Jeankasa Week Day 7: Fantasies

Title: Raindrops
Rating: T
Fandom: Shingeki no Kyojin, Attack on Titan
Characters: Jean Kirschtein, Mikasa Ackerman, most of the 104th, Jeankasa
Summary: Five times they didn't meet, and the one time they did.
Notes: Gomen for being late (Catching Fire, yo!) but I'm finally doing one of these 'five things and one thing' thingies! It's like a fanfiction rite of passage, amirite? I guess this is where Jeankasa Week ends, but I'm glad to have participated!

one

Mikasa meets him in the local store. He measures out sugar and flour for her hurriedly as she wanders off to examine the vegetables section. He's the new shop boy; apparently the old one ran off to join the military. She doesn't think this new guy will last too long either.

"Miss Ackerman?" He pronounces her name wrong, putting too much emphasis on the end, but she responds anyways.

"Thank you," she murmurs, taking the bags from his hands. He's measured then out correctly, she notes, which is more than the last one could do.

"Yeah, sure-" He looks up at her then and his cheeks flush red. Mikasa has to grab the butter before he drops it. "Sorry!"

"No matter," she reassures him, laying her hand over his momentarily.

"Um..." He swallows audibly. "That looks like a lot of stuff... Can I carry it for you?"

"I don't know, can you?" she counters. He looks so surprised that she can't help the small giggle that escapes her. "Sorry, I'm just messing. I can handle it all myself." She throws the bag of peat over her shoulder easily and slides the other bags into the crook of her elbow. "Besides, don't you have other customers?" It's true; behind her, a long line of disgruntled patrons is beginning to form.

"Right..." He ducks his head and scribbles a receipt for her, slipping it into one of the bags. "Have a nice day?"

She waves at him as she leaves; when she gets outside the sun is blinding, even though she is within the shadow of the wall. She drops the bags for a few seconds and rummages around in one of them; after a few seconds, she emerges victorious with the receipt. She unfolds it quickly, and sure enough, he has scrawled his name across the bottom of the slip.

"Jean Kirschtein," she tries, the shadow of the wall bisecting her. She grins to herself and sets off back hope; Kaachan and Papa will be waiting.

If she starts going on more errands to the shops, her parents don't point it out.

two

For some unknown reason, Erwin has assigned the new gaggle of recruits to her for hand to hand training.

"Haven't they been training for three years? What the hell have the Trainees being doing?" Mikasa knows she's complaining, but Levi has to listen to her. She listened to him bitch about the state of the men's bathrooms last night, so now it's her turn.

"I suspect most of them spend their entire time drunk in order to endure the trainees. Hell, that's what I would do." Levi adjusts his cravat prissily.

"According to Erwin, that's exactly what you did."

"Shut up," Levi sighs, "and go train the gremlins. Try to be nice. Those little softies aren't as tough as I am."

She scowls at him and flips off his back when he leaves.

When she enters the yard, it is stuffed to the brim with newbie scouts, stretching and warming up. She slips into the middle of them almost unnoticed. They're probably expecting some kid of ripped monster, not slim, womanly Mikasa, so none of them notice her, and she takes the opportunity to observe them. There's a few that show promise, but most of them need severe training if they're going to get anywhere.

She decides to reveal herself and clambers up onto the cart in the middle of the yard; once on top, she does her best whistle, the one that Hanji swears could break glass. The entire class stops talking, shocked into silence.

"Listen up, kiddies! I am Squad Leader Mikasa Ackerman, and I am your CQC instructor!" There's a hushed babble of incredulous voices, and it persists until she flips off the cart to land in the middle of a knot of newbies; they scatter like bowling pins. "I don't know what you've been taught at the academy, but all of you are doing it wrong, and in the Scouting Legion 'wrong' means 'dead.' Got it?" They nod en masse. "Now, I want all of you to divide into pairs. Pick someone who is of a similar build to you." They quickly separate into groups of two and begin to spar. Mikasa walks around them and interferes where she can, correcting stances, fixing holds and giving out to the ones who go too far.

One such duo consists of two boys. As far as Mikasa can tell they are almost evenly matched, even if they are spitting insults at each other the entire time.

"Eren!" A blond boy breaks off from his partner to hover anxiously over them. "Are you okay?"

"Armin, go away!" Presumably this is Eren, and if she remembers correctly his last name is Jaeger; his friend's is Arlert. Jaeger slams his opponent's head into the ground; the boy pinned underneath him manages to get a hit in on his leg. Jaeger releases him, but before the other boy can retaliate Mikasa has caught Jaeger's collar. "Wha-"

"We are sparring," she says icily. "Not trying to kill each other. Am I clear?"

Jaeger wriggles a bit. "Lemme go!" She lets go of him and pushes him away; he trips over his own feet and sprawls in the dirt. The other boy lets out a squawk of laughter and she rounds on him. "What's so funny, you little shit?" She points in the direction of the barracks, not looking away from the boy in front of her. "Jaeger, go to medical." He hesitates, but not for long. "Now! Arlert, please stop gaping at me like that, please lower your eyebrows, and please return to sparring." Armin bows nervously and goes back to his partner. "Now, Private..."

"Kirschtein, ma'am." He spots the looks she gives him and hastily corrects himself. "Jean Kirschtein, Squad Leader." The name rings a bell. Erwin has mentioned him as being close to one of the casualties of the battle of Trost. He's gone under psych evals and come out clear, but Erwin wasn't so sure. He's taller than her, with sandy hair and sallow skin, but he looks a little gaunt, and the bruises on his face aren't helping. Mikasa won't go easy on him, though. She didn't get a reputation as the woman worth a hundred soldiers by being nice to the recently bereaved.

"Get into position." He drops into stance and she sighs through her nose. "What are you doing, shitting? You're too wide! Feet closer together." When he fails to respond, ears turning red, she braces her hands on his shoulders and nudges him into position with her own feet. "Square up. Stop hunching over like an old man." She pushes his shoulders back. "And relax." He stiffens up more, if anything. "I said, relax!" She drives her fingers into the muscle of his shoulders and he loosens up with shock. "Good." She steps back and mirrors his stance. "Now..." She motions towards herself with her hand. "Give me your best shot."

He flies at her quickly, winding up a haymaker, but she dodges easily to the side and gets behind him. She slides her leg between his and jabs him painfully in the back; he slumps forward and she winds her arms around him in a chest hold.

"Surrender?" she asks, her lips right beside his ear. Up close she can appraise his condition more easily, and it's easy to tell he's no slouch. He struggles stubbornly, and she decides to go for shock tactics; she grabs his butt. He leaps away from her as if burned and aims a kick at her face; she blocks it and ducks under his arm, but he follows up and catches her on the shoulder. "Good," she states, bouncing back and guarding; he tries to break through but it is easy to predict his blows. He lets out a grumble of frustration and feints a left kick. Mikasa sees through it without trouble and grabs his right arm as it comes towards her, twists it and flips him violently onto his back; he wheezes as he slams into the ground. Mikasa is crouched above him, knee pressed into his chest. "Do you give?" She twists his arm harder and he lets out a yelp of pain, but something strange crosses his face, and out of nowhere he head butts her, lips brushing against hers in the process. Mikasa lets go and falls back as fast as she can. She stares at him, shaken, as a smirk creeps onto his lips.

Mikasa is six years older than this Kirschtein kid, but he's got her thinking about something she's never given much thought to before. She reaches her hand out to him in a gesture of peace and after a moment's hesitation, he takes it and she pulls him back to his feet. The contact is brief, but the sensation lingers, and she knows she's not the only one from the way his hand clenches after. "Well done," she says woodenly, noticing the eyes of the entire class on her and Kirschtein. "What the hell are you all staring at? Get back to work!"

Her efforts are futile; the bell goes straight after, calling the recruits to mess, and the people drain away until she is alone with Kirschtein. There's something unreadable in his amber eyes as he examines her, and she realises that at fifteen he's taller than her at twenty-one.

"Thank you," he states, dropping into a bow. Involuntarily she bows back; when her back is straight, he flees. She grabs her water bottle and takes a long drink from it, eyes following his back as he disappears into the castle.

When Levi inquires later if any of the recruits caught her eye, she doesn't respond.

three

It is the beginning of November, and the city is beginning to ice over, foliage falling faster than the cleaners can sweep it up.

She isn't exactly paying attention to where she is going. She needs to get this assignment to Hanji within five minutes or all her work for that extra credit is null and void. Of course, she just had to stop into a coffee shop for a caffeine hit and had managed to get tangled in an interminably long line and an argument with an obtuse barista. The boots she's wearing aren't helping either; they're knee-high and the heels are much higher than her usual Keds. She doesn't even know why she bothered to wear them, but all her pants were dirty so she had to wear a dress, and sneakers hardly go with pretty floral print skirts unless you're under eighteen.

So, the one time Mikasa Ackerman doesn't pay complete attention to her surroundings, she crashes straight into someone like some ditzy blonde damsel out a goddamn rom-com. Her papers fly everywhere and she jerks forwards onto her knees, unable to land properly in the way her years of practising aikido have ingrained into her. She winces as the shock of impact judders through her knees and up her thighs, but is secretly grateful that she already gulped down her hazelnut latte. Those things are expensive.

"Fuck... Sorry!" She finally gets a glimpse of the unfortunate soul she almost bowled over, and her first thought is 'Shit, he's hot!' because he is. He's the sort of guy that Sasha would describe as edible; his eyes are a strange tawny shade, like a lion's, and his dirty blond hair is undercut. White headphones hang around his neck, knocked off his ears by the force of their collision; she can hear the tinny tones of glitch music, the type that Eren won't believe she listens to. When he helps her up his hands wrap easily around her forearms, and Mikasa isn't exactly slight. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she confirms, blowing her hair out of her face. "But...my papers..." He waves a sheaf of paper at her, and Mikasa's heart unclenches. "Thank God." She takes them from him as graciously as she can and checks her knees; luckily, her stockings didn't get torn. They're ones Christa knitted for her, so God knows what she put in them. Kevlar? They have fallen down to pool around the collar of her boots to reveal the pale skin of her legs, so she tugs them up quickly. When she glances up there's a dusting of red along the stranger's cheeks, but it only serves to make him look more attractive. "I never caught your name..." she prompts.

He takes a few seconds to respond, eyes darting up from her now-covered thighs. "Jean Kirschtein."

She sticks her hand out to him. "Mikasa Ackerman." He takes her hand and shakes it. The touch feels more intimate than it should. His phone beeps and he retracts his hand quickly to check it.

"I gotta go...?" he says, stuffing his phone back into his pocket.

"See you around, Jean." The lights go green and she gets caught up in the crowd, swept away across the street.

When she looks behind her, his hand is still in the air; she smiles to herself, realises that she now has only three minutes, and begins to run.

four

When she first meets him he's standing on the street kerb, breath solidifying into clouds of gas before him. She's a little drunk and a lot angry, and the various shots of tequila and sambuca and vodka that Annie had practically forced down her throat are beginning to kick in. Combine that with post messy breakup anger (Annie, wisely enough, decided to steer clear of Jaegermeister) and you have a dangerous recipe, which results in regimented Mikasa Ackerman approaching a prostitute outside a night club.

He glances at her over the fur collar of his parka from out the corner of his eye as she advances. Mikasa is young, pretty, and female, so she guesses she falls outside his usual clientele. He is rather handsome, though; the lines of his face are sharp and clear in the neon light, and he's tall, even if his clothes are a little too big for him.

She approaches him as she would a cornered animal. "You a cop?" he says brusquely. She shakes her head vehemently. "Well then, are you lost? You don't look like the type to sniff around red-light districts." There's a strange glimmer of amusement in his eyes as she shrinks slightly under his words.

"I'm not," she agrees, and leaves it at that. He shifts nervously, eyes darting from side-to-side.

"What do you want?" he asks finally, after a few minutes' pregnant silence.

"What do you think, chewing gum? No. You." The alcohol is burning at the base of her skull, clouding her judgment.

He laughs bitterly. "How long?"

"Until I get my sense back," she wants to say, but maybe he'd take that wrong. "One night."

He considers her meticulously, taking in the sober colours of her jacket and jeans, the dirty red of the threadbare scarf twined around her neck. Annie had wanted her to take it off and leave it behind, but she couldn't. She's already lost Eren; can't she still have this little fragment of him?

"Two hundred and fifty," he says finally. She has a feeling he's overpriced himself to scare her off, but such a simple thing as money won't deter her. Mikasa is nothing if not stubborn.

"Done." She yanks her wallet out of her pocket and counts out the bills as fast as she can. She needs to get this over with before she chickens out. He checks every bill she hands to him with a practised eye, but obviously she hasn't cheated him so it checks out. "What's your name?"

His face freezes up a tiny bit, lips twisting, but he sighs after a few seconds and relents. "Jean."

"Mikasa," she replies, and sets off across the street quickly; her car is parked over in a corner. She has no clue how Annie's going to get back but she's sure she can take care of herself.

She can hear him jogging behind her, but he only catches up when she reaches the car. "You're not driving, are you?" he demands, watching her try to unlock her car with a raised brow.

"Yes," she hisses, missing the lock yet again, but in an instant he is right beside her, hip pressed up against hers, large hands pulling the key out of her slackening grip.

"No, you're not," he breathes into her ear, and steps back. She turns around, and her back presses against the glass of the window; his hand comes to rest beside her head on the roof. The corner of his mouth is twisted up in a smirk. "You're drunk. I'd rather not die in a DUI incident."

He has a valid point, so after glaring at him for a few seconds she slinks around to the other side of the car and gets into the passenger seat without complaint. She risks a glance at him when he pulls out of the space, and she swears he's smirking.

She doesn't remember a lot of the drive itself, only the nervous twinges in her stomach, the directions she offered him every so often, and the white span of his fingers across the steering wheel. Luckily, they don't meet anyone in the parking lot or the lobby. Mikasa doesn't know most of her neighbours, but still; this is a situation she would rather not be caught in.

Jean's eyes are heavy on her back as she unlocks the front door, as they wait for the elevator. Usually Mikasa takes the four flights of stairs leading up to her apartment, but something tells her if she tried that now she would tumble all the way back down. When the elevator arrives it is vacant; she breathes a wordless prayer to whatever deity is up there.

"So," he starts, leaning against the bar across from her. In the stark light of the elevator she can make him out more clearly, see the faint bruises trailing under the grubby neck of his shirt. "I have one rule."

She tips her head to the side in silent consent.

"No lip-to-lip contact. Otherwise, I'm game."

She nods. "You're uncomfortable. Is it because I'm..."

"A girl?" He studies the broad span of her shoulders, the hard angles of her hips; it discomfits her to be looked over like this. Most people see her liquid brown eyes and silky hair and expensive clothes and dismiss her as a little girl almost immediately, some rich expat's kid, but Mikasa is much, much more than that. "I suppose. More lonely men around here than women." That's partly what she guessed.

The elevator dings as it stops, and the doors slide open creakily; the brass four on her door winks at her. She hadn't wanted Apt. No.4 on the fourth floor; her mother had always been unduly superstitious about the number, and part of it had rubbed off on Mikasa, but she didn't have much choice in the matter.

Maybe that's why she did this. She's paying, isn't she? Everything he does, she will have complete control over.

How she gets the door unlocked is beyond her, but she manages to stumble over the threshold and grab Jean's hand to drag him in. Her apartment is dark but she doesn't bother with lights, instead heading straight for her bedroom, toeing her shoes off en route. She trips into the door and it swings open with a bang; Jean winces behind her, hand clenching around hers. She'll have to check the damage to the wall tomorrow. For now...

Jean is shrugging his parka off his shoulders; it falls to the floor. Mikasa copies him, leather jacket following his. She has troubles with the buttons of her shirt; growling, she yanks it open. A few button ping off; Jean, watching her as he unbuckles his belt, lets out a snicker.

"No need to be so eager." His sentence is punctuated by the crumple of his pants to the ground. "I'm all yours."He moves behind her, hips flush with hers, unbuttoning her shirt and pulling it off her shoulders, sliding his hands down her stomach to the waist of her jeans, pushing them down too. His fingers catch in her underwear and press against her hipbones. Her head falls forward as he presses his lips to her neck.

"Eren never did this," her mind whispers. It was true, he didn't, but that was because he was inexperienced...right?

Jean guides her back around to face him and pushes her gently backwards until her knees hit the bed; she falls backwards with a thump. He hovers over her, and she notices he's still wearing his shirt.

"Why don't you...?" She fingers the hem of it.

"...Do I have to?" There's strange appealing note in his voice, and she realises that maybe he doesn't have to take off his clothes all the time, especially if he does most of his work outside. He is looking out at window, at the city lights arrayed like diamonds in a jeweller's.

"Please." She knows she's paying, and that she could just rip it off him if she so wished, but she can't. Luckily, he complies and pulls it off over his head.

Now she gets why he didn't want to take it off; his chest is heavily scarred, cruel lines crisscrossing his body. In the moonlight through the window the bruising down his neck to his sternum is stark against the pale white of his skin. She raises her hand to trace the lines, to brush her fingers across the contusions, to examine the hollows between his ribs, but he grabs her hands somewhat roughly and presses his thumbs to her pulse.

"Stop." Her hands go limp in his grasp, and she glances up at him; his eyes are hard. "Please don't..." She nods jerkily, and he lets her go; his hands return to her shoulders, anchoring her to the bed. Every time he shifts his hips brush against hers, and it sends little flares of sensation down her thighs and thigh her stomach. He must notice, she thinks, because he keeps on doing it, rolling his hips into hers. She can't take it so she flips him over, to see how he'll react. He smirks at her sharply.

"If you want rough, I'll give you rough."

He makes good on his word, and much more besides; Mikasa is a wreck when he's done with her two hours later, careful thought process dismantled until all she's capable of is expletives and his name, and occasionally both together. The sheets are sticky with sweat and her hair is clinging to her forehead. She fought back, though; Jean's clawed back attests to that. As he slides off her to land at her side, she catches his fingers in hers.

"Wow."

"What, no-one ever go down on you before?" She sputters, and when she looks at him he's smiling; it's strange, seeing that kind of earnest look on his wide lips. She shakes her head. "Poor girl. Lucky for you, I eat pussy like-"

"You have a degree in it. I heard you earlier." She hooks one leg over his.

"You kept up, though. You must have a crazy regime."

He doesn't know what he's getting into; no-one ever asks Mikasa about fitness, because she'll spend thirty minutes yakking on about BMI ratios and crunches. She decides to give him a break, simply saying, "I do a lot of martial arts."

He snorts at that and runs his hand down the arc of her waist to her leg. Mikasa closes her eyes and indulges in the feeling, but it stops sharply, and he pulls his hand away.

"Why the fuck do you have a picture of a manatee beside your bed?"

She bursts out laughing like a maniac, and he looks at her likes she's snapped. "Sorry," she gasps, moments later. "It's a joke I have with an old friend... I once compared to a guy to a cow when he... um..."

"Came?" Jean offers. His voice is tremulous with suppressed laughter.

"Y-yeah, and he used to do a lot of swimming, so my friend starting calling him..." If she starts giggling like a teenage girl in front of him because of Annie, she will never look at her friend again. "She called him a sea-cow... No-one ever notices, so I was surprised you did. That's all." His chest is shaking with laughter, so in an effort to re-establish dominance she rolls over until she's astride him, the inside of her legs pressing against his sides. His hands rest on her hips.

"How any people, exactly, have had the chance to notice this?"

"Not many," she admits, trailing her fingers along the arch of his neck; his eyes dull a little.

"That's what I thought..." His eyes are trained intently on hers. "...Why did you come up to me? I'm sure a pretty girl like you can get all the tail she wants." She bites her lip, and he observes the gesture closely. Mikasa pulls his arms away from her hips to pin them above his head, and leans over. Her unbound breasts brush against his chest, and her nose is dangerously close to his. Up this close, she can see the faint smatter of freckles across the bridge of his nose.

"I..." Why did she, really? It wasn't sexual gratification, nor was it a desire to forget Eren. More like... "Control." He raises an eyebrow. "I... I don't control anything. Anyone. Not even my own life... For as long as I can remember I've been subservient, the best daughter, the perfect sister, the trophy girlfriend... So I guess I wanted to control you." Her nose brushes his. "I'm sorry." She pauses. "But... can I control you?"

"You're paying." His voice is quiet and soft, much more so than it has been all night.

"But, if I wasn't... would you let me?"

He doesn't answer; instead, he raises his head a little, and presses his lips to hers. Mikasa digs her fingers into his wrists and kisses him back; he tastes like her. Somehow, this is more intimate than the sex was, and Jean seems to agree; when she opens her mouth he lets out a little mewl. She's too tired, though, and she collapses onto his chest, nose crashing clumsily into his jaw.

"Go to sleep," he says, smoothing down her hair. "I'm here all night, aren't I? Don't worry, I won't pickpocket you...much."

But Jean falls asleep before she does, and she takes the opportunity to write her name and number on the inside of his wrist. She snuggles down beside him, and observes the last traces of muscle on his sides. Presumably he had been toned and strong once, but too much time and not enough food will steal all musculature; his too-large clothes are testament to that. His eyelashes are stubby and light; she caresses them lightly with the tip of her finger. He pouts childishly, but doesn't wake up, and she wonders idly when the last time he slept in an actual bed was.

Eventually, after receiving a furious call from Annie, she nods off.

When she wakes up, her bed and apartment are empty. She didn't expect anything less or anything more, but her heart still falls.

Two days later, during a tense dinner with Armin and Eren, she gets a call from an unknown number. Against her better judgment she answers it, screams in the middle of the restaurant, and has to hang up before Eren and Armin can hear Jean's hoarse laughter.

(She calls him back later in a public phone booth, and later wishes she'd done it at home.)

five

The summons is somewhat surprising. Nowadays, the old occult practices have been largely abandoned as people band together to defend each other, but it makes a nice change from the centuries of petty war Mikasa has seen with her own scarlet eyes. It also means that most demons go largely unemployed, which is fine by most of them. They are sinners, after all, so it is natural that they would take any opportunity to be slothful.

So one day while she's minds her own business on the edges of a punishment field, she disappears, which comes as quite a shock. A ray of light falls on her along with the sensation of being set on fire; she takes a few seconds to respond, and in those few seconds she is plucked from Hell and dropped into the mortal realm.

When she materializes, she is in the middle of an old stone church. The beams on the roof are rotten and the stained glass windows are mostly broken, a few shards of red casting crimson light across the floor. She attempts to step forward, but she is constrained, and when she casts her eyes to the floors she finds out why; there is a circle of salt around her feet, chords crisscrossing to form a messy star. Drops of blood litter the floor, and she crouches down to dab her fingers and taste it. It is human and thick with life, and it sends thrills up her skin. She raises herself to her full height of seven feet and looks down her nose at the human in front of her.

He's young, she thinks, maybe in his mid-teens, but taller and sturdier than most. His hands are raised in front of him, and she can see the raw wound on his wrist; the blood must be his.

"Stop!" He's probably trying be commanding, bus his voice quavers. "I am Jean Kirschtein, and I am your master!"

"Oh?" Mikasa hasn't talked in a while, so her voice is rough and throaty, and Jean takes a slight step back. "Are you? I don't see any master, just a scared little boy." He bristles again, and she can feel the potency of his anger rolling off him. The young always feel more intensely. "But since you've told me your name... I am Mikasa Ackerman, servant of Asmodeus, bearer of the Dawncutter. What is it you wish?" Mikasa looks more like a succubus, what with the huge curly ram's horns and her bare striped body, but she's a deadly warrior with no need to tempt people to kill them.

"I wish for you to fight alongside the humans and..." His hands clench into fists. "Defeat the Titans."

She tips her head to the side. She's heard about the Titans, the anthromorphic monstrosities who kill endlessly. Perhaps they'll give her a challenge. Dawncutter's blade is beginning to dull.

"I accept this task. With what shall I be bound?"

In response he lifts up a carmine scarf and approaches her carefully, making sure not to smudge the ring of salt with his feet. He lassos it deftly round her neck, but the fabric constricts violently around her throat and begins to strangle the life out of her. She begins to cough and hack, and he stumbles backwards from her, falling on his ass. The scarf works its magic, and within moments Mikasa has shrunk over a foot. Her dark hair recedes back into her scalp until it reaches her chin, and her skin loses its markings to turn ivory white. She falls to her knees as the clothes materialise, exact replicas of his down to the winged crest on her breast. Her eyes flash crimson momentarily and finally fade to charcoal black.

She hunches over for a few seconds, couching and retching while he watches, stunned. "Clever," she finally rasps. "The embroidery in the scarf?"

"A seal," he replies, and a satisfied smirk curls his lip. "You're stuck here now until I give you leave to go." She tugs uselessly on the scarf, which has fused to her neck. "I didn't think it would be so...brutal. I'm sorry."

"You're apologising to a demon?"She straightens up slowly, unsure of her new, slight form... well, slight in comparison to her real one. This body is athletic and muscled; when she brushes her fingers across her stomach she can feel the telltale bumps of well-defined abdominal muscles.

"So what?" He draws nearer to her. "I'm going to let you out now." He reaches forward, and with his finger breaks the circle of salt. Mikasa is on him in an instant and he yells, catching her on instinct, but she is bound to him and she cannot harm him, however much she would like to. As much she yearns for his blood, to rip veins and arteries out of him like looses threads, to tear open the flesh of his skin, to crack open his skull, to suck the marrow from his bones, she can't touch a single hair on his head, so she does the next best thing.

She kisses him hard, lips colliding savagely with his; he shudders beneath her and groans, mouth dropping open. She takes the opportunity and deepens it, hands pinning his shoulders. He's so alive, with so much energy, and she absorbs it like sunshine. He's almost totally in her power, whimpering out of pain and pleasure, but she has to stop before she drains him completely, as much as she'd like to keep going. When she pulls away his lips are sticky with blood, and she wipes it away with a finger and licks it off, not wasting a drop.

"Don't do that again," he croaks after minute.

"Sorry. Couldn't resist. I am a demon, after all... and virgin blood always tastes better." He splutters as she stands up and pulls him up with her roughly. "Now, master...where to?"

His gaze darkens, and his grip on her wrist tightens cruelly, but she doesn't feel it. "Follow me," he says finally, "and don't do anything unless I tell you to."

"Of course." He pulls her out of the door and they emerge into the moonlight. Mikasa closes her eyes and moves her thumb to rest on his quickened pulse.

An impetuous boy, abhorrent monsters, and a sword. This sort of chance is one that a demon very rarely gets, and Mikasa is going to grasp it with both hands.

first

Except none of that happens. The first time she meets him he stutters and eventually stammers out a compliment which she brushes off graciously, drifting out the door to her brother's side. She doesn't even get his name. Maybe she should have made more of it, but it is too late, far too late for that now.

last

She can't breathe. Her lungs are crushed, and when she speaks it is more blood than air. Her vision is fading, blurring around the edges like an old photo. Jean cradles her in his arms, amber eyes wide with desperation. Blood oozes from between his teeth to stain his lips and drip down his chin.

"Is Eren...?" Her hand reaches weakly up to him; he catches her frigid fingers, raises them to his cheek.

"He's fine. Mikasa...we're almost there, I can taste it. Victory is so close...!"

She snorts. "If so, why are you crying?"

"You know full well!" His tears spot the crusted blood on her face. "...You know better than anyone."

She wants so badly to close her eyes, but she can't. She has to look at him all she can, right before the end. "Thank you."

His lips tremble, and he presses a chaste kiss to her mouth, staining his own red.

The sky behind him is burning with the colours of sunset. Beyond the walls, the land is so open that she feels more insignificant than ever, just a miniscule speck compared to the scale of the entire universe.

She brushes her fingers over the line of his jaw and gives him one last radiant smile.

"You know... I was thinking about letting my hair grow out..."

The last thing she sees is him, smiling, pink tears trickling down his face.