It was a terrible idea from the start, borne of adrenaline and need, of hatred and friendship, of disgust and attraction. That was the only explanation Jean could think of how this all began and why after months it continued.
Jean reached down and tightened his grasp on the blonde locks as the former warrior was kneeled before him and making quick work of his pants. If he closed his eyes, he could try and envision a different man, a stranger with whom Jean shared no history, but his mind always came back to Reiner with a twist of his heart.
The moment stopped and Jean cracked open one eye. “You’re thinking.”
Jean snorted at how plainly he said the comment, how it stood in sharp contrast for the heat of the moment, “Someone here has to be thinking and it sure as shit isn’t you.”
He felt a bite to his exposed hip and a huff of laughter against the skin there. Jean looked down at the sight and felt his heart warm ever so slightly more.
All of this, it was tricky, but Jean couldn’t find it in himself to want to stop. Not now at least.
Armin had no reason to be as nervous as he was, not really. It wasn’t as if the wedding was all that big of celebration anyways.
Annie had swiftly rejected the idea of a larger ceremony and instead had suggested simply signing the papers and being done with it. Armin had eventually convinced her that at the very least they could have drinks with friends, which was meant to happen in less than half an hour.
He adjusted his tie one last time, feeling at once both overdressed for drinks with friends and underdressed for his own wedding. Nevertheless, it was right in its own way.
Leaving the bedroom he saw Annie seated at the small kitchen table in a dress he had never seen before. It was dark green, the fabric something that looked as light as the wind and fell down to just below her knees. Her face wore the same blank expression she often had, though Armin knew better at this point. He could see the flicker behind her eyes that went unnoticed by so many others.
Reaching out his hand, Armin offered, “Do you want to go now or wait a bit longer?” By the expression on her face, he knew they both were not just speaking about when to leave for the party.
He watched as she hesitated for just a moment before lacing her fingers in his and standing.
Eren had accepted his death only seconds after he had seen his mother devoured. What else could he have done except know that his fate was sealed? Though at the time he had assumed he would have died valiantly fighting to defend humanity, not as the harbinger of its destruction. He was not a man built for life, death had always been the cornerstone of his existence.
So as his eyes opened for one final time and he watched as Mikasa, with guilt and hurt in her eyes, unsheathe her blade, he could not feel regret. All he could hope was that the images and conversations that he had left with those would carry on a better memory of him than the one he had deliberately soiled.
In the end, Eren welcomed death as the steadfast companion it had always been.