The wind whispered through the trees, carrying the scent of damp earth and fallen leaves. Mikasa knelt before Eren's grave, her fingers digging into the cold soil as if she could reach through it and pull him back. Tears streaked down her face, silent and endless. She had screamed herself hoarse days ago—now, there was only this hollow, gnawing ache.
She didn't hear Jean approach.
His footsteps were quiet, deliberate. He had watched her for weeks, seen the way her shoulders trembled when she thought no one was looking. He told himself he was just being a friend, that he only wanted to comfort her. But when he saw her there, broken and beautiful in the moonlight, something darker, hungrier, took over.
He didn't hesitate.
One moment, Mikasa was alone with her grief. The next, Jean's hands were on her, pulling her up and against him with a roughness that made her gasp. His mouth crashed onto hers before she could protest, his tongue forcing its way past her lips, hot and demanding. She stiffened—instinct screaming at her to fight—but then his fingers tangled in her hair, tilting her head back, and something inside her snapped.
Maybe it was the numbness. Maybe it was the need to feel *anything* other than the agony of losing Eren. But her hands, which had been pushing weakly at his chest, suddenly gripped his shirt, pulling him closer.
Jean groaned against her mouth, his hands sliding down to the buttons of her blouse. The fabric tore under his impatient fingers, baring her skin to the cool night air. Mikasa shivered, but his touch burned—his lips trailed down her throat, teeth scraping over her pulse as his hands cupped her breasts, thumbs circling her nipples until they hardened.
"Jean—" she breathed, but his name dissolved into a moan as his knee pressed between her thighs, the friction sending a jolt of heat through her.
He didn't speak. Words were useless here. Instead, he pushed her down onto the grass beside Eren's grave, his mouth never leaving her skin. His hands were everywhere—kneading her thighs, squeezing her hips, sliding between her legs to find her already wet.
Mikasa arched against him, a broken sound escaping her lips as his fingers stroked her. She should stop this. She *knew* she should. But the pleasure was a wildfire, consuming the emptiness inside her, if only for a moment.
Jean didn't give her time to think. He unbuckled his pants with one hand, the other pinning her wrist above her head. Then he was inside her, filling her with a single, rough thrust. Mikasa cried out, her nails digging into his back as he set a brutal pace, each snap of his hips driving her closer to the edge.
The graveyard was silent except for their ragged breaths and the slick, sinful sound of their bodies moving together. Mikasa's moans grew louder, echoing in the night, as Jean fucked her with a desperation that bordered on violence. His lips found hers again, swallowing her whimpers, his tongue mimicking the relentless thrusts between her legs.
She came with a sob, her back bowing off the ground as pleasure ripped through her. Jean followed moments later, his groan muffled against her shoulder as he spilled inside her.
For a long time, neither of them moved. The weight of what they'd done settled over them like a shroud. Mikasa stared past Jean's shoulder at Eren's headstone, her chest tight.
Jean finally pulled away, his breath still uneven. He opened his mouth—to apologize? To explain?—but Mikasa turned her face away.
The silence between them was louder than her moans had been.