The grand ballroom glittered under crystal chandeliers, the air thick with perfume and the murmur of diplomats and soldiers trying to forget the war. Mikasa stood near the hallway leading to the washrooms, her silhouette draped in a sleek black dress that hugged her newly curved frame—fuller hips, a heavier chest, the kind of body that drew stares she no longer cared to acknowledge.
Since Eren's death, she had become something else—a ghost in silk, a woman who moved through the world like a blade sheathed in velvet.
Then, a hand clamped over her mouth.
She tensed, instinct screaming to fight—until a familiar scent hit her: leather, musk, the faint tang of alcohol. *Jean.*
Before she could wrench free, he yanked her backward into the washroom, kicking the door shut behind them. The lock clicked.
"Jean—!" she hissed, but he spun her around, slamming her against the wall. His mouth crashed onto hers, swallowing her protest. His kiss was all teeth and tongue, hot and demanding, his hands already gripping the fabric of her dress.
She shoved at his chest. "Stop—!"
He didn't.
With a rough tug, the delicate straps of her dress snapped. The fabric pooled at her waist, baring her to the cool air. Jean's gaze raked over her, dark with hunger. "You've been ignoring me," he muttered against her throat, biting down just hard enough to make her gasp. "Did you think yesterday was a mistake?"
Mikasa's breath hitched as his hands slid lower, cupping her ass, lifting her effortlessly. She hooked her legs around his waist on reflex, her body betraying her even as her mind reeled.
Jean didn't wait. He freed himself with one hand, shoved her thong aside with the other, and thrust into her in one brutal stroke.
Mikasa's head thudded against the wall, a moan tearing from her lips. It hurt—*God*, it hurt—but the pain melted into something hotter, sharper. Jean set a punishing pace, his hips slamming into hers, the sound of skin on skin echoing in the tiled room.
"You're *tight*," he growled, sucking a bruise into her collarbone. "Tighter than last night. Were you thinking about me?"
She clawed at his shoulders, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer. "N-No—"
He laughed, low and rough, and angled deeper. "Liar."
Pleasure coiled in her belly, relentless. Her moans climbed higher, louder, until she was panting his name like a prayer. Jean swallowed every sound with another kiss, his tongue tangling with hers as he fucked her through her climax, her walls fluttering around him.
When he finally spilled inside her, his groan was raw, almost pained. He didn't pull out—just held her there, pinned between his body and the wall, both of them trembling.
For a long moment, the only sound was their ragged breathing. Then Mikasa, still dazed, murmured the words that would haunt her later:
*"You were… better than Eren."*
Jean went still. When he met her eyes, his gaze was unreadable. "Say that again."
She didn't. But the hunger in his expression told her he'd never forget it.