yamikailyn

[yamikailyn]

It’s 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 won’t mess up the concoction again.

Too hot, and the purple flowers will burn, according to Levi’s curt but helpful instructions. Time is important too. Too little, and the beverage won’t be potent enough. But too long, and it’ll be as undrinkable as piss. Jean takes his pocket watch in hand. Five minutes. No more, no less. He can’t fuck this up. Floch took risks to ‘acquire’ 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. It’s 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 Jean’s 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 for—

Stop. Jean shakes his head, takes a deep breath and chugs the full cup of tea down. He’s 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, he’s 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 haven’t 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? Can’t 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 isn’t pathetic. What about his haircut, though? Is it getting too long now? Growing his hair out seemed like a good idea but now it’s too long at the back, isn’t 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 Jean’s appearance even have any kind of impact on him? What if he doesn’t 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. “Should I shave?”

Floch gapes and bluts out, “what?”

“Should I shave?” Jean grabs Floch’s shoulders. Stupid military jacket. It’s in the way. Skin should warm Jean’s palms.

“Shave what?”

“Do you hate the beard?”

“What’s gotten into you?” Isn’t it obvious? Does Floch not understand?

“Do you hate how I look? Answer!”

Floch pushes Jean’s hands away and takes a step back, narrowing his eyes like he always does when he’s about to murder someone with his silver-tongue. Even his scent sours. Jean’s stomach drops. “If you keep acting like a lunatic, we’re not sitting together for dinner.”

No dinner together? Jean’s eyes sting. Oh. So that means Floch isn’t just angry—he hates him. No, no, no. Jean withdraws, hands running through his hair—too long, stupid long hair—and starts pacing left and right. What has he done? “I knew it, I knew it, you hate everything about me, I knew it …”

“Wow!”

Jean stops in his track, anxiety twisting his guts. He barely dares making eye contact with Floch. “‘Wow’ what?”

Floch tilts his head to the side, silent for a moment. Is he pondering? Why does he have to ponder? Can’t he just punch Jean in the stomach right away, so Jean can crawl away to dig his own grave with his bare hands and—a snicker. Floch crosses his arms and cocks one hip. “I 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.”

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, doesn’t even flinch, Jean takes a step forward, grinding his teeth. “It doesn’t ‘fuck me up’! It has never been like this before!”

“Never?” Smirking, Floch comes closer, close enough to grab Jean by the bolo tie and tug him down. Jean’s nostrils flutter. Fuck. Does the omega smell good … Not sour anymore but more like sweet amusement. As quickly as it has risen, Jean’s rage subsides. His eyes fall on Floch’s lips, slightly wet, and his own hands now on his companion’s hips. Jean would just have to lean in to—“So, what you’re saying is that you’re a mess because of me?”

Jean blinks. Sucks in a breath. Then peels his gaze away from the tantalizing lips to meet Floch’s eyes. Arrogance and pride burn in them like liquid gold. “Don’t look so smug,” Jean growls, trying to step back. But of course, Floch doesn’t release his grip on the bolo tie and grins even more as he tightens it.

“Your beard is fine, Jean. It suits you. What else do you need to be reassured about? Your hair? Don’t cut them, or how am I supposed to pull on it when you’re getting carried away?” Huh? Jean’s mouth falls open. No, he’s not blushing, even if his face feels weirdly hot. No, he’s absolutely not getting hard either. Just slightly turned on. Slightly. “Also, not that I ever paid attention to the rumor before, but I’d heard you were well-endowed. Now I can confirm.” Okay, not slightly anymore. Jean squeezes Floch’s hips, fighting every instinct in him not to throw the omega onto the bed.

“Floch, stop …” But Jean’s warning comes out as a needy, throaty whimper that only serves to make his companion chuckle.

“Which is also why your dick won’t get anywhere close to my ass. But …” Floch doesn’t add anything, only staring at Jean with hooded eyes. Is he flirting? Not that Floch isn’t capable of this—he 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. “You’re playing with fire. I really, really wanna fuck you now.”

“How vulgar.” 

“Maybe. But I can’t stop myself from desiring you,” Jean murmurs, moving his head forward to nuzzle the side of Floch’s 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 Jean’s chest to stop him from reaching again. “Have you desired anyone that much before?” Did he? Jean blinks, frustration rising in every fiber of his being from being forced to so little physical contact when he needs—craves—so much more. But it’s nowhere violent enough to urge him to take what he wants. He doesn’t even have to wrestle down his instincts for it. Perhaps the herbal tea does have the intended effect now? “Jean?” Right. Floch’s 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 away—he doesn’t want to remember nights of challenging another alpha much stronger than him and the strange but arousing feeling of giving himself up. It wasn’t love, anyway, just misguided lust. “No. Never.” 

Something flickers in Floch’s gaze. His hand moves along the bolo tie’s 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. Floch’s 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 Floch’s hip bones. This time, the omega doesn’t 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 Jean’s heart, Floch gives the bolo tie a little tug. “Well, then. You may kiss me.”

Closing his eyes, Jean eagerly meets Floch’s lips and traces their shape. They are a bit chapped, but Floch’s scent swirling around them makes up for it. Satisfaction. Trust. Subtle arousal, even. It’s 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, Floch’s hand moves from Jean’s chest to his nape, fingers tangling into his hair. Jean starts retreating, expecting a harsh tug, but Floch nips Jean’s bottom lip and grips the bolo tie harder again.

Oh! No holding back, then? Good.

Jean’s hands slide from Floch’s waist to his butt and the back of his thighs. Firm muscles flex underneath the fabric of the omega’s pants when he presses their bodies flush. He grinds his hips against Floch’s 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 can’t 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 Jean’s hair, tearing him away from his lips. “Enough,” he commands, and though Jean itches with the need to slam Floch against the wall or throws him onto the bed, he doesn’t. But he still growls his annoyance, which earns him a dismissive snort. “I’m not taking another shower before dinner.”

Jean squints. “Are you edging me?”

“Edging. You used that word before.” Floch’s grip on Jean’s hair doesn’t weaken. But he licks his swollen lips and breathes out a throaty chuckle. “Another one of your perverted, made-up practices that you try so hard to sell me?”

Jean squeezes Floch’s butt. If he weren’t 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. “That means postponing an orgasm, staying aroused longer and—”

“Sounds terrible,” Floch cuts with a frown. “I’d never blue ball—”

“Edging,” Jean corrects him.

“Ed-ging you.” But the glint of mischief in his golden eyes says otherwise.

Bastard.

Jean grins regardless. Floch is his bastard. Because he knows there’s more underneath that mischievous and hostile façade. “Still playing with fire, Floch. Are you a human or an imp?”

“I’m hungry.” Floch tugs on the bolo tie again. “Come on, let’s go for dinner.” He glances down, his lips quivering with mirth. “Unless you can’t walk quite yet.”

“Fuck you.”

“You wish.”

He does.

*~*

“So you’re 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?”

“Connie!” Armin squeaks from the end of the table.

Jean rolls his eyes and turns away. He’ll ignore any comment for the sake of world peace. His blood might not be boiling anymore, he’s 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 can’t find comfort in breathing in the only one that matters.

Not that Floch seems to be in a comforting mood.

“It’s alright, Armin.” With a sugar-coated smile, Floch waves the cup he’s holding in Connie’s direction. “He’s never been with anyone, so he doesn’t get it. And wouldn’t get it even if he were.”

“Floch,” 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.

“No, no, no. I actually get it. Jean and you, it’s like Sasha and her food.”

Sasha, in the middle of murdering a slice of bread, perks up. “Foopf?”

Connie doesn’t acknowledge her and continues, his expression almost matching Floch’s mocking one. “It’s 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 over—”

“Why do you have to tell everyone?!” 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. “You’re terrible people to be friends with,” he mutters, and for once, Jean agrees. Though, is Floch really their friend? Would he be sitting here if it weren’t for Jean?

Notes of irritation reach Jean’s nose. Floch’s grip tightens around his cup. “Did you just compare me to—”

“No, he didn’t.” Jean rests a placating hand on Floch’s 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 Floch’s 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 Jean’s shoulder. He startles, hand gripping a bicep, and doesn’t loosen his fingers even when Connie sighs against his ear. When did the beta even get up and round the table? “Relax. I’m only teasing you because I care about you. Yeah, even you, asshole.”

Floch bristles when he’s 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. “Can you care about us a few meters away?”

“Aw, you remind me of that feral barn cat my brothers used to—” Connie’s voice dies down. He releases them.

Jean glances up, searching his friend’s gaze to check on him, but Connie’s silently returned to his seat next to Sasha.

Perhaps for the first time in his life, Floch willingly shuts up.

Connie’s eyes dart away. “Anyway, us ‘veterans’, we must stick together, right?”

Nodding, Sasha pulls him into a comforting hug, despite his previous comments on her digestive issues. Meanwhile, Floch looks down at the empty cup he’s 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 …

“How about we—”

“Connie. Marley will pay for what they did to your family, and for everything else they did to us,” Floch cuts in. “One 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.”

Jean blinks. This is new. Not wanting to retaliate against Marley. Floch has always been adamant about it. But this specific scenario.

“Don’t be so extreme,” Armin murmurs, and Connie gives Floch a confused, hesitant look. Oh great. So much for Floch learning when to speak.

“Nothing is too extreme.” Floch hits his heart with a close fist. His intensity manages to lure Eren back into their conversation—he looks up from his plate, his expression not as dispassionate as it tends to be these days, though Jean isn’t sure he likes the creeping darkness that seems to suck all colors from his eyes.

“There’s still a lot to do before we’re even close to harming them.” Eren’s 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 there’s always that small voice whispering in his ears that without Marley, all their troubles would be gone. Still, he can’t say that out loud. “Armin’s right. Let’s not get carried away. Hange thinks that if we show the outside world who we truly are, we can find a peaceful solution.”

Connie lets out a dry chuckle betraying his discomfort. “I don’t want innocent people, kids, to suffer like my family did. I don’t think my mum would be proud of that.”

“Would she want Historia and her kids to be sacrificed?” Eren asks curtly.

Connie looks down and doesn’t reply.

Armin shakes his head. “That’s not very fair. No one here wants Historia to suffer. But the fifty-year plan shouldn’t be discarded either. We must acknowledge that our options are limited.”

“Are they? Or are we led to believe they are?” Floch smirks. “The top brass, especially the Military Police, don’t care about us, the lower class. I’d 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?”

“Enough,” Jean orders, his throat constricting. Deep down, he knows Floch is right. But he can’t let him go on another rant, not with so many unfriendly ears around. “I wish things were different too, but let’s not discuss sensitive information in the middle of the mess.” He gives Floch a side glance. Will he try to argue back?

He doesn’t. He simply nods. Strange. He’s usually so stubborn and confrontational. Too much for his own good. Jean brushes his knuckles against his companion’s thigh to show his appreciation, but Floch’s 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 doesn’t stop glowering at Floch, who surprisingly manages to not antagonize her or anyone else.

But once they return to Jean’s room, Floch leans back against the closed door, arms crossed and eyes squinted. “You know I’m right.”

“You’re always right.” An argument is the last thing Jean needs tonight. He wants to go straight up to bed. Snuggle up to Floch if he’s lucky enough. Get off if fate decides to be good to him. He doesn’t have energy to spare about why they should strike first and how to destroy Marley.

But Floch doesn’t buy his attempt at appeasing him, of course. He clicks his tongue. “Our 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.”

“Trains are useful.”

“Hardly. 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 don’t give a shit about soldiers like you and me, about the recruits you and Levi try so hard to get ready for what’s to come. When things blow up in their face, who do you think they’ll ask to die for them? And we will die, because do you see any flying boats and bombs we could use against Marley?” Floch pauses, but Jean doesn’t reply. He just looks at the bed, trying to focus on the night of rest waiting for him, except that he can’t ignore Floch’s words. The recruits aren’t ready for a full-scale war against Marley’s modern weaponry. No one is. Not even Levi nor Hange. Certainly not Jean. “If our superiors had a single drop of common sense, they’d do more than a partial rumbling.”

Jean jerks his head up, jaw clenching. “What are you really suggesting? Destroying Marley as a whole? Killing all the innocents living there?”

Floch curls his mouth and puffs his chest. “Enemies.”

“They aren’t all our enemies.”

“They are.”

Cold spreads through Jean’s limbs, extinguishing almost any protest he could’ve 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 can’t really stop himself from asking, “Even the kids?”

A snort. “You mean kids like Bertolt, Annie, and Reiner?” Jean swallows, ice congregating around his heart. There’s a heaviness in Floch’s scent that raises goosebump all across his skin. “Kids are fed with the beliefs of their parents. So, yes, they are our enemies too. And the only reason why Marley hasn’t attacked yet is because they’re busy with their war in the Middle East and too scared of the rumbling. But they’ll come for us. Eventually.”

Jean rubs his eyes. For fuck’s sake, he just wants a peaceful evening. Sighing, he meets Floch’s intense eyes again and drops his shoulders. “Are we really having that conversation again? What do you want me to do, exactly?”

“I’m not asking you to do anything.” Floch pushes himself off the door and steps closer. For a second, Jean tenses up. But Floch’s hands are surprisingly gentle when they find his hips. He closes the gap between them to rest his forehead against the crook of Jean’s shoulder. “Sorry. I got all worked up again.”

“An understatement,” Jean mutters, unsure about the change of mood. But he raises a hand and brushes Floch’s hair, a small smile tugging at his lips. Floch’s scent curls around them. The mix of sourness and sweetness proves that he isn’t lying about his remorse, nor his affection. It warms up Jean’s heart, despite the existential doom haunting him.

“I want to spend the night with you.” That’s not a question. Floch looks up, his amber eyes burning with something that isn’t rage toward their enemies, this time. For a moment, the air gets stuck in Jean’s lungs. Arousal stirs in his lower belly, and with it, the certitude he could crawl an eternity through hell for this man—his companion.

Jean cups Floch’s face, thumbs brushing his cheekbones before he moves his hands to tangle his fingers into red locks. To think it’s only been a few days and he’s already so smitten. If he hasn’t known Floch for years, he’d believe his care for him is purely a fabrication of Floch’s heat and his own rut mixing together to create a fever dream of attraction. But it isn’t. There’s more between them than just hormonal-driven lust. And his throat constricts with the fears he can’t entirely squash, even if they talked about it. “Are you really sure?” he finally asks in a whisper. “We don’t know how long the violet melissa will last.”

“What do you think? That I’m as brittle as glass?” But there’s something in the way Floch squints his eyes—a subtle note of wariness, and the promise that his teeth will sink in Jean’s flesh at the first misstep. “I’m not leaving you alone again,” Floch adds with a shrug and an annoyed humph.

That’s all Jean needs to hear. He leans in, lips ghosting Floch already, but the damn weasel releases Jean’s hips and steps back with a smirk.

Jean clicks his tongue. “Again with the teasing?”

Floch snickers. “Edging, you mean?” The little bastard. His attitude will be the death of Jean one day.

“Why do I love you so much?”

Floch doesn’t 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 can’t remember if he proclaimed his feelings so openly before. Everything happened all too fast these last few days. “I …” Floch hesitates, his forehead creasing as he looks elsewhere.

Jean’s stomach tightens. “You don’t have to say it back.” Floch doesn’t have to tell him he doesn’t feel the same about him either.

But when Floch returns his attention to him, he glowers. “For a Commanding Officer, you can be as dense as a brick. No matter what the future has in store for us, you’re the only person I want by my side.”

It’s not ‘I love you too’. It feels like more, somehow.

“Floch,” Jean whispers with a surge of emotions. He takes a deep breath to calm himself down but only manages to fill his lungs with Floch’s scent. The omega might not be in heat anymore, but it doesn’t stop Jean from feeling the phantom warmth of Floch’s skin against his lips and the urge to mark him as his forever and ever. Didn’t 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 Jean’s increasing excitement, Floch presses a palm against his chest. “Sit.”

Jean doesn’t move right away. He blinks, nostrils flaring. Did Floch give him an order? Yes he did. Tone firm and even commanding. Jean’s chest heaves. But he squashes the wild instinct screaming at him to pounce and scruff the omega until he submits to him. Deep down, it’s not what he wants. Especially not tonight.

When Jean sits down on the edge of the bed, Floch’s smile is victorious. He moves closer again and reaches for Jean’s face, scratching and petting his hair as if he’s just a pet. “Good,” he purrs, his fingers finding Jean’s chin to angle it up. It should be degrading, but Jean’s eyes slip half shut. The attention feels amazing. The praise feels amazing. “You’ll do as I say, won’t you?”

Jean holds Floch’s gaze. Behind the affection, there’s still a flicker of doubt, a note of suspicion. Not for Jean himself but for the thousands years old animalistic impulse rushing through Jean’s 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 Jean’s spine, but also a chill to the deepest of his stomach. What if Floch loses control again? Or what if he doesn’t care for Jean as much as he should?

Jean licks his lips, his heart beating faster. “I want to but last time …” His voice trails off when Floch presses his palm against his cheek, rubbing his stubble.

“I’m not going to fail you again. Just let go. It was an exhausting day, wasn’t it?” Floch straddles his lap and pecks on his lips. “An exhausting week.” The following kiss is deeper, this time. Relaxing into it, Jean grasps Floch’s waist, pulling him even closer. Floch’s 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. “Always horny.”

“For you,” Jean completes, tugging Floch’s shirt off his pants. He slides his hands up and down his companion’s side, careful with his touch. Floch’s skin is so warm, yet shivering. “Does it feel good?”

Floch tilts his head to the side, as if he needs time to process the question and figure out his feelings. “So far, I enjoy it more than I thought I would,” he eventually concludes.

If it was anyone else, Jean would take it like an insult. But it’s nothing personal. Just Floch expressing with his usual honesty that physical intimacy wasn’t something he considered before, and wouldn’t consider it with anyone but Jean.

Bubbling with pride, Jean can’t help a grin. He must look so smug. Floch narrows his eyes at him and grabs his chin between hard fingers. “What are you so cocky about?”

Jean can’t say he’s displeased with that little show of dominance, even if his instinct wants him to bare his teeth. But tonight it’s easy to muzzle it up. “I like being with you.”

Floch blinks. Then looks away, his lips pursing, and his cheeks turning slightly pink. “Why do you need to always be so sappy?” His grumbles make him even more adorable, even though most people wouldn’t use that word to describe Floch. But Jean couldn’t care less.

He reaches for Floch’s neck, skims over the side with his palm and tangles his fingers into red hair trying to lead a revolt on their own. “So I can get the privilege to see you all flustered and cute.”

“Oh, fuck yo—” Floch’s angry growl turns into half a squeak when Jean flops back onto the bed, dragging his companion with him. Golden eyes glare at him. “What are you doing?”

“I thought you wanted to be on top tonight. Was I wrong? Should I …” Jean teasingly props himself up on one elbow and grabs Floch's hip with one hand, giving him a gentle push to the side.

“No, you stay put,” Floch snaps, gripping him by the shoulders and slamming him back against the mattress. Jean groans. His hold on Floch’s 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 he’s 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 Floch’s shirt and trails them up, wanting to check if the omega’s 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.

“Stay put, I said.” 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 doesn’t 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 isn’t. His instinct still wants to rebel, just to see if there’s really not a single submissive bone in Floch’s body. If Floch deserves him in this vulnerable position. They haven’t fought yet, not for real at least. So why should Jean yield so easily?

That brief thought goes nowhere and dissolves when Floch’s 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.

Jean’s eyes fly open. He stares into Floch’s. The omega grimaces, defensive. “What?” He snaps.

“Too dry.”

Floch scoffs. “I’m not sucking you.”

“You don’t have—” Jean stops mid-sentence and screws his eyes shut again. Floch’s hot, wet mouth surrounding him. He inhales. Exhales. Grabs the sheet and twists it. “There’s oil in the drawer,” he manages to mumble.

“Why would you have … oh!” Floch snorts, then chuckles. He shifts on top of Jean and his breath warms Jean’s ear. “I hope you were thinking about me.”

“Shut up, don’t act like you’ve never—” Floch shushes Jean with a finger.

“You wouldn’t want me in a bad mood, now, commanding officer?”

The back of Jean’s neck tickles. Is the threat infuriating or exciting? It doesn’t matter much once Floch tightens his grip around Jean’s 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 Jean’s nerves. But he barely gets a chance to act on his impatience. Floch’s 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 Jean’s jawline meets his neck. He whispers words, but Jean can only focus on his desperate needs for relief. The oily sensation doesn’t stop him from thinking how much he wants to fuck Floch’s ass deeper. Or his cunt. It must be his cunt. Does he have one? Jean doesn’t know anymore. He stops fisting the sheet to try to grab the omega’s hips and thrust harder into him, only to get his hair tugged on harshly. “Keep your hands on the bed.”

The grip loosens as soon as Jean complies with a pant. Several pants. The cold, self-assured order sends a jolt down his spine. He’s getting close. Everything is tighter, his stomach, his balls, his knot.

Floch pets his hair, his tone almost cooing. “I’m the one pleasuring you. Only I can pleasure you.” Jean gulps. Floch’s tongue follows the curve of his throat to his chin. “You’re so filthy.”

“You too,” 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.

“Perhaps,” Floch says against the shell of Jean’s ear, “but only for you too.” Something both sour and sweet flourishes in Floch’s scent—possessiveness. Jealousy, perhaps. It feels as much as a promise as the words just said.

Jean’s 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 Floch’s blurry silhouette sitting on the edge of the bed. He’s 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. “You’re sweaty and …” Whatever Floch wanted to say, he doesn’t finish. He reaches to brush Jean’s hair off his face, then starts unbuttoning Jean’s shirt. “Let’s get you out of these.”

“What about you?” Jean’s hand hovers over Floch’s hip. This time, he isn’t pushed away. But there’s almost a hint of wariness, if not panic, in the omega’s golden eyes.

“I don’t need anything.”

Jean frowns but decides to drop the topic. Floch isn’t like any person he’s been with before. It’s something he just has to get used to. Jean still gently pats his companion’s hip as he feels himself drift away. He’s not quite sleeping, but he’s 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 didn’t know how to act. He’s a fast learner, Jean just knew it.

“Do you need anything?”

Jean lies on his side. “You said you’d stay tonight.”

Floch presses his chest against Jean’s back and drapes an arm over his waist, a leg over his thigh. “And I’m not leaving.” He nuzzles the back of Jean’s neck, his hold tightening.

Everything feels as it should be. Levi’s right. They claimed each other. Perhaps they did even before they shared their first moments of intimacy.

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: 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 Zoë announces their new plan—to visit Marley to find new allies.

Chapters: 1/?

Ships: Flojean, past jeanmarco, past jeanrei

“So, did you fuck last night?”

“Connie! I don’t think that’s anyone’s business!”

“Come 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?”

“Then don’t ask!” Armin cries out again, and Jean winces—the mess hall is loud enough already. If only he could be somewhere else. Anywhere else. “Why are you so invested in this anyway?!” Yes, why is he?

Connie leans his elbows on the table, averting his gaze. His lips twist. “It’s either that or talking about Marley, and I don’t wanna talk about Marley.”

Armin opens his mouth, looking ready to argue more, but steals Jean a nervous glance instead.

Great. At least one of them realises Jean’s trying his very best not to punch Connie’s stupid face and make him run laps around the courtyard. By the walls, that would be glorious. Not punching Connie, because that’s what any brain-dead alpha would do, and Jean prides himself to do better than acting on animalistic impulses. But it’s 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 isn’t 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 wasn’t for lack of trying. Jean infused and drank some violet melissa flowers before going to sleep. But Floch’s scent still permeated everything in his room—clothes, 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 doesn’t even want to think what would’ve happened without them. Or if he’d caved in and let Floch spend the night with him, his warm body pressed against Jean’s with just a thin, easy to rip layer of fabric between them.

His stomach heaves.

To Sasha’s greatest joy, Jean pushes his bowl towards her. The porridge is a far cry from last night’s feast anyway. Armin gives him a sympathetic look. What does he think? That it’ll alleviate Jean’s torment? Cute. He’s not hard—not 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. Connie’s 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 aren’t 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 isn’t busy enough to ignore the intrusive thoughts and his body going haywire. But he doesn’t want to trial his self-control today. And one glance across the mess hall to Hange tells him they already know he’s forfeiting and yearns for the quietness of his office, where no one will challenge his restraint. Even if there’s also an amused sparkle in their eyes telling Jean they can’t 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 Floch’s 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 yesterday’s? Stupid question. Of course Floch still wears yesterday’s 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 doesn’t want that. Intimacy isn’t something he’s comfortable with yet, love another thing he doesn’t know if he’s 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 Jean’s 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 fuck’s 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.

It’s not that he cares that much about Armin, it’s just that Eren shouldn’t have all the nice things.

“Jean.” Floch sighs, and Jean swears he moved closer, but he won’t turn his head to check. Because if he does …

He steps to the side, glaring at Eren, who just chews on his food as if he couldn’t 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. Can’t pick a fight with Eren in the middle of the mess hall like he used to. Can’t see if he’s as punchable as before.

A hand brushes Jean’s arm. Little sparks of pleasure heat up his nerves and drowns the rage into syrup. He swallows. Hard. So. Hard. Fuck!

“Floch … I’ll … I’ll see you later.” Or in a couple of days, when the rut eases off, and he isn’t picturing himself trailing his tongue along the curve of the omega’s neck, hands kneading his firm ass. He’d nuzzle the area over Floch’s scent glands. No bite, no claiming, of course. Just gentle licking and nibbling. Just a taste before he … before he …

Crap.

Pulling down on his jacket, Jean rushes out the mess hall. Can’t think of any other way to fight off the hormonal storm brewing in him. Or to hide his embarrassing boner before someone—Connie, it will be Connie—points 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 isn’t quite used to yet, but the lack of omega scent hanging in the air—in particular the lack of Floch’s oh-so-alluring scent—helps 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. “Fuck …!”

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.

It’s 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. It’s not his own touch he craves, but it’ll do. Eyes closed, he can pretend for a second Floch is leaning against him, whispering intoxicating words into his ear. ‘Look at you, all hard and dripping for me. Do you like my hand that much?’ Yes, yes, he does. Fuck! He does!

If only Floch’s heat and Jean’s rut could’ve 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 could’ve just been them, in bed, exploring each other’s bodies and achieving new heights of pleasure. It doesn’t matter that they’ve only been intimate for a few days, they’ve 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, Jean’s 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 hadn’t been Floch’s heat, it’d have been something else.

A bit of pressure on his swollen, oversensitive knot, and it’s 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. He’d let Jean slide up and down between the cleft of his ass and tease his puckered, slicked entrance. Yes. He’d beg for Jean’s cock, his knot, his mark—fuck!

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 he’s 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. He’s not in bed, his dick deep buried into Floch’s 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. It’s better than the alternative—sitting in the smell of his shame while he’s trying to tackle a report on the new recruits assigned to his squads.

Reports. Marco would’ve 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, Marco’s whole face lit up. Never thought Jean noticed his interest. How could he not?

But Marco’s dead, and Jean lost more than his best friend that day—Marco would’ve 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 he’d respect them. But can he?

Piece of shit.

That’s all Jean is, a piece of shit, getting high and hot at the fantasy of defiling Floch. But that sad realisation won’t get any of his work done.

Jean stares at the words he wrote until they blur and his eyes sting. ‘The recruits from the 108th Training Division are …’ 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 can’t write that down even if it’s the truth.

What about their political views? It didn’t escape to his attention some are radicalised already, especially the youngest. Floch is particularly good at rallying them up. But Jean can’t 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 shouldn’t be punished because no one can give them hope.

‘The 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 recommend’

Jean stops writing and raises his head, nostrils flaring. Levi’s scent reaches him before the Captain even knocks at the door.

Don’t move. Don’t say anything.

No. That’s stupid. Levi has to know Jean’s here. Where else would he be? Obviously, he’s not supervising any training. He’s 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, it’s the perfect shelter for an alpha in rut who doesn’t want any company.

Except it isn’t anymore.

Jean clears his throat, but Levi lets himself in before he’s invited to. Typical.

Sharp steel eyes quickly survey the office and zero in on the open window. “Damn, brat, either you want to catch a cold or you’re trying to hide you shat your pants when you stormed out that mess hall.” Of course Jean knows better than looking guilty. And, of course, he still can’t help a glance at that specific spot on the floor. He scrubbed it until he couldn’t feel his fingers, and yet, when he returns his attention to Levi, the captain glowers harder.

“Really?”

Face burning, Jean ducks his head. So much for not looking guilty. “It’s not what you—”

“No, it’s exactly what I think it is. But you look ashamed enough already.” Levi strides across the office and posts himself next to the window. Crossing his arms, he looks outside. “Come here. There’s something I want to show you.”

Jean doesn’t move right away. But he can’t just ignore Levi’s 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 Jean’s hand with cold mist. Autumn is starting to show its true colors. And Levi smells like soap, tea, and unshakable resolve.

Don’t breathe in. But of course Jean does, and his belly tightens with something that isn’t quite arousal but isn’t 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 who’s a head taller than him? Not that Jean could even dream of submitting the captain. He wouldn’t even try to.

“This is your doing.”

“What?” Jean detaches his eyes from Levi—when did he even start staring?—and glance down at the courtyard again.

“Pack 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 wasn’t even there for lunch. So, guess what happened next?”

Jean shakes his head. “I didn’t blow him off. I just—”

“That wasn’t my question, now, was it?” Levi narrows his eyes at him, and whatever warmth Jean felt congeals into the ice of the captain’s glare.

“Floch picked a fight.” Levi nods, and Jean’s chest caves in. Because, if Floch isn’t 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.

“Glad to see you actually care, but I’m not done yet. Why are you avoiding Floch? Surely you didn’t notice his oh-so-charming personality just now?”

Does Levi really have to ask? Did he forget during the night? Jean’s fingers twitch. “I’m in rut.”

“A fact I’m disgustingly aware of.” Levi releases his grip and steps away from the window. Jean drills holes into the back of the captain’s neck. “Usually, when an alpha is in rut, they seek the omega they claimed.”

Jean’s face burns. “I didn’t claim him!”

Levi shrugs and sits down on Jean’s chair, crossing his legs. His attention turns to the report for a second, then flicks back to Jean. “Forget about marking—it can happen even between sworn enemies. Feelings matter more because they can’t 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?” Levi clicks his tongue. “That was a pitiful show. And it gave those recruits the impression that you not only used Floch during his heat, but that he’s also not ‘good enough’ to satisfy you during your rut.”

“That’s not—” Jean doesn’t 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 can’t. So he just strides left and right, fists clenched by his side and anger trapped without a single crack to escape through. “Fuck!”

This time, Levi doesn’t say anything. He just grabs a sheet of blank paper and the fountain pen to scribble down what looks like a list. His calmness doesn’t ease Jean’s bubbling rage, but he eventually settles on the opposite seat, elbows propped on his thighs and chin resting on his clasped hands. However, it doesn’t take long before he starts bouncing his leg.

Levi stops writing, folds the piece of paper and meets his eyes. “You’re scared of hurting him, aren’t you?”

Jean freezes. Then drops his gaze. “I crave things he can’t give me.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Can’t.” Jean presses his lips together, waiting. But only silence answers back. Levi expects him to elaborate, doesn’t he? Jean shakes his head and rubs the back of his neck. His whole body cringes at his vulnerability. He shouldn’t be trapped in his own office, interrogated by an omega. No. He should be tearing through Levi, even if it’s just with words. But it’s also not who Jean is. So, he forces himself to still, rests his hands flat on his thighs and takes a deep breath. “We talked about it. I can be very … well, lustful and promiscuous, I guess. He’s not. And I’m fine with that. But. The rut … I’m scared of crossing boundaries.” Jean shivers. His heart sinks, and his fingers tingle. The same fingers he used to grab Floch’s hips before they went to sleep. Did Jean bruise him? “I … I did that yesterday and—”

“Did you like crossing those boundaries?”

Jean jerks his head back up. “What?! No! I felt awful! I still feel awful! But part of me, my instinct, my body, really wants to. When I’m with him … Even when I’m not with him … It’s all I can think of! And it’s wrong!”

Levi arches a brow. “What’s your plan, then? Stop yourself from thinking bad thoughts and never see Floch again?”

“Maybe it’s what I should do. For him.” Even if Jean’s 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.

“Erwin wasn’t interested in sex. You could barely tell when he was in rut. My heat didn’t affect him at all. Was this another biological oddity or just his personality, I still don’t know. But we made it work.” Levi doesn’t add anything for a little while, and Jean doesn’t 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 he’s willing to say anything at all. “You’re 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.”

‘Omega.’ The word feels so wrong in Levi’s mouth. Levi is so much more than an omega. Without him, they’d already be dead. “You’re my captain,” Jean corrects. “Humanity’s strongest.”

Levi turns around, a small, mocking smile tugging at the corner of his lip. “The son of a whore who would be put in better use as one. A thug picked up from the Underground’s filthy streets by the Survey Corp. An omega slut that hasn’t been properly tamed by his alpha. Or who needs a stronger, better one to break him into a more pliable plaything.”

Jean gapes. “Capt—”

“I heard it all from the nobles and the top brass, and often swore to myself I’d slice their throats. Thoughts are just thoughts. You need to trust yourself more.” Levi crosses the distance separating him from Jean and tucks the piece of paper into his breast pocket. “I 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.”

Jean snorts. It’d hurt like a bitch.

Anger and worry melt down into a different feeling. It’s not quite relief, but it’s 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 Levi’s right. Floch isn’t defenseless. He proves that again and again. And if Jean doesn’t trust himself much right now, perhaps he should trust Floch.

He pats his breast pocket and fishes the piece of folded paper. “What’s that?”

“The proper dosage and brewing technique for violet melissa.” Jean’s brow shots up. How does Levi—“Floch told me.” Oh.

Jean puts the paper back in his pocket. He licks his lips, nervousness growing in the pit of his stomach. “Are you going to tell the Commander?”

Levi curls his lips over his teeth, recoiling at the whole idea as it seems. “That little weasel, stealing the Military Police? Hange would be far too entertained! I don’t need that.” Even after years, Jean still can’t tell if Levi likes Hange. What are they to him? A superior? A comrade? A friend? More than a friend? It’s 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 doesn’t turn his head to watch him, he can’t resist breathing in his scent one last time. Usually, the captain is more guarded, discreet. Maybe it’s how he shows his trust in Jean. Or, most likely, the peak of Jean’s rut still exacerbates his sense of smell.

“Take the day off. You’re useless anyway.”

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 Levi’s 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 mare’s 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 Eren’s 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 doesn’t 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 Floch’s 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 ome—

“I haven’t forgiven you.” Jean freezes, his hand only a few centimeters away from Floch’s cheek. The omega doesn’t crack his eyes open, but his lips purse into one of his sullen pouts. “You’ve been an asshole.”

Jean blinks, then withdraws his hand and sits back on his heels. Floch’s irritation curls around them like a snake ready to strike. It’d be so much easier to lash out, pin Floch to the floor, show him who’s in charge, but … Jean shakes his head, swallowing the angry impulse down, even if it’s like gravel scraping against his throat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Well, you did,” Floch hisses. “And a lot of people seem to think it’s so fucking funny. ‘Oh, look at that, the little male omega put back into his rightful place—a slut, just good to be knotted. Jean will find a good omega woman to bear his kids soon enough.’”

Jean flinches. Is it really how people see him? “You know I wouldn’t.”

“Do I?” Floch rolls to his side, offering his back.

Jean grabs a fistful of straw with a trembling hand. It’s rough against his palm, and cracks when he tightens his grip. Or perhaps he’s just imagining the noise, because he wants to break the recruits’ necks so damn hard. “I’m trying to protect you.”

“From what?” Floch scoffs with a small shrug.

Jean sucks in a breath, his heart beating fast. “From me. I was afraid of losing control.”

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. “So what now? Do you plan to avoid me whenever you’re 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!”

“I know! And I did! I drank it!” Jean shouts back, taken aback by Floch’s accusation and whiny tone. But the way the omega blinks at him, equally in shock, makes him lower his voice. “It’s just that it didn’t seem to do a lot for me.” Jean touches his breast pocket, feeling the edge of the folded piece of paper tuck in it. “Maybe because I didn’t know how to prepare it correctly.”

“Oh …” 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. “What about now? How do you feel?”

“I’m … alright. More clear-headed. But maybe it’s because it smells like horse shit.”

Floch rolls his eyes. “You sound just like the captain.”

“Because I’m quoting him.”

“So, he visited you too …”

Floch doesn’t add anything else, and for a while, Jean doesn’t know what to say either. Doesn’t know if he should try to reach out again, now that Floch’s 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?

“Look, after what I did yesterday … I was worried it’d happen again. I don’t want to cross your boundaries.”

Floch shakes his head, sighing again. “Yesterday 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 couldn’t … that I was so distant when you needed me …” Floch’s 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 won’t stop.

“This morning, I was really looking forward to seeing you, you know?” Floch continues in a whisper, as if he’s afraid of being overheard. “Because the night was shitty without you.” His cheeks turn red, and he hides his face between his arms. Being vulnerable is still not something he’s comfortable with. “I wanted to hold you and wake up next to you,” he croaks.

Jean crawls closer, his arms almost locking around Floch’s curled up body. But he picks the straw out of his hair instead. So close, he can smell Floch’s 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. He’s still red-faced, but a small, almost mischievous smile plays on his lips.

“I want to spend the night with you.”

“Floch—” A finger presses again Jean’s lips.

“Don’t treat me like I don’t know what I’m doing. I trust you. I also trust my own strength. So, can you trust me?”

Jean exhales. “Yes. I trust you.”

“Unlike you, I actually have a plan.” Jean quirks a brow, but Floch doesn’t elaborate. He cradles Jean’s face instead, and this simple touch is enough for Jean’s eyes to flutter shut.

Jean moves closer, right into Floch’s comforting heat, and buries his head in the crook between Floch’s neck. Of course his cock stirs. The scent glands are just a few kisses away. But Jean is nowhere as aroused as he would’ve been this morning if they had hugged in the middle of the mess hall. If anything, he’s melting, all tension and stress leaving his body. Incredible what talking can do to alleviate one’s anxiety.

“Stupid alpha,” Floch mutters, but it sounds more affectionate than insulting. He tangles a hand into Jean’s hair and pets his head. It’s nice. Soothing. Jean wraps his arms around Floch and slots himself between his thighs. He nuzzles Floch’s neck until he finds his pulse. It’s when they lose their balance, but the straw mattress is here to collect them, so Floch barely huffs in protest.

It’s everything Jean needs. Floch’s presence, his warmth and scent surrounding him until Jean gets drunk on it and his brain clouds. It’d be even better without their clothes on, skin against skin, both bodies intimately entwine, but he shouldn’t be greedy. Even if he can’t stop his hips from grinding up and down against Floch’s thigh.

Too much pressure down there. His cock throbs, hot blood rushing into his inflating knot. Is it Floch’s hand on his ass, pulling him even closer? Inviting him to hump him? Does Floch finally want to know how an alpha’s cock feels? Jean tries to suck and pinch the curve of the omega’s neck. But the collar of Floch’s jacket is in the way, and the buttons of his shirt are so, so complicated to undo.

“Easy! My clothes stay on.” Floch warns, the hand in Jean’s hair tightening its grip.

“But I love you,” Jean whines. And, shit, why does Floch not let him prove it? He’d make him feel so good, so full, so—

Floch pulls on Jean’s hair, forcing him to raise his head. Jean growls and bares his teeth, desire turning into aggression, until he meets narrowed golden eyes.

Alphas don’t 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.

Jean’s eyes flutter shut, and even if it’s sloppy and hesitant, he slumps against Floch’s warmth, kissing him back until they are both breathless.

“See?” Floch pants, his hands cradling Jean’s face again. “You listen to me. I’m more than my instinct, and so are you.”

“Yeah …”

“So …” Floch licks his lips and looks away, a bit red in the face. “Do you wanna get off?”

“Yeah! No! Wait? Are … are you even hard?” Jean blurts out.

Floch glances back at him, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, and rubs his thigh against Jean’s crotch. “No. But you are. So flattering to know I have this effect on you.”

“Like, it’s new,” Jean breathes out, his face burning hot.

“You were smoother during my heat. Where did all your experience go? Southward to meet your other brain?”

“Shut up,” Jean snaps before sealing their mouths together again. He repositions himself, grinding down. It’s 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 Floch’s. His hips rock back and forth, chasing the pleasure he’s 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 Floch’s bottom lip. “You could fuck me. I’d let you.” It might not be what an alpha primarily needs, but it’ll scratch the itch regardless, Jean knows it. He just has to wrestle his instinct, and then—

But Floch pulls a face. “Disgusting. Not touching your asshole.” His harsh words don’t stop him from grabbing the back of Jean’s neck. They exchange another heated kiss, and Floch hooks a leg around Jean’s waist. Floch’s scent, sweet and soothing like rarely, wraps them into a soft cocoon.

Is his companion getting excited or is he just indulging him? Jean can’t quite tell. Doesn’t 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 Floch’s 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 Jean’s scent and Jean with his, it’ll be proof that they own each other, right?

Fuck, he’s so close, so close, so—“Are you serious now? In my horse’s stall?!”

*~*

Nothing can kill a boner faster than Eren Jaeger. Well, an attack from Marley would too, but the annoying prick’s 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 Eren’s lights out. But Floch firmly grabs Jean’s arm before he can.

Maybe it’s for the best. The beta has always been strong. Probably another nice gift from his titan shifter’s blood. It’s 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 it’d be the rut acting for him.

Jean breathes in and out, and relaxes fists he didn’t realise he clenched. “Sorry about that.” Apologizing stings his tongue. Still, it’s the right thing to do, isn’t it?

At least Eren’s gaze softens—a rare sight these days. Rubbing the back of his neck, he glances away and clears his throat. “Well, it’s just that I didn’t expect to stumble on you two. Could you do this in a room?” Eren gives Floch a quick glance. “And also, why are you even here? I was supposed to clean the stalls.”

“The Captain made me,” Floch dryly says, his hand still locked around Jean’s bicep. Why? It’s not like Jean still wants to pick a fight.

But here it is again, Eren’s annoyed look. “He did what? But you’re not even good at cleaning!”

If it weren’t for Floch, Jean would lunge forward and shove Eren to the ground. “Hey, shut up! He’s amazing!” 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 don’t need more to rinse the awful stench of horses off their skin. Then Jean will carry Floch to—

“Can you not be horny for thirty seconds?” Eren curls his lips, his body tensing as if he’s 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 Jean’s arm, forcing back his attention to him. But the omega’s eyes are fixed on Eren. “If you’re so eager to clean the stalls, be my guest. I’ve done enough.”

Eren’s eyebrows shoot up. “But you said Captain Levi tasked you with—”

“Do I look like I care?” Floch shrugs, an insolent smile flicking on his face.

“Floch,” Jean warns, but Eren is louder than him. For once.

“You’d disobey the Captain’s orders?!”

Floch rolls his eyes. “Oh, wow, truly an unexpected event, me being reluctant to carry a superior’s order. I’m not on a quest to get his approval, and I thought you were aware of that …”

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 didn’t 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 they’d be better off coercing the volunteers into giving them modern artillery schematics. Not that Floch was wrong either …

The air surrounding them thickens with the mix of their scents. It’s not quite hostile but the tension still tastes sour on Jean’s tongue and urges him to move between Floch and Eren, puffing his chest out. Even if he’s not sure which one he should protect from the other …

“Eren, you’ll follow your initial orders. I’m taking responsibility for him, so don’t worry.”

“Oh, I know. You always do.” 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 can’t squash the feeling that he’s still missing some context, but he also doesn’t want to linger to find out what’s going on in Eren’s brain. Most likely, he’s thinking the same thing as everyone else—their impending doom. And his own death, that’ll happen sooner than Jean wants to, even if they rarely see eye to eye. However, it’s a conversation he’s in no state to have now, and besides, Eren made his point clear before—he won’t 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 Floch’s.

[yamikailyn]

Now that City of Lights 2 is finished and that we're working hard on City of Lights 3, it seemed like the right time to update Heat Stroke.

In this chapter, Levi learns who his boss does and what are Eren's best assets. Life is hard.

Read on Ao3

Heat Stroke

Written for #LESummer2024, day 4: Holiday

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.

Read on AO3

[yamikailyn]

When you're trying to go through the day but have the gut feeling people are conspiring. Hmmm, who could that be?

[yamikailyn]

I'm sure Jean redecorated the room for one of his Hizuru girls. No, I'm not jealous!

[yamikailyn]

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 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 ...

[yamikailyn]

City of Lights 2

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: "Home. Eren blinks. Where’s 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 isn’t home. It’s— A voice whispers into his ear. He has to get moving. Has to find Levi. Won’t be able to confuse the pigs for much longer. Don’t pick a fight. Run." - OR: It's summer in Jena and Paradis. The colorful streets shimmer and shine under the neon lights—until 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: 45/45

TW: 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: 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!

Read on Ao3

[yamikailyn]

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!

[yamikailyn]

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 Bott’s 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 – 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."

"You’re 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)

[yamikailyn]

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 patriotic—they 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 know people love pokkojean as a concept, but they’re 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).

Here’s 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 they’ll 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 Feiner’s 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, I’m sorry for wasting your time, it’s been a hard day. This is nonsense. 💖

[yamikailyn]

Still unbothered. Moisturised. Happy. In My Lane. Focused. Flourishing.

[yamikailyn]

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: 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 Zoë announces their new plan—to visit Marley to find new allies.

Chapters: 1/?

Ships: Flojean, past jeanmarco, past jeanrei

“So, did you fuck last night?”

“Connie! I don’t think that’s anyone’s business!”

“Come 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?”

“Then don’t ask!” Armin cries out again, and Jean winces—the mess hall is loud enough already. If only he could be somewhere else. Anywhere else. “Why are you so invested in this anyway?!” Yes, why is he?

Connie leans his elbows on the table, averting his gaze. His lips twist. “It’s either that or talking about Marley, and I don’t wanna talk about Marley.”

Armin opens his mouth, looking ready to argue more, but steals Jean a nervous glance instead.

Great. At least one of them realises Jean’s trying his very best not to punch Connie’s stupid face and make him run laps around the courtyard. By the walls, that would be glorious. Not punching Connie, because that’s what any brain-dead alpha would do, and Jean prides himself to do better than acting on animalistic impulses. But it’s 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 isn’t 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 wasn’t for lack of trying. Jean infused and drank some violet melissa flowers before going to sleep. But Floch’s scent still permeated everything in his room—clothes, 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 doesn’t even want to think what would’ve happened without them. Or if he’d caved in and let Floch spend the night with him, his warm body pressed against Jean’s with just a thin, easy to rip layer of fabric between them.

His stomach heaves.

To Sasha’s greatest joy, Jean pushes his bowl towards her. The porridge is a far cry from last night’s feast anyway. Armin gives him a sympathetic look. What does he think? That it’ll alleviate Jean’s torment? Cute. He’s not hard—not 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. Connie’s 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 aren’t 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 isn’t busy enough to ignore the intrusive thoughts and his body going haywire. But he doesn’t want to trial his self-control today. And one glance across the mess hall to Hange tells him they already know he’s forfeiting and yearns for the quietness of his office, where no one will challenge his restraint. Even if there’s also an amused sparkle in their eyes telling Jean they can’t 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 Floch’s 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 yesterday’s? Stupid question. Of course Floch still wears yesterday’s 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 doesn’t want that. Intimacy isn’t something he’s comfortable with yet, love another thing he doesn’t know if he’s 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 Jean’s 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 fuck’s 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.

It’s not that he cares that much about Armin, it’s just that Eren shouldn’t have all the nice things.

“Jean.” Floch sighs, and Jean swears he moved closer, but he won’t turn his head to check. Because if he does …

He steps to the side, glaring at Eren, who just chews on his food as if he couldn’t 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. Can’t pick a fight with Eren in the middle of the mess hall like he used to. Can’t see if he’s as punchable as before.

A hand brushes Jean’s arm. Little sparks of pleasure heat up his nerves and drowns the rage into syrup. He swallows. Hard. So. Hard. Fuck!

“Floch … I’ll … I’ll see you later.” Or in a couple of days, when the rut eases off, and he isn’t picturing himself trailing his tongue along the curve of the omega’s neck, hands kneading his firm ass. He’d nuzzle the area over Floch’s scent glands. No bite, no claiming, of course. Just gentle licking and nibbling. Just a taste before he … before he …

Crap.

Pulling down on his jacket, Jean rushes out the mess hall. Can’t think of any other way to fight off the hormonal storm brewing in him. Or to hide his embarrassing boner before someone—Connie, it will be Connie—points 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 isn’t quite used to yet, but the lack of omega scent hanging in the air—in particular the lack of Floch’s oh-so-alluring scent—helps 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. “Fuck …!”

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.

It’s 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. It’s not his own touch he craves, but it’ll do. Eyes closed, he can pretend for a second Floch is leaning against him, whispering intoxicating words into his ear. ‘Look at you, all hard and dripping for me. Do you like my hand that much?’ Yes, yes, he does. Fuck! He does!

If only Floch’s heat and Jean’s rut could’ve 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 could’ve just been them, in bed, exploring each other’s bodies and achieving new heights of pleasure. It doesn’t matter that they’ve only been intimate for a few days, they’ve 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, Jean’s 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 hadn’t been Floch’s heat, it’d have been something else.

A bit of pressure on his swollen, oversensitive knot, and it’s 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. He’d let Jean slide up and down between the cleft of his ass and tease his puckered, slicked entrance. Yes. He’d beg for Jean’s cock, his knot, his mark—fuck!

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 he’s 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. He’s not in bed, his dick deep buried into Floch’s 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. It’s better than the alternative—sitting in the smell of his shame while he’s trying to tackle a report on the new recruits assigned to his squads.

Reports. Marco would’ve 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, Marco’s whole face lit up. Never thought Jean noticed his interest. How could he not?

But Marco’s dead, and Jean lost more than his best friend that day—Marco would’ve 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 he’d respect them. But can he?

Piece of shit.

That’s all Jean is, a piece of shit, getting high and hot at the fantasy of defiling Floch. But that sad realisation won’t get any of his work done.

Jean stares at the words he wrote until they blur and his eyes sting. ‘The recruits from the 108th Training Division are …’ 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 can’t write that down even if it’s the truth.

What about their political views? It didn’t escape to his attention some are radicalised already, especially the youngest. Floch is particularly good at rallying them up. But Jean can’t 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 shouldn’t be punished because no one can give them hope.

‘The 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 recommend’

Jean stops writing and raises his head, nostrils flaring. Levi’s scent reaches him before the Captain even knocks at the door.

Don’t move. Don’t say anything.

No. That’s stupid. Levi has to know Jean’s here. Where else would he be? Obviously, he’s not supervising any training. He’s 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, it’s the perfect shelter for an alpha in rut who doesn’t want any company.

Except it isn’t anymore.

Jean clears his throat, but Levi lets himself in before he’s invited to. Typical.

Sharp steel eyes quickly survey the office and zero in on the open window. “Damn, brat, either you want to catch a cold or you’re trying to hide you shat your pants when you stormed out that mess hall.” Of course Jean knows better than looking guilty. And, of course, he still can’t help a glance at that specific spot on the floor. He scrubbed it until he couldn’t feel his fingers, and yet, when he returns his attention to Levi, the captain glowers harder.

“Really?”

Face burning, Jean ducks his head. So much for not looking guilty. “It’s not what you—”

“No, it’s exactly what I think it is. But you look ashamed enough already.” Levi strides across the office and posts himself next to the window. Crossing his arms, he looks outside. “Come here. There’s something I want to show you.”

Jean doesn’t move right away. But he can’t just ignore Levi’s 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 Jean’s hand with cold mist. Autumn is starting to show its true colors. And Levi smells like soap, tea, and unshakable resolve.

Don’t breathe in. But of course Jean does, and his belly tightens with something that isn’t quite arousal but isn’t 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 who’s a head taller than him? Not that Jean could even dream of submitting the captain. He wouldn’t even try to.

“This is your doing.”

“What?” Jean detaches his eyes from Levi—when did he even start staring?—and glance down at the courtyard again.

“Pack 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 wasn’t even there for lunch. So, guess what happened next?”

Jean shakes his head. “I didn’t blow him off. I just—”

“That wasn’t my question, now, was it?” Levi narrows his eyes at him, and whatever warmth Jean felt congeals into the ice of the captain’s glare.

“Floch picked a fight.” Levi nods, and Jean’s chest caves in. Because, if Floch isn’t 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.

“Glad to see you actually care, but I’m not done yet. Why are you avoiding Floch? Surely you didn’t notice his oh-so-charming personality just now?”

Does Levi really have to ask? Did he forget during the night? Jean’s fingers twitch. “I’m in rut.”

“A fact I’m disgustingly aware of.” Levi releases his grip and steps away from the window. Jean drills holes into the back of the captain’s neck. “Usually, when an alpha is in rut, they seek the omega they claimed.”

Jean’s face burns. “I didn’t claim him!”

Levi shrugs and sits down on Jean’s chair, crossing his legs. His attention turns to the report for a second, then flicks back to Jean. “Forget about marking—it can happen even between sworn enemies. Feelings matter more because they can’t 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?” Levi clicks his tongue. “That was a pitiful show. And it gave those recruits the impression that you not only used Floch during his heat, but that he’s also not ‘good enough’ to satisfy you during your rut.”

“That’s not—” Jean doesn’t 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 can’t. So he just strides left and right, fists clenched by his side and anger trapped without a single crack to escape through. “Fuck!”

This time, Levi doesn’t say anything. He just grabs a sheet of blank paper and the fountain pen to scribble down what looks like a list. His calmness doesn’t ease Jean’s bubbling rage, but he eventually settles on the opposite seat, elbows propped on his thighs and chin resting on his clasped hands. However, it doesn’t take long before he starts bouncing his leg.

Levi stops writing, folds the piece of paper and meets his eyes. “You’re scared of hurting him, aren’t you?”

Jean freezes. Then drops his gaze. “I crave things he can’t give me.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Can’t.” Jean presses his lips together, waiting. But only silence answers back. Levi expects him to elaborate, doesn’t he? Jean shakes his head and rubs the back of his neck. His whole body cringes at his vulnerability. He shouldn’t be trapped in his own office, interrogated by an omega. No. He should be tearing through Levi, even if it’s just with words. But it’s also not who Jean is. So, he forces himself to still, rests his hands flat on his thighs and takes a deep breath. “We talked about it. I can be very … well, lustful and promiscuous, I guess. He’s not. And I’m fine with that. But. The rut … I’m scared of crossing boundaries.” Jean shivers. His heart sinks, and his fingers tingle. The same fingers he used to grab Floch’s hips before they went to sleep. Did Jean bruise him? “I … I did that yesterday and—”

“Did you like crossing those boundaries?”

Jean jerks his head back up. “What?! No! I felt awful! I still feel awful! But part of me, my instinct, my body, really wants to. When I’m with him … Even when I’m not with him … It’s all I can think of! And it’s wrong!”

Levi arches a brow. “What’s your plan, then? Stop yourself from thinking bad thoughts and never see Floch again?”

“Maybe it’s what I should do. For him.” Even if Jean’s 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.

“Erwin wasn’t interested in sex. You could barely tell when he was in rut. My heat didn’t affect him at all. Was this another biological oddity or just his personality, I still don’t know. But we made it work.” Levi doesn’t add anything for a little while, and Jean doesn’t 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 he’s willing to say anything at all. “You’re 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.”

‘Omega.’ The word feels so wrong in Levi’s mouth. Levi is so much more than an omega. Without him, they’d already be dead. “You’re my captain,” Jean corrects. “Humanity’s strongest.”

Levi turns around, a small, mocking smile tugging at the corner of his lip. “The son of a whore who would be put in better use as one. A thug picked up from the Underground’s filthy streets by the Survey Corp. An omega slut that hasn’t been properly tamed by his alpha. Or who needs a stronger, better one to break him into a more pliable plaything.”

Jean gapes. “Capt—”

“I heard it all from the nobles and the top brass, and often swore to myself I’d slice their throats. Thoughts are just thoughts. You need to trust yourself more.” Levi crosses the distance separating him from Jean and tucks the piece of paper into his breast pocket. “I 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.”

Jean snorts. It’d hurt like a bitch.

Anger and worry melt down into a different feeling. It’s not quite relief, but it’s 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 Levi’s right. Floch isn’t defenseless. He proves that again and again. And if Jean doesn’t trust himself much right now, perhaps he should trust Floch.

He pats his breast pocket and fishes the piece of folded paper. “What’s that?”

“The proper dosage and brewing technique for violet melissa.” Jean’s brow shots up. How does Levi—“Floch told me.” Oh.

Jean puts the paper back in his pocket. He licks his lips, nervousness growing in the pit of his stomach. “Are you going to tell the Commander?”

Levi curls his lips over his teeth, recoiling at the whole idea as it seems. “That little weasel, stealing the Military Police? Hange would be far too entertained! I don’t need that.” Even after years, Jean still can’t tell if Levi likes Hange. What are they to him? A superior? A comrade? A friend? More than a friend? It’s 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 doesn’t turn his head to watch him, he can’t resist breathing in his scent one last time. Usually, the captain is more guarded, discreet. Maybe it’s how he shows his trust in Jean. Or, most likely, the peak of Jean’s rut still exacerbates his sense of smell.

“Take the day off. You’re useless anyway.”

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 Levi’s 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 mare’s 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 Eren’s 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 doesn’t 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 Floch’s 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 ome—

“I haven’t forgiven you.” Jean freezes, his hand only a few centimeters away from Floch’s cheek. The omega doesn’t crack his eyes open, but his lips purse into one of his sullen pouts. “You’ve been an asshole.”

Jean blinks, then withdraws his hand and sits back on his heels. Floch’s irritation curls around them like a snake ready to strike. It’d be so much easier to lash out, pin Floch to the floor, show him who’s in charge, but … Jean shakes his head, swallowing the angry impulse down, even if it’s like gravel scraping against his throat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Well, you did,” Floch hisses. “And a lot of people seem to think it’s so fucking funny. ‘Oh, look at that, the little male omega put back into his rightful place—a slut, just good to be knotted. Jean will find a good omega woman to bear his kids soon enough.’”

Jean flinches. Is it really how people see him? “You know I wouldn’t.”

“Do I?” Floch rolls to his side, offering his back.

Jean grabs a fistful of straw with a trembling hand. It’s rough against his palm, and cracks when he tightens his grip. Or perhaps he’s just imagining the noise, because he wants to break the recruits’ necks so damn hard. “I’m trying to protect you.”

“From what?” Floch scoffs with a small shrug.

Jean sucks in a breath, his heart beating fast. “From me. I was afraid of losing control.”

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. “So what now? Do you plan to avoid me whenever you’re 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!”

“I know! And I did! I drank it!” Jean shouts back, taken aback by Floch’s accusation and whiny tone. But the way the omega blinks at him, equally in shock, makes him lower his voice. “It’s just that it didn’t seem to do a lot for me.” Jean touches his breast pocket, feeling the edge of the folded piece of paper tuck in it. “Maybe because I didn’t know how to prepare it correctly.”

“Oh …” 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. “What about now? How do you feel?”

“I’m … alright. More clear-headed. But maybe it’s because it smells like horse shit.”

Floch rolls his eyes. “You sound just like the captain.”

“Because I’m quoting him.”

“So, he visited you too …”

Floch doesn’t add anything else, and for a while, Jean doesn’t know what to say either. Doesn’t know if he should try to reach out again, now that Floch’s 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?

“Look, after what I did yesterday … I was worried it’d happen again. I don’t want to cross your boundaries.”

Floch shakes his head, sighing again. “Yesterday 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 couldn’t … that I was so distant when you needed me …” Floch’s 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 won’t stop.

“This morning, I was really looking forward to seeing you, you know?” Floch continues in a whisper, as if he’s afraid of being overheard. “Because the night was shitty without you.” His cheeks turn red, and he hides his face between his arms. Being vulnerable is still not something he’s comfortable with. “I wanted to hold you and wake up next to you,” he croaks.

Jean crawls closer, his arms almost locking around Floch’s curled up body. But he picks the straw out of his hair instead. So close, he can smell Floch’s 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. He’s still red-faced, but a small, almost mischievous smile plays on his lips.

“I want to spend the night with you.”

“Floch—” A finger presses again Jean’s lips.

“Don’t treat me like I don’t know what I’m doing. I trust you. I also trust my own strength. So, can you trust me?”

Jean exhales. “Yes. I trust you.”

“Unlike you, I actually have a plan.” Jean quirks a brow, but Floch doesn’t elaborate. He cradles Jean’s face instead, and this simple touch is enough for Jean’s eyes to flutter shut.

Jean moves closer, right into Floch’s comforting heat, and buries his head in the crook between Floch’s neck. Of course his cock stirs. The scent glands are just a few kisses away. But Jean is nowhere as aroused as he would’ve been this morning if they had hugged in the middle of the mess hall. If anything, he’s melting, all tension and stress leaving his body. Incredible what talking can do to alleviate one’s anxiety.

“Stupid alpha,” Floch mutters, but it sounds more affectionate than insulting. He tangles a hand into Jean’s hair and pets his head. It’s nice. Soothing. Jean wraps his arms around Floch and slots himself between his thighs. He nuzzles Floch’s neck until he finds his pulse. It’s when they lose their balance, but the straw mattress is here to collect them, so Floch barely huffs in protest.

It’s everything Jean needs. Floch’s presence, his warmth and scent surrounding him until Jean gets drunk on it and his brain clouds. It’d be even better without their clothes on, skin against skin, both bodies intimately entwine, but he shouldn’t be greedy. Even if he can’t stop his hips from grinding up and down against Floch’s thigh.

Too much pressure down there. His cock throbs, hot blood rushing into his inflating knot. Is it Floch’s hand on his ass, pulling him even closer? Inviting him to hump him? Does Floch finally want to know how an alpha’s cock feels? Jean tries to suck and pinch the curve of the omega’s neck. But the collar of Floch’s jacket is in the way, and the buttons of his shirt are so, so complicated to undo.

“Easy! My clothes stay on.” Floch warns, the hand in Jean’s hair tightening its grip.

“But I love you,” Jean whines. And, shit, why does Floch not let him prove it? He’d make him feel so good, so full, so—

Floch pulls on Jean’s hair, forcing him to raise his head. Jean growls and bares his teeth, desire turning into aggression, until he meets narrowed golden eyes.

Alphas don’t 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.

Jean’s eyes flutter shut, and even if it’s sloppy and hesitant, he slumps against Floch’s warmth, kissing him back until they are both breathless.

“See?” Floch pants, his hands cradling Jean’s face again. “You listen to me. I’m more than my instinct, and so are you.”

“Yeah …”

“So …” Floch licks his lips and looks away, a bit red in the face. “Do you wanna get off?”

“Yeah! No! Wait? Are … are you even hard?” Jean blurts out.

Floch glances back at him, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, and rubs his thigh against Jean’s crotch. “No. But you are. So flattering to know I have this effect on you.”

“Like, it’s new,” Jean breathes out, his face burning hot.

“You were smoother during my heat. Where did all your experience go? Southward to meet your other brain?”

“Shut up,” Jean snaps before sealing their mouths together again. He repositions himself, grinding down. It’s 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 Floch’s. His hips rock back and forth, chasing the pleasure he’s 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 Floch’s bottom lip. “You could fuck me. I’d let you.” It might not be what an alpha primarily needs, but it’ll scratch the itch regardless, Jean knows it. He just has to wrestle his instinct, and then—

But Floch pulls a face. “Disgusting. Not touching your asshole.” His harsh words don’t stop him from grabbing the back of Jean’s neck. They exchange another heated kiss, and Floch hooks a leg around Jean’s waist. Floch’s scent, sweet and soothing like rarely, wraps them into a soft cocoon.

Is his companion getting excited or is he just indulging him? Jean can’t quite tell. Doesn’t 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 Floch’s 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 Jean’s scent and Jean with his, it’ll be proof that they own each other, right?

Fuck, he’s so close, so close, so—“Are you serious now? In my horse’s stall?!”

*~*

Nothing can kill a boner faster than Eren Jaeger. Well, an attack from Marley would too, but the annoying prick’s 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 Eren’s lights out. But Floch firmly grabs Jean’s arm before he can.

Maybe it’s for the best. The beta has always been strong. Probably another nice gift from his titan shifter’s blood. It’s 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 it’d be the rut acting for him.

Jean breathes in and out, and relaxes fists he didn’t realise he clenched. “Sorry about that.” Apologizing stings his tongue. Still, it’s the right thing to do, isn’t it?

At least Eren’s gaze softens—a rare sight these days. Rubbing the back of his neck, he glances away and clears his throat. “Well, it’s just that I didn’t expect to stumble on you two. Could you do this in a room?” Eren gives Floch a quick glance. “And also, why are you even here? I was supposed to clean the stalls.”

“The Captain made me,” Floch dryly says, his hand still locked around Jean’s bicep. Why? It’s not like Jean still wants to pick a fight.

But here it is again, Eren’s annoyed look. “He did what? But you’re not even good at cleaning!”

If it weren’t for Floch, Jean would lunge forward and shove Eren to the ground. “Hey, shut up! He’s amazing!” 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 don’t need more to rinse the awful stench of horses off their skin. Then Jean will carry Floch to—

“Can you not be horny for thirty seconds?” Eren curls his lips, his body tensing as if he’s 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 Jean’s arm, forcing back his attention to him. But the omega’s eyes are fixed on Eren. “If you’re so eager to clean the stalls, be my guest. I’ve done enough.”

Eren’s eyebrows shoot up. “But you said Captain Levi tasked you with—”

“Do I look like I care?” Floch shrugs, an insolent smile flicking on his face.

“Floch,” Jean warns, but Eren is louder than him. For once.

“You’d disobey the Captain’s orders?!”

Floch rolls his eyes. “Oh, wow, truly an unexpected event, me being reluctant to carry a superior’s order. I’m not on a quest to get his approval, and I thought you were aware of that …”

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 didn’t 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 they’d be better off coercing the volunteers into giving them modern artillery schematics. Not that Floch was wrong either …

The air surrounding them thickens with the mix of their scents. It’s not quite hostile but the tension still tastes sour on Jean’s tongue and urges him to move between Floch and Eren, puffing his chest out. Even if he’s not sure which one he should protect from the other …

“Eren, you’ll follow your initial orders. I’m taking responsibility for him, so don’t worry.”

“Oh, I know. You always do.” 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 can’t squash the feeling that he’s still missing some context, but he also doesn’t want to linger to find out what’s going on in Eren’s brain. Most likely, he’s thinking the same thing as everyone else—their impending doom. And his own death, that’ll happen sooner than Jean wants to, even if they rarely see eye to eye. However, it’s a conversation he’s in no state to have now, and besides, Eren made his point clear before—he won’t 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 Floch’s.

[yamikailyn]

If I weren't so tired, I would use all my knowledge acquired writing Yuri On Ice fics to write a story about this!

floch & jean as ice dancers ⛸️ (flojeanmas24: ice skating) @flojeanhive

[yamikailyn]

Grow your hair, save lives.

[yamikailyn]

Same energy.

silly doodle for @beatricebat

[yamikailyn]

What do you mean, I'm late for Halloween and it's December already? Where did the time go?

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 ...

[yamikailyn]

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 drawing—Jean is jealous and possessive too. At least in this specific AU.

The ministry of propaganda wants to remind everyone of the importance of always using protection!

For @felineverdure

A follow up to pin-up Floch and naked Floch.

Also posted on bsky.

[yamikailyn]

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.