Tag: eren jaeger

Eren has never kissed Jean. He has never kissed Marco, either.

But if he could, without consequences, without any confusion or pain or anger, Eren would get up right now and stomp over to Jean’s bunk where the air is thick and boiling with heat from dark moans and tangled limbs under bed sheets.

But Eren is a coward.

All he’s ever done is lie awake in the middle of the night, eyes open and a hand pressed over his own mouth to muffle the pathetic little moans he’s choking on – listening to Jean whimper helplessly when a dark shadow leans down to him, wet warm kisses echoing in the warm barrack as Marco whispers “shh, they’ll hear us” and shifts the smallest bit. Then, Jean does that desperate sob, the tiniest noise of ‘oh god please more yes yes’, and Eren loves how vulnerable and fucking beautiful he is in the moonlight, under Marco’s stronger body, how the two other boys move as if it was just for him.

A private show he hasn’t been invited to.

Eren has never kissed Jean.

He’s never fallen apart on Marco’s cock with a cry dripping down his lips like fire, has never tasted Jean’s salty skin on his tongue, never adorned his neck with blue marks. But god, one day, he’ll be brave enough. Until then, Eren shuffles deeper under his covers, careful to be quiet, and continues to listen to the lewd, wet squelching that comes from where Marco thrusts deep into Jean, their mouths finding each other in dark rumbles of stuttered words, and then they’re just two silhouettes melting together.

Eren turns around and stares at the wall until he hears them breathe calmly. He grasps his chest and closes his eyes and tries not to choke on the bitter lust rising up his throat. One day.

December 22nd

It’s a clichée. Everyone says “it happened so fast” when someone asks them later if they didn’t see that car coming. Erwin has to admit that he’d have to reply with the same words but for another reason. That reason is four years old, called Eren and currently crying his heart out in Erwin’s arms. The ambulance’s siren is howling somewhere above their heads, and together with the paramedic’s hectic voices buzzing around him, Erwin’s headache gets worse by the second. Eren is clinging to him, whispering “D-daddy pwease don’ die”, and Erwin tries to kiss his head and say it’ll be alright. He wouldn’t die, they told him – he’d been lucky. Few broken bones when the slowly approaching car had hit him on the crosswalk. The driver had been searching for the burger he’d dropped under his seat, and when spotting the father and his son, he hit the brake. Just in time.

Erwin is lucky. His reflexes had made him curl around his son – don’t lose him, not like you lost his mother years ago, no you can’t – and everything is as fine as it could be in such a moment. The world is a blur when he’s heaved out of the ambulance and rolled into an emergency room. Someone removes Eren from his body, the boy screams louder and a friendly female voice hushes him.

Then there’s a face above him, pale and small. Dark hair frames it like a storm cloud and Erwin finds himself grinning. What a goddamn beautiful man. Oh, did he say that out loud? The face smirks and Erwin hears his own voice say “you are cute” somewhere in the distance. A laugh, smooth and silky.

“The anaesthetics are kicking in. Sir, we’ll have to do surgery on your arm. You’ll be asleep soon.” The voice speaking is low, sharp and gorgeous like liquid silver. Erwin likes it. He tries to touch the young face, mumbles something like “doctors as cute as you should be illegal”. A short laughter trickles down, and Erwin smiles like a dumbass when his world fades.

“Is that so,” the voice says and then, “maybe you’ll arrest me when you’re awake again, then.” Someone calls “Daddy” again, and Erwin sinks into unconsciousness with the picture of a nametag that says “Dr. Levi Ackerman” swirling in his mind, along with a warm voice and soft fingers grazing his arm.

It Should Be.

It should be Jean standing at the ocean, digging his bare feet into the cold sand, watching the thunderstorm rise over crashing waves, tears blown away by salty wind and dried from the fading sun. It should be Jean, clenching his hand around Eren’s little key, the one that’s always around his neck and dangling where his chest is warm, where his heart is beating softly, steadily, forever. It should always be Jean, seeing the ocean as they’d promised each other, right there when Eren had lost all his limbs from being cut out of the Titan once more, writhing and crying in pain, Jean holding his body and kissing the screaming ache in his bones better.

It shouldn’t be Eren, standing there motionlessly when the storm went down, when rain pattered on his face and carried his wild desperate scream into the skies.

It shouldn’t be Jean’s wings of freedom, the emblem from his jacket, clenched tightly in Eren’s shaking fists, dried blood splattered all over it and the white colour of the wings… gone dark.

Ours.

At first, he thought it’d be a catastrophe. A foolish idea. “I don’t think you understand,” he told Jean and Eren over and over again, fingers tangled tightly in his lap, knuckles white, insecure. “You don’t – I can’t. I, I love you both, f-fuck, I do – but you wouldn’t be happy – ” Jean then leaned in to kiss his mouth, gently, and Eren ran a warm hand through his hair, fingers grazing his neck. “We love you,” Jean said solemnly, and Marco wanted to object, but Eren went on “and we know what asexual means. But we love you. We do. We want you to be ours, and we’ll belong to you.” Jean kissed him again, and Marco nodded, heart aching and tears welling up in his eyes.

It isn’t a catastrophe now. It’s good, it’s warm when he’s sandwiched between their bodies at night, when Eren’s hands rest on his stomach, heavy and strong, when Jean nuzzles his nose into his chest. They’re good. Maybe he can start believing… that they do love him. Because the tenderness they have for him is all he needs, all he thought he’d never get.

December 11th

Erejean. sfw. sadness, death, and a sacrifice of one – to save the life of all.

A loud flourish echoes along the top of Wall Maria. The signal. Jean looks up from the piece of metal he’s been toying with. Mikasa, Armin and Levi are following behind Commander Smith, faces stony and cold, their gear still whirring from cannonballing them up the wall. Levi throws Jean a quick glance when passing by, and there’s something like pity in it. Armin doesn’t speak, neither does Mikasa. Everything’s been said between the three of them. Jean still remembers the scent of white lilies, of rain and an empty grave, three days ago. Nothing left to bury.

Eren.

They line up on the wall, and Jean stands by their side. Armin touches his shoulder, his breath hitching as tears slide down his cheeks. He’s grown up, hair cut short like Mikasa’s. Jean remembers how he used to love her, and then stopped to devote his heart to someone else.

Hanji is the last one. They come with a basket full of shimmering silver that’s moving and trying to crawl up the walls of its cage. Levi takes the basket to hold it, eyes cast away, face dark from shadows and ice-cold hate. They all sacrificed so much, but… not enough. Not as much as –

Hanji takes the weapons out one by one, setting them on the edge of the wall. They look like silver beetles, thick as a fist, with feelers and a blinking red sensor on their blunt heads. The machinery inside whirrs and moves as Hanji touches every single one, activating them. Mikasa wraps her arms around Armin and holds him when he starts to cry. Levi leans against Erwin, whispers the name they’re all thinking about. The Commander wraps his only arm around his neck, kisses his hair. Hanji’s tears are silent when they watch the bugs rise into the air, gas evaporating from their bellies and catapulting them, the sky’s the limit for humanity’s greatest invention. 

The Titans they lured to Wall Maria are glaring with hollow eyes and hungry red maws, spit flying, steam erupting from where they stumble into each other. All along the wall are hundreds of soldiers, opening baskets and letting out silver bugs into the air. The rest of them is in the Forest of Giant Trees, and all over humanity’s last safe haven are clouds of shimmering beetles swarming the sky, the sun reflecting on their bodies.

The mechanism is complex and Jean doesn’t understand it, but Hanji does, and all of them remember the sacrifice that it cost one of them. “We will construct a machine that will sit on Eren’s neck. When we need him out of the titan, when he’s going wild or things get dangerous – then the beetle cuts him out precisely. He doesn’t need to lose his limbs each time,” Hanji had said. They had all agreed, had seen the demonstration on the Titan puppets they’d been training with, back in older days. The silver beetle had worked perfectly. Eren had said it was cute and at least small enough so his Titan self wouldn’t be distracted. Jean had mocked him about the silver insect sitting on the nape of his neck for days, they’d fought about it.

They’d kissed before their last mission. He can’t turn back time now. He can’t wrap Eren in his arm and rip the beetle off and –

It was quick. Blood, flesh, no screams. Eren’s heart stopped, and his death had brought humanity victory. Too many Titans attacking him on the last mission. Levi had screamed “get him out, he’ll be eaten!”, and the beetle, conditioned to his voice, obeyed. In theory, things always work. In theory, there’s negative numbers and a peaceful word, love and kindness. The silver beetle twitched once, and then its sharp claws cut.

And they didn’t stop.

There was no corpse to bury, nothing left when the Titans lashed into him. Jean watched. He screamed his heart out, his soul and his living beating heart, cursed at the broken fucking world and at the key dangling around his neck, a simple talisman Eren had given him.

“To protect you, idiot.”

Just days later, the military forced Hanji to change the beetles. A few adjustments and the weapons were programmed to react to a certain body temperature and electrical signals.

Now Jean watches them attack, and he opens his hand to look at the piece of metal he’s holding. The key’s rusty and a little skewed, and Jean gently wipes it until it’s shiny again. While the beetles exterminate, while giant bodies fall like rotten trees, and while all the other soldiers are cheering, the Survey Corps stands still.

The Commander raises his left hand. He salutes. They all follow, fingers against their foreheads. Armin’s broken sobs and Mikasa’s quiet tears travel away with the wind swirling through their capes, and Jean lets his hand sink down to look at the bitemarks they are all carrying on their palms, deep red and just days old.

“Jäger,” Levi says into the wind. 

‘You always wanted to protect others,’ Jean thinks and clasps his bitten hand around the key, the talisman he got from warm lips brushing against his own, and a voice whispering. 

“To protect you.”

Eren can’t imagine not loving Marco.

He’s there when Marco has his coming-out, and they’re both sixteen, young and hungry for the world and love, and Marco falls in love with an older boy named Jean. They become a couple, and Eren’s silent. He yields, he’s soft and warm and by Marco’s side when he laughs, happiness sparking in his eyes.

He’s there when Jean’s done with school and goes away, leaves the continent to study, and after three weeks Marco’s crying in Eren’s arms because it didn’t work out, not even with skyping every day, and it’s not anyone’s fault but it just didn’t feel the same and Jean skyped five hours with him when they broke up, apologizing over and over again, cooing I still love you but not as much anymore and crying just like Marco. Eren tries not to hate him but it’s hard when Marco’s curled up against his stomach and hurts his soul out of his body.

He’s not there, not with Marco when they’re somewhere in their twenties, in college, when someone hits on Eren and he thinks “fuck it” and kisses a whole night long. Marco’s eyes are wide and sad when he comes home to their shared flat with a stench of beer in his mouth and red lips. They fight, loud and heavy, and then Eren’s spitting I love yous and You’d never look at me like you looked at hims, and then there’s nothing but silence and tears.

Eren stays. For a day, there’s nothing, just a void swallowing him deeper and deeper. Then Marco knocks at his room. Eren can’t not open – he has to be there. For Marco. He can’t imagine not loving him, and Marco’s dark red-rimmed eyes, tears on his cheeks, tell him that Marco knows. He apologizes between sobs, and Eren holds him. He doesn’t know what they’ll become. But the way Marco’s nose brushes his, that can’t be just – Maybe, he can allow himself hope.

Eren yanks Jean around and slams him into some wall, just after Jean said goodbye in a voice wet from tears and a night of ragged sobbing in Eren’s arms, and Eren whispers the usual soft insults into his ear before he locks their lips too harshly, too gently to be enough, steals Jean’s breath and promises that he doesn’t have to go.
Please don’t.

For once in his life, Jean swallows pride and fear and gives in to the warm hand curling around his neck.