A Valentine's Day *snorts because it's March* gift for the marvelous Jellyjay~ I had to take out two scenes to make this story happen: the part where there's an implied make out session involving Levi, Eren, and Annie, and then an antique vehicle getting set on fire because of dumbass Jaeger. They just made this too long, and they weren't coming out as I liked (sorry Ponderess).

I don't know French! Whoo!

Regardless, enjoy and please review!

Je t'adore

By: Euregatto

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I realize we get a little bit wild sometimes
So come away with me, I will stop behaving right
And I don't have anything to tie me down tonight

"Indiana" - Tom Aspaul

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She's lost in the afterhours of a Parisian night – an abyssal darkness devoid of stars and cascading with the resounding sonance of city life, besmirched with artificial lights as brilliant as full moon tides, alive with the sumptuous appeal of exquisite parties tucked away in the direfully grim back alleys that are masked by the outerlying beauty of the skyscrapers. Her skull rings as the familiar ruckus becomes white noise to her ears.

(She can feel a mild headache coming on)

The abrupt sound of glass impacting the opposite wall startles her out of her daze, and when she finally catches up with reality, she thinks that the neighbors will come storming down the hall in the next ten minutes.

"There we go! Now I'm ready to par-taaay!"

Reiner Braun's bellowing voice irks the throbbing in her temples and Annie Leonhardt reflexively chucks her left boot at him, nailing him square in the jaw. Her aim is off as the side-effects of her two shots kick in, forcing her mind's process to slow to an almost anoetic state, and subsequently, her assault almost missed his face completely. "Shut the fuck up. You're too loud."

He massages his chin and throws the heeled-deathtrap right back at her, but she instinctively ducks under it, letting it slam into the back of the couch where her head had been only a split second prior. "You're such a… a bitch when you drink, Annie! Let loose a little. That's what tonight's aaallll about!"

"You two need to calm down!" Mina Carolina exclaims, immediately tripping on her own feet as she forces herself up from the love seat. Her hands grasp the ceramic center table to keep herself upright. "Whoa, Reiner, wh… what did you put in those"—she hiccups some variation of a sound that runs parallel to the chirp of a parrot, a telltale sign she's already losing herself to the alcohol—"drinks?"

"We all had two shots of the same thing, Mina. You're just a… light weight!" Reiner's inflection sounds almost like he's lost the brain cells Annie isn't sure he ever had.

"I counted… eight." And she's right because Reiner had challenged her to a drink off. There's no way she should even be conscious right now. Mina hiccups again, this time forcing her hand up to cover her un-ladylike noise and consequently slapping herself in the face. "Owie! Oh, whateveeerrrr… Hey, we're – hic – missing someone…"

"Bertholdt!" Reiner cries, and Annie hisses about his boisterous tone. "Beeertthooollldddtttt? Where are yoooouuuu?"

"Probably hiding from your – hic – bitch ass like a – hic – sm-smmmart guy would!"

(Everything is grating on Annie's nerves)

"C'mon Bert!" Reiner wines like an insufferable brat. "Let's gooo! It's Friday! That's party night!"

Bertholdt Fubar, the only responsible one of the four of them aside from Annie – who doesn't usually give in to the temptations of Reiner's anomalous antics – exits from the kitchen with a sweeper and dust pan, the irritation set like clockwork into his normally stoic features. "It's Tuesday," he deadpans.

Firecrackers explode like snapping branches off in the distance. "It's a celebration!" Mina declares, stumbling for the open window and slamming her hands into the winter-kissed sill to remain upright when she trips up again. "Haaaappy birthday, Americaaa!"

"We're in France," Annie amends. "We're also from Germany."

Bertholdt catches Mina by her waist before she tumbles out head-over-heels. "You're seriously drunk. I don't think you should go out like this."

"And yooouuu—rrre no fun!" She shoots back, snorting in failed attempt to contain her laughs, "fine, if you want to be looosers you can stay here while Reeiiindeer and I have an adventure of our lives out there!" She gestures to the kitchen, reconsiders it, and then points to the door across the room.

"Mina, seriously-!"

The intoxicated girl grapples Annie – who just finished shoving her boot back on its rightful foot – and tows her towards the exit on an awkward shamble. "Come on, let's get a drink! Aaand we'll…yeah, that."

"Only if you're paaayyying~" Reiner coos, giddily following them with a slight skip in his step.

"Wait up!" Bertholdt calls, following through with an exasperated sigh. "You guys are going to destroy something…"

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There is an obscure blur that blanks Annie's mind as Bertholdt takes them traversing the streets in his rented car, Reiner's face pressed against the window as he scouts out the nearest bar – the blur forms a series of short events crafting an abstract array of streets and lights like a worldly toxin in her veins. What bar are they at now? Shit, she can't remember. Bertholdt would know. Where's Bertholdt?

Never mind. Mina would know. …Where's Mina?

She's poised by the front doors, but after recollecting her blanking mind, she absently glances around and spots Reiner. He's singing to some song of lost love he clearly doesn't know the lyrics too, but with his mangled speech, it's hard to comprehend the words at all. Annie then scans the faces at the bar counter, the man in red plaid directly in her line of sight, the one sobbing into his drink over something either trivial or related to his ex as his friend pats him on the shoulder, and the body in the corner in a "let's go get lost" graphic t-shirt.

Son of a bitch, she thinks as she steps closer to the man slouched in the corner, his pseudo-leather jacket over the back of his chair, index finger swirling the ice cubes around in his drink, some kind of Vodka on the Rocks he's not very interested in drinking.

"Eren?" she remarks, somewhat slurred.

Eren Jaeger nearly leaps out of his stool in turn. "Son of a shit, Annie!" He gradually settles down and awkwardly clears his throat, soothing a wrinkle from his shirt. "What in all seven levels of Stohess are you doing here, in Paris?"

"I got dragged along into a bar hopping escapade by Reiner, but I guess it only took a stroke of bad luck to find you here of all people." She sits beside him, ignoring the sudden, uncomfortable way he tenses up. "What brings you to this part of town?"

"I came with Mikasa, Armin, and a bunch of other invites for Connie's New Year party."

Annie purses her glossy lips. "Oh, that one. That's why we initially came." Clearly they never made it, but he doesn't dwell on it, because he figures it has something to do with him in one form or another. "We miss anything?"

"I can't tell you. I ditched everyone at the hotel about an hour ago when Jean started some shit with me."

"Figures."

She's surprised they're chatting so casually, like there's suddenly no barrier between them, even though she hasn't seen him in six months since Reiner's birthday party – because just one year ago things go awkward between them, which is really her fault really, even if they're both to blame. She'll scold herself in place of him – she hasn't stopped her little pity-party since that day.

"Anyway," he drones as he tosses back the rest of his drink. He lets it burn its way down his throat before continuing, "I should be going. Mikasa and Armin are probably worried where I am."

If she wasn't drunk, Annie would have let him walk out that door, out of her life again, probably for good. But she, impaired by the toxin in her bloodstream, catches him by his elbow. "Wait," she pleads, so uncharacteristically unlike her that Eren goes rigid in her touch. "I… I haven't seen you in a while. Please stay, just a little longer."

"Why?"

"Because I'm sorry." There's a moment of silence between them that sparks a tide of remorse within her. Her gaze turns woefully to the side. "I'm so, so sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you."

"You didn't hurt me," he shoots back, snapping his arm out of her grip. "You just broke my heart into five hundred pieces and left me to rot for eleven months."

"I didn't mean to – I just, I was afraid and – and I wasn't ready for commitment and I freaked." She hesitates, studying him for a reaction, a tension in his shoulders or an unwinding in his back. After several beats of him barely even twitching a finger she amends her previous statement. "I was so afraid you would hate me, I'm afraid that you still do. If I can take it back I will in a heartbeat but–"

"I never hated you," he interjects, finally turning to face her. "I was pissed for the longest time – in fact I still am, but I could never hate you, Annie." He settles back on the stool and takes her hand, weaving his fingers into hers, the perfect fit, every time. "I just wish you didn't make me believe that I've been nothing more than a mistake all this time."

"I'm so sorry…" she whispers, holding him tight until their knuckles bleed white. "You weren't a mistake."

"You said you loved me."

(Stop bringing this all back)

"I did – I do." She turns her gaze to her lap, her beautiful sky-lit eyes turned cobalt with lurid emotions she's had caged down for months. "I just think I want to start over with you, so we can go back to how we used to be. And at this rate, I also want another drink."

Eren allows a laugh to slip through his lips, a genuine chuckle that resounds through the bar, short and empowering, defining his forgotten jubilee and bittersweet tenderness she's missed for all this time. "I'd like all of that too."

He gestures to the bartender for two shots before he's turning to ask her a question, but he never does get to start it. Mina slams into the counter between the two and they snap their hands apart before she can break their fingers with the currency she vehemently slaps down onto the oak-wood surface. "Baaartendeeer! Driiiink!"

Annie snorts under her breath. "This is your ninth shot tonight. Your liver is going to give out aaaany second now."

"Don't hold yeeerrrrr breath." A moment later she receives her shot glass and the ecru liquid is held up over her head in epitomic victory. "The source of the world's energy!"

Eren stares at her quizzically, corner of his eyebrow lifting slightly. "Seriously Mina, how much can you possibly drink before you die?"

"Let's fiiind out!"

"Let's not," Bertholdt interrupts as he finally reaches them. "You've had enough."

"Thiiiis is nothin'!" She swigs down the alcohol and nearly smashes it to pieces placing – slamming – it back down onto the counter, flashing him a cocky grin. "Come on Bertie, loosen up a – hic – little! Try one!"

"I'm not drinking. I won't surrender my right state of mind this late at night; I won't be able drive you guys back home."

"Pfft, it's just ooone drink. Who's gonna notice?"

"Oh, I dunno… maybe just the cops."

The points of her lips quirk into an even wider, devious smile. She gradually snakes her arm around his waist and gestures for Annie to fork over her untouched shot glass, and Annie obliges with a suspicious this-is-a-bad-idea glance in Eren's direction. "Bert, if you want to be one of us you have to – to, uh oh yes – to paaarty like one of us!" Her arm ebbs dangerously into a constricting bind, almost menacing, and despite the obvious size difference Bertholdt fears for the outcome of his life.

She gestures it up to him – coercively. "I…" He carefully accepts it, realizing immediately that he's never had alcohol before, because there is absolutely no need to be any less than the mature and responsible one of his group – their safety came first. But they have plenty of money. They could call a taxi. Unless they lose their wallets. And phones. No, he hisses in the back of his mind, not this time. Enough worrying.

So he holds his breath and tosses the shot back, his gut immediately wrenching at the searing alcohol burning through his system.

"See?" Mina chimes. "That wasn't so bad~"

"That was fucking awful." He shoves the glass into Annie's offered out palm. "I'll take three."

"That's my maaaan!" Mina proclaims, throwing her hands up. "I'm getting Reiner and we're gettin' ya wasted!"

Mina stumbles off with a new found, unsafe confidence boost, and Bertholdt excuses himself to keep her from falling into the dance floor. Annie re-orders her round and Eren offers his up, so when she receives it she can mimic his movement. "To us?"

"Us?" she muses.

"Just you, me and Paris. Tonight, let's restart, and see what happens from here."

"Yeah," she agrees and with a sharp clink the glass rims connect. "To us."

They toss back their shots and Eren places his down, turning his suddenly much clearer gaze to hers. She doesn't like the mischievous glisten tucked beneath the dark peridot glaze. "You wanna get out of here and do something really fun?"

"What do you have in mind?"

"There's a club around here I was thinking of heading to. It can be just the two of us, our makeup party. What do you say?"

Well, she can't say no to that – and besides, she trusts him well enough. What's the worst that could happen?

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"Let's not be too long, I don't want to leave Bertholdt to carry Reiner and Mina back to the room by himself – whoa!"

If she had worn the stupid heels Mina had tried to force on her earlier that morning, Annie would be stumbling into this wall head first and scraping her knee as she twisted her adjacent ankle. Thankfully instead, as she trips on the sudden groove in the pavement, her knee stops her descent and her jeans absorb the impact. She gratefully leans her shoulder into the rigid surface of the brick to keep herself still.

Eren's hand is on her upper arm a moment later. "Jeez Annie, at least have the courtesy to buy it dinner first."

"Fuck off," she hisses, swatting his hand away.

"I was just kidding. Are you alright?"

"Fine," she answers a little less bitterly than before, but she allows him to steady her before they're back to venturing through Paris. They pass several sets of couples out wandering the afterhours just like them, but Annie tries to convince herself that she and Eren are not a couple, not for any more than twelve hours. She fucked him once, that night almost a clocked year ago – just thinking about it, however, makes her crave tacos.

Several turns and "Do you even know where you're going?"s later, Eren guides her up onto an arching over pass that runs above a courtyard river; to their right they can see the city, and to the left, the Eiffel Tower, set a flame by the city lights like stars.

Despite the subtle beauty of the scenery and the way Eren's gaze widens at the sight, he brings a creeping doubt to her mind – quintessentially, Eren's never come across as someone who's very capable of romance, but it's Paris, so she figures it holds the same sullen effect on him as it does everyone else who's willing to wrap their head around the attractions, and when he takes her hand, she knows he's intent on getting her lost with him.

She's aware that, given a week, the effect fades and this rekindled whatever-the-fuck-it-is feeling she harbors for him – (has harbored in her chest for a long, long time, claws wedged into her gaping ribs and teeth clamping down on her heart) – will disappear along with it all. She'll probably try to forget all of this, assuming she can't remember her own name in the morning.

(And she'll be gone from his life like every time before)

Wordlessly, they trek across to the opposing intersection, sauntering to a sudden halt when something crosses the other end of the street. "The fuck is that?" Annie questions, squinting to get a better look at the mass moving gradually into the lamp light at the side of the road. The cars that pass by corrupt her sight – y'know, since the alcohol clearly doesn't have anything to do with it.

Eren quirks an eyebrow, either impressed or confused. Annie figures it could be both. "It's Marco," he announces.

"Marco?"

He tilts his head as if the different angle could really give him a better view. "Yeah… and he's riding on a zebra, naked. Why is he naked?"

"Where the fuck did he get a zebra, that's what I want to know."

Eren jogs ahead as the foreign horse chomps on the shrubbery outside an apartment complex. "Gg-giddy up, Duchess!" Marco slurs, slapping the majestic creature on its rear, but the zebra just kicks its back leg and continues chewing, undeterred.

Eren approaches him cautiously, keeping his distance from the inviolable beast. "Marco, where are your clothes?"

"Oh hiiii Ereeen," the other man practically sings, "don't you worry oooone bit, I may have lost my clothes…but I have found myself in the eyes of this rescued"—he pats its neck—"mountain lion."

"That's a – never mind, maybe I should take you back. You're really drunk, and quite frankly, I don't think you should be in possession of that thing."

"You can't tell me what to do!" He snaps, swinging his fist for Eren's head, but Eren is about ten feet out of reach. Marco nearly loses his balance and falls off his steed. "Y-yyou're not my real father!"

"Son of a shit Marco," Annie hisses as she finally catches up, the road tilting too much on an angle for her to properly walk without using the rust-bitten railings for support. Hey, to a drunk person, any flat surface poses a pestiferous challenge. "What the hell is that on your back?"

"My pet sandwich of course!"

The sloth, that had been previously hanging off his shoulders before sliding its claws to Marco's waist, gradually turns its head to look at them. If Eren could speak sloth, he is sure it would be begging for a rescue. "Marco," Eren mutters under an exacerbated sigh, "will you please get off the zebra before you hurt yourself?" No response. "Ugh. Are Jean or Connie nearby? I'll bring you to them." Still no response.

Marco's gaze suddenly comes into focus and he languidly wags his head. "Whoa, what was that about the Pythagorean Theorem?"

Eren opens his mouth to scold him when the police sirens light up from across the street and the vehicle makes a wide turn, pulling up flush alongside them. Annie presses her lips into a thin line. "This is your fault," she whispers venomously to Marco, but he just absently laughs at her joke with a 'you're so funny Annie' comment.

"Stop!" The first cop exclaims as he and his partner throw themselves from the car. "Mains où je peux voir les!"

"What the fuck is he saying?" Annie questions, even though she doesn't suspect an idiot like Eren to speak more than half a language.

"Sorry I stole your lion!" Marco slurs as he flops forward onto the zebra's neck.

"You stole it!?" Eren retorts, making a move to grab Marco off the creature, and quite probably strangle him. "From where?!"

Marco giggles girlishly. "The zoo, duuuh."

"J'ai dit stop!" The first cop declares, but that's when Marco dismounts the stolen stallion and laughs hysterically – right before turning on his heel and streaking off into the distance with the sloth still on his waist. The policeman takes off after him, and Eren grabs Annie's wrist, dragging her behind him as they sprint in the opposing direction, the partner officer hot on their tail, screaming commands in the language neither understands.

They race around the main road to the sister avenue, high-tailing it towards a cluster of recently constructed skyscrapers. By now their legs are on fire and Eren's chest is threatening to collapse around his lungs, Annie already physically exhausted from the alcohol in her blood stream.

Glancing around at his options, Eren leads their escape into a back alley. He guides her towards the end of the passage where the buildings enclose on every side and there is a set of worn boards leaning up against the ending wall. A disgruntled man, dressed as a city worker, is on a step ladder working at a fresh gang-sign spray painting with just his rag. "Fuck!" Annie snaps, heaving for air, as Eren presses his fingertips to the wall. "I can't believe I'm about to go to jail for that freckled asspipe!"

Eren's calloused skin runs over the spray-paint butterfly marking. "Papillon!" He exclaims to the worker, and he gives him a raised fist. Eren moves the board up, beckoning for Annie to slide through the opening first. There's a short tunnel that descends on steps, down to a closed metal door. She takes the lead and Eren lets the board settle over the entrance, sealing them into an abyssal darkness.

Annie is suddenly breathing heavier, more desperately. "E-Eren," she whispers from the foot of the stair well, "Eren, where are you?"

"Up here. Hold on." He fishes out his iPhone and switches on the flashlight, illuminating the blackness around them. Annie is pressed back against the wall, arms wrapped around herself protectively, staring up at him begrudgingly. There is faint, pulse-pounding music originating from the door behind her. "This is the place," he notes reassuringly, descending swiftly to meet her and raising his fist to the sealed frame.

The eye slot suddenly slams open. "Mot de passe?" the bouncer asks gruffly, not that Annie knows what that means.

"Papillon," Eren supplies.

The slot slides shut with a metallic hiss. Annie glances up at him expectantly, almost giving him an 'is-this-really-a-good-idea?' expression, but a split moment later the bouncer is swinging open the door to allow them entry. A thick bass and glitch-hop wave crashes over them en masse a diversification of opalescent lights, and Annie reflexively hooks her arm into Eren's as he steps in. The door slams shut.

"Is this even a legal place?" she shouts over the music.

He nods in response, moving over to the bar, and she reluctantly goes with him. They sit at the counter away from the two couples on either side, shoving their tongues down each other's throats, something that makes Annie's stomach squirm. She awkwardly loops her satchel bag over the back of her chair and adjusts Eren's jacket as he strips it off – anything to avoid thinking about, well, him.

Eren gestures the bartender over to them. "Je vais prendre deux"—he rolls his hand in thought—"deux… – deux papillons électrique." Then the opposing man nods and leaves them alone.

"How do you possibly speak French?" Annie asks him, giving him a scrutinizing glance.

"I only memorized the essentials before the trip."

"Essentials clearly don't include understanding an officer's commands."

"I didn't predict that Marco would steal a zoo's attractions, now did I?"

She scoffs under her breath. The bartender returns with two dichromatic blue martinis, the rim caked in salt and a little glass butterfly floating at the bottom, a lemon ring biting the edge. Fancy, is all she can think of. Eren hands him a bill for ten euros, telling him something in French that probably means 'keep the change'. "And what's this supposed to be?" she asks after taking a test sip. It tastes like bitter blueberries.

"An Electric Butterfly is what they call it." He presses his forefinger to the base of her glass, tipping it towards her lips. "Drink, drink."

"Did you have the guy drug it or something?" she interjects, quirking an eyebrow at him.

"Of course not. The faster you drink it the less of an after taste you'll get."

He coaxes the glass up as she passively plays along, drinking her alcohol a little too fast because she nearly vomits as the sour fruit sapidity takes effect. She places the pilsener down and the ornate butterfly clinks around at the base. "You're turn," she says behind her wrist, swallowing against the saltiness in the back of her throat.

And when he drinks, he means it – he puffs out his chest and downs the cobalt contents with zero effort, fuck the aftertaste isn't even a problem. He just triumphantly replaces the now empty glass and flashes her this overly smug grin that makes her knuckles itch, but it's so goofy and wide and attentive she has to turn her head the other way so he doesn't catch her blushing. It's his display of charm to swoon her over.

(As effective as every time before)

The music chords ascend into a majestic baritone and Eren hops off the chair, taking her hand for what might be the seventh time tonight. "I love this song! Let's dance," he coerces, pulling her towards the dance floor.

She's not a good dancer. She doesn't even like dancing. "Eren," she stresses, because he knows this already.

"Just trust me," he declares, weaving them through several bodies to the center of the floor.

The bass drops. They're so close to the speakers that the descending beats compress her lungs, but it doesn't bother him – he's just moving like every other person around them, brushing by her, his hands planted on her waist.

She's so fucking awkward it's astounding.

"Just trust me," he reiterates over the music. He leans his lips down to trail ghostly-kisses across her jaw line, and then she's moving with him, familiarizing herself with the beat.

At some point the bass becomes hypnotic and his hands are entwined with hers, letting her guide the motion of his arms as she falls victim to the music. She's never been a great dancer, sure, and unfortunately neither has Eren – but she loves how natural he feels against her and adores the oblique, secret rhythm they match together, his hips pressing to hers, heated, suppressed kisses skimming her cheek and chin and lower jaw.

He's obeying the rules of the barrier that's always existed between them, however: the invisible force she threw up since the first day they met, that's kept them from being anything more than just them (that's kept their first kiss just a passing memory, their first dinner a passing night, their first fuck a passing mistake). She's sorry, she thinks, for doing this to him – for leading him on but never wanting to be any more with him than they were now.

But unlike before, she doesn't want to wait on her own conscious to feel ready.

When she feels that her legs are threatening to give out and her energy has fully peaked under the influence of the alcohol (who the fuck knows how long they've been here), she turns her head so his mouth is brushing the lower plush of her lips.

"You wanna get out of here?" she asks, minx-like, and he grins.

"When have I ever said no to you?"

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The faint radios and obnoxious voices from the surrounding buildings are muffled by the back alley walls as Annie follows Eren out of the club's emergency exit, leaving her alone with him in the ebbing silence of the ebony night distilled with blaring car horns. She realizes she is being pushed back against the rigid surface, not forcefully but insistently, the structure chilly beneath her fingertips. He lowers to his knees, disregarding the grime of the pavement, eager lips skimming the centerfold of her shirt.

He unbuttons her blouse's last hitch with just his teeth and a flick of his tongue, fingers carefully undoing the fly of her jeans.

(Oh, Sina)

He's rising back up, gradually working at her blouse as his heated lips press against hers, his tongue prodding at her mouth for entrance. She lets him glide in, presses her tongue back against his – it's slick and warm and she wants to rationalize how gross it should be, but he's found some kind of nerve and the harder her pushes against her the more intense her triggered pleasure becomes. Her hands gradually slide up under his open jacket to feel the warmth of his underlying muscle through his shirt.

He coaxes her to drop her satchel and allow him complete access to her body, one button at a time.

Her own shirt falls open to reveal her toned torso, silken white, smooth beneath his calloused fingers as he kneads at her constricting muscles. She inhales sharply. His blazing kisses dot a map to the pulse point of her neck, and just below at the junction of her shoulder he finds her sweet spot (and he knows it's her weakness because her hitched breathing has suddenly intensified into quiet moans).

He moves to her hidden chest. It's tucked in by a black bra that zips in front between the valley of her breasts, and his palms knead at her delicately, moving too slowly for her by the way she growls impatiently in her throat. He's so gentle and it's driving her crazy with want and irritation.

His fingers wrap around the zipper and slide it down, notch for notch, until the fabric is popping apart and her breasts are falling out to meet the cool air. His lips are like a fire against her chest, sucking on her nipple until it's almost painful before she's grabbing his hand and pushing it between her legs. Now her hips are rocking desperately, pressing up against his as she fully surrenders to the alcohol seizing control of her system and his equally captivating touch.

He moves the heated cavern of his mouth to her untreated nipple, dipping his hand down into the front of her panties. She sucks in another sharp breath, and exhales an exasperated, "fuck."

He responds in time to the movement of her hips, his fingers stroking her labia and his middle knuckle massaging her sensitive clit.

(Too good, she barely manages to think)

She grasps his bister hair with one hand as he nurses her nipple, grasping his locks perhaps too hard, and fumbles with her pants with the other, pushing them down passed her knees (with the help of his own free hand) so she can better part her legs. A finger pushes through her lips, hooking up to press against the front wall of her heat. She's anticipating him so with a few careful strokes he slides in another, rubbing her clit with his rough palm, intruding digits stroking her in all the right ways.

The alcohol is making her hornier than she thinks she's ever been before and she barely feels any initial pain. Her hands have fully woven into his hair and grabbed his shoulder and he's using that as his permission to pump faster, and as a bonus, presses his palm up when he rocks back so the pressure on her clit intensifies. She gasps, feeling every muscle in her body wind tight into coils, as if seeking escape from his touches but also accepting the pleasure all the same.

She's shamelessly panting his name with every stroke, every time he rubs up against her tensing womanhood and presses her oversensitive nerves. She's paced with him perfectly, not insistent but increasingly desperate. "F–uck, Eren."

He laughs against her skin, the vibrations numbing the bones in the cage of her chest.

She tugs his hair in response, firm but not too hard, so he's wincing and gazing at her again. There's an exploding sapphire inferno behind her eyes. "Shut the"—he curls into her again, pushing against a nerve—"fuck – up and get on with it before I"—he presses down on the nerve again and the jolt rocks up her spine so suddenly she nearly smacks her head back against the wall—"son of a bitch, Jaeger!"

"You're so impatient," he muses, helping her remove her jeans and discarding them to the side. She doesn't give a shit where they ended up, she's preoccupied with undoing his own pants because he's moving too slow for her. He shoves down his briefs and lifts her up by her thighs so she can wrap her bare legs around his waist.

"What don't you get about shutting up?" she seethes, supporting her weight with her arms around his neck.

He slides into her without delay, pushing perfectly into place like she was molded to fit no one else but him. "Clearly a lot less than you," he replies, breathless as her walls constrict him greedily, eager for his touch. He complies to her needs with a single thrust that has her moaning in her throat, then follows through with a second, third, fourth, setting a quick and steady rhythm.

She's parting her legs further, barely able to keep herself suspended from his neck as the pressure numbs every other nerve in her body. "Fuck – I fucking – ah! – hate you!"

Suddenly he remembers the first time they did this – the way she cried out, just like now, because she's more sensitive than she'll ever care to let him know and the stress in the curses she emits because she can't think clear enough to say anything else.

(And as far as she's concerned, there isn't anything she needs to say)

She arches her spine, forcing her chest towards him persistently, fingernails clutching his scalp. His lips consume her tender nipples again, sucking them in turn until they're too painful, gently pinching down with his teeth, cupping her ass to keep her supported against the wall. She meets his gaze at some point, staring down at him through slotted eyes, her cheeks inflamed and pupils blown wide open with pleasure, lips parted as she exhales her shameless cries with every thrust.

This sex isn't like the first time – when he found places in her she wasn't keenly aware of, his hands less than confident, and his heartbeat never matching hers. It just kind of happened, enjoyable but soulless (and he wonders if that's why he woke up to an empty room, her side of the bed as cold as the frost in her eyes).

Now her heartbeat crashes into her ears in synch with the drumming of his, like the freak collision of two opposing forces, the pressure in the torrid heat of her legs overwhelming every fiber of her being and his hands knowing exactly what to do. She feels like she's alive, with him, time has stopped for them, and it's more incredible than anything she's ever felt before.

And one more time, she hisses out under the intensifying gasps, "Fuck!" before she's cumming with a cry that crosses between a pleasured mewl and a heated gasp of his name, spilling shamelessly over him as her hips rock to their own accord, dragging out her orgasm for nearly half a minute.

The waves of her interchanging, collapsing walls suffocate him and he needs to breathe, once, twice, to recollect his mind before he loses himself in her.

(It wouldn't be the first time; she has that effect on him)

"It's fine," she ushers, completely breathless and still out of focus with reality.

He kisses her mouth, again, and rocks into her several more times, gently (he's always been gentle with her, it drives her to the brink of insanity and it's so unlike him it's practically unnerving), still so aggravatingly familiar – and then he's releasing deep within her warmth.

She leans against him, absently playing with the damaged ends of his cocoa hair, curling his adumbral strands around her finger. "I still love you," she tells him quietly.

"And I've always loved you," he returns, kissing her again.

Her weight takes effect now so he finally retreats, carefully setting her down on the ground again, and that's when she realizes what she – they – just did. Flushing despite her better nature, she awkwardly fumbles to adjust her discarded panties and he tucks himself in then helps her fix the rest of her clothes, zipping up her bra gradually like he's almost disappointed to see the girls go, buttoning her blouse, handing her her dropped satchel.

She adjusts her jeans properly and adds, quickly, diffident gaze turned down the ground to avoid making eye contact, "So… that was a thing."

She doesn't understand why he laughs, but she doesn't have time to dwell on it because suddenly her cell phone is ringing, the vibrations muffled within her satchel. She fumbles with the strap and flips it open, fishing out her phone and not even bothering to check the caller ID. "H-Hello?"

"Annie, where are you? Do you know how many times I called?"

"Sorry Bert, I went for a… walk, with Eren. What's wrong?"

"Nothing, nothing. You were just gone for the last four hours and we – hic – oh shit, uh, excuse me. We started worrying."

"I'm okay."

"Why do you sound out of breath?"

"I just showed her the rivers of Paris," Eren interjects and Annie slaps her hand over the bottom of the phone, shooting him a menacing glare.

"That's my man, Eren!" Reiner calls from the background.

"That was a horrible analogy," Bertholdt mutters, and Annie can picture him massaging away the throbs in his temples. "I didn't need to know this, let alone hear it in terrible context."

Finally lifting her hand since the damage is done, Annie reverts to the original subject. "You guys just go back for now, I'll catch you later."

"We're actually going to Connie's since, you know, you're attempt at avoiding Eren has obviously failed."

"It's about time Annie got laid," Mina slurs out, "she always has such a stick up her ass."

Reiner laughs boisterously in the background. "Guess that's not the only thing up her ass tonight!"

"I heard that you two-faced sons of a bi-!" Bert hangs up first and Annie growls out her vexed irritation under her breath. "That's not even what happened." She collects the loose fragments of her mind before facing him. "Sorry," she mutters, tucking her cell away, "you want to go back too?"

"May as well. My bike's nearby, I'll drive us."

She gives him a sideways look. "Are you even okay to drive?"

"Of course. I wasn't planning on getting drunk tonight, but you made it tempting."

She leaves the conversation off with that and takes his hand again, wondering how he knew where he was, and wishing that they could go get lost instead. Because now she doesn't want this Paris feeling within her to end, and the passion she's always had for him – and him, for her – and the concupiscence she just experienced now, is the kind of memory she wants to hold on to, desperately, because she doesn't have much else to bother remembering anymore.

(If only he knew what he did to her)

.

.

.

The Parisian lights bled over them as they ride into the dawn bleeding into the tamasic sky overhead, and Annie is surprisingly lulled by the engine roaring in their wake. She completely wraps her arms around his torso, pressing her palms flat against his sternum, the bitter air cool and pleasant against her exposed skin, her head rested against his back. The New Year warmth burns her pallid skin at every stop light, but then the radiating heat is blown away by the breeze as they crawl forward against the wind.

He pulls into the lot of his hotel first. "Something wrong?" she asks, but follows his lead and dismounts.

"I'm just going inside to put my phone up to charge," he answers, kicking out the stand. He unclips his helmet, attaches it to the back of the bike, and follows through with hers. "I don't have enough battery to make calls and Mikasa and Armin have been spamming me all night."

"Why'd you ignore them?"

"I was with you."

She scoffs. "In retrospect, they might have known this. As a matter of fact: they probably think I've put your remains in a river."

He snorts unattractively at that. "Yeah, well they're probably passed out drunk by now. Anyway, I'll be right back."

When he makes his move to leave her arms wind around his waist, drawing him flush against her, her head to the cage of his chest so she's locking him in place. She can hear his heart, drumming steadily in the curled fingers of his ribs.

"Annie?"

"Where do we go when we're back in Germany? You know… where do we go from here?"

He slides his hand up to cup her cheek, guiding her eyes to look up at him – into the dark forests hiding the memories of the night in its storm-grazed leaves and hushed confessions in the hollows of bark. And she knows, for a fact, that she's been running from him a bit too long.

"I'll go anywhere you want, even if I have to chase you down all over again."

And for the same reasons as every time before, she likes the way his words make her heart flutter, because now she knows she's finally ready for a rela –

She shoves him away and promptly vomits all over the pavement.