Hana no Omoide

To your knowledge, nobody has ever played it. Your parents no longer live in the house you grew up in, and they got the piano as a condition of the sale of the new one. The old owners didn’t want to pay to move it, so your folks have been using the upright as a shelf to display picture frames on top of.

When Erwin lifts the cover off the keys, it throws a cloud of dust in the air.

“I took lessons when I was young, up until I was 14 or 15 maybe.” Erwin’s fingers dance up the keyboard, deftly crossing over each other as he works his way up and down a melody. “After college, I started taking lessons again to get my chops back.”

“How come I never knew that?” You slide in next to him on the bench until your shoulder brushes his.

Erwin pauses to catch your eye and smile. “I’ve never had the chance to show you.” As his hands move independently, the left playing a different part than his right, your parents wander into the dining room, curious about where the music is coming from.

It’s the first time he’s meeting them, officially, as your boyfriend. You were nervous, having only recently broken the news to them that not only are you in a relationship, but the man you’re with is your former professor and a decade older than you. You’re not in his classes anymore—you’re starting grad school, and he teaches history and mythology to undergrads. They’re taking it surprisingly well, keeping conversation light by discussing his current syllabus instead of prying into his intentions with their child.

By the time he finishes the song he’s playing, your charming boyfriend has won them over for sure.

“You really pulled out all the stops tonight,” you tease him on the car ride home.

“How so?” He doesn’t look away from the road, but you can see him smirking.

“You know, the after-dinner show?”

He’s quiet for a beat. “Should I not have done that?”

“No, it was fine. It was really nice, actually. Just unexpected.”

Erwin chuckles. “If I’m being honest, I was getting a little nervous. I needed something to do with my hands.”

You lean over the center console to rest your head against his arm. “Well, you can play for me any time you want.”

You discover that although Erwin doesn’t own a piano, he makes good use of his faculty ID to swipe himself into practice rooms in the music building. Now that you know his little secret, he invites you to come along and listen to him practice after his classes are done for the day. You sit side by side on the bench, and you flip the pages on the sheet music he printed out while he taps out a new song on a keyboard that’s actually in tune.

When Erwin invites you to spend the next holiday break with his family, you don’t hesitate to accept. You’ve heard wonderful things about his father, and you’re excited to finally meet him. After a couple hours in the car, you arrive at his family’s enormous home in the country.

“Dad is out of town for work, so it’ll be just the two of us here tonight,” Erwin explains as he gives you a tour of the house. 

“Oh, no. What will we do all by ourselves?” 

You do your best not to gawk, but it’s basically a mansion, and there’s just so much to look at, from the art on the walls to the plush furniture to—

“You have a grand piano?” Glass-inset french doors lead into a cozy room off the second living room, where the sleek, black instrument takes up the majority of the floor space.

“Actually, it’s only a parlor grand,” Erwin says, matter-of-factly.

“Oh, excuse my ignorance,” you tease before taking a seat on the bench. This one has a tufted cushion, which you take the liberty to bounce on.

Erwin crosses his arms proudly. “It’s a smaller model. A concert grand wouldn’t fit in the room.”

“Of course.” When you lift the cover, there is no dust cloud.

After a few minutes of letting you plink on the keys—they’re nicely weighted and feel great, even to your non-skilled hands—Erwin takes his usual spot on the bench next to you. He doesn’t make it far into the song he’s been practicing before abandoning it to pepper your neck in kisses.

His mouth finds yours while his body gently guides you to his liking. He closes the fallboard and coaxes you up onto it, lips hardly breaking from you.

“We shouldn’t…”

“It’ll be fine. I promise.”

Once you’re seated, Erwin opens your legs to stand between them, deft fingers pushing your skirt up and your panties to the side. He skims fingertips along your folds as he continues to kiss you, stroking you to produce an entirely different kind of music with your moans.

When he sits down on the bench, you think he might have had his fill, but you’re wrong. He delves between your thighs, nose brushing over your sex before he laps you up. His tongue is hot against you, your head thrown back with every slurp and groan he makes. You call out his name, toes curling where they’re braced against the edge of the bench, his fingers digging into the sides of your thighs. After you break, he licks you clean, sending you right back to the edge again.

Setting your phone down on the floor (a safe distance away from your beer), you smile at the eager faces looking over at you. They must have been waiting for you to take your turn for a couple of minutes now.

You crawl to the centre of the circle without further hesitation and with a flick of your wrist, you spin the green-glass bottle that's been the centre of everyone's focus this evening.

It makes a light clink as it spins and your heart rate quickens unexpectedly. The room has gone quiet with anticipation as it has done for earlier rounds too, but you suddenly feel a lot of pressure for a reason you can't quite ascertain.

It spins for what seems like twice as long as everyone else's turn, but finally it starts to slow down, the whirling sound of the glass on the wooden floor getting slower and slower ...

The bottle clinks to a halt in front of Reiner.

A boorish cheer rises from the others in the circle and you grin. Reiner isn't the worst option … on the contrary, he's actually one of the better ones. He’s handsome, sure, but you know the two of you don’t have any prospect of a romantic future - you had gone on a few dates in freshman year and soon learned that it's difficult to get him to stop talking about the gym for more than five minutes - so sharing a quick kiss shouldn’t make things weird between the two of you.

It’s not the first time you’ve done this, after all; he’s a decent kisser if memory serves. He'll do fine.

That being said, you try to ignore a strange feeling brewing in the back of your mind. It's subtle but it's there, gnawing at you - not exactly a feeling of disappointment, you don't think. Even if it is disappointment, it's certainly not because the bottle landed on Reiner.

You think it’s because the bottle didn't land on someone else.

Shaking off that feeling, you shift your legs so you're sitting comfortably in the centre of the circle. Reiner rolls his eyes when he sees you're waiting for him to come to you, but he obliges anyway.

"Hi," you say with a little laugh, unsure of how else to greet him.

"Hi," he repeats, grinning back, and once he sees that you’re ready he doesn’t wait for even a beat longer. He leans down to press his lips against yours.

As spin-the-bottle kisses go, it's good. Reiner knows what he's doing. He moves his lips against yours gently but firmly, and he doesn't push it by trying to slip you some tongue or anything. It's not heated or passionate, but it's nice. It's fine, just as you thought.

About ten seconds pass before you pull back, the cheers of your friends ringing in your ears.

That strange, inexplicably disappointed feeling is still there as you slip back to your space in the circle, eyes scanning the group as you take your place on the floor once again.

As chants of 'you're next' start to ring out again, you're relieved to see that it's Connie who's being summoned. The fact that he's next to take a turn means he can't try to annoy you about the kiss, and it means you have time to knock back the last of your beer before texting your housemate.

However, when you've settled back down and taken a steadying breath, you don't pick up your phone. Instead you glance around the circle in front of you again, properly taking stock of everyone’s reaction this time.

Eren's still blushing - that's kind of adorable, actually - and Reiner is looking surprisingly reserved next to him. He’s not too smug, thankfully. That would be annoying.

Sasha and Niccolo are cheering with their bottles, their arms thrown affectionately around each other. Next to then, Armin is laughing at some joke that Hitch has whispered into his ear.

Your eyes land on Jean next. He looks ... well, you're not really sure how he looks. He's wearing an expression you haven't seen on him before.

He certainly doesn't look happy but he's not angry, either; an almost-sullen look is written on his face, his features are neutral but his eyes are glowering as he meets your gaze across the room. His expression is uncharacteristically impassive.

He’s usually animated, chatty, confident; now, he’s near-impossible to read. You’d never thought Jean would be anything but an open book, but you cannot for the life of you determine how he’s feeling.

You quirk the corners of your lips up into a soft smile just to see if he responds, and he glances away.

It's not harsh, it's just the action of someone who’s stuck in his own reverie, but that strange feeling still weighs on you.

___

The hours pass quickly and the party slowly starts to die down. Because of the size of the group, you had just played one round of spin-the-bottle, but a few well-timed suggestions for other games (flip cup, Kings, amongst others) means that you're kept busy for most of the night.

It provides a welcome distraction for whatever unsettling realisation you had while sitting in the circle; that maybe, somewhere deep down, you could imagine kissing one of your friends.

That you want to kiss one of your friends, and that you’re torturing yourself with the thought that maybe he wants to kiss you too.

Checking your phone screen, you're informed that the time is now well after three a.m. This makes sense considering almost everyone who doesn't live here has now left, leaving the room more empty than you’d seen it in a while.

The apartment is shared by Mikasa, Sasha, Eren, and Connie, all of whom are now trying to pluck crushed-up solo cups from the kitchen floor so the mess isn't as bad tomorrow.

Apart from them, you and Jean are the only two remaining. Turns out Eren had offered Jean the couch too, unbeknownst to you or Mikasa, and it was too late for him to call a cab at this point.

Neither of you had discussed what you’re going to do about it.

"Guys, we can clean up," you offer, going to take the plastic bag from Sasha so you can pick up where she left off. "It'll give us some time to sort out who's taking the couch."

Sasha’s brow furrows. “Are you sure?"

“Positive.”

"Yep, sounds good," Jean agrees then, following your lead. "I can take the floor, anyway. All I need is a pillow and I'm good."

You look at him, unsure. You don’t want him to have a sleepless night for your sake. “Really?"

"I've slept worse places," he replies with the faintest of smiles. "Eren and Connie don't let me forget it."

"He passed out under an oak tree after a party last semester," Eren pipes up, answering your question before you even have to ask it. "Woke up covered in leaves."

"Maybe the floor isn't so bad, then," you acknowledge, though still throw him a quick glance - an 'are you sure?' sort of look - and he nods so as to put your mind at ease.

"As long as you're okay with it?" he asks. “Since you’ll be here too.”

You agree.

“Sounds good to me.”

___

"Are you gonna help me clean up, or just stand there eating that shitty pizza?"

Your playful taunt doesn't do anything to convince Jean to set down his meal. You shove a plastic cup into the bag for dramatic effect, and all it makes him do is laugh.

It's a nice sound. Unfortunately.

"They said they wanted to make a start on the clean-up, not finish it," he mumbles through a mouthful of pizza. "You're going overboard."

"I'm being considerate," you reply with faux indignance. "And I'm not tired yet."

"Then have some pizza."

"It's cold, Jean."

"It's best when it's cold!"

You pull a face. "It's not."

"Then stick it in the microwave," he responds without hesitation.

"It'll wake them all up!"

"With the noise you're making now they'll barely even hear it," Jean retorts, leaning down to pick up your bag and shaking the contents to demonstrate his point. Turns out that the sounds of your clean-up are considerably louder than the microwave would be.

"Okay, okay, stop," you chuckle, plying the bag from his hand to stop him from really pissing off your hosts.

"So, pizza?"

"No, I don't wanna go to sleep with garlic breath."

"No garlic on it. I had some before the- that game thing, earlier. And Connie didn't complain."

You laugh at that. "I'm good, still."

Jean sets his pizza down, arms crossed across his chest. That expression from earlier is back. It’s a little unsettling; he’s back to being closed-off, and you don’t know how to react. You’re so accustomed to seeing Jean’s emotions written all over his face.

"That game was something, huh?" he begins. His tone is conversational but you decide to err on the side of caution with your response.

"Yeah, it was fun, I guess."

He nods shortly. He’s looking a bit braver now, eyes peering over at you curiously.

"Yeah, I guess,” he repeats. He shuffles his feet just a little as a beat of silence passes. "So, Reiner and you-?"

He doesn't finish the sentence but trails off like it's a question. You set the bag down with surprise, turning to face him properly now. Mirroring his posture, you cross your arms over your chest. You smile, but likely look as perplexed as you feel.

"What do you mean 'Reiner and me'?"

Your own question isn't hostile, it's just curious. You have no idea where this is coming from.

Jean is starting to blush now, a soft pink hue forming on the bridge of his nose as he tries to form an answer.

"Just ... that was some kiss, I guess."

"Fairly standard," you say dismissively. "Nothing too special."

"Standard?"

"I mean, yeah, standard. For a game of spin-the-bottle, y'know?"

"I-"

He's acting funny. You've never seen him like this; the awkwardness, the staring when he thinks you're not looking, the fact he's dwelling on your kiss with Reiner ...

The realisation hits you out of nowhere as you gasp, interrupting him with a gleeful exclamation of -

"Jean, you're jealous!"

Far past a light blush at this stage, Jean's face is red with embarrassment ... and something else, maybe, but you're not certain. You don’t want to let hope cloud your judgement.

"What are you talking about?" he asks, playing down your excitement.

You're smiling now, confident still that your assumptions are correct. His reaction betrays him.

"Well you're acting jealous, anyway.”

He huffs a breath of air through his nose, shaking his head as if in disagreement (but really, you’re sure it's just to buy himself a little time.)

"I'm not jealous."

Even his outright denials aren't convincing you, and you think he knows that he's losing. He looks thrown-off. Every time he tells you that he isn’t jealous he gets closer and closer to blurting out the truth.

So you decide to put him out of his misery and throw down the gauntlet.

"I saw you looking at me after."

Your words take a moment to land with him. He blinks at you, genuinely surprised, but makes one last attempt at denial.

"After what?”

"After the kiss."

His arms are by his side now and you do the same, not wanting to seem unnecessarily intimidating.

You’re not trying to tease or annoy him.

All you want is for him to admit it, so you can do the same.

Because you wanted Jean to kiss you then. You want him to kiss you now. Maybe you’ve wanted to kiss him for a long time now.

He clears his throat and you meet his gaze head on. One of you will need to take the bait.

When someone finally gives in, it doesn’t come in the form of words. Neither of you says anything out loud.

Instead, Jean takes a step closer to you, testing the waters. Knowing that it isn’t fair for him to take all the action, you move closer too until you’re within touching distance.

He runs his tongue along his lower lip, slowly and carefully, and you look at him through your lashes.

You both snap at the exact same time.

Your mouths join together so quickly the breath is knocked from your chest, so desperate for closeness that you fist your hands into the fabric of his t-shirt to try and pull him closer.

He kisses you messily but it’s just what you need; the momentum built so quickly that just a soft peck on the lips wouldn’t suffice. Encouraged by your reaction he runs his hands along your lower back, fingertips skirting the waistband of your jeans as you slide your fingers up into his hair.

You can feel his smile against your lips. Bolts of excitement rush straight to your chest, increasing tenfold when his tongue pushes into your mouth with a gentle confidence.

Jean is no longer withdrawn, self-conscious, uncertain. This Jean knows exactly what you want from him.

It starts with gentle licks against your tongue, deliberate and tantalising, then grows in intensity until you’re pressed against the countertop, making out with him like two desperate teenagers. He makes little sounds of approval as you run your hands all over him, unsure of where you want to touch next; it all seems so good. You want all of him.

Turns out, this must have been a long time coming.

You kiss him like you’ve been thinking about it for years, since you first met him at freshman orientation. Years of friendship had pushed those thoughts to the back of your mind, but they’re all coming out now, erupting in a haze of want and lust and a need to taste more of him.

You can feel something hard press against your hip as he keeps your body pressed against his. Even through several layers of clothing you can tell he’s impressive, the firm thickness straining against his jeans making your mouth water as you lower your hand to rub it.

Jean exhales low and gravelly, his breath coming out shaky as he tries to keep his hips from bucking against your hands. You’re stroking him now, eager to see more of his reactions to the lightest of touches. He’s so pretty like this.

You both reach the point of needing more, the teasing having reached a threshold where you needed to do something about the throbbing between your legs; rubbing your thighs together had helped just a bit, but you wanted his touch. You need more stimulation, and the look on his face shows he’s ready to give it to you.

There’s just one obstacle …

“We need to be quiet,” he mumbles, pulling away for just a moment. His lips are so kiss-slick and perfect that it takes phenomenal amounts of self control to not lean in and take him into your mouth again. “We need to be really quiet, y’know…”

“I know,” you whisper back. “I know. Probably better to … to move this to the couch. Further away from their bedrooms.”

“Good thinking,” he agrees. You pull back, missing the heat of his body as soon as you do so but the thought of what’s coming next is more than enough motivation. You take his hand and he grins at your eagerness, guiding him into the living room and waiting for him to sit down on the couch before climbing onto his lap to straddle him.

“God, you feel good,” he says, quiet as he can as you pepper kisses along his jawline. “Fuck, I’ve wanted to do this for so long.”

“Like from earlier-?”

He lets out a breathy laugh. “Longer than that. But yeah, earlier … I wanted you - fucking hell, keep your mouth there - I wanted that bottle to land on me. I wanted you to sit in the centre of that circle and look at me like you did in the kitchen just there, all giggly, like you know exactly what I’m thinking about doing to you.”

“What were you thinking about doing?” you ask, rolling your hips against the bulge in his jeans. He groans and the sound goes straight to your cunt, the wetness between your legs becoming more distracting. You decide to put him (and yourself) out of his misery just a bit, unzipping his pants and taking him out of his underwear.

He’s thick and heavy in your hand, his cock throbbing noticeably when you run a finger along the prominent vein on the underside. You circle the head with your thumb and watch as his breath goes stuttery again, all words having vanished from his vocabulary completely.

But you’re not ready for him to stop talking. You liked what he was saying - liked it a lot - and you need to hear more.

But you won’t go about it without giving him encouragement, of course.

“Tell me what you wanted to do,” you whisper as you start stroking him in earnest.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, lips pulled tight as he tries to keep quiet. He only speaks once your movements start to slow.

“Keep going … please,” he begs softly, “I’ll tell you. Just please keep doing that.”

You resume your pace and he starts speaking.

“I wanted to … wanted to be the one who got to kiss you. Wouldn’t have been like your one with Reiner, though; maybe it’s a good thing it didn’t land on me, because I wouldn’t … fuck … wouldn’t have been able to keep from slipping my tongue into your mouth. Wanted to touch you so bad,” and with the last part of the sentence, he unbuttons your jeans with one hand and starts to tug them down.

You raise your hips from his lap to allow him access, and once he has a better grip he pulls your underwear down as well, baring your wet cunt to the cool air as you sit back down on his lap. The warmth of his skin against your thighs makes you tremble and he notices, slipping that same hand between your legs and sliding his index finger up through your puffy folds.

His thighs are thick and broad and so there’s room for you to keep working him in your hand as he starts playing with you, his legs keeping you spread open for him. He rubs the pearl of your clit with his thumb just as you had teased him a few moments ago, and now it’s you who is unable to articulate any of your thoughts.

“You wanted me to touch you earlier?” he prompts, seeing the already fucked-out expression on your face. When you don’t answer he starts to move his hand away so you open your mouth without even thinking your answer through.

“Yes, I wanted you to touch me,” you gasp when you feel two fingers push inside you, “I wanted you to kiss me in front of everyone then take me back to the kitchen and … fuck, I wanted you to bend me over. I wanted this inside me,” and with a firm upward stroke Jean’s hips buck against you.

With his middle and ring-finger now fucking you open, he uses his thumb to circle your clit with a steady pace that matches your grip on his cock. He keeps going, keeps hitting that place deep inside you that makes you see stars, your wetness and the slick sound of skin touching skin all you can hear.

You’re trying to keep quiet but he’s making it exceptionally difficult. Every twist of his wrist, every flick of his thumb, it’s all so carefully planned. You’re ready for him - you’ve been ready for a while - but it’s near-impossible to verbalise it without letting a moan slip out.

Here you are, spread open on your friends’ couch, with only a couple of walls in the way to stifle any of the lewd noises you’re making … but you can’t bring yourself to care. You’re burning for him, your core already tightening around his fingers, and Jean’s cock is flushed with arousal, precum dribbling from the top and coating your palm.

Wordlessly you shift your hips, nearly crying at the loss of sensation when his fingers pull out and you still the motions of your fist. He glances up and you know he’s thinking the same thing you are.

“They keep a box of condoms in the bathroom cabinet,” he says, voice hushed and low, “saw it last time I stayed over.”

You nod and lift yourself from his lap, laying your back down against the couch so Jean can walk to the bathroom. He tugs his pants up over his hips but shrugs off his shirt; you do the same, enjoying the flattering look on Jean’s face as he takes in your naked body for the first time.

He hesitates as if torn between wanting to stay here looking at you bare and wanting beneath him, or going to get the condom so he can actually be inside you - both options have him in a chokehold. He wants to be two places at once.

After you smile up at him, doe-eyed and almost innocent, he makes up his mind. He heads to the bathroom and after a few quiet shuffling noises and the sound of a foil wrapper tearing open, he returns to you, pulling you in for a searing kiss. Any remaining items of clothing are shed as you spread your legs, pulling him down to lay on top of you, the heat of his body against yours driving you insane.

He’s all lean muscle and strength but he’s so gentle with the way he handles you now, resting his palms on your hips as he positions himself to finally fuck you. He meets your gaze one more time, scanning your face with a look that is as enticing as it is heartwarming. He wants you to be comfortable. He wants this to be good for you.

“Ready for you,” you murmur, grabbing his shoulders as you reassure him of how desperately you want this. “Want you inside me.”

When he first pushes in it’s a stretch, even though you’d only been seconds away from coming all over his fingers. He’s so thick it takes a moment to adjust, wiggling your hips as he pushes in so slowly, eyes not leaving your face as he does so. It doesn’t take long for the pleasure to overcome the feeling of being stretched.

By the time his cock is fully seated inside you, hips pressed flush together, he’s looking far more wrecked than you are.

Jean’s biting his lip, hips jerking forward in short shallow motions as he tries to keep from fucking into you before he’s ready. You know from the grip on your waist that he’s trying to hold back, not wanting this sensation to be over too quickly.

When he pulls back and thrusts back in, you can’t help but let out a mewl of pleasure; you know you shouldn’t, it’s too risky, but the noise escapes you before you can even think twice about it.

Jean clasps a hand over your mouth, using the other as leverage on your waist to keep fucking into you.

“Gotta keep quiet for me baby, okay?”

You nod, tears prickling at the corner of your eyes as you try to cant your hips to meet his thrusts.

“I know it’s hard,” he whispers, kissing the apples of his cheeks, “I wish you could keep making those little noises, you’ve no fucking idea what they do to me … but we’ve gotta keep it down. For tonight, anyway. Can you do that for me?” You nod again. “That’s my girl.”

The words make you tighten around him and he looks at you desperately, pulling his hand away for just a moment as he slots his lips against yours again. You think at first he does it just to make sure you’ll stay quiet, but you can feel the vibrations of moans caught in his own throat - the kiss is as much for him as it is for you.

He keeps up his pace throughout, his cock hitting the same spot that his fingers toyed with earlier, and the stretch has faded entirely into a gorgeous fullness. Every time you think you can’t hit another crest of pleasure without coming, he’ll shift ever-so-slightly and the change in angle will make you tighten your grip on his shoulders.

Already your nails have left little crescent-moon indentations on his skin. He doesn’t seem to mind though, letting out a broken sigh when you drag your nails down at a particularly strong thrust.

You’re close. You’re so close, teetering at the edge and seconds away from collapsing into it, and you still have no idea how you’re going to keep quiet.

“Jean-“ you begin, the tremble in your voice tipping his off as to what you need.

He brings his hand back to your mouth but instead of covering it with his palm, he takes the same fingers that were fucking you before and slips them between your lips. You open your mouth for him willingly, tasting yourself on his skin, and then you’re finished.

The makeshift gag of his fingers in your mouth are barely enough to keep you from crying out. All you can feel is the warm glow of pleasure running through your veins, radiating from your core out to your whole body, making your body feel weightless and your mind go utterly and completely blank.

You want to scream for him. You want to him to know exactly what he’s doing to you, but you can barely keep your eyes open.

When the spasms of your orgasm have slowed to a gentle throbbing, you open your eyes just enough to see Jean tip over the edge himself.

You’re so, so glad you opened your eyes, because the sight before you is so gorgeous it nearly pushes you to come again; Jean’s pretty face twisted in pleasure, his pupils blown out and his brows pulled together as he thrusts into you one more time before coming as deep inside you as he can.

It feels almost cruel but you can’t resist; you suck on his fingers as he comes, making his eyes darken even further.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he repeats like a mantra, as if it’s the only word he can say to hold back screams of his own, “fuck, you’re so … still throbbing around me, fuck, fuck.”

After a moment, he stills inside you. Pulling his fingers from your mouth, he rests his head against your chest, breathing heavily as he tries to collect himself. It’s not much help since the raise and fall of your breathing is just as strong as his own, but it’s comforting having him so close.

It takes even longer to come down from it fully; the intensity of your orgasm made your legs feel weak under your, and it’s difficult to sit upright when Jean finally pulls out. Once he’s cleared up the condom and returned to the couch, you’re still laying flat on your back, face warm to the touch and covered with a faint sheen of sweat.

You feel spent and messy, too tired to care about appearances, but he pulls you in for another kiss that makes you feel so important, so valued, so safe with him.

Once he’s helped you pull on a t-shirt and some shorts that Mikasa had left out, it doesn’t take long to fall asleep in his arms. You don’t even consider how your friends might wake in the morning and find you like this, head resting affectionately in the nook of Jean’s shoulder.

Sleep finds you before you can even start to worry about things like that.

—

The next morning, you wake to find no sign of Jean. You bolt upright in a panic; there’s a folded-up blanket on the floor along with a pillow, and his shoes are lined up in the corner of the room so he’s still here somewhere. He hadn’t left, at least. You’re not ready to leave things so open-ended with him.

You’re just about to go searching for him before a familiar laugh echoes out from the kitchen as Sasha finishes telling some story from last night. From the sounds of it, Jean, Eren and Sasha are preparing some coffee; the smell of it wafts in to the living room and wakes you up fully.

Connie steps into the living room with two mugs in hand, greeting you with a cheery “hey, you’re up!” as he hands you one of the drinks prepared just how you like it.

“Jean took the floor after all?” he inquires. You mumble something unintelligible as you take a sip of the coffee, blowing it slightly to cool it down.

Connie takes a seat on the couch, and you suddenly feel immense gratitude for having the sense to spread Jean’s hoodie on the seats before you two ...

“Glad he’s doing better this morning,” Connie notes, interrupting your thoughts. “He got over his jealousy, apparently.”

“What do you mean?”

He turns to you, an eyebrow quirked up. “You really don’t know?”

You shake your head, hearing the sounds of Eren, Jean and Sasha preparing breakfast in the kitchen.

“I think he got a bit bummed out after spin-the-bottle yesterday,” Connie says, voice quiet even though there’s no chance anyone could hear him. “He couldn’t even talk to Reiner for two hours after.”

“And why’s that?” you ask, keeping as straight a face as possible.

Connie glances over at the kitchen once more for good measure, before leaning in close and whispering.-

"Would you look at that," he cooed, malice lingering in his voice as his hand trailed down her body slowly, resting against the bulge in her tummy that showed just how deep he reached inside of her fluttering pussy and just how thick his cock was, his eyes lingering on the sight of her sloppily sucking him inside with every thrust, "My baby just can't take any more of my cock, hm?"

All coherence left her as she hiccuped, unable to even form a proper sentence, barely capable of stuttering out, "N-no, c-can't, fuck---"

"What a shame," his sorrowful tone as he spoke was so clearly mocking, highlighted by the hard press of his hand against her tummy bulge, "'cause you're gonna have to suck it up, pretty girl."

She began to whine pitifully as Jean picked up the pace, mercilessly pounding into her, the tears falling down her rosy cheeks making her look just like a work of art painted just for him; his masterpiece that he can ruin whenever he liked. Just looking at her looking so fucked out into oblivion had his balls tightening, and he couldn't help the groan that tumbled from his lips.

Her hands were trying to grab at the bedsheets, his hair; anything to seek purchase in, and he reveled in the way her limbs were practically flailing around while his huge cock abused her tight little pussy.

"You're so cute, baby," his light chuckle was anything but friendly, even though his words were sincere; he couldn't think with anything but the head that was brushing consistently against her g-spot, "Love it when you're a brain-dead mess for me."

His tone was contradicted by the way his other hand cupped her cheek deftly, brushing the tears off her soft skin in complete contrast to the way he was fucking her into the mattress like all he knew was her pussy clenching around him and the moans escaping her bruised lips. She was so far gone she couldn't even enunciate a single correct syllable without stumbling over the word and ending it with a garbled whine.

Once again his gaze fell to where their bodies were joined, her arousal forming a wet ring around the base of cock, being entirely swallowed by her tightness. One look at her puffy lips down there and her leaking onto the bedsheets had him almost choking on his words.

"Looking fucking perfect like that," he hissed as he could feel her tightening around him even more; he knew how much his beautiful girlfriend loved hearing him praise how filthy of a mess they got themselves into, "You're practically fucking squeezing me," lowering himself ontop of her, his teeth tugged at her lip harshly, not satisfied and pulling back until he brought even more tears to her gorgeous eyes, and causing his cock to grow even bigger than he thought was possible and letting an almost-feral growl loose, "Fitting me like a fucking glove, I swear, like this pussy was made for me to fuck as I please."

Watching her being split open with every pump of his cock inside her had his head swimming, and he could barely handle it with the way she cried so sweetly and half-screamed his name. If he could, he would never pull out of the pussy he marked as his every single night, the blissful high that lasted for hours serving as a reminder that only he could fuck his girlfriend so good like that---and it would last until he was to see her once again, to refresh her memory.

Your eyebrows furrow, eyes closed in your sleepiness. 

“Yeah, it is…so?” he’s hesitant, because what do you want him to do about it? 

“So c’mere, bitch,” you say as you lift your arms up and wrap them around his shoulders, pulling him down, his back sliding against the headboard. 

“Wha-wha-what?” He feels like the air has been knocked out of him as his back hits the soft pillowy mattress, your one arm underneath his back, the other resting across the expanse of his chest. His whole body stiffens like a possum feigning death, freezing out of fear. His arms stretch out, his legs press into the ground to keep him from falling off the bed, and his eyes widen to stare at you next to him. But that doesn’t stop you from readjusting, pulling your arm out from under him and placing your head on his chest. 

“Mmm, warm,” you murmur. And then, you nuzzle him. 

Fuck, forget playing dead. Jean thinks he’s actually going to die at this rate.

He’s always asked himself why he had to go and fall in love with the girl who bullies him all the time, but looking down at you right now, he has no questions as to why. He knows that your gentle side exists, and its very presence is enough to have him whipped. 

But it’s also something he’s not prepared for, and so he doesn’t know what to do but stay exactly as he was, waiting for his heart to stop beating out of his chest. 

“Hey,” you say after a few moments pass (but to him it could’ve been an eternity, there’s no real way to tell the difference). 

“Yeah?” He gulps, nervous as to what you’re gonna say this time. He sees your eyebrows scrunch again in displeasure. 

“It’s still cold.” 

“I don’t control the weather, you know.” 

You freeze, and then open your eyes to glare at him for a second before huffing. You push off of him and roll around to the other side, without saying a word. 

Well, shit. Now he’s pissed you off. 

“Hey, hey, what do you want me to do, girl? You gotta at least tell me.” 

“Get…with….” he can barely hear what you’re saying. 

“Louder, Y/N, please,” he asks. 

“Get under the blankets with me, idiot,” it comes out as a whisper, but it’s enough to get Jean’s ears ringing. 

Is this really happening? He’d never said anything, never made any moves, none of that on you. And as far as he knew, you loved to bully him and nothing else. You guys aren’t dating, and you don’t even like him like that, right? So why are you inviting him under your blankets? 

But he’s not gonna question it. Some cuddling…it’s harmless, right? It’s just to warm you up. Yeah. Nothing else. And it’s not like I’m  doing anything you wouldn’t want, you literally asked me to. So it should be okay. This is okay. I’m not gonna make her uncomfortable. 

That’s the monologue going through his head as he fumbles with the buckle on his harness, holding the framework for his gear together. After a minute, he tugs his boots off and sighs. 

He turns back to the bed, back to you, your back still facing him. He quietly and gently pulls the sheets on the bed aside, slipping his legs under the covers before scooting underneath them entirely. He cautiously lays down, keeping a good 2 feet of distance between you both. Unsure of what to do next, he waits, and waits, until he realizes he’s holding his breath in anticipation. 

“Y/N…” he doesn’t even know what to say. But luckily for him, you don’t make him say much. 

You toss a glance over your shoulder before rolling over to face him. “Took you long enough,” you say, shifting closer to him, your faces only inches away from each other. You lift your arm to wrap around him again, but you pause. “Wait.” 

“...Waiting?” 

“I just, I just realized I never asked.” 

“Asked what?” 

“If you’re okay with this.” 

Jean pauses at that. “Okay? With this?” 

“Yeah. If you’re okay cuddling with me.” You’re right, neither of you had ever done anything like this before, nor had you talked about it. But now that you brought it up, well, he can’t not think about it. “Well? Are you?” you ask again, staring him in his eyes. 

His face erupts pink, and he squeezes his eyes shut. “Well, I guess, I’m fine with it, if it’ll help you feel less cold.” 

“Eh. If you’re not really into it, I don’t wanna make you do it,” you say dismissively, ready to turn around again. “No! I mean- uh, I’m fine with it, or, I guess, I want you to.” 

“You want me to what?” 

“You know.” 

“I know what?” 

He knows you’re just playing with him. 

“Cuddle me, asshole!” He yells, his red face glowing.

You laugh, now fully conscious, and he swears your giggle is like a drug. 

“You got it, boss,” you say, your voice playful. You scooch over to him, pushing him so he’s flat on his back. You press your chest against his broader one, lowering yourself onto him and eclipsing the left side of his body. You watch as his pupils dilate. You rest your face in the nook between his shoulder and head, rubbing your nose against his neck, hearing him shutter. Your arm goes to caress the other side of his neck, and you toss your right leg over his left one, letting your legs tangle. 

All the while, Jean is certain his heart will burst. Nothing in all his years of training had prepared him to be accosted with cuddles. Your right, the room was so fucking cold, and being wrapped up with you made him so warm. He slowly lets his arms wrap around you, pressing one into the small of your back and the other weaving into your hair. He’d always thought your hair was so pretty, and he’d wanted to play with it for so long. It is just as soft as he thought it would be, he notes. He doesn’t miss the way you sigh when he strokes the back of your head, albeit hesitantly. 

“Again,” he feels the word against his neck before he hears it. The heat of your breath prickles his skin and sends chills through his whole body. He can’t refuse you. He’d die before he refused you. And so he allows his fingers to massage your scalp this time, a fizz of giddiness buzzing throughout his chest as you let out a beautiful sigh. The way you melt into him is addicting. Just a little taste of it has him hooked. He wants you right here like this always. But it doesn’t necessarily kill the question that’s been on his mind since you first pressed your head against him 20 minutes ago. 

“Did ya, hit your head or something?” 

“If one of us has suffered from brain damage, it isn’t me.” 

“Hey-” 

“What are you really asking, Kirstein?” 

“Why?” 

“Why what?” 

“Why did you want to cuddle me? Like, did you just want cuddles from someone? Were you just cold?” 

You lift your head to look at him, scoff, and smile. “Yeah, I just wanted to be warm.”

“Oh.” 

“You’re an idiot sometimes, Jean.” 

“What did I do this time?” 

“Do you not know I know how you feel about me?” 

His blood runs cold. You know? 

“What are you talking abou-” 

You press a finger to his lips, letting out a gentle shh along with it. “You like me, don’t you?” 

His eyes widen and jaw drops, and in that moment, he knows he’s told you everything before saying anything at all. 

“You’re an idiot for thinking it wasn’t obvious as hell. And you’re an even bigger idiot for not knowing that I feel the same.” 

“You WHAT?” 

“Yeah, you airhead. I’ve liked you for a long time.” You say, sighing and falling back onto him. “Explain to me why I had to fall for the cocky, charismatic goofball.”

He’s silent. Radio silent. This wasn’t what he expected at all. It’s worse, because despite what you call him, you both know he’s actually quite a smart person. He’s emotionally intune with himself and his comrades. So how did he miss this? 

“How could I be so stupid?” he murmurs, “How did I miss your, your feelings for me?” he tosses his head back as he cradles you closer. 

“...it’s because, you didn’t want to see it.” Your voice is suddenly a lot more serious, and Jean feels as you clutch his shirt. 

“Why wouldn’t I want to see what I’ve dreamt of for years?” He realizes he’s exposing himself to you just a bit, but at this point, he’s beyond all that. It’s hard for him to not let you get close to his heart, metaphorically. Not when you’re literally laying on top of his heart. 

“Because love comes with so many risks, for us. We love, only to risk losing each other and it destroys us inside. Why would we willingly subject ourselves to that?” 

And it occurs to Jean in that moment, that if you’ve liked him for just as long as you said you have, you didn’t say anything in all that time, either. 

“Because love is worth it,” he’s confident in his answer, soothingly stroking your back. “Yeah, we risk losing it all, and if I could save us all from this hell we live in, I would. But I can’t. So I would rather love and lose than never love at all.” You're silent against his chest, your clasp on his shirt unrelenting, so he continues, “you’re right- I was scared. And I probably am still a bit scared to accept love. But fuck it. If you’ll have me, I’ll, I’ll…I’ll be a good lover to you.” He presses you closer to his body, holding your head against his heart, hoping you’ll hear the way it beats for you earnestly and unrelentingly. 

You wiggle out of his grasp and prop yourself up against his body. He almost thinks he doesn’t recognize you from the look on your face, the way it’s so soft and vulnerable. 

“God, Jean. Let me kiss you right now.” 

And then you go and catch him off guard with your bold words again. 

“Wha-” 

“You can’t say something so hot and then assume I won’t wanna kiss you, dumbass.” 

He’s not waiting for you to unrelentingly tease him again. He grabs the sides of your face with both his hands, and pulls your lips to his. He feels the way you gasp against his lips, and he can’t help but smile at the thought that maybe, he’d won against you this time. 

You pull away and say, “Smooth one, my love.” As soon as a victory is won, you quickly even the score, watching his mind go blank at the use of a simple pet name. “I know I tease you and say all sorts of shit to you all the time, and you’re allowed to tell me if I’m being a bitch. But just know, I have no intentions of stopping as of right now.” 

He smiles as the blush takes over his face again, getting used to the phenomena. “And I may pretend to hate it, but I  wouldn’t have it any other way, Y/N.” 

Author notes: I hope you all enjoyed hehe