Jean shouts back, taken aback by Flochâs accusation and whiny tone. But the way the omega blinks at him, equally in shock, makes him lower his voice. âItâs just that it didnât seem to do a lot for me.â Jean touches his breast pocket, feeling the edge of the folded piece of paper tuck in it. âMaybe because I didnât know how to prepare it correctly.â
âOh âŚâ Gaze shifting away, Floch bends his legs and wraps his arms around them. He rests his chin on his knees, letting out a strained sigh. âWhat about now? How do you feel?â
âIâm ⌠alright. More clear-headed. But maybe itâs because it smells like horse shit.â
Floch rolls his eyes. âYou sound just like the captain.â
âBecause Iâm quoting him.â
âSo, he visited you too âŚâ
Floch doesnât add anything else, and for a while, Jean doesnât know what to say either. Doesnât know if he should try to reach out again, now that Flochâs hostility has fizzled out. He opens his hand, releasing the straw, and rubs clammy palms over his thighs. Why does everything have to be so complicated?
âLook, after what I did yesterday ⌠I was worried itâd happen again. I donât want to cross your boundaries.â
Floch shakes his head, sighing again. âYesterday was ⌠overwhelming. My heat, that stupid meeting, your rut starting ⌠But you did nothing wrong. I asked you to stop and you did. You gave me space, time. I ⌠I still regret that I couldnât ⌠that I was so distant when you needed me âŚâ Flochâs voice trails off, and his expression darkens.
Even if Jean stays riveted to the spot, he aches with the need to pull Floch into a tight embrace and to pepper him with kisses.
But if he starts, he wonât stop.
âThis morning, I was really looking forward to seeing you, you know?â Floch continues in a whisper, as if heâs afraid of being overheard. âBecause the night was shitty without you.â His cheeks turn red, and he hides his face between his arms. Being vulnerable is still not something heâs comfortable with. âI wanted to hold you and wake up next to you,â he croaks.
Jean crawls closer, his arms almost locking around Flochâs curled up body. But he picks the straw out of his hair instead. So close, he can smell Flochâs scent more vividly. It ranks sadness, which helps to qualm his arousal. But it sweetens with bubbles of joy too, and Floch eventually raises his head again. Heâs still red-faced, but a small, almost mischievous smile plays on his lips.
âI want to spend the night with you.â
âFlochââ A finger presses again Jeanâs lips.
âDonât treat me like I donât know what Iâm doing. I trust you. I also trust my own strength. So, can you trust me?â
Jean exhales. âYes. I trust you.â
âUnlike you, I actually have a plan.â Jean quirks a brow, but Floch doesnât elaborate. He cradles Jeanâs face instead, and this simple touch is enough for Jeanâs eyes to flutter shut.
Jean moves closer, right into Flochâs comforting heat, and buries his head in the crook between Flochâs neck. Of course his cock stirs. The scent glands are just a few kisses away. But Jean is nowhere as aroused as he wouldâve been this morning if they had hugged in the middle of the mess hall. If anything, heâs melting, all tension and stress leaving his body. Incredible what talking can do to alleviate oneâs anxiety.
âStupid alpha,â Floch mutters, but it sounds more affectionate than insulting. He tangles a hand into Jeanâs hair and pets his head. Itâs nice. Soothing. Jean wraps his arms around Floch and slots himself between his thighs. He nuzzles Flochâs neck until he finds his pulse. Itâs when they lose their balance, but the straw mattress is here to collect them, so Floch barely huffs in protest.
Itâs everything Jean needs. Flochâs presence, his warmth and scent surrounding him until Jean gets drunk on it and his brain clouds. Itâd be even better without their clothes on, skin against skin, both bodies intimately entwine, but he shouldnât be greedy. Even if he canât stop his hips from grinding up and down against Flochâs thigh.
Too much pressure down there. His cock throbs, hot blood rushing into his inflating knot. Is it Flochâs hand on his ass, pulling him even closer? Inviting him to hump him? Does Floch finally want to know how an alphaâs cock feels? Jean tries to suck and pinch the curve of the omegaâs neck. But the collar of Flochâs jacket is in the way, and the buttons of his shirt are so, so complicated to undo.
âEasy! My clothes stay on.â Floch warns, the hand in Jeanâs hair tightening its grip.
âBut I love you,â Jean whines. And, shit, why does Floch not let him prove it? Heâd make him feel so good, so full, soâ
Floch pulls on Jeanâs hair, forcing him to raise his head. Jean growls and bares his teeth, desire turning into aggression, until he meets narrowed golden eyes.
Alphas donât submit to omegas. This is the natural law. But the glare is like a slap in the face.
Jean withdraws his hands, apologies burning the tip of his tongue. Floch, however, seems to have a different idea. Expression softening, he pulls Jean closer again. Their lips brush. And Floch kisses him first.
Jeanâs eyes flutter shut, and even if itâs sloppy and hesitant, he slumps against Flochâs warmth, kissing him back until they are both breathless.
âSee?â Floch pants, his hands cradling Jeanâs face again. âYou listen to me. Iâm more than my instinct, and so are you.â
âYeah âŚâ
âSo âŚâ Floch licks his lips and looks away, a bit red in the face. âDo you wanna get off?â
âYeah! No! Wait? Are ⌠are you even hard?â Jean blurts out.
Floch glances back at him, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, and rubs his thigh against Jeanâs crotch. âNo. But you are. So flattering to know I have this effect on you.â
âLike, itâs new,â Jean breathes out, his face burning hot.
âYou were smoother during my heat. Where did all your experience go? Southward to meet your other brain?â
âShut up,â Jean snaps before sealing their mouths together again. He repositions himself, grinding down. Itâs nowhere as good as if they were humping each other naked, but the friction still tears a guttural groan from his throat. His tongue slides over Flochâs. His hips rock back and forth, chasing the pleasure heâs been fantasizing so much about. Floch grabs his shoulder with one hand, fingers digging into his jacket, while the other reaches down to knead his ass.
Jean freezes at first, rut-fuelled instinct rebelling with all its might. But the anger flickers away, and he licks Flochâs bottom lip. âYou could fuck me. Iâd let you.â It might not be what an alpha primarily needs, but itâll scratch the itch regardless, Jean knows it. He just has to wrestle his instinct, and thenâ
But Floch pulls a face. âDisgusting. Not touching your asshole.â His harsh words donât stop him from grabbing the back of Jeanâs neck. They exchange another heated kiss, and Floch hooks a leg around Jeanâs waist. Flochâs scent, sweet and soothing like rarely, wraps them into a soft cocoon.
Is his companion getting excited or is he just indulging him? Jean canât quite tell. Doesnât wanna know either. Hell, indulging him is not bad anyway, Jean can work with that.
The bucking of his hips grow more desperate and urgent by the second. He abandons Flochâs lips to bite down on his collar, the rough fabric brushing his tongue. A poor diversion, but it still quenches the urge to claim and mark and make sure Floch belongs to him forever. As long as Floch is covered with Jeanâs scent and Jean with his, itâll be proof that they own each other, right?
Fuck, heâs so close, so close, soââAre you serious now? In my horseâs stall?!â
*~*
Nothing can kill a boner faster than Eren Jaeger. Well, an attack from Marley would too, but the annoying prickâs indignant yell is still high on the list.
Growling his frustration, Jean pushes himself up and turns to the entrance. Eren glares, of course. And Jean stomps forward, eager to punch Erenâs lights out. But Floch firmly grabs Jeanâs arm before he can.
Maybe itâs for the best. The beta has always been strong. Probably another nice gift from his titan shifterâs blood. Itâs not like Jean can win against someone who heals fast and never lacks stamina.
But more than that, Jean would regret the violence once he cools down, because itâd be the rut acting for him.
Jean breathes in and out, and relaxes fists he didnât realise he clenched. âSorry about that.â Apologizing stings his tongue. Still, itâs the right thing to do, isnât it?
At least Erenâs gaze softensâa rare sight these days. Rubbing the back of his neck, he glances away and clears his throat. âWell, itâs just that I didnât expect to stumble on you two. Could you do this in a room?â Eren gives Floch a quick glance. âAnd also, why are you even here? I was supposed to clean the stalls.â
âThe Captain made me,â Floch dryly says, his hand still locked around Jeanâs bicep. Why? Itâs not like Jean still wants to pick a fight.
But here it is again, Erenâs annoyed look. âHe did what? But youâre not even good at cleaning!â
If it werenât for Floch, Jean would lunge forward and shove Eren to the ground. âHey, shut up! Heâs amazing!â Especially when he washes and grooms Jean in a bath. Yes. Right. They should do that. Now. Or take a shower, even if the water is cold. Anywhere where they can be naked and exploring each other. They still have that lavender soap. They donât need more to rinse the awful stench of horses off their skin. Then Jean will carry Floch toâ
âCan you not be horny for thirty seconds?â Eren curls his lips, his body tensing as if heâs about to throw a punch. Jean readies himself too, even if his mind still clings to his sensual daydream. Why does Eren always have to ruin everything?
Floch squeezes Jeanâs arm, forcing back his attention to him. But the omegaâs eyes are fixed on Eren. âIf youâre so eager to clean the stalls, be my guest. Iâve done enough.â
Erenâs eyebrows shoot up. âBut you said Captain Levi tasked you withââ
âDo I look like I care?â Floch shrugs, an insolent smile flicking on his face.
âFloch,â Jean warns, but Eren is louder than him. For once.
âYouâd disobey the Captainâs orders?!â
Floch rolls his eyes. âOh, wow, truly an unexpected event, me being reluctant to carry a superiorâs order. Iâm not on a quest to get his approval, and I thought you were aware of that âŚâ
Instead of arguing more, Eren shuts his mouth right away, which is one of the least Eren-thing he ever did, especially with Floch.
Huh.
Jean looks between the two of them. Did he miss something? They always quarrel, although ⌠Jean frowns. When did that happen for the last time? During the festival in Trost to celebrate the opening of their first railroad almost two months ago? Not even. Floch had been a bitch about being tasked with watching Yelena and her volunteers, but Eren didnât fight him on that. However, he did several times before that when Floch would accompany Hange and Levi to the railroad building site. Hard to blame Eren. Floch liked to loudly remind them their efforts were fruitless and theyâd be better off coercing the volunteers into giving them modern artillery schematics. Not that Floch was wrong either âŚ
The air surrounding them thickens with the mix of their scents. Itâs not quite hostile but the tension still tastes sour on Jeanâs tongue and urges him to move between Floch and Eren, puffing his chest out. Even if heâs not sure which one he should protect from the other âŚ
âEren, youâll follow your initial orders. Iâm taking responsibility for him, so donât worry.â
âOh, I know. You always do.â Eren steps aside to let them pass and crosses his arm, his gaze turning serious.
This unshakable, stoic front he has been putting up a lot lately is nerve-racking. Jean canât squash the feeling that heâs still missing some context, but he also doesnât want to linger to find out whatâs going on in Erenâs brain. Most likely, heâs thinking the same thing as everyone elseâtheir impending doom. And his own death, thatâll happen sooner than Jean wants to, even if they rarely see eye to eye. However, itâs a conversation heâs in no state to have now, and besides, Eren made his point clear beforeâhe wonât burden any of his friends with his power.
Eren wants them to live long lives. But can they really? The notion feels ridiculous, even as Jean interlocks his fingers with Flochâs.
Itâs raining hard enough outside that the buildings across the courtyard look blurry and faded. A few soldiers, huddled beneath their cloaks, hasten their horses to the stables. Today was definitely not a day for easy-breezy training. Sasha will complain and eat for four at dinner. But on the battlefield, no one can decide the weather.
The simmering water in the kettle tears Jean away from the window. He lets the liquid cool down a bit before pouring it into a teapot and covering it with a lid. Hopefully, he wonât mess up the concoction again.
Too hot, and the purple flowers will burn, according to Leviâs curt but helpful instructions. Time is important too. Too little, and the beverage wonât be potent enough. But too long, and itâll be as undrinkable as piss. Jean takes his pocket watch in hand. Five minutes. No more, no less. He canât fuck this up. Floch took risks to âacquireâ the melissa. Jean fixes the needles, neck so tensed he might pop a vein. When they hit the limit, he fills a cup almost to the brim and takes a sip even if the liquid almost burns his lips.
The herbal tea is certainly stronger than yesterday, with a bitterness that lingers on his tongue. Setting the cup aside for a moment, Jean finishes cleaning in the small kitchen the officers only use to fix themselves hot drinks; Levi would murder him if he left a mess before going upstairs to his room.
Done with his last chore, Jean retreats. Itâs quiet at this hour of late afternoon, his comrades either still finishing their duty or on their way for a well-deserved shower before dinner.
Shower.
Jean closes the door to his room and takes another sip of the tea before he loses himself in another embarrassing daydream.
After they left the stables, Floch went for a shower, claiming he needed to scrub the grit of the day off his skin. The water in the communal areas is always cold, but in Jeanâs mind, steam rises in the air, and his lips meet Floch as he backs him against the wet tiles. Would he be strong enough to pick up the omega? Yes. And Floch would wrap himself around him, grinding down with needy thrusts, moaning and begging forâ
Stop. Jean shakes his head, takes a deep breath and chugs the full cup of tea down. Heâs not as horny as he was in the morning, probably having gotten some kind of relief from his too brief encounter with Floch. But even with the fire of his arousal reduced to embers, heâs nowhere as calm as he should be.
Jean rakes a hand through his hair, then moves to the wash basin and splashes water over his face. When he looks up, squinty brown eyes stare back at him like they havenât seen a good day of rest in an eternity. Droplets of water still run down his face and congregate at the tips of his nose and chin.
Did he trim his beard this morning? Canât even remember. Everything is lost in a haze. Maybe he should shave. Like, everything. Sasha keeps telling him the beard looks pathetic and Jean certainly isnât pathetic. What about his haircut, though? Is it getting too long now? Growing his hair out seemed like a good idea but now itâs too long at the back, isnât it? Is it how a Commanding Officer should present himself? The girls like it. But does Floch like it? Is he attracted to him? Does Jeanâs appearance even have any kind of impact on him? What if he doesnât care? What if he does? What if he hates the beard?! The hair?! Everything?!
A knock. Words. Nose pleasantly tickling with the smell of lavender and expectation, Jean rushes to the door, opens it and pulls Floch inside before the omega can even finish whatever he was saying. Why should Jean care anyway? There are more urgent matters. âShould I shave?â
Floch gapes and bluts out, âwhat?â
âShould I shave?â Jean grabs Flochâs shoulders. Stupid military jacket. Itâs in the way. Skin should warm Jeanâs palms.
âShave what?â
âDo you hate the beard?â
âWhatâs gotten into you?â Isnât it obvious? Does Floch not understand?
âDo you hate how I look? Answer!â
Floch pushes Jeanâs hands away and takes a step back, narrowing his eyes like he always does when heâs about to murder someone with his silver-tongue. Even his scent sours. Jeanâs stomach drops. âIf you keep acting like a lunatic, weâre not sitting together for dinner.â
No dinner together? Jeanâs eyes sting. Oh. So that means Floch isnât just angryâhe hates him. No, no, no. Jean withdraws, hands running through his hairâtoo long, stupid long hairâand starts pacing left and right. What has he done? âI knew it, I knew it, you hate everything about me, I knew it âŚâ
âWow!â
Jean stops in his track, anxiety twisting his guts. He barely dares making eye contact with Floch. ââWowâ what?â
Floch tilts his head to the side, silent for a moment. Is he pondering? Why does he have to ponder? Canât he just punch Jean in the stomach right away, so Jean can crawl away to dig his own grave with his bare hands andâa snicker. Floch crosses his arms and cocks one hip. âI had no idea a rut could fuck up an alpha this much. Especially you. Now I feel less bad about being a whining mess during my heat.â
What? Is Floch mocking him? Jean balls his fists as the rush of anxiety ebbs to make place to stormy emotions. When Floch, that arrogant bastard, doesnât even flinch, Jean takes a step forward, grinding his teeth. âIt doesnât âfuck me upâ! It has never been like this before!â
âNever?â Smirking, Floch comes closer, close enough to grab Jean by the bolo tie and tug him down. Jeanâs nostrils flutter. Fuck. Does the omega smell good ⌠Not sour anymore but more like sweet amusement. As quickly as it has risen, Jeanâs rage subsides. His eyes fall on Flochâs lips, slightly wet, and his own hands now on his companionâs hips. Jean would just have to lean in toââSo, what youâre saying is that youâre a mess because of me?â
Jean blinks. Sucks in a breath. Then peels his gaze away from the tantalizing lips to meet Flochâs eyes. Arrogance and pride burn in them like liquid gold. âDonât look so smug,â Jean growls, trying to step back. But of course, Floch doesnât release his grip on the bolo tie and grins even more as he tightens it.
âYour beard is fine, Jean. It suits you. What else do you need to be reassured about? Your hair? Donât cut them, or how am I supposed to pull on it when youâre getting carried away?â Huh? Jeanâs mouth falls open. No, heâs not blushing, even if his face feels weirdly hot. No, heâs absolutely not getting hard either. Just slightly turned on. Slightly. âAlso, not that I ever paid attention to the rumor before, but Iâd heard you were well-endowed. Now I can confirm.â Okay, not slightly anymore. Jean squeezes Flochâs hips, fighting every instinct in him not to throw the omega onto the bed.
âFloch, stop âŚâ But Jeanâs warning comes out as a needy, throaty whimper that only serves to make his companion chuckle.
âWhich is also why your dick wonât get anywhere close to my ass. But âŚâ Floch doesnât add anything, only staring at Jean with hooded eyes. Is he flirting? Not that Floch isnât capable of thisâhe proved to be a quick learner despite his stubbornness. But while not being affected by his heat?
Jean clears his throat. And also tries to clear his mind. No chance for his cock, though. Not with Floch being so close, so warm, and smelling so good. Jean inhales sharply and focuses on the bitter taste still coating his tongue. âYouâre playing with fire. I really, really wanna fuck you now.â
âHow vulgar.âÂ
âMaybe. But I canât stop myself from desiring you,â Jean murmurs, moving his head forward to nuzzle the side of Flochâs neck, searching for his scent gland, for more of the pheromones that will cloud his mind.
But, chuckling, Floch leans back and places a palm on Jeanâs chest to stop him from reaching again. âHave you desired anyone that much before?â Did he? Jean blinks, frustration rising in every fiber of his being from being forced to so little physical contact when he needsâcravesâso much more. But itâs nowhere violent enough to urge him to take what he wants. He doesnât even have to wrestle down his instincts for it. Perhaps the herbal tea does have the intended effect now? âJean?â Right. Flochâs question.
Jean frowns, the first face coming to his mind being freckled with dark hair. But if he has to be honest, this first love was before he presented as an alpha, and the yearning was there but never as scalding as it can be during a rut. Then brown eyes and firm muscles that he once thought to be reassuring fill his thoughts. Jean shakes his head, forcing the memory awayâhe doesnât want to remember nights of challenging another alpha much stronger than him and the strange but arousing feeling of giving himself up. It wasnât love, anyway, just misguided lust. âNo. Never.âÂ
Something flickers in Flochâs gaze. His hand moves along the bolo tieâs cord, pushing the stone up and tightening the necklace around Jean almost threateningly. Jean gulps, his throat bobbing against the string. He takes another deep breath as his cock stiffens. Flochâs intoxicating scent reminds him of what they shared the previous days and what he hopes they will share tonight again. His fingers twitch and dig deeper into Flochâs hip bones. This time, the omega doesnât try to push him back when Jean brings them closer, only separated by their warmth breath fanning over parted lips.
His other hand softening over Jeanâs heart, Floch gives the bolo tie a little tug. âWell, then. You may kiss me.â
Closing his eyes, Jean eagerly meets Flochâs lips and traces their shape. They are a bit chapped, but Flochâs scent swirling around them makes up for it. Satisfaction. Trust. Subtle arousal, even. Itâs so different from the night before, where Floch was still wary and even disgusted. Lavender and emotions mix into a fragrance Jean will never grow tired of smelling on his own skin and everything he owns.
As their kiss deepens, Flochâs hand moves from Jeanâs chest to his nape, fingers tangling into his hair. Jean starts retreating, expecting a harsh tug, but Floch nips Jeanâs bottom lip and grips the bolo tie harder again.
Oh! No holding back, then? Good.
Jeanâs hands slide from Flochâs waist to his butt and the back of his thighs. Firm muscles flex underneath the fabric of the omegaâs pants when he presses their bodies flush. He grinds his hips against Flochâs stomach, groans into his mouth. Does the friction between them bring him satisfaction or does it frustrate him even more for what he could have instead? Jean canât tell. But he could surely cum in his pants just from that.
Not that he gets a chance to. Floch lets go of the tie and grabs a fistful of Jeanâs hair, tearing him away from his lips. âEnough,â he commands, and though Jean itches with the need to slam Floch against the wall or throws him onto the bed, he doesnât. But he still growls his annoyance, which earns him a dismissive snort. âIâm not taking another shower before dinner.â
Jean squints. âAre you edging me?â
âEdging. You used that word before.â Flochâs grip on Jeanâs hair doesnât weaken. But he licks his swollen lips and breathes out a throaty chuckle. âAnother one of your perverted, made-up practices that you try so hard to sell me?â
Jean squeezes Flochâs butt. If he werenât aware his companion was teasing him, gagging him would get very tempting. Though he might just end up doing that for the fun of it. âThat means postponing an orgasm, staying aroused longer andââ
âSounds terrible,â Floch cuts with a frown. âIâd never blue ballââ
âEdging,â Jean corrects him.
âEd-ging you.â But the glint of mischief in his golden eyes says otherwise.
Bastard.
Jean grins regardless. Floch is his bastard. Because he knows thereâs more underneath that mischievous and hostile façade. âStill playing with fire, Floch. Are you a human or an imp?â
âIâm hungry.â Floch tugs on the bolo tie again. âCome on, letâs go for dinner.â He glances down, his lips quivering with mirth. âUnless you canât walk quite yet.â
âFuck you.â
âYou wish.â
He does.
*~*
âSo youâre back together already? Is it going to be an off and on kind of relationship, and can we bet on how long your next breaking-up arc will last, or were you just being dramatic again?â
âConnie!â Armin squeaks from the end of the table.
Jean rolls his eyes and turns away. Heâll ignore any comment for the sake of world peace. His blood might not be boiling anymore, heâs still cranky. The mess hall is as noisy as it was in the morning, and with all those different scents drifting in the air, he canât find comfort in breathing in the only one that matters.
Not that Floch seems to be in a comforting mood.
âItâs alright, Armin.â With a sugar-coated smile, Floch waves the cup heâs holding in Connieâs direction. âHeâs never been with anyone, so he doesnât get it. And wouldnât get it even if he were.â
âFloch,â Jean warns. He gives Connie a cursory glance, worried the jab hurt his feelings. But his friend crosses his arms and shakes his head with a little chuckle.
âNo, no, no. I actually get it. Jean and you, itâs like Sasha and her food.â
Sasha, in the middle of murdering a slice of bread, perks up. âFoopf?â
Connie doesnât acknowledge her and continues, his expression almost matching Flochâs mocking one. âItâs a lovely relationship. Until she eats spoiled seafood and begs me to hold her hair while she throws up or to toss her more toilet paper overââ
âWhy do you have to tell everyone?!â Sasha cries out, bashing her palms against the table.
Eren sets his spoon back into his plate of mashed potatoes, a disgusted scowl on his face. âYouâre terrible people to be friends with,â he mutters, and for once, Jean agrees. Though, is Floch really their friend? Would he be sitting here if it werenât for Jean?
Notes of irritation reach Jeanâs nose. Flochâs grip tightens around his cup. âDid you just compare me toââ
âNo, he didnât.â Jean rests a placating hand on Flochâs thigh and rubs his knuckles against it before his companion gets the idea of jumping on Connie across the table. One fight a day is enough. Less would be preferable. Bruises have flowered on Flochâs skin. At least the 103th are quiet in their corner of the mess hall. Good. If any of them dares do something as small as glancing in their direction, Jean will finish what Floch started, consequences be damned.
A strong arm wraps around Jeanâs shoulder. He startles, hand gripping a bicep, and doesnât loosen his fingers even when Connie sighs against his ear. When did the beta even get up and round the table? âRelax. Iâm only teasing you because I care about you. Yeah, even you, asshole.â
Floch bristles when heâs trapped into the impromptu hug too. He attempts to wriggle free, his scent amplifying and turning acid, even with Jean squeezing his thigh to soothe him. âCan you care about us a few meters away?â
âAw, you remind me of that feral barn cat my brothers used toââ Connieâs voice dies down. He releases them.
Jean glances up, searching his friendâs gaze to check on him, but Connieâs silently returned to his seat next to Sasha.
Perhaps for the first time in his life, Floch willingly shuts up.
Connieâs eyes dart away. âAnyway, us âveteransâ, we must stick together, right?â
Nodding, Sasha pulls him into a comforting hug, despite his previous comments on her digestive issues. Meanwhile, Floch looks down at the empty cup heâs holding, brow pitched, then raises his head, his eyes blazing with determination. Jean tenses up, knowing that energy all too well. If Floch gets carried away in the middle of the mess âŚ
âHow about weââ
âConnie. Marley will pay for what they did to your family, and for everything else they did to us,â Floch cuts in. âOne day, our enemies will wake up with their whole world burning to ashes and no escape route. Trapped like we were in Shiganshina, waiting for their death.â
Jean blinks. This is new. Not wanting to retaliate against Marley. Floch has always been adamant about it. But this specific scenario.
âDonât be so extreme,â Armin murmurs, and Connie gives Floch a confused, hesitant look. Oh great. So much for Floch learning when to speak.
âNothing is too extreme.â Floch hits his heart with a close fist. His intensity manages to lure Eren back into their conversationâhe looks up from his plate, his expression not as dispassionate as it tends to be these days, though Jean isnât sure he likes the creeping darkness that seems to suck all colors from his eyes.
âThereâs still a lot to do before weâre even close to harming them.â Erenâs tone is slow, almost calculated, as if he already thought about this a lot.
Mikasa and Armin both look between them, and Jean shifts on his chair, clearing his throat. Now is a good moment to say something worthy of a Commanding Officer. But thereâs always that small voice whispering in his ears that without Marley, all their troubles would be gone. Still, he canât say that out loud. âArminâs right. Letâs not get carried away. Hange thinks that if we show the outside world who we truly are, we can find a peaceful solution.â
Connie lets out a dry chuckle betraying his discomfort. âI donât want innocent people, kids, to suffer like my family did. I donât think my mum would be proud of that.â
âWould she want Historia and her kids to be sacrificed?â Eren asks curtly.
Connie looks down and doesnât reply.
Armin shakes his head. âThatâs not very fair. No one here wants Historia to suffer. But the fifty-year plan shouldnât be discarded either. We must acknowledge that our options are limited.â
âAre they? Or are we led to believe they are?â Floch smirks. âThe top brass, especially the Military Police, donât care about us, the lower class. Iâd even say they want to control us, like the old nobility used to. With the fifty-year plan, not only do they force Historia and her descendants to be birthing machines for the decades to come, like they want to do with every omega woman as well, but they also make sure to stay in power. They would sell us to Hizuru or Marley if they were guaranteed their own safety. Was that really what you all wished for when you did that coup?â
âEnough,â Jean orders, his throat constricting. Deep down, he knows Floch is right. But he canât let him go on another rant, not with so many unfriendly ears around. âI wish things were different too, but letâs not discuss sensitive information in the middle of the mess.â He gives Floch a side glance. Will he try to argue back?
He doesnât. He simply nods. Strange. Heâs usually so stubborn and confrontational. Too much for his own good. Jean brushes his knuckles against his companionâs thigh to show his appreciation, but Flochâs expression hardens, and Jean retracts his hand. Fine. He can sulk all he wants as long as he shuts the fuck up.
They finish dinner without any more incidents, though Mikasa doesnât stop glowering at Floch, who surprisingly manages to not antagonize her or anyone else.
But once they return to Jeanâs room, Floch leans back against the closed door, arms crossed and eyes squinted. âYou know Iâm right.â
âYouâre always right.â An argument is the last thing Jean needs tonight. He wants to go straight up to bed. Snuggle up to Floch if heâs lucky enough. Get off if fate decides to be good to him. He doesnât have energy to spare about why they should strike first and how to destroy Marley.
But Floch doesnât buy his attempt at appeasing him, of course. He clicks his tongue. âOur government would gladly sell us and our resources if that means things stay the way they are and they get a few shiny trains and boats to show off and pretend everything is fine.â
âTrains are useful.â
âHardly. We have horses. And does it matter that much that you can transport troops a bit quicker if they are under-equipped? Wake up, Jean. The top brass donât give a shit about soldiers like you and me, about the recruits you and Levi try so hard to get ready for whatâs to come. When things blow up in their face, who do you think theyâll ask to die for them? And we will die, because do you see any flying boats and bombs we could use against Marley?â Floch pauses, but Jean doesnât reply. He just looks at the bed, trying to focus on the night of rest waiting for him, except that he canât ignore Flochâs words. The recruits arenât ready for a full-scale war against Marleyâs modern weaponry. No one is. Not even Levi nor Hange. Certainly not Jean. âIf our superiors had a single drop of common sense, theyâd do more than a partial rumbling.â
Jean jerks his head up, jaw clenching. âWhat are you really suggesting? Destroying Marley as a whole? Killing all the innocents living there?â
Floch curls his mouth and puffs his chest. âEnemies.â
âThey arenât all our enemies.â
âThey are.â
Cold spreads through Jeanâs limbs, extinguishing almost any protest he couldâve thought of. It just feels hopeless. So he turns to the wardrobe, trying to force his mind to focus on something else once again, but canât really stop himself from asking, âEven the kids?â
A snort. âYou mean kids like Bertolt, Annie, and Reiner?â Jean swallows, ice congregating around his heart. Thereâs a heaviness in Flochâs scent that raises goosebump all across his skin. âKids are fed with the beliefs of their parents. So, yes, they are our enemies too. And the only reason why Marley hasnât attacked yet is because theyâre busy with their war in the Middle East and too scared of the rumbling. But theyâll come for us. Eventually.â
Jean rubs his eyes. For fuckâs sake, he just wants a peaceful evening. Sighing, he meets Flochâs intense eyes again and drops his shoulders. âAre we really having that conversation again? What do you want me to do, exactly?â
âIâm not asking you to do anything.â Floch pushes himself off the door and steps closer. For a second, Jean tenses up. But Flochâs hands are surprisingly gentle when they find his hips. He closes the gap between them to rest his forehead against the crook of Jeanâs shoulder. âSorry. I got all worked up again.â
âAn understatement,â Jean mutters, unsure about the change of mood. But he raises a hand and brushes Flochâs hair, a small smile tugging at his lips. Flochâs scent curls around them. The mix of sourness and sweetness proves that he isnât lying about his remorse, nor his affection. It warms up Jeanâs heart, despite the existential doom haunting him.
âI want to spend the night with you.â Thatâs not a question. Floch looks up, his amber eyes burning with something that isnât rage toward their enemies, this time. For a moment, the air gets stuck in Jeanâs lungs. Arousal stirs in his lower belly, and with it, the certitude he could crawl an eternity through hell for this manâhis companion.
Jean cups Flochâs face, thumbs brushing his cheekbones before he moves his hands to tangle his fingers into red locks. To think itâs only been a few days and heâs already so smitten. If he hasnât known Floch for years, heâd believe his care for him is purely a fabrication of Flochâs heat and his own rut mixing together to create a fever dream of attraction. But it isnât. Thereâs more between them than just hormonal-driven lust. And his throat constricts with the fears he canât entirely squash, even if they talked about it. âAre you really sure?â he finally asks in a whisper. âWe donât know how long the violet melissa will last.â
âWhat do you think? That Iâm as brittle as glass?â But thereâs something in the way Floch squints his eyesâa subtle note of wariness, and the promise that his teeth will sink in Jeanâs flesh at the first misstep. âIâm not leaving you alone again,â Floch adds with a shrug and an annoyed humph.
Thatâs all Jean needs to hear. He leans in, lips ghosting Floch already, but the damn weasel releases Jeanâs hips and steps back with a smirk.
Jean clicks his tongue. âAgain with the teasing?â
Floch snickers. âEdging, you mean?â The little bastard. His attitude will be the death of Jean one day.
âWhy do I love you so much?â
Floch doesnât reply, but his eyes round, and the tip of his tongue wets his lips with what appears to be nervousness. Jean himself holds his breath, heart starting a race of his own. He canât remember if he proclaimed his feelings so openly before. Everything happened all too fast these last few days. âI âŚâ Floch hesitates, his forehead creasing as he looks elsewhere.
Jeanâs stomach tightens. âYou donât have to say it back.â Floch doesnât have to tell him he doesnât feel the same about him either.
But when Floch returns his attention to him, he glowers. âFor a Commanding Officer, you can be as dense as a brick. No matter what the future has in store for us, youâre the only person I want by my side.â
Itâs not âI love you tooâ. It feels like more, somehow.
âFloch,â Jean whispers with a surge of emotions. He takes a deep breath to calm himself down but only manages to fill his lungs with Flochâs scent. The omega might not be in heat anymore, but it doesnât stop Jean from feeling the phantom warmth of Flochâs skin against his lips and the urge to mark him as his forever and ever. Didnât he promise to claim him two days ago? Sure, it was only in case their meeting in Mitras turned sour, but if Floch wants him that much, how could his alpha not bond them together for the rest of their life?
Perhaps sensing Jeanâs increasing excitement, Floch presses a palm against his chest. âSit.â
Jean doesnât move right away. He blinks, nostrils flaring. Did Floch give him an order? Yes he did. Tone firm and even commanding. Jeanâs chest heaves. But he squashes the wild instinct screaming at him to pounce and scruff the omega until he submits to him. Deep down, itâs not what he wants. Especially not tonight.
When Jean sits down on the edge of the bed, Flochâs smile is victorious. He moves closer again and reaches for Jeanâs face, scratching and petting his hair as if heâs just a pet. âGood,â he purrs, his fingers finding Jeanâs chin to angle it up. It should be degrading, but Jeanâs eyes slip half shut. The attention feels amazing. The praise feels amazing. âYouâll do as I say, wonât you?â
Jean holds Flochâs gaze. Behind the affection, thereâs still a flicker of doubt, a note of suspicion. Not for Jean himself but for the thousands years old animalistic impulse rushing through Jeanâs blood and making his knot swollen.
To do as Floch says. To follow his orders. Ni responsibilities, no fights. The notion usually foreign to alphas sends a thrill of excitement down Jeanâs spine, but also a chill to the deepest of his stomach. What if Floch loses control again? Or what if he doesnât care for Jean as much as he should?
Jean licks his lips, his heart beating faster. âI want to but last time âŚâ His voice trails off when Floch presses his palm against his cheek, rubbing his stubble.
âIâm not going to fail you again. Just let go. It was an exhausting day, wasnât it?â Floch straddles his lap and pecks on his lips. âAn exhausting week.â The following kiss is deeper, this time. Relaxing into it, Jean grasps Flochâs waist, pulling him even closer. Flochâs weight feels comforting, and the press of their front, arousing. Jean rolls his hips up, aching for more friction. Holding back is a struggle. Floch chuckles. âAlways horny.â
âFor you,â Jean completes, tugging Flochâs shirt off his pants. He slides his hands up and down his companionâs side, careful with his touch. Flochâs skin is so warm, yet shivering. âDoes it feel good?â
Floch tilts his head to the side, as if he needs time to process the question and figure out his feelings. âSo far, I enjoy it more than I thought I would,â he eventually concludes.
If it was anyone else, Jean would take it like an insult. But itâs nothing personal. Just Floch expressing with his usual honesty that physical intimacy wasnât something he considered before, and wouldnât consider it with anyone but Jean.
Bubbling with pride, Jean canât help a grin. He must look so smug. Floch narrows his eyes at him and grabs his chin between hard fingers. âWhat are you so cocky about?â
Jean canât say heâs displeased with that little show of dominance, even if his instinct wants him to bare his teeth. But tonight itâs easy to muzzle it up. âI like being with you.â
Floch blinks. Then looks away, his lips pursing, and his cheeks turning slightly pink. âWhy do you need to always be so sappy?â His grumbles make him even more adorable, even though most people wouldnât use that word to describe Floch. But Jean couldnât care less.
He reaches for Flochâs neck, skims over the side with his palm and tangles his fingers into red hair trying to lead a revolt on their own. âSo I can get the privilege to see you all flustered and cute.â
âOh, fuck yoââ Flochâs angry growl turns into half a squeak when Jean flops back onto the bed, dragging his companion with him. Golden eyes glare at him. âWhat are you doing?â
âI thought you wanted to be on top tonight. Was I wrong? Should I âŚâ Jean teasingly props himself up on one elbow and grabs Floch's hip with one hand, giving him a gentle push to the side.
âNo, you stay put,â Floch snaps, gripping him by the shoulders and slamming him back against the mattress. Jean groans. His hold on Flochâs hip tightens instinctively. The part of him who wants to pin the omega under him tries to wrestle with his self-control. His dick twitches too, because heâs nothing if not a man full of sinful contradictions and shameless desires.
Floch hovers over him, his scent intensifying with a warning. Jean ignores it, just for the sake of being as annoying as his companion can be. He slides his hands underneath Flochâs shirt and trails them up, wanting to check if the omegaâs nipples are as sensitive as they were a few days ago, only for Floch to grab his wrists and pin them above his head with a growl.
âStay put, I said.â Golden eyes peer down at him. The sweet scent of satisfaction curls around Jean like a vine and sends jolts of pleasure down his groin. He doesnât move, not even his fingers, and just waits with bated breath.
Slowly, carefully, Floch loosens his grip, as if still unsure Jean has been tamed this time. Maybe he isnât. His instinct still wants to rebel, just to see if thereâs really not a single submissive bone in Flochâs body. If Floch deserves him in this vulnerable position. They havenât fought yet, not for real at least. So why should Jean yield so easily?
That brief thought goes nowhere and dissolves when Flochâs hand reaches down. Jean bucks and rolls his hips. Too much pressure. Not enough skin contact. He gasps and grunts once Floch frees him and wraps his fingers around his length. For a few seconds, everything is perfect. Only for a few seconds, though.
Jeanâs eyes fly open. He stares into Flochâs. The omega grimaces, defensive. âWhat?â He snaps.
âToo dry.â
Floch scoffs. âIâm not sucking you.â
âYou donât haveââ Jean stops mid-sentence and screws his eyes shut again. Flochâs hot, wet mouth surrounding him. He inhales. Exhales. Grabs the sheet and twists it. âThereâs oil in the drawer,â he manages to mumble.
âWhy would you have ⌠oh!â Floch snorts, then chuckles. He shifts on top of Jean and his breath warms Jeanâs ear. âI hope you were thinking about me.â
âShut up, donât act like youâve neverââ Floch shushes Jean with a finger.
âYou wouldnât want me in a bad mood, now, commanding officer?â
The back of Jeanâs neck tickles. Is the threat infuriating or exciting? It doesnât matter much once Floch tightens his grip around Jeanâs knot. He keeps him distracted, playing him like a fiddle. The short moment where Floch releases him to spread oil over his hand sends excruciating frustration through Jeanâs nerves. But he barely gets a chance to act on his impatience. Flochâs touch returns and, hell, Jean would fuck anything to release the tension coiling in his lower belly, even a hand.
Floch presses his lips just where Jeanâs jawline meets his neck. He whispers words, but Jean can only focus on his desperate needs for relief. The oily sensation doesnât stop him from thinking how much he wants to fuck Flochâs ass deeper. Or his cunt. It must be his cunt. Does he have one? Jean doesnât know anymore. He stops fisting the sheet to try to grab the omegaâs hips and thrust harder into him, only to get his hair tugged on harshly. âKeep your hands on the bed.â
The grip loosens as soon as Jean complies with a pant. Several pants. The cold, self-assured order sends a jolt down his spine. Heâs getting close. Everything is tighter, his stomach, his balls, his knot.
Floch pets his hair, his tone almost cooing. âIâm the one pleasuring you. Only I can pleasure you.â Jean gulps. Flochâs tongue follows the curve of his throat to his chin. âYouâre so filthy.â
âYou too,â Jean mutters. Behind closed eyelids, he can picture Floch bouncing on his lap, and it takes him whatever is left of his clarity to not reach up again. He claws at the sheet and bites down his lips.
âPerhaps,â Floch says against the shell of Jeanâs ear, âbut only for you too.â Something both sour and sweet flourishes in Flochâs scentâpossessiveness. Jealousy, perhaps. It feels as much as a promise as the words just said.
Jeanâs knot throbs. Sparks explode behind his eyelids. The world turns white and for a moment, the only sound is his racing pulse, and the only feelings are ones of ecstasy and warmth.
Then coldness and oversensitivity all over his skin.
The mattress dips. Jean cracks his eyes open, staring at Flochâs blurry silhouette sitting on the edge of the bed. Heâs wiping his hands on a towel. When did he leave to wash his hands? Does he plan to leave?
Jean sucks in a breath. For an excruciating second, nothing happens. Then Floch leans over him and wipes his forehead. âYouâre sweaty and âŚâ Whatever Floch wanted to say, he doesnât finish. He reaches to brush Jeanâs hair off his face, then starts unbuttoning Jeanâs shirt. âLetâs get you out of these.â
âWhat about you?â Jeanâs hand hovers over Flochâs hip. This time, he isnât pushed away. But thereâs almost a hint of wariness, if not panic, in the omegaâs golden eyes.
âI donât need anything.â
Jean frowns but decides to drop the topic. Floch isnât like any person heâs been with before. Itâs something he just has to get used to. Jean still gently pats his companionâs hip as he feels himself drift away. Heâs not quite sleeping, but heâs in a comfortable space where everything is slowing down instead of being frozen by dread.
Floch rubs his skin, cleans him, and wraps him in a comforter. The smell of lavender surrounds them. It feels safe. Loving. A stark contrast to when Floch didnât know how to act. Heâs a fast learner, Jean just knew it.
âDo you need anything?â
Jean lies on his side. âYou said youâd stay tonight.â
Floch presses his chest against Jeanâs back and drapes an arm over his waist, a leg over his thigh. âAnd Iâm not leaving.â He nuzzles the back of Jeanâs neck, his hold tightening.
Everything feels as it should be. Leviâs right. They claimed each other. Perhaps they did even before they shared their first moments of intimacy.
Summary: What is worse than being on forced vacations? Spending them on a hot and muggy tropical island with coworkers very eager to end up in the nearest hospital and rich brats who think they can hook up with minimal effort.
Levi hates it.
He hates it even more when work and a past he tries to forget catch up with him.
Chapters: 2/8 (ongoing)
TW: Blackmail & Mind games
Ships: rivaere, past zevi, and some background characters ships like Auretra or Mobuhan.
When you had everything prepared for Halloween, but not only your boyfriend stood you up, now you have to *shivers* socialise and entertain the guests. Floch, when I catch you ...
Yes, I'm late and off-season again, Jean. Yes, I was planning a coup, Jean. What do you mean, 'disappointed but not surprised?'. You should be surprised! It's a coup!
When you've all been busy decorating for Christmas but now everyone is a bit of a seasonal mess and forgot the dress code, including you. What do you mean, Hallo-mas isn't a thing--huh, wait, is it your Grinch boyfriend camping by the chimney to beat Santa's ass? Floch, no!
Days before Christmas | flochjean (friends, just friends)
kinda modern au
wc: 1,3k
summary: Jean and Floch, as two people who can't stand each other, search of a Christmas tree (a bit of humor, fluff, frank conversations and jeanmarco as a mention)
"This one is too small"
"And this one is too huge"
"Mangy"
"Scary"
"Looks like you"
"Why is it?"
"The same red and small," Jean bursts into laughter, to which Floch rolls his eyes, pointedly turning away.
For the last few hours, they had been choosing a Christmas tree together. But Mikasa, who sent them together, did not think what a scandal this little request could turn into. Floch looked at everything from a completely different side than Jean. They couldn't agree on the taste of yogurt, let alone something as important as a Christmas tree.
The situation was also worsened by the fact that there were only a few days left before the holiday and all the good trees had long been dismantled. There were only the little ones, the giants, and this one, because of which Jean could not stop laughing for several minutes.
Floch was not enthusiastic about the idea of shopping together; he and Jean did not quite get along. At first, Floch himself was to blame for this and his desire to join Eren's company. He had been the center of his small on before, but he wanted more. He wanted to be in the co of a cool guy from the course, hang out with him, and not look enviously at his social media profile.
Who knew that Jean had been in the company all time, who treated new faces with either jealousy or contempt. They quarreled over everything: over projects, over the desire to be in the center, over the compliments that Jean paid to Mikasa, and Floch turned each of them into a joke. The last, biggest argument, because of which Mikasa sent them together, was an argument about who would be liable for the purchase of the Christmas tree.
The argument almost came to a fight, but Ackerman intervened just in time. She shoved the jacket into everyone's hands and sent them to look for the tree together.
So, she said, it would definitely be useful. Floch chuckled inwardly. This girl's naive hope that they would reconcile was really hilarious.
"Let's try another store, I found it," Floch handed Jean a phone with an open card, and he finally became serious.
"Come on," he drawled lazily, buttoning his coat.
The winter in Paradise has been extremely snowy this year. The snowdrifts reached human height in some places, which Jean continued to tease about. Unlike Forster, he towered over the snow, while Floch saw only white walls around.
It wasn't long to get to the next store, but even in those miserable five minutes, Jean managed to piss off Floch before an unexpected snow battle. Floch did not win it, of course. On the contrary, he spat snow the rest of the way and shook it out of his jacket.
"If we don't find a normal one, then we'll go back and choose from those," Floch muttered, sniffing his way through the crowd.
"For the first and I hope the last time, I agree with you," Jean grinned, clinging to the sleeve of Floch's bright uniform jacket so as not to get lost.
A sigh of joy escaped the lips of both when they finally reached the department with Christmas trees. There were a lot more of them here. One single, medium, fluffy and the brightest of all caught the attention of both.
"Here it is," Jean whispered, holding out his hands to where Floch was staring.
The three of them went out into the street: Floch, Jean and the tree on Jean's shoulder. The return trip was surprisingly not spent in silence, as it had been all the time before. Whether it was relief or they were just getting used to each other, the dialogue was surprisingly calm. There were not even any jokes.
Jean was telling how they celebrated Christmas last year at Marco's house. Numerous Bottâs siblings were doing stupid things, and he and Marco constantly had to keep an eye on them. But with all this, Jean missed those moments, especially Christmas itself. They spent it just the two of them, watching movies all day, playing snowballs in the evening, and after that they had a delicious dinner. And lights, gifts, bright packaging, happy smiles, amount of presents. Jean was dreaming and only on the way to the building noticed how sad Floch was.
"Why are you celebrating here this year?" Forster suddenly asked, looking up from his shoes. Jean felt his breath catch in his throat. There was nothing but sadness in his eyes.
"Marco has some problems in his family, they only asked him to come," Jean shrugged, lowering the tree to the ground. When he successfully leaned it against the wall, he finally felt how much it had been pressing on his shoulders.
Floch twitched the corners of his mouth, but instead of a supportive smile, it turned out to be some foolishness. Jean sighed.
"Are you all right?" Jean suddenly asked, which made Floch look down again and blush noticeably.
"This is my second year celebrating here. That year, everyone left, and those who stayed did not communicate with me. Not Christmas, but a holiday of loneliness. And this year I kind of got into the company I dreamed of, and here you are. I'm not blind, and I'm certainly not stupid â I can see that you're uncomfortable in my company. I thought at least this Christmas would be good. But, apparently, I'm interfering with the holiday."
Floch kicked the snow that had not yet been removed and hurried to hide his face in a wide scarf. He did not want Jean and his occasionally kind heart to begin their stormy activity now.
No consolations, no promises. Floch didn't want any of this. He didn't even want to say that, his tongue loosened by itself.
Jean was silent. He had never thought that Floch was actually so lonely. Honestly, there wasn't a moment to think about it. There was always a lot of life around Jean: there was Marco, there were quarrels with Eren, there was a secret crush on Mikasa, there were long conversations with Armin and many, many more things. But he never wondered what the others had. That was the same pain in the ass, the annoying Floch, who clung to their company a couple of months ago. Even Eren was not happy with Floch, but allowed him to stay.
Perhaps he was also hooked by someone else's unspoken pain.
"Look, I shouldn't have said that," Floch nervously pinched the bridge of his nose and continued without turning around. "I shouldn't have said all that, I'm sorry. These are just my problems, you don't need to think about them."
"Youâre so dumb," Jean sighed heavily, coming closer. Floch wanted to jerk to the side, but with one movement, Jean trapped him in his huge hands.
The hug turned out surprisingly strong. Jean did not expect this from himself, but there was nowhere else to go. He felt Floch freeze, his hands still in his jacket pockets. He doesn't even seem to have changed in his face. A moment passed and Floch finally gave up. He raised his hands and patted Jean weakly on his back.
To hide the sudden tears he squeezed his eyes shut. Crying on the shoulder of yesterday's not a friend, but an enemy was impossible. It was a weakness. But Jean still felt the strangled sobs.
And he just squeezed his hands tighter.
Mikasa, who was watching them from the second-floor window, smiled faintly. Next to her, Armin patted her shoulder approvingly. The plan, which had seemed dubious to him from the very beginning, surprisingly worked. And it was good.
(author: I congratulate myself on the first plus or minus full-fledged, slightly silly and open in the final text, I think about a series of Christmas little stories about the aot guys, soooo will see)
I know people love pokkojean as a concept, but theyâre really nothing alike especially post-Trost Jean who grew past his 12-year-old self.
I would argue as far as crackships go Porco and Floch are more alike in a himbo impulsive kinda way. Plus the idea of Porco who is basically anti nationalist vs a patriotic Floch is so funny. Hello?? It's a crime that people are not seeing this vision more. That said, back to Jean and a Galliard brother: I want people to see the vision that is serujean (Marcel x Jean).
Hereâs my argument:
1. Feiner (fake Reiner) is basically a Marcel larper. If you headcanon Jean being impressed by Feiner, imagine how awestruck Jean would be if he met the real Marcel.
2. Jean hates that Eren puts Mikasa and Armin in danger just by being reckless, knowing theyâll follow him no matter what. Now picture Jean finding what Marcel did to protect Porco from being a titan shifter.
3. Jean and many others admired Feiner for his reliability and leadership during training but Marcel, being the real inspiration behind Feinerâs whole vibe, would hit Jean even harder.
Conclusion: Marcel would inspire Jean to be his best self, and Jean would admire the hell out of him for it. Embrace crackships. Go wild or go home. If you read until the end, Iâm sorry for wasting your time, itâs been a hard day. This is nonsense. đ
I think that rather than fumbling, Marcel would have seen they were killing innocent (and ignorant) people. He wasn't as loyal to Marley as Reiner and Porco were, or else he would've been proud of Porco's success and supported him. Reiner, after years of believing the propaganda, needed something to believe after his dreams of reuniting his family was crushed. Annie, Bertolt, and Marcel never gave me the feeling of being patrioticâthey made a sacrifice for their families, not for their country.
Actually, I could see Marcel being torn between betraying Marley to save innocent people or continuing the mission to keep Porco safe, since retaliation could be possible. And it would probably become a huge issue between Reiner and he. I don't think Marcel would have killed Marco. Or if he did, I'm not sure he'd have coped well with what happened in Stohess or in Ragako.
(otherwise, I see the ship vision, but also I don't believe in crackships, I believe in good ideas)
I've been working on Ablaze's continuation, and since I haven't updated my drafts in a while, I decided to give you Haywire's first chapter. Haywire is unedited and unfinished, so I don't want to upload it on Ao3 yet.
Haywire
Summary:Â Jean and Floch are together, for the best but also the worst. Navigating differences in their relationship isn't easy, especially for Jean, who struggles to find the right balance. But keeping his hormones in check is soon the least of Jean's worries when Commander ZoĂŤ announces their new planâto visit Marley to find new allies.
Chapters:Â 1/?
Ships:Â Flojean, past jeanmarco, past jeanrei
âSo, did you fuck last night?â
âConnie! I donât think thatâs anyoneâs business!â
âCome on, they left together pretty early, Jean is in rut, Floch is just fresh out of his first heat and weirdly late, I mean, do I even need to ask?â
âThen donât ask!â Armin cries out again, and Jean wincesâthe mess hall is loud enough already. If only he could be somewhere else. Anywhere else. âWhy are you so invested in this anyway?!â Yes, why is he?
Connie leans his elbows on the table, averting his gaze. His lips twist. âItâs either that or talking about Marley, and I donât wanna talk about Marley.â
Armin opens his mouth, looking ready to argue more, but steals Jean a nervous glance instead.
Great. At least one of them realises Jeanâs trying his very best not to punch Connieâs stupid face and make him run laps around the courtyard. By the walls, that would be glorious. Not punching Connie, because thatâs what any brain-dead alpha would do, and Jean prides himself to do better than acting on animalistic impulses. But itâs misty and rainy this morning, not a time to do any work outside. That would serve Connie right. Unfortunately, punishing Connie also means watching him to make sure he isnât slacking off, and Jean would rather finish his breakfast and go hide in his office rather than being chilled to the bones. Though, if Connie keeps prying, Jean might end up behind bars for murder.
Deep breath. While Connie and Armin resume their argument, Jean rubs tired eyes and refocuses on the sad porridge filling his bowl. But even with the best will in the world, his body still lets him know that he got to sleep alone, to wake up alone, and that violet melissa or not, it is very, very against his nature to be alone in such time.
Some ruts are harder than others. This one is competing for a spot on the podium.
It wasnât for lack of trying. Jean infused and drank some violet melissa flowers before going to sleep. But Flochâs scent still permeated everything in his roomâclothes, sheets, mattress, and, damn it, it took only a few minutes before Jean started to bite a pillow, thrusting into his own hand and chasing a release more pathetic than satisfying. If the flowers helped, Jean doesnât even want to think what wouldâve happened without them. Or if heâd caved in and let Floch spend the night with him, his warm body pressed against Jeanâs with just a thin, easy to rip layer of fabric between them.
His stomach heaves.
To Sashaâs greatest joy, Jean pushes his bowl towards her. The porridge is a far cry from last nightâs feast anyway. Armin gives him a sympathetic look. What does he think? That itâll alleviate Jeanâs torment? Cute. Heâs not hardânot yet. Maybe the violet melissa does work, after all. But every smell, sound, and movement grinds his senses.
The friction of his clothes on his overheated skin sends pins and needles along his limbs. Connieâs laugh rings in his ears like a gunshot. And the smell of a group of omega drifting to him reminds him that even if they arenât in heat, their wet, hot flesh pulsating around his knot would feel good all the same.
He could power through it. Not his first rut. Not his last. Mornings and evenings are always the worst because his mind isnât busy enough to ignore the intrusive thoughts and his body going haywire. But he doesnât want to trial his self-control today. And one glance across the mess hall to Hange tells him they already know heâs forfeiting and yearns for the quietness of his office, where no one will challenge his restraint. Even if thereâs also an amused sparkle in their eyes telling Jean they canât wait to see how things are going to turn out.
Jean finishes his tea in one gulp and gets up. But as he does, his nostrils tickle. Notes of lavender and irritation hit him before he even turns around and meets Flochâs pale face.
Bed hair and dark circles. Creased uniform smelling like slicky desires and urges. Did he sleep badly? Did his heat resume? Did he even change clothes, or does he still wear yesterdayâs? Stupid question. Of course Floch still wears yesterdayâs clothes.
Jean takes a step forward, aching with the need to reach, touch, kiss and steal his partner away. His omega. But piercing golden eyes bore into his, and he stills, a shiver running down his tensed spine.
People. Public. Floch doesnât want that. Intimacy isnât something heâs comfortable with yet, love another thing he doesnât know if heâs still capable of, whatever that means. Jean needs to back off. Back off. Right now!
So he backs off, peeling his eyes away.
Eren watches them from his seat with that bored, distant expression that never fails to make Jeanâs knuckles tickle. Fuck him. What does a beta like him know about what they go through? Has he ever fucked anyone? Armin? Mikasa? No, not Mikasa, for fuckâs sake! Armin, just Armin. Yes. Better. Though Armin is too cute and smart for Eren. Damn it! Jean balls his fists, the wildfire of his jealousy bursting.
Itâs not that he cares that much about Armin, itâs just that Eren shouldnât have all the nice things.
âJean.â Floch sighs, and Jean swears he moved closer, but he wonât turn his head to check. Because if he does âŚ
He steps to the side, glaring at Eren, who just chews on his food as if he couldnât care less. Is he trying to provoke him? And why did Armin and Mikasa join in the staring? What do they want? Are they siding with him? Oh, of course they are!
Jean grits his teeth. Exhales through his nose. Not the 104th training years anymore. Commanding officer, now. Canât pick a fight with Eren in the middle of the mess hall like he used to. Canât see if heâs as punchable as before.
A hand brushes Jeanâs arm. Little sparks of pleasure heat up his nerves and drowns the rage into syrup. He swallows. Hard. So. Hard. Fuck!
âFloch ⌠Iâll ⌠Iâll see you later.â Or in a couple of days, when the rut eases off, and he isnât picturing himself trailing his tongue along the curve of the omegaâs neck, hands kneading his firm ass. Heâd nuzzle the area over Flochâs scent glands. No bite, no claiming, of course. Just gentle licking and nibbling. Just a taste before he ⌠before he âŚ
Crap.
Pulling down on his jacket, Jean rushes out the mess hall. Canât think of any other way to fight off the hormonal storm brewing in him. Or to hide his embarrassing boner before someoneâConnie, it will be Connieâpoints at it.
He walks to his office in a daze, barely noticing the thin rain on his face as he crosses the courtyard, or the warmer air inside the administrative building once he enters it. His head is spinning by the time he closes the door and leans back against it.
The office is still a new thing Jean isnât quite used to yet, but the lack of omega scent hanging in the airâin particular the lack of Flochâs oh-so-alluring scentâhelps him to contain the fire. But not to extinguish it.
Wet hair sticks to his forehead. He should dry. Instead, Jean trails a hand down his stomach and between the lapel of his jacket to grab himself through his uniform pants. He groans. âFuck âŚ!â
The back of his head hits the door, but only jolts of pleasure shoot through his groin. He rubs his palm up and down along his trapped cock. It leaks. Pitifully.
Itâs nowhere the place, nor the time, but does it stop him from unclasping his belt buckle, opening his pants and lowering his boxer briefs? No, even if the air licking his wet tip tears a hiss from him. But it could be worse. It could be the damp, cold fabric of his underwear sticking to his skin for the rest of the day.
Jean spits into his hand and wraps it around his length. Itâs not his own touch he craves, but itâll do. Eyes closed, he can pretend for a second Floch is leaning against him, whispering intoxicating words into his ear. âLook at you, all hard and dripping for me. Do you like my hand that much?â Yes, yes, he does. Fuck! He does!
If only Flochâs heat and Jeanâs rut couldâve been perfectly in sync. He wants to return back in time, before that insane meeting in Mitras and the disappointing night he spent in his room, alone. It couldâve just been them, in bed, exploring each otherâs bodies and achieving new heights of pleasure. It doesnât matter that theyâve only been intimate for a few days, theyâve known each other for years. Comrades in arms. Friends. More than friends. How did they even live this whole time without even a kiss, an embrace.
Shit, Levi was right, Jeanâs been in love for quite a time, and Floch? Well, whatever this is, Floch cares about him. They just needed a pinch to be together. If it hadnât been Flochâs heat, itâd have been something else.
A bit of pressure on his swollen, oversensitive knot, and itâs enough to make him whimper and work his hips into, well, just his fist. But it could be different. It could be Floch surrendering to the pheromones and bending over for him. Heâd let Jean slide up and down between the cleft of his ass and tease his puckered, slicked entrance. Yes. Heâd beg for Jeanâs cock, his knot, his markâfuck!
The tightening of his hot flesh is the only warning he gets. Jean bites down on his lip to muffle another groan. Toes curling into boots, he rides waves of sheer ecstasy, only slumping back against the door once heâs spent. His chest heaves as he catches his breath, mouth spreading into a blissful grin.
But the cum rapidly cooling on his knuckles drags him back into the harsh reality. Heâs not in bed, his dick deep buried into Flochâs wet warmth. And the mess he made on the floor is more than beyond disgusting.
*~*
The cold air drifting from the open window is a caress Jean is aware of but not bothered by. Itâs better than the alternativeâsitting in the smell of his shame while heâs trying to tackle a report on the new recruits assigned to his squads.
Reports. Marco wouldâve loved that. Always writing down his observations, even if it was just scribbles on a scrap of paper. When Jean offered him a notebook for his last birthday, Marcoâs whole face lit up. Never thought Jean noticed his interest. How could he not?
But Marcoâs dead, and Jean lost more than his best friend that dayâMarco wouldâve been a better commanding officer than Jean could ever dream to be. And a better alpha. Not the kind to wank off at the thought of submitting and knotting an otherwise unwilling partner. Floch made his boundaries clear, and Jean promised heâd respect them. But can he?
Piece of shit.
Thatâs all Jean is, a piece of shit, getting high and hot at the fantasy of defiling Floch. But that sad realisation wonât get any of his work done.
Jean stares at the words he wrote until they blur and his eyes sting. âThe recruits from the 108th Training Division are âŚâ The recruits are what? Future dead meat, because once Marley attacks, most of them will die, no matter how harshly they are trained? No. He canât write that down even if itâs the truth.
What about their political views? It didnât escape to his attention some are radicalised already, especially the youngest. Floch is particularly good at rallying them up. But Jean canât report that either. Their feelings are only natural. They grew up in a world scared of the colossal titan breaking through Wall Rosa, and now they have to live with the fear of other humans plotting their end. They shouldnât be punished because no one can give them hope.
âThe recruits from the 108th Training Corps are still lacking in some areas. Despite three years of intense training, they struggle with 1) safely handling thunder spears 2) anti-titan ODM gear maneuvering. I recommendâ
Jean stops writing and raises his head, nostrils flaring. Leviâs scent reaches him before the Captain even knocks at the door.
Donât move. Donât say anything.
No. Thatâs stupid. Levi has to know Jeanâs here. Where else would he be? Obviously, heâs not supervising any training. Heâs not working in the quietness of the storage rooms, either. Or tending to the horses. The office is the only other place. Levi handled some of his administrative tasks during the past few days, but he must know how behind Jean is. Besides, itâs the perfect shelter for an alpha in rut who doesnât want any company.
Except it isnât anymore.
Jean clears his throat, but Levi lets himself in before heâs invited to. Typical.
Sharp steel eyes quickly survey the office and zero in on the open window. âDamn, brat, either you want to catch a cold or youâre trying to hide you shat your pants when you stormed out that mess hall.â Of course Jean knows better than looking guilty. And, of course, he still canât help a glance at that specific spot on the floor. He scrubbed it until he couldnât feel his fingers, and yet, when he returns his attention to Levi, the captain glowers harder.
âReally?â
Face burning, Jean ducks his head. So much for not looking guilty. âItâs not what youââ
âNo, itâs exactly what I think it is. But you look ashamed enough already.â Levi strides across the office and posts himself next to the window. Crossing his arms, he looks outside. âCome here. Thereâs something I want to show you.â
Jean doesnât move right away. But he canât just ignore Leviâs order, so he pushes his chair back and gets up from behind his desk. Wanting to keep a safe distance, he places himself on the other side of the window and forces his attention on the courtyard. A few recruits are doing laps around it, even if the rain is heavier now. The fat droplets crashing on the sill sprays Jeanâs hand with cold mist. Autumn is starting to show its true colors. And Levi smells like soap, tea, and unshakable resolve.
Donât breathe in. But of course Jean does, and his belly tightens with something that isnât quite arousal but isnât quite platonic either. Comfort? Safety? Is it because Levi is bonded to someone else, even if that person is gone? Or is it because nothing seems to shake him, not even the presence of an alpha in rut whoâs a head taller than him? Not that Jean could even dream of submitting the captain. He wouldnât even try to.
âThis is your doing.â
âWhat?â Jean detaches his eyes from Leviâwhen did he even start staring?âand glance down at the courtyard again.
âPack of little beta and alpha shitheads from the Garrison. 103th Training Corps. Trained together, served together. They teased the fuck out of Floch because you blew him off this morning and wasnât even there for lunch. So, guess what happened next?â
Jean shakes his head. âI didnât blow him off. I justââ
âThat wasnât my question, now, was it?â Levi narrows his eyes at him, and whatever warmth Jean felt congeals into the ice of the captainâs glare.
âFloch picked a fight.â Levi nods, and Jeanâs chest caves in. Because, if Floch isnât running laps too, where is he? The infirmary? Did they gang up on him? Is his omega wounded?
Jean spins around, a growl in his throat and eyes set on the door. But a firm hand grabs his elbow before he can go raise hell on the recruits.
âGlad to see you actually care, but Iâm not done yet. Why are you avoiding Floch? Surely you didnât notice his oh-so-charming personality just now?â
Does Levi really have to ask? Did he forget during the night? Jeanâs fingers twitch. âIâm in rut.â
âA fact Iâm disgustingly aware of.â Levi releases his grip and steps away from the window. Jean drills holes into the back of the captainâs neck. âUsually, when an alpha is in rut, they seek the omega they claimed.â
Jeanâs face burns. âI didnât claim him!â
Levi shrugs and sits down on Jeanâs chair, crossing his legs. His attention turns to the report for a second, then flicks back to Jean. âForget about markingâit can happen even between sworn enemies. Feelings matter more because they canât be forced on anyone. I saw the way you both behave. To me, you claimed each other. You should be skipping duty to fool around, and I should be chewing you out for that. But this morning?â Levi clicks his tongue. âThat was a pitiful show. And it gave those recruits the impression that you not only used Floch during his heat, but that heâs also not âgood enoughâ to satisfy you during your rut.â
âThatâs notââ Jean doesnât finish his sentence and rubs a palm over his face. Urgh. Why is everything so complicated? He wants to kick or punch something or someone, but he canât. So he just strides left and right, fists clenched by his side and anger trapped without a single crack to escape through. âFuck!â
This time, Levi doesnât say anything. He just grabs a sheet of blank paper and the fountain pen to scribble down what looks like a list. His calmness doesnât ease Jeanâs bubbling rage, but he eventually settles on the opposite seat, elbows propped on his thighs and chin resting on his clasped hands. However, it doesnât take long before he starts bouncing his leg.
Levi stops writing, folds the piece of paper and meets his eyes. âYouâre scared of hurting him, arenât you?â
Jean freezes. Then drops his gaze. âI crave things he canât give me.â
âCanât or wonât?â
âCanât.â Jean presses his lips together, waiting. But only silence answers back. Levi expects him to elaborate, doesnât he? Jean shakes his head and rubs the back of his neck. His whole body cringes at his vulnerability. He shouldnât be trapped in his own office, interrogated by an omega. No. He should be tearing through Levi, even if itâs just with words. But itâs also not who Jean is. So, he forces himself to still, rests his hands flat on his thighs and takes a deep breath. âWe talked about it. I can be very ⌠well, lustful and promiscuous, I guess. Heâs not. And Iâm fine with that. But. The rut ⌠Iâm scared of crossing boundaries.â Jean shivers. His heart sinks, and his fingers tingle. The same fingers he used to grab Flochâs hips before they went to sleep. Did Jean bruise him? âI ⌠I did that yesterday andââ
âDid you like crossing those boundaries?â
Jean jerks his head back up. âWhat?! No! I felt awful! I still feel awful! But part of me, my instinct, my body, really wants to. When Iâm with him ⌠Even when Iâm not with him ⌠Itâs all I can think of! And itâs wrong!â
Levi arches a brow. âWhatâs your plan, then? Stop yourself from thinking bad thoughts and never see Floch again?â
âMaybe itâs what I should do. For him.â Even if Jeanâs heart breaks at the notion.
Levi stands up, hitting his palm with the folded piece of paper. He moves to close the window and stays in front of it, as if he needs time to ponder. The silence between them drags long enough for Jean to stirs on his chair with relentless energy. So, when Levi finally speaks, he snaps to attention even faster.
âErwin wasnât interested in sex. You could barely tell when he was in rut. My heat didnât affect him at all. Was this another biological oddity or just his personality, I still donât know. But we made it work.â Levi doesnât add anything for a little while, and Jean doesnât dare pry. This confession is probably all Levi is willing to say about his relationship with the late commander. And after what happened yesterday during the meeting, Jean should be glad heâs willing to say anything at all. âYouâre scared of losing control and obeying your most primal instincts because of the rut, but here you are, having a conversation with me, an omega.â
âOmega.â The word feels so wrong in Leviâs mouth. Levi is so much more than an omega. Without him, theyâd already be dead. âYouâre my captain,â Jean corrects. âHumanityâs strongest.â
Levi turns around, a small, mocking smile tugging at the corner of his lip. âThe son of a whore who would be put in better use as one. A thug picked up from the Undergroundâs filthy streets by the Survey Corp. An omega slut that hasnât been properly tamed by his alpha. Or who needs a stronger, better one to break him into a more pliable plaything.â
Jean gapes. âCaptââ
âI heard it all from the nobles and the top brass, and often swore to myself Iâd slice their throats. Thoughts are just thoughts. You need to trust yourself more.â Levi crosses the distance separating him from Jean and tucks the piece of paper into his breast pocket. âI sent Floch to clean the stables before he maimed a recruit. Hopefully, the stench of horse shit will help you keep your mind clear. And if not, pretty sure the little prick can knee you in the balls.â
Jean snorts. Itâd hurt like a bitch.
Anger and worry melt down into a different feeling. Itâs not quite relief, but itâs warm and comforting enough for Jean to slump down on the chair, legs extending in front of him. Like the good kind of exhaustion that comes after a harsh but fruitful day.
Maybe Leviâs right. Floch isnât defenseless. He proves that again and again. And if Jean doesnât trust himself much right now, perhaps he should trust Floch.
He pats his breast pocket and fishes the piece of folded paper. âWhatâs that?â
âThe proper dosage and brewing technique for violet melissa.â Jeanâs brow shots up. How does LeviââFloch told me.â Oh.
Jean puts the paper back in his pocket. He licks his lips, nervousness growing in the pit of his stomach. âAre you going to tell the Commander?â
Levi curls his lips over his teeth, recoiling at the whole idea as it seems. âThat little weasel, stealing the Military Police? Hange would be far too entertained! I donât need that.â Even after years, Jean still canât tell if Levi likes Hange. What are they to him? A superior? A comrade? A friend? More than a friend? Itâs not like he can ask. Levi would tell him to mind his business.
Boots click on the floor. Levi moves to the door, and if Jean doesnât turn his head to watch him, he canât resist breathing in his scent one last time. Usually, the captain is more guarded, discreet. Maybe itâs how he shows his trust in Jean. Or, most likely, the peak of Jeanâs rut still exacerbates his sense of smell.
âTake the day off. Youâre useless anyway.â
Jean nods, then turns around on his chair to thank Levi. But the door closes.
*~*
Hay. Straw. Sweat. Shit.
The musky stench greeting Jean weighs on his tongue. Nose wrinkling, he walks further into the horse stable. Dust particles dance in the lights of the shining stone lamps. Low nickers and the stomping of hooves echo in his ears. But Floch is nowhere to be seen, which allows the courage Jean mustered up to wither even more.
He almost jolts out of his skin when Leviâs black mare sticks her head out of her stall, sniffing his hair and trying to chew on it. Despite the growing churning in his stomach, or perhaps because of it, Jean strokes the velvety coat of her muzzle up and down. But the mareâs nostrils flare, and she pulls back with a loud snort, most likely because he has no apple or carrot to give her. Bitch.
A few moments later, Jean finally finds Erenâs horse tied up outside a stall and, inside, Floch, napping on the clean bedding of straws he spread on the floor.
He looks so peaceful, with his eyes closed, his mess of bed hair, and his hand resting on his stomach, Jean doesnât dare to step in right away. Instead, he leans against the door frame to watch him, sighing with relief. No bruises despite the brawl. Or no bruise anywhere visible yet.
Breathing in Flochâs alluring scent, Jean moves closer like a moth drawn by the flames. He kneels in the straw and reaches out for his partner. His companion. His omeâ
âI havenât forgiven you.â Jean freezes, his hand only a few centimeters away from Flochâs cheek. The omega doesnât crack his eyes open, but his lips purse into one of his sullen pouts. âYouâve been an asshole.â
Jean blinks, then withdraws his hand and sits back on his heels. Flochâs irritation curls around them like a snake ready to strike. Itâd be so much easier to lash out, pin Floch to the floor, show him whoâs in charge, but ⌠Jean shakes his head, swallowing the angry impulse down, even if itâs like gravel scraping against his throat. âIâm sorry. I didnât mean to hurt you.â
âWell, you did,â Floch hisses. âAnd a lot of people seem to think itâs so fucking funny. âOh, look at that, the little male omega put back into his rightful placeâa slut, just good to be knotted. Jean will find a good omega woman to bear his kids soon enough.ââ
Jean flinches. Is it really how people see him? âYou know I wouldnât.â
âDo I?â Floch rolls to his side, offering his back.
Jean grabs a fistful of straw with a trembling hand. Itâs rough against his palm, and cracks when he tightens his grip. Or perhaps heâs just imagining the noise, because he wants to break the recruitsâ necks so damn hard. âIâm trying to protect you.â
âFrom what?â Floch scoffs with a small shrug.
Jean sucks in a breath, his heart beating fast. âFrom me. I was afraid of losing control.â
Floch turns around again and sits up, narrowed golden eyes fixed on Jean. Is he angry? Suspicious? Pondering? Hard to tell. But when he speaks again, his eyes are watery. âSo what now? Do you plan to avoid me whenever youâre in rut? Did you try the melissa, at least, or did I steal it for nothing? Because I stole it for you, not for me!â
âI know! And I did! I drank it!â Jean shouts back, taken aback by Flochâs accusation and whiny tone. But the way the omega blinks at him, equally in shock, makes him lower his voice. âItâs just that it didnât seem to do a lot for me.â Jean touches his breast pocket, feeling the edge of the folded piece of paper tuck in it. âMaybe because I didnât know how to prepare it correctly.â
âOh âŚâ Gaze shifting away, Floch bends his legs and wraps his arms around them. He rests his chin on his knees, letting out a strained sigh. âWhat about now? How do you feel?â
âIâm ⌠alright. More clear-headed. But maybe itâs because it smells like horse shit.â
Floch rolls his eyes. âYou sound just like the captain.â
âBecause Iâm quoting him.â
âSo, he visited you too âŚâ
Floch doesnât add anything else, and for a while, Jean doesnât know what to say either. Doesnât know if he should try to reach out again, now that Flochâs hostility has fizzled out. He opens his hand, releasing the straw, and rubs clammy palms over his thighs. Why does everything have to be so complicated?
âLook, after what I did yesterday ⌠I was worried itâd happen again. I donât want to cross your boundaries.â
Floch shakes his head, sighing again. âYesterday was ⌠overwhelming. My heat, that stupid meeting, your rut starting ⌠But you did nothing wrong. I asked you to stop and you did. You gave me space, time. I ⌠I still regret that I couldnât ⌠that I was so distant when you needed me âŚâ Flochâs voice trails off, and his expression darkens.
Even if Jean stays riveted to the spot, he aches with the need to pull Floch into a tight embrace and to pepper him with kisses.
But if he starts, he wonât stop.
âThis morning, I was really looking forward to seeing you, you know?â Floch continues in a whisper, as if heâs afraid of being overheard. âBecause the night was shitty without you.â His cheeks turn red, and he hides his face between his arms. Being vulnerable is still not something heâs comfortable with. âI wanted to hold you and wake up next to you,â he croaks.
Jean crawls closer, his arms almost locking around Flochâs curled up body. But he picks the straw out of his hair instead. So close, he can smell Flochâs scent more vividly. It ranks sadness, which helps to qualm his arousal. But it sweetens with bubbles of joy too, and Floch eventually raises his head again. Heâs still red-faced, but a small, almost mischievous smile plays on his lips.
âI want to spend the night with you.â
âFlochââ A finger presses again Jeanâs lips.
âDonât treat me like I donât know what Iâm doing. I trust you. I also trust my own strength. So, can you trust me?â
Jean exhales. âYes. I trust you.â
âUnlike you, I actually have a plan.â Jean quirks a brow, but Floch doesnât elaborate. He cradles Jeanâs face instead, and this simple touch is enough for Jeanâs eyes to flutter shut.
Jean moves closer, right into Flochâs comforting heat, and buries his head in the crook between Flochâs neck. Of course his cock stirs. The scent glands are just a few kisses away. But Jean is nowhere as aroused as he wouldâve been this morning if they had hugged in the middle of the mess hall. If anything, heâs melting, all tension and stress leaving his body. Incredible what talking can do to alleviate oneâs anxiety.
âStupid alpha,â Floch mutters, but it sounds more affectionate than insulting. He tangles a hand into Jeanâs hair and pets his head. Itâs nice. Soothing. Jean wraps his arms around Floch and slots himself between his thighs. He nuzzles Flochâs neck until he finds his pulse. Itâs when they lose their balance, but the straw mattress is here to collect them, so Floch barely huffs in protest.
Itâs everything Jean needs. Flochâs presence, his warmth and scent surrounding him until Jean gets drunk on it and his brain clouds. Itâd be even better without their clothes on, skin against skin, both bodies intimately entwine, but he shouldnât be greedy. Even if he canât stop his hips from grinding up and down against Flochâs thigh.
Too much pressure down there. His cock throbs, hot blood rushing into his inflating knot. Is it Flochâs hand on his ass, pulling him even closer? Inviting him to hump him? Does Floch finally want to know how an alphaâs cock feels? Jean tries to suck and pinch the curve of the omegaâs neck. But the collar of Flochâs jacket is in the way, and the buttons of his shirt are so, so complicated to undo.
âEasy! My clothes stay on.â Floch warns, the hand in Jeanâs hair tightening its grip.
âBut I love you,â Jean whines. And, shit, why does Floch not let him prove it? Heâd make him feel so good, so full, soâ
Floch pulls on Jeanâs hair, forcing him to raise his head. Jean growls and bares his teeth, desire turning into aggression, until he meets narrowed golden eyes.
Alphas donât submit to omegas. This is the natural law. But the glare is like a slap in the face.
Jean withdraws his hands, apologies burning the tip of his tongue. Floch, however, seems to have a different idea. Expression softening, he pulls Jean closer again. Their lips brush. And Floch kisses him first.
Jeanâs eyes flutter shut, and even if itâs sloppy and hesitant, he slumps against Flochâs warmth, kissing him back until they are both breathless.
âSee?â Floch pants, his hands cradling Jeanâs face again. âYou listen to me. Iâm more than my instinct, and so are you.â
âYeah âŚâ
âSo âŚâ Floch licks his lips and looks away, a bit red in the face. âDo you wanna get off?â
âYeah! No! Wait? Are ⌠are you even hard?â Jean blurts out.
Floch glances back at him, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, and rubs his thigh against Jeanâs crotch. âNo. But you are. So flattering to know I have this effect on you.â
âLike, itâs new,â Jean breathes out, his face burning hot.
âYou were smoother during my heat. Where did all your experience go? Southward to meet your other brain?â
âShut up,â Jean snaps before sealing their mouths together again. He repositions himself, grinding down. Itâs nowhere as good as if they were humping each other naked, but the friction still tears a guttural groan from his throat. His tongue slides over Flochâs. His hips rock back and forth, chasing the pleasure heâs been fantasizing so much about. Floch grabs his shoulder with one hand, fingers digging into his jacket, while the other reaches down to knead his ass.
Jean freezes at first, rut-fuelled instinct rebelling with all its might. But the anger flickers away, and he licks Flochâs bottom lip. âYou could fuck me. Iâd let you.â It might not be what an alpha primarily needs, but itâll scratch the itch regardless, Jean knows it. He just has to wrestle his instinct, and thenâ
But Floch pulls a face. âDisgusting. Not touching your asshole.â His harsh words donât stop him from grabbing the back of Jeanâs neck. They exchange another heated kiss, and Floch hooks a leg around Jeanâs waist. Flochâs scent, sweet and soothing like rarely, wraps them into a soft cocoon.
Is his companion getting excited or is he just indulging him? Jean canât quite tell. Doesnât wanna know either. Hell, indulging him is not bad anyway, Jean can work with that.
The bucking of his hips grow more desperate and urgent by the second. He abandons Flochâs lips to bite down on his collar, the rough fabric brushing his tongue. A poor diversion, but it still quenches the urge to claim and mark and make sure Floch belongs to him forever. As long as Floch is covered with Jeanâs scent and Jean with his, itâll be proof that they own each other, right?
Fuck, heâs so close, so close, soââAre you serious now? In my horseâs stall?!â
*~*
Nothing can kill a boner faster than Eren Jaeger. Well, an attack from Marley would too, but the annoying prickâs indignant yell is still high on the list.
Growling his frustration, Jean pushes himself up and turns to the entrance. Eren glares, of course. And Jean stomps forward, eager to punch Erenâs lights out. But Floch firmly grabs Jeanâs arm before he can.
Maybe itâs for the best. The beta has always been strong. Probably another nice gift from his titan shifterâs blood. Itâs not like Jean can win against someone who heals fast and never lacks stamina.
But more than that, Jean would regret the violence once he cools down, because itâd be the rut acting for him.
Jean breathes in and out, and relaxes fists he didnât realise he clenched. âSorry about that.â Apologizing stings his tongue. Still, itâs the right thing to do, isnât it?
At least Erenâs gaze softensâa rare sight these days. Rubbing the back of his neck, he glances away and clears his throat. âWell, itâs just that I didnât expect to stumble on you two. Could you do this in a room?â Eren gives Floch a quick glance. âAnd also, why are you even here? I was supposed to clean the stalls.â
âThe Captain made me,â Floch dryly says, his hand still locked around Jeanâs bicep. Why? Itâs not like Jean still wants to pick a fight.
But here it is again, Erenâs annoyed look. âHe did what? But youâre not even good at cleaning!â
If it werenât for Floch, Jean would lunge forward and shove Eren to the ground. âHey, shut up! Heâs amazing!â Especially when he washes and grooms Jean in a bath. Yes. Right. They should do that. Now. Or take a shower, even if the water is cold. Anywhere where they can be naked and exploring each other. They still have that lavender soap. They donât need more to rinse the awful stench of horses off their skin. Then Jean will carry Floch toâ
âCan you not be horny for thirty seconds?â Eren curls his lips, his body tensing as if heâs about to throw a punch. Jean readies himself too, even if his mind still clings to his sensual daydream. Why does Eren always have to ruin everything?
Floch squeezes Jeanâs arm, forcing back his attention to him. But the omegaâs eyes are fixed on Eren. âIf youâre so eager to clean the stalls, be my guest. Iâve done enough.â
Erenâs eyebrows shoot up. âBut you said Captain Levi tasked you withââ
âDo I look like I care?â Floch shrugs, an insolent smile flicking on his face.
âFloch,â Jean warns, but Eren is louder than him. For once.
âYouâd disobey the Captainâs orders?!â
Floch rolls his eyes. âOh, wow, truly an unexpected event, me being reluctant to carry a superiorâs order. Iâm not on a quest to get his approval, and I thought you were aware of that âŚâ
Instead of arguing more, Eren shuts his mouth right away, which is one of the least Eren-thing he ever did, especially with Floch.
Huh.
Jean looks between the two of them. Did he miss something? They always quarrel, although ⌠Jean frowns. When did that happen for the last time? During the festival in Trost to celebrate the opening of their first railroad almost two months ago? Not even. Floch had been a bitch about being tasked with watching Yelena and her volunteers, but Eren didnât fight him on that. However, he did several times before that when Floch would accompany Hange and Levi to the railroad building site. Hard to blame Eren. Floch liked to loudly remind them their efforts were fruitless and theyâd be better off coercing the volunteers into giving them modern artillery schematics. Not that Floch was wrong either âŚ
The air surrounding them thickens with the mix of their scents. Itâs not quite hostile but the tension still tastes sour on Jeanâs tongue and urges him to move between Floch and Eren, puffing his chest out. Even if heâs not sure which one he should protect from the other âŚ
âEren, youâll follow your initial orders. Iâm taking responsibility for him, so donât worry.â
âOh, I know. You always do.â Eren steps aside to let them pass and crosses his arm, his gaze turning serious.
This unshakable, stoic front he has been putting up a lot lately is nerve-racking. Jean canât squash the feeling that heâs still missing some context, but he also doesnât want to linger to find out whatâs going on in Erenâs brain. Most likely, heâs thinking the same thing as everyone elseâtheir impending doom. And his own death, thatâll happen sooner than Jean wants to, even if they rarely see eye to eye. However, itâs a conversation heâs in no state to have now, and besides, Eren made his point clear beforeâhe wonât burden any of his friends with his power.
Eren wants them to live long lives. But can they really? The notion feels ridiculous, even as Jean interlocks his fingers with Flochâs.
When you had everything prepared for Halloween, but not only your boyfriend stood you up, now you have to *shivers* socialise and entertain the guests. Floch, when I catch you ...
Ooo, I love Jean curling up into Flochâs chest. Both the manga and the anime like to play around with how Floch either stood up ramrod straight to try to loom, or else he was forced down to his knees (see: being disarmed by Kiyomi; my pfp). There were two spots where Floch voluntarily lowered himself though, and they were both for Jean. First is when he draped himself over that other soldier and limped in to the military HQ after the Rumbling started. Boy absolutely exaggerated that head wound as his excuse to get out of ~~P.E.~~ fighting Titans, and stopped doing it as soon as he realised he wasnât getting any sympathy from Jean.
Then - then! - a few minutes later he *got to his knees* in front of Jean to persuade him to join the Jaegerists. Jean was curled up in a ball, losing his mind, and Floch freaking Foster deigned to lower himself to someoneâs level for the first time ever. Chilling/sexy/delete as appropriate.
ANYWAY yeah of course this little power-mad spider monkey wants to be the one in charge of the cuddles. Gorgeous.
That was very interesting to read! When I drew them like this, I wanted Floch to look possessive, but also to be smug and taunting, which is why is kinda staring at us. Jean was supposed to be asleep but I changed it because I didn't like the idea of Jean being passive. Also I think it works better with the first drawingâJean is jealous and possessive too. At least in this specific AU.
Excuse me what is this???? I want more Florco crumbs!!!!!
I was so confused for a second, ahahaha. I forgot I put that in tags. Unfortunately I'm not sure it's really a florco story. My idea was more Porco being very confused about the propaganda their spies found and having an existential crisis about it, and Pieck teasing him about it. I'm a gallirei enjoyer so you can guess in which direction it would have gone then.
That said, I'm sure it'd have been very interesting if Floch and Porco had met in canon! They both have a strong personality and are rather radical in their ideas. Porco was clearly rather convinced by Marley's propaganda, unlike Marcel, and very revengeful, and we know what opinion Floch has on Marley ... Who knows, if I have time, maybe I should write that. I've very seriously written Marco x Marcel in CoL just because I like the ship name (marmar), I can't be stopped. Except by my work.
