#commander jean

Unsurprisingly, when the Veterans of the Survey Corps meet in Jean’s office for their usual post-expedition meeting, the Commander’s right arm rests in a sling. Due to most of the mission taking place on horseback, his shoulder remained unchecked for longer than he would have liked. It was only when they breaked to tend to the horses that he realized it was dislocated. At least the rookies of the mission were greeted to the sight of Commander Kirschtein having his shoulder popped back in by Squad Vice Captain Braus. 

The downside was that the beloved Commander was unable to raise his arm to inspire his troops as they moved forward, as well utilize his ODM-gear as proficiently as he usually could. But the upside is that he will only need the sling for a few weeks. 

As Jean briefs his fellow Veterans on the plans regarding next month’s expedition, Mikasa can’t help but wonder if somewhere out there the soul of Erwin Smith is admiring his successor’s determination to place value in every life, or calling him a suicidal bastard. Oh, how the tables have turned. 

At least Armin and Jean’s new riding formation looks promising. Using both their brains, they have managed to concoct a new way of maneuvering outside Wall Rose, utilizing the exact number of soldiers currently enlisted to cover as much ground as possible. New advancements in smoke flare technology has also helped, allowing the two to associate different messages with the different colors they can shoot into the sky. 

Mikasa and Sasha sit quietly at the table, listening intently to each and every word. Technically a Captain and Squad Vice Captain could get away with only focusing on their flank of the formation. However, both can recognize the benefits in learning all they can before each expedition. Mikasa in particular hates surprises, especially on missions outside the walls, so taking in every word that the Commander and Section Commander have to say soothes her, in a way. 

Throughout the meeting, Jean remains standing at the table and points to the map with his good hand. Even in the privacy of his office he still retains an imposing presence. Whether it be because of his tall stature, the hardened lines of his face, or his ability to connect to even the weakest of soldiers, Mikasa has never been surprised by his ability to inspire the Survey Corps. Even as Armin stands next to him, it’s easy to see a sense of connection between the two in how they lead, the idea that one can do what the other cannot. Armin’s ability to plan and Jean’s ability to lead has been an exceedingly effective combination over the last few years. 

Jean’s voice is low and weary as he finishes explaining next month’s expedition plan. Considering the day he’s had, it’s no surprise that the beloved Commander is feeling a little worn out. 

“Is there anything else we should go over before we end things?” he asks, rubbing his tired eyes.

He glances around the room at Sasha, Armin, then settles on Mikasa. Their gazes connect for a second longer than usual before breaking apart. It’s a bad habit of his, but he just can’t seem to break it. 

Neither Jean nor Mikasa are comfortable with letting people know of their exact relationship, even the friends they’ve fought alongside since their younger days. Perhaps if Jean were not the Commander and Mikasa were not the Corps’ most esteemed Captain, then they would be more open with things. 

In another world they’d be free of the restraints that came with their positions — Jean could hold her hand under the table and Mikasa could lean her head on his shoulder. Maybe he could even greet her at meals by planting a kiss on her forehead. 

But that is not the world they live in. So for now, all their interactions in front of prying eyes must be kept strictly professional. 

“Well… since we’re all here I’ve been meaning to bring this up,” Armin starts, thankfully breaking the Commander and Captain out of their little trance. 

Armin takes a seat at the table, his posture easing up slightly. “Sasha, some of our younger soldiers have claimed to have spotted you sleeping in the west barracks,” he starts, his voice softening and dropping the civility expected of the Section Commander. “Do you mind telling us why that’s so?”

Both Jean and Mikasa refocus their attention on the Squad Vice Captain. Sasha herself looks surprised that the topic has come up. Surely, the sleeping arrangements of Captain Ackerman’s second-in-command isn’t worth discussing in an official meeting.

“Oh uh… listen, it’s not that I don’t appreciate the private room, but there’s this weird draft in it that goes right above my bed and…” Sasha begins, then shrugs her shoulders. “I dunno, I guess I just got sick of it. The west barracks are warmer… and it’s closer to the mess hall.”

Jean lets out a sigh and rubs the bridge of his nose. He’s always known to expect peculiar things from his old friend, but anticipating her quirks doesn’t make them any less strange. All the higher ups of the Survey Corps have the privilege of sleeping in their own private quarters and Sasha does absolute squat with the opportunity. 

“Alright, well… you’re a Squad Vice Captain,” the Commander explains. “And sleeping in proximity to the new recruits isn’t a good look for any of us. A lot of them are still kids, remember?”

“No, it’s fine!” Sasha insists. “There’s this room right at the end that no one ever goes into — I think it’s supposed to be for injured soldiers — but it’s basically private!”

“How about we take a look at your room then?” Mikasa suggests. “We could call someone in to fix the draft problem.”

“But that could take weeks!” Sasha points out. “I gotta sleep somewhere ‘till then!”

“How about you sleep in Mikasa’s room?” Armin proposes. He leans back on his chair slightly. “Last I heard it’s not that drafty and has a fireplace.”

Mikasa tilts her head to the side as she eyes the blond. “Then where do I sleep?”

There is a beat, then suddenly Armin flashes a smirk towards his comrades. 

“With the Commander.” 

A few seconds of silence fill the office, then just like that Mikasa feels a wave of heat rushing to her face. 

She looks at Jean, who is reddening twice as hard and is even worse at hiding it. As the honorable Commander looks away and tries to cover his face, Mikasa pulls her scarf over her nose, a habit from her youth. As she eyes Jean she wonders what he’s thinking about and guesses that it probably involves leaping out of the window in shame. It’s certainly not the worst plan in the world. 

Armin chuckles to himself, the smugness of being right plastered all over his youthful face. Even after his years as the esteemed Section Commander, he’s not about toying with his friends. Some things truly never change. 

“Come on, we all sleep on the same floor,” Armin reminds, obviously adding fuel to the fire. He eyes Mikasa. “And I can hear you sneaking into his room at night.” 

As the Captain blushes harder, Sasha remains confused, doing her damndest to figure out what on earth everyone is reacting to. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, am I missing something here?!” she speaks up. The brunette looks at the flustered Commander and Captain, then over to Armin. “Are you saying that they’re…” She begins gesturing wildly with her hands. “...you know?” 

Armin raises an eyebrow. “Isn’t it obvious?” 

Jean finally composes himself, managing to stand up straight and look at his fellow veterans without an obvious blush on his face. On instinct his eyes find Mikasa’s and she only looks slightly less mortified than she did before. In hindsight, it’s unsurprising that someone as observant as Armin has managed to pinpoint the truth, but that doesn’t make it any less embarrassing. 

Sasha looks at Jean, then to Mikasa, before finally shaking her head. 

“No, no, no, that can’t be!” she insists. “Listen, there’s this rumor going around that Jean’s been messing with some tight-lipped floozy after hours and… and…” 

Sasha takes a moment to look at her friend sitting next to her. The admirable Captain Ackerman can only stare back with a knowing, unwavering gaze. 

It only takes a few seconds of looking into Mikasa’s eyes for Sasha to realize the horrible, horrible truth. 

Now it’s the Squad Vice Captain’s turn to feel utterly humiliated. 

“Mikasa, I am so, so sorry, I didn’t mean to call you that,” she blabbers on clumsily. She then lets out an awkward laugh. “And that whole floozy thing, it was just a rumor I heard, I didn’t spread it… a lot.” 

Mikasa nods slowly. “It’s alright.” Her voice is quite dry to mask her discomfort with the topic at hand. 

“But hey! At least one of us is getting some, right?” Sasha continues to say. Clearly, she has yet to grow out of her habit of running her stupid mouth. “Bring it here!”

She raises her open palm up to Mikasa, who ignores her, then to Jean, who also ignores her. Both of them are a little too preoccupied to entertain Sasha’s antics. 

As the chaos continues, a very content Armin remains seated and at ease. He looks to Jean, who is breathing to maintain a clear mind. He clears his throat to get everyone’s attention, then when he next speaks it’s back in his Commander voice, the tone characterized by a kind of stern professionalism and succinct honesty. 

“So… should we move forward with Arlert’s proposal?” he tries, running a hand through his hair as he speaks. “Sasha sleeps in Mikasa’s room and Mikasa sleeps… elsewhere? All in favor say ‘aye?’”

The Veterans of the Corps all nod, some more stiffly than others, in unison. 

With the verdict decided, Jean nods his head.

“Alright, meeting adjourned,” he says in a tone that implies a thankfulness to a higher power, perhaps gratitude over the topic finally being dropped. 

…

…

…

When the evening finally comes, Mikasa heads to Jean’s private quarters like she always does, only this time her steps are less laden with secrecy and hesitation. With the truth now amongst the higher-ups, there’s technically no more need to keep things clandestine.

However, Mikasa’s not sure if she can handle running into Armin or Sasha again. Even if they know exactly what she’s doing heading to the Commander’s room barefoot and in her nightgown, she’s not in the mood to face them for a second time. 

Mikasa even went out of her way to bolt out of Jean’s office once the meeting officially ended, not even speaking to Sasha regarding the sleeping arrangements. Hopefully the note she left on her bed would tell her Squad Vice Captain enough. 

In seconds Mikasa reaches the door of Jean’s bedroom and slips in. After she locks it, she takes a moment to look around the area. Although the place is lit by candles and a fire roars in the hearth, the beloved Commander is nowhere to be seen. 

“Jean?” Mikasa asks. “Sweetheart?”

His voice is heard from behind the door leading to his private bathroom. “In here.” 

Mikasa heads over and taps her knuckles against the wood. “Can I come in?”

“Sure.” 

She gently twists the knob and opens the door very slightly. Through the space between that and the frame she spots Jean standing in a steamy room. His hair is shiny and slicked from his bath and a towel is wrapped around his waist. Bare chested and still slightly wet, he seems to be struggling to put his injured arm back into the sling. 

Mikasa doesn’t waste time before walking in and helping out. “Let me.” 

Jean says nothing as she carefully ties the piece of cloth around his neck and lets his arm hang safely in the material. It’s probably the most gentle handling his shoulder has faced all day. 

Once she’s done he looks over and gives a friendly smile. “Thank you.” 

She presses a quick peck to his cheek in return. “You’re welcome.” 

Mikasa goes to the door and expects Jean to follow, but instead he remains where he is and goes to the sink. He wipes steam off the mirror and spends a moment looking at himself in the reflection. Nowadays his facial hair usually floats between heavy stubble and a short beard, but over the last few weeks of expedition prep and training it’s been looking especially unkempt. 

“What are you doing?” Mikasa asks, though a part of her can already anticipate his answer. 

“Shaving,” Jean says. With his good hand he tries to put his sliver of shaving soap into his mug. “Haven’t done it in a while.”

Despite her fondness for Jean’s scruffy look, Mikasa can acknowledge a Commander’s desire to project a certain image towards his fellow soldiers. Even Erwin Smith remained clean-cut and well-groomed during his tenure. 

She watches as he pours hot water into the mug, then uses his left hand to grab the shaving brush. He doesn’t get far in his attempts at creating a lather before Mikasa steps in. 

“I got this,” she says and takes the brush from his grasp. 

Jean looks relieved to see her take over. “Thank you.” 

“No worries,” she assures, taking the mug as well. She begins swirling the brush inside the device to create a thick, foamy lather. “Besides, I’m not letting you touch that razor with your left.” 

Mikasa makes Jean sit at the edge of the bathtub as she works. She’s seen him touch up his beard enough to know his whole routine, from which balms he uses to soothe his skin to how short he keeps the strokes of the blade. It’s extensive, but perhaps he finds comfort in the ritual, a sense of ease in knowing that some things in such an uncontrollable world can be controlled. It’s simple science — when one swirls a wet brush in a mug full of shaving soap, they get a lather, and when one applies said lather to a beard after a hot bath, then they are on the road to getting a clean, close shave, even if it’s just at the edges. 

With the gentlest hand Mikasa runs the sudsy brush over Jean’s face, making sure to place the lather mostly on his upper cheeks and neck. She then grabs the straight razor off the nearby shelf and gets to work. 

She’s quiet as she shaves the edges of his beard in gentle strokes, making sure to align the hairs under his cheekbones perfectly and being extra careful when holding the blade near his neck. It’s not the first time she’s helped him shave, as a training accident years ago led to Jean’s right palm being bandaged for a week. Back then he was only known as Squad Leader Kirschtein and already understood the concepts of keeping up appearances. 

After a few minutes of keeping the beloved Commander well-groomed, Mikasa finishes her work. She puts the razor down then rinses his face with cold water. She then applies his usual post-shave balm, the one with a soapy scent that she’s particularly fond of. With her hands on his cheeks, she can literally feel him smiling under his touch. 

“How’s that?” she asks. 

“Perfect.” Jean then leans forward to give her a quick kiss. “Thank you, mon amour.” 

For some reason, the sound of his pet name for her feels different tonight. As content as she is to feel his lips against hers, a part of her is unwell. 

As the two exit the bathroom and enter the bedroom, Jean notices her pretty face falling. 

“So uh… I figure we should talk about it, huh?” he brings up, running a hand through his wet hair, a nervous tendency of his. 

“What’s left to talk about?” Mikasa asks. She goes to Jean’s dresser, the one with a mirror above it, and retrieves her hairbrush out of one of the drawers. “Now Armin and Sasha know the truth — at this rate the entire Legion will know by next week.” 

“I highly doubt that’ll happen,” Jean assures. He walks up next to her and begins retrieving his sleepwear from the dresser. “Besides, I’d hope that a Section Commander and Squad Vice Captain have better things to do than gossip.” 

“Jean, I’m serious,” Mikasa almost snaps at him. She gives him a brief glare, then her gaze softens. “I just… I just wish that we could’ve told everyone when we were ready.” 

There is a beat, then Jean steps towards his lover and places a kiss on her forehead. When he looks down he notices that she’s grasping her hairbrush with an absolute death grip, so he reaches over to place his good hand on hers. 

“I would’ve liked it that way, too,” he says. “I know Armin and Sasha won’t spread rumours, but still, it’s… difficult.”

He presses another kiss to her head as Mikasa looks forward, taking in the reflection of her and him. Despite his arm in a sling he is still a striking presence. Though the height difference between the two is larger now, it’s still enough for Mikasa to place her head just under his chin. She spends a moment leaning against his chest, taking in his clean scent and the heat of his skin. He’s always been warmer than her, she doesn’t know how he does it.  

“Can I be honest though?” Jean says as he moves his hand to her shoulder.

Mikasa nuzzles her head against his chest. “Yes?” 

“I’m just glad we can still be together.”

Mikasa lets out a sigh, but a good one — a breath of life that signals relief and release. Despite the stress of the meeting and the revelation, it doesn’t change too much for them. She can still sleep next to him at night, wake him up in the morning by kissing his eyelashes, and greet him with her lips when they know they’re alone. Considering how much effort they put into keeping things hidden, their relationship being an open secret around the higher-ups could be a blessing in disguise. 

And if she recalls there were other Veterans back in the day who followed a similar path. Mikasa could recall hearing rumours back in her youth regarding Mike Zacharias and Nanaba Kaspar — how they slept in the same room, held hands when away from the public eye, and would embrace each other lovingly after missions. Back then Mikasa didn’t believe it, as she only ever saw the seasoned soldiers acting professional around one another. She could never assume that they were in love and perhaps that was intentional.  

So with that in mind, Mikasa lets Jean wrap his arm around her shoulder and kiss her hair. Just like before she savors his touch and the way his beard tickles her skin.  

“What do we do now?” she asks. 

Jean spends a moment thinking, then a slightly playful grin comes to his face. “I can do that thing you like.”

Mikasa eyes him quizzically. “What thing?”

He lets out a chuckle before pressing another kiss to her forehead. “The thing I don’t need two arms to do.” 

Somehow, his husky voice and warmth helps her smile. She faces him to meet his lips more easily, her dainty hands running across his cheeks as he kisses her back. God, she loves that beard of his. Their foreheads touch as Jean steps forward, making Mikasa’s back brush against the dresser. She can already tell what he’s asking her to do and she takes the initiative, hopping up to sit on the furniture without breaking their kiss. 

It’s certainly not the first time they’ve done things against his dresser. 

Jean’s lips soon move away from hers, gently trailing down her jawline and onto her neck. Mikasa can only close her eyes as she lets him work, delighting in the way his touch can send sparks into her flesh. Her stomach tenses in anticipation as he begins peppering his kisses lower and lower. 

Soon he’s kneeling in front of her, kissing the soft skin of her thigh and continuing to move downwards. Mikasa takes in the sight of her Commander, a bath towel still wrapped around his waist as he rests on his knees. It’s moments like this where she can only look disrespectfully as she admires the musculature of his chest and broad shoulders. 

Jean’s lips move past her knee and he’s quick to graze them over her calf. Their gazes remain connected as he kisses her heel. Once he gets to her toes Mikasa finally closes her eyes.  

She lets out a sigh, relishing in the sensation of Jean kissing each individual toe of hers, except for the big one which he puts in his mouth. A labored breath escapes Mikasa’s mouth as he sucks, hard.  

Moments pass and Mikasa wishes they were hours. The fire cackles on the other side of the room, the moon shines in the sky outside the window, and soon Jean finishes what he set out to do. He releases her foot from his mouth before standing up again, being quick to meet Mikasa’s lips with his. 

“Not bad for a guy with one arm?” he asks between kisses. He can’t help but smirk. 

“Shut up,” Mikasa murmurs, though she is unable to wipe the smile from her face. 

One of her arms reaches around Jean’s shoulders while the other reaches for the towel at his waist. It comes off effortlessly. Once it hits the floor his free hand is already grabbing her thigh, hiking it up slightly as the two continue to enjoy each other’s touch. Feeling his pressure and hips move against her, Mikasa closes her eyes and delights in every part of him. 

She didn’t particularly loathe the task, but she could acknowledge that things like this were more up Armin’s or even Sasha’s alley. What Mikasa excelled at was leading her squad or sinking her blade into the neck of a Titan while making it look easy — not showcasing the intricacies of the Long-Distance Scouting Formation 3.0 to the new recruits. 

But with the Section Commander busy in his office and her Squad Vice Captain being granted a day off, Mikasa was the one to step up. 

At least the rookies were attentive and focused, knowing well the risks that came with being a scout. Slacking off during lessons benefitted nobody and the fact that they seemed so keen on learning gave Mikasa hope for the future. 

After the lesson, the Captain ate her dinner alone in the section of the mess hall designated for the higher ups. With most of her fellow Veterans busy elsewhere, she dug into her potatoes and stew in silence. 

She wasn’t surprised that Armin was still locked in his office. His work often ate up most of his non-expedition time, and with that in mind Mikasa reminded herself to bring him some food. As much as she loved him, she couldn’t deny Armin’s habit of forgetting to eat while wrapped up in his job. It would certainly be a shame if Section Commander Arlert perished from starvation, of all things. 

Additionally, Mikasa could understand Sasha’s absence. Her second-in-command had scheduled the day off weeks in advance, expressing a desire to visit Connie in Ragako Village. Ever since her old friend had lost his right leg to a Titan’s jaw, he had been honorably discharged from active duty and lived a quiet life in the countryside. It wasn’t shocking that Sasha wanted to spend every second she could with the person she considered her second half. 

The only absence she felt the most wistful about was Jean’s, the empty space in the chair next to hers wasn’t helping. 

Perhaps it had to do with the Commander being quite the presence wherever he went. Nowadays he stood tall and broad, usually towering over most of his comrades and subordinates. Even the way he spoke — the forcefulness he could put behind his “Commander voice” — added to the persona he put on for the sake of the Legion. 

Perhaps Mikasa had gotten so used to him being around that his vacancy only felt stronger. 

With a sigh, she reminded herself that the title of Commander came with even more duties than of a Captain. Jean had been scheduled for a meeting with the leaders of the other military branches — an occurrence that existed so each Commander was on the same page. As mind-numbing as they could be, Jean had no complaints as he boarded a carriage in the morning and rode towards the Stohess District. 

The trips usually took him the whole day, whether it be because of the journey between Wall Sina and the Scout’s HQ, or because Commander Brzenska liked to be thorough during the annual meetings. 

So after finishing her dinner, Mikasa left the mess and walked through the torch-lit hallways. She made sure to follow through on her task and delivered a bread loaf and a tankard of ale to Armin’s office, setting them on the floor before knocking gently on the door, lest she disturb his flow of work. 

Now officially off-the-clock, Mikasa contemplated what she would do with the rest of her evening. She didn’t feel as tired as she usually did — in fact, she felt strangely energized after spending a whole day inside of a classroom. The vitality she usually retained during most of her day had yet to burnt up. So she forgoed the idea of running a hot bath and turning in early, instead making her way to the training room of the HQ. 

Truthfully, the Survey Corps didn't have much use for the room, as most of their combat skills were geared towards Titans. But the space was still there and filled with enough mats, wooden training weapons, and punching bags to keep any brawler in shape. Mikasa felt better knowing that the equipment was being used instead of being left to gather dust. 

She made her way to the basement, noting that the hallways she walked through felt peculiarly quiet. She guessed that the soldiers not resting or unwinding were heading over to the taverns at the nearby village, perhaps their own sense of ease could be found at the bottom of a stein. 

As Mikasa got closer to the basement, she heard a familiar sound behind the stone walls. Said sound was unmistakably that of someone punching one of the sand-filled bags in the training room. The noise became louder and louder as Mikasa approached the door. It was slightly ajar, which allowed her to peek inside. 

Jean Kirschtein stood illuminated by the lanterns on the wall, the jacket and shirt of his formal uniform were discarded on the side. Bare-chested and with cloth wrapped around his knuckles, he thrusts his fists against one of the burlap sacks hanging from the ceiling. It seemed that even the leader of the Survey Corps — the military branch known for fighting ten meter monsters — was keen on keeping his personal combat skills as sharp as his blades. 

It hadn’t been the first time Mikasa happened upon in his state, so she stepped into the room and didn’t hesitate to make herself known. 

“I didn’t see you at dinner, Commander.” 

Jean stopped striking the bag to look at his Captain. “I ate at Stohess,” he explained, catching his breath and running a hand through his sweaty hair. 

Earlier in the morning, Mikasa could recall Jean looking well-groomed and dapper in his formalwear, his beard being perfectly aligned as his hair was slicked and parted to the side. Even without his cape or ODM-gear, he retained a sense of authority, an image of honesty and truth in an unpredictable world. It was never a surprise that a man like him could stand alongside Commander Brzenska and Commander Dawk and still be considered equals. 

But now Jean looked closer to his usual self, appearing utterly ruffled and unkempt under the lantern lights. Even his beard looked especially scruffy in this state.

And Mikasa would be lying to herself if she said she didn’t prefer him this way. 

“How were the rookies today?” he asked, turning away from the punching bag. 

Mikasa had to remind herself to look at his eyes as she approached him. “Attentive,” she ended up answering. “By the next lesson they should have all of Armin’s formations memorized.” 

Jean gave her a simple smile. “Seems like they had a good teacher.” 

“I… suppose so,” she agreed, though fought the urge to say that classroom lessons were better off left to someone else. 

Under the light of lanterns she observed certain things about him, like the way his shoulders seemed more built, how the muscles in his back looked more defined, or how most of his skin was marred with faded scars. 

Some were the product of his ODM-gear, as intense use of the contraption could lead to the straps digging too deep and breaking the user’s skin. Jean was no exception. The other scars on his torso seemed to be remnants of previous battles, debris he couldn’t dodge or scuffles he barely survived. 

Mikasa had similar scars, though she couldn’t help but note that Jean seemed to have slightly more than her. 

“How was the meeting?” Mikasa asked to stop herself from staring. “Does Brzenska still scare the shit out of you?”

Jean let out a chuckle. “Only when she glares at me,” he replied. “So… all the time, basically.”

Mikasa looked amused. “I still don’t know why she freaks you out. You’re a foot taller than her.” 

“I know, but… those eyes of hers,” Jean admitted, and in his gaze Mikasa could see him briefly reliving the experience of being in Garrison leader’s icy presence. “They’re just so… intense.” 

Mikasa smiled very subtly to herself and made sure to add little Commander Brzenska to Jean’s list of phobias. She wasn’t sure if Rico would rank above or under spiders on said list. 

After looking respectfully for long enough, Mikasa turned around and made her way towards the training mats in the middle of the room. 

“Do you want to keep hitting the bag?” Mikasa asked, shrugging her jacket off her shoulders. “Or could you go for a round with me?” 

When she turned back to him, her Commander appeared both intrigued and amused. 

“I certainly hope you mean sparring, Captain,” he said, approaching her with small steps. 

As she unbuttoned her blouse and stripped to her undershirt, Mikasa couldn’t resist the urge to give him a sly smirk. “You’ll have to find out.” 

One of their usual practices involved a pair of wooden training knives. One “blade” would be dipped in red chalk while the other was dipped in blue, then the two combatants would stand barefoot on the training mat, positioned across from the other with their weapons in hand. 

To give credit where it was due, Mikasa thought Jean’s knife skills were improving. Over the last few months he had been getting better at using his length to his advantage, utilizing his longer arms to maintain a good distance between him and his opponent. It was certainly harder to score a point on someone who was always just out of her reach. 

But Mikasa wasn’t one to hold back — in fact, Jean’s developing skills simply meant that her own technique needed to be perfected. So she maintained a lower stance as she faced him, wanting to retain a sense of balance in the match. 

The Captain and her Commander remained on their ends of the mat, watching each other intently as they waited for the first move. 

After a few beats of silence, Jean lunged forward and swiped his blade towards her. Mikasa was quick, stepping to the side and narrowly dodging the attack. Quickly, Jean maneuvered his blade in his hand and held it in an ice-pick grip, preparing to force it into the rib of his opponent before Mikasa kicked his knee. 

Jean lost his balance, stumbling forward as Mikasa slashed her knife towards his back, leaving a line of blue chalk between his shoulder blades. 

Managing to not fall on his face, Jean stood up straight again and turned to his opponent. 

“I thought this was supposed to be a knife fight,” he asked, wiping a bead of sweat off his forehead. 

“It’s a fight,” Mikasa emphasized, twirling her blade in fingers as she took her stance again. “Use what you can.” 

Jean nodded before getting into position once more. 

This time Mikasa moved forward for an attack, aiming the tip of her blade towards Jean’s torso. But he was just as fast, managing to parry her knife with a well-time swipe. Clouds of red and blue chalk flew in the air between them. 

Mikasa tried another jab, so Jean struck her wrist with his own and redirected the knife. Like before, he transitioned his weapon into an ice-pick grip and raised it up to aim it for the neck. 

Mikasa raised her free hand to block the incoming blade, but she wasn’t quick enough to stop the tip of the weapon from poking her neck. She was strong but so was Jean, and it seemed that had the knife been real he could’ve easily finished the job. 

She felt his pressure against hers, noting the several times they had stood like this before. A part couldn’t shake the idea that he was operating at a fraction of his usual power. He knew that she liked it rough, as close as they could get to a real battle — because the scrapes would heal, the bruises would fade, and the pain was temporary. She had a habit of not holding back on him and she could only hope that he did the same. 

“Do yourself a favor,” Mikasa whispered to her Commander. “Don’t go easy on me.” 

Jean smirked. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Captain.” 

Despite the dot of red chalk on her neck, Mikasa kept moving forward. She forced her knee to his stomach, and as the air in his lungs was forced out she wrapped her arms around his waist and forced him to the mat with a suplex. 

Though both combatants dropped their knives, Mikasa wasted no time. With Jean on his back she tried to settle on top of him but he was more than capable of fighting back. On the mat the two grappled, Mikasa attempting a submission only for Jean to pry himself out of it at the last second. He seemed stronger on the floor, utilizing his legs against the mat to assist his upper body.

But Mikasa wasn’t one to give up so easily.

Soon she had him on his back again, this time settling on top of him. Her hands were pressed firmly to his shoulders, pinning him down to the mat as she hung above him. A rush of air left Jean’s lungs as he hit the floor and his hands found her forearms — he held them tightly at first, but as seconds passed and labored breaths were let out, his grasp on her began to ease. 

Mikasa eyes were affixed to Jean’s, taking in the hazel hues under the warm lights, the kind of hazel with the slightest bits of green.

She could feel her muscles beginning to ease, becoming less stressed as she slowly bent her elbows and brought her face closer to his. The heat and pressure between the two was becoming more and more palpable, an existence they couldn’t deny as Jean reached up to graze his palm over her shoulder. 

Mikasa’s instinct told her to move downwards, inching closer and closer to him until their noses barely brushed. One of her hands went to his hair, her fingers running through the ashy brown stands. She couldn’t deny liking him in this state, having him submitted and in her control, the sensation of her weight on him. It sent a certain feeling through her, one that gave her comfort in acknowledging her more salacious desires. 

Though Jean’s face was stoic, Mikasa could see his composure faltering just slightly, if the pressure she felt against her leg was any indication. Eventually, his focused look softened into one of a smirk, even if it was a subtle one. 

There was a beat, then Jean finally spoke up. 

“So uh… bedroom?”

Suffice to say, Mikasa was very quick to nod. “Yes, please.” 

The Captain and her Commander promptly rolled off each other, dress themselves, and exit the training room. 

…

…

…

She pleasured him on her knees, running her lips where his blood ran hot as her hands grasped his backside, squeezing his taught flesh while she worked. 

Jean’s breathing was labored as he stood at the point between his bedroom and private bathroom, bracing himself by grasping the door frames on both sides of him. He was without a stitch, bare-assed and stark, and slowly moved his hips to her rhythm. 

Selfishly, Mikasa savored all of him — his touch, his taste, the grunts and groans that erupted from his throat. She liked having him like this, where she could render him into mere putty in her hands, running her tongue over his sensitive flesh until he fell apart. 

She could hear him saying her name, his breaths becoming more arduous. So she moved one of her hands and pressed it against his stomach, dragging her palm against his skin to keep him at bay until he finally reached his peak. He panted, cursed, and grunted, then overwhelmed by his own ecstasy, his fingers tightened around the door frame as a groan of pleasure escaped his lips. 

She kept her hand on his abdomen, easing him through his climax as she finished the job. 

Then once it was all over, Mikasa got back to her feet, feeling prideful to have brought the valiant Commander Jean into such a state. Without shame she even pressed a kiss to his lips, then walked to the sink to clean up. 

He caught his breath slowly, wobbling slightly as he leaned against the doorframe. He always needed a moment like this, time to come down in the aftermath. Once she wiped off with a wet washcloth Mikasa walked past him, her shoulder brushing his as she entered his bedroom. 

The place was lit by candles and the moonlight, the warmth of the first clashing with the colder hues of the second. Mikasa made her way to Jean’s bed, lying down and letting out a sigh once her body hit the mattress. She was still decidedly more clothed than him, having only discarded her pants before getting onto her knees. Her blouse remained on her torso, and gently she reached up and began undoing the buttons. 

Soon Mikasa heard the sound of the sink running again. When she turned her head to look at the doorway, she could see Jean having finally regained his senses. Unabashedly, she admired the shape of his bum as he ran a wash cloth over his bare body. She also noticed the line of blue chalk still between his shoulder blades and made a mental note to wash that off him later. 

After a few moments Jean finally rejoined her on the bed, settling next to her and lying on his back. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and immediately Mikasa began nuzzling her head against his chest, where she always liked to be. 

Despite the night being quite young, a part of her already felt content, comfortable to stay as she was against him, sharing his heat during such a cold evening. 

“How do you do it?” he asked breathlessly, smiling as he continued to pepper her forehead with kisses. 

“That’s my secret,” Mikasa murmured, her voice teasing him just slightly. 

One of Jean’s hands played with her hair, the other grasping the material of her shirt and slowly working it off her shoulders. In no time the garment had been completely removed, hitting the floor just as Jean began trailing his kisses onto Mikasa’s neck. She closed her eyes and let out another sigh, relishing in every bit of him and everything in between. 

Jean shifted slightly, soon putting himself on top of her as he continued to kiss her collarbone. His lips began trailing down her chest, moving between her breasts before grazing her stomach. She felt parts of herself tightening as he continued to go lower, making it clear to her what his intentions were. 

She could tell that he was grinning when he said — 

“Your turn, Captain.” 

The curtains have been pulled over the windows, yet the sound of droplets hitting the roof tells Mikasa all she needs to know about the day. She’s never liked rain, whether it be an airy mist or a relentless force that leaves her drenched in seconds. It’s times like this that make her want to stay where she is, resting in Jean’s embrace without a care in the world. 

With that thought in mind, she nuzzles her face against his chest just a little bit more, practically savoring him. His presence has never ceased to comfort her, the sound of his heartbeat being her favorite lullaby. She feels dangerously close to succumbing to his touch, to the hands, arms, and hips that had made her feel loved. 

But nothing good lasts forever, because soon Jean begins to stir under her, his arms tightening into a hug before he presses a kiss to her forehead. It’s his preferred way of waking her up. 

“Come on,” he speaks and his voice is soft. “Duty calls, l’amour.” 

Mikasa sighs, but when Jean proceeds to shift some more she lets him slip out from under her. She holds onto his hand for a few more seconds as he steps onto the floor. When she lets him go she is still lounging on the sheets. His smell still clings to the fabric, whether it be the waxy aroma of his pomade or the clean scent of his post-shave balm. She’s still decidedly tired, yet has just enough in her to keep her eyes open, looking very respectfully as her Commander walks around the room in the buff. 

She watches as Jean goes to the table in the room, grabbing the leftover cup of water from last night and drinking the rest. By now he’s used to her eyes remaining on him, as she tends to admire the robust musculature of his shoulders, the length of his limbs, or his finely-formed hindquarters. He tends to do this often — walking around in the nude — and she has yet to find a reason to complain. 

But before Mikasa’s gaze can linger for too long, Jean retrieves a towel from her dresser before heading to the bathroom connected to the room. 

He hangs the towel over his shoulder as he moves past the bed, flashing her a smirk as he goes. 

“Enjoying the show?” 

Mikasa averts her gaze and looks away, partially to obscure the small smile tugging at her lips. 

Soon Jean enters the bathroom and shuts the door. A few seconds pass and eventually Mikasa sits up, letting out a yawn as she moves off the mattress and touches her feet to the cold floor. 

Her morning routine is like any other soldier’s — she assembles her uniform, does whatever personal grooming is necessary to fit the standards of the Scouts, then heads to the mess for breakfast. The only difference nowadays is that she’s doing it in the privacy of her personal quarters, as opposed to the barracks. Being a Captain has given her several privileges that she’s rather thankful for. 

And considering how they danced the night before, she’s sure that Jean is thankful for their shared solitude, too. 

However, Mikasa only has time to pull on her robe before she hears a knock at her door. When she steps over to answer the call, she finds her Squad Vice Captain standing on the other side. 

“Sorry to bother you, Captain!” Sasha greets. Notably, she is still in her sleepwear like Mikasa, donning a similar robe, yet she stands with the energy of any soldier acting on the job. In her hands is an envelope, which she holds out to her superior. “I may have forgotten to give this to you last night and I don’t know how urgent it is and… and…”

There is a beat while Sasha realizes that she’s run out of things to say. 

“...yeah.” 

At this time of the day, Mikasa only has the energy to nod slowly as she accepts the letter. At least she’s not the only Veteran Scout who feels utterly discombobulated at such an hour. Even Armin is far from a morning person.

“Thank you, Sasha, I’ll get to it later,” Mikasa replies as she slips the envelope into her robe pocket.  

“Uh… sorry for bothering this early,” Sasha soon says, letting out a brief yawn. “I just… honestly, I don’t even know.”

Once more, Mikasa can only nod. “Don’t worry, it’s morning.” 

Before Sasha can say anything else, Mikasa hears the sound of the bathroom door opening behind her. In the span of a second, she sees Sasha's eyes widen at a peculiar sight, causing Mikasa to turn around just as quickly. She glances over just in time to see Jean standing in the doorway between both spaces.

Whatever grogginess had been plaguing him is suddenly gone once he notices the extra pair of eyes. Just as quickly he pulls the towel on his shoulder downwards, effectively covering himself, then lets out a curse before he shuts the door. 

At least the way he moves and speaks is characterized by a playful energy, as opposed to that of utter humiliation and shame. 

On the bright side, the relationship between Captain and Commander being an open secret means that Jean’s presence in Mikasa’s private quarters isn’t entirely unexpected. After years of obfuscating their true connection, the Veterans who sleep on the same floor have finally been made privy to the arrangement. 

On the not so brightside, nothing in Mikasa’s decade as a Scout has prepared Mikasa for the burning heat creeping to her cheeks. It seems that being in her mid-twenties does not mean that she’s above blushing like some useless schoolgirl. 

When Mikasa looks back at Sasha, her second-in-command has the goofiest grin on her face. The fact that she appears more amused than shocked has yet to be identified as a good or bad thing. 

“I… I’m sorry you saw that,” Mikasa tries, her voice becoming lower than before. 

Sasha giggles and wiggles her eyebrows for extra effect. “Oh, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” She lightly punches her Captain on the shoulder, a gesture they’ve been accustomed to for years. “Keepin’ busy, are ya?” 

Instead of dwelling on the implications that Sasha has seen that side of Jean enough to be unfazed by it, Mikasa can only stare blankly at her comrade with all the grace of a deer seconds before it’s ravaged by a bear. 

“I… I’m not going to dignify that with a response.” 

Sasha lets out a sound that is halfway between a chuckle and a cackle. 

“Hey, there’s no shame in it! At least someone around here is getting laid.” 

The way Mikasa nods in response is more stilted than the ones before. 

“You are using protection, right?” Sasha continues on, speaking as if there was nothing peculiar about the circumstances of the morning. “Because I’d hate it if—”

Acting on instinct, Mikasa cuts her off by closing the door. It is not the first time she had done so to silence Sasha and it will certainly not be the last.  

When Mikasa walks away from her door, the blush on her face persists as she goes to her dresser and begins assembling her uniform. She moves a lot faster than usual, perhaps to partially distract her from how tits up everything had gone in the span of a minute. She only gets to pulling on her trousers and shirt before realizing that the other party involved in the incident has yet to exit the bathroom. 

Walking to the door between rooms, Mikasa gently taps her knuckles against the wood.

“... Jean?” She tries to hide the unease in her voice. “Sweetheart?”

No response. 

She knocks again, then slowly opens the door. When Mikasa peers inside the room Jean is standing bare-chested in front of the mirror — with both hands he combs and slicks his hair using the jar of pomade she keeps around for him, just in case. Smartly, he has wrapped the towel around his waist as he parts and styles his ashy brown strands into something more presentable. 

When he looks at her there is a surprisingly relaxed expression on his handsome face.

“Are you alright?” Mikasa asks, then notices his grin. “Why are you smiling?”

Jean lets out a chuckle. “Because it’s kinda funny.” 

For a beat Mikasa remains stone-faced, then shakes her head. “...I don’t think it is.” 

Jean’s smile persists as he styles a loose strand of hair into place. “Well, to each their own, I suppose.” 

In her time as a Scout, Mikasa has experienced her fair share of living nightmares — but now she would have gladly walked towards hell on earth over having to deal with an incident like that ever again. 

There are truly some things in life that she has never been prepared for. 

Despite everything being over and Jean taking it in stride, Mikasa can’t ignore the feeling of distress plaguing her chest. She breathes in and out, trying to keep herself calm as she looks to the floor. Soon she feels the burning blush returning to her cheeks, causing her to put her hands on her face to further obscure her distress. If there was a rock nearby then she would have gladly hidden under it by now. 

She’s not even sure as to why she feels this way, she wasn’t even the one who accidentally flashed a Squad Vice Captain yet she’s the one looking red as a beet. 

Fortunately, Jean is quick to notice her tension and doesn’t hesitate. Putting down his comb he steps over and immediately pulls her into his embrace, a gesture that he knows will calm her down even if she doesn’t say it. Mikasa doesn’t fight him, simply nuzzling his chest like she did before as her arms find their way around his shoulders. He still smells like soap, his heart is still beating, and he’s warm. He always is. 

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Jean whispers into her hair, his fingers playing with the strands. “You okay?” 

Mikasa nods and tries to focus on steadying her breathing. 

Her voice sounds fragile when she tells him, “I’m fine.”

Jean lets out a hum and keeps stroking her hair. He peppers a few kisses to her forehead, then to her eyelashes.

“If that’s what you say, l’amour.” 

His pet name for her has always brought her a sense of ease. 

Time passes while the two remain where they are, Mikasa pressing her forehead against his sternum while Jean continues to hold her. They stay like this for as long as they can, both to alleviate anxious pressure inside her chest, and to savor a few more moments before becoming Captain and Commander again. 

…

…

…

The delivered letter turns out to be from Anka Rheinberger, the Section Commander of the Garrison. It pertains to an issue regarding the gates of the Karanes district and makes Mikasa wonder why it hadn’t been sent directly to Jean or Armin instead.  Nonetheless, it’s nothing she can’t handle and she leaves the message in Jean’s office, including an attached note asking him to read and reply as soon as he can. 

The day goes on and Mikasa goes through her usual duties, the main priority involving one of the HQ’s classrooms. Every few months new rookies enlist in the Corps, meaning that even more people need to be taught the intricacies of Jean and Armin’s new Long-Range Scouting Formation. Apparently Mikasa’s got more of a knack for it than she thinks, her tendency to be blunt regarding matters of the battlefield being an advantage when explaining things. 

Jean likes to affectionately call it “cutting through the bullshit,” though considering the deadpan, monotone way she tends to speak she’s shocked that no rookie has fallen asleep in the classroom. Yet. 

In the middle of the day the lessons pauses and Mikasa heads to the private mess for lunch, the room specifically reserved for the higher-ups. Though considering how busy things tend to get between expeditions, it’s surprisingly common to find herself alone during mealtimes. Armin and Jean have been known to take their dinner in their offices to not disrupt their workflow, as much as Mikasa tells them both not to. 

Today isn’t an exception, but Mikasa doesn’t mind. She’s just happy to have a brief break from the classroom. She sits by herself in a room lit by torches on the wall as she digs into her meal of steamed potatoes and stew. 

At this time of day she usually drinks some tea, a habit passed down from one of her predecessors — albeit with some minor changes. The brew in her mug is very bitter and filled with contraceptive herbs, ones meant to counteract a certain outcome of her nighty activities. It tastes like a cross between boiled ditchwater and rotting plants, but so far it has succeeded at the intended purpose and for that Mikasa is thankful. At least she has an answer to the question Sasha asked earlier. 

Speaking of which, Mikasa only has a few minutes to herself before her faithful Squad Vice Captain bursts into the room. When Sasha sees her Captain sitting at the table, her doofy grin returns to her face. She walks over with a kind of girlish stride in her step.

“Good afternoon, Captain!” Sasha greets, waving. 

Mikasa turns her head over and gives a single nod. She doesn’t say anything else before taking another sip of her tea. At least the taste gets more palatable the cooler it gets. 

Sasha walks over and immediately plants her ass next to her friend, her playful demeanor looking extremely reminiscent of the way she held herself as a young cadet. 

“So!” she starts, beaming like a fool. “You’re looking… content.” 

Mikasa lets out a soft sigh. Her expression remains steady as she eyes her friend. “Sasha, whatever you want to know I won’t tell you.” 

“Oh, come on! No one’s around! Can’t we gossip and talk like when we were cadets!?” Sasha asks, gesturing wildly with her hands for dramatic effect. It’s a godsend that they’re the only people in the hall. “I mean… if I were getting that much ass then you bet I’d tell you every horny detail.” 

Mikasa almost chokes on her tea. Droplets dribble down her lip, which she wipes away with a napkin. 

“You wouldn’t think it’s weird?” she asks, her frigid expression softening just slightly. “To know about me and Jean… like that?”

In their years of friendship, Mikasa had rarely had anything to contribute to her and Sasha’s moments of ‘girl talk.’ But now that she does, the exact circumstances of it all — namely Sasha being close friends with Jean as well — make the telling of certain details a lot more troublesome than expected. 

But to Mikasa’s surprise, Sasha remains lighthearted as she lets out a scoff. 

“‘Like that?’ What are you? Twelve?” she laughs. The way she speaks is so care-free that one would be appalled to be reminded that she’s speaking to Captain Ackerman. Being Mikasa’s closest female friend has granted her some extremely rare privileges. 

“Listen, me seeing him naked this morning is not remotely the weirdest state I’ve seen him in,” Sasha explains a little too easily. Whether or not she will elaborate has yet to be seen. 

She reaches forward and places a friendly hand on her Captain’s shoulder, something she only saves for when they’re off-duty. 

“It’s fine, do your worst,” the Squad Vice Captain assures, flashing her big brown puppy-dog eyes. 

Mikasa sighs again, then brings her mug to her lips to take another sip. 

What can she even say?

On one hand Sasha doesn’t seem to be backing down, but on the other the amount of people Mikasa can discuss her relationship with could be counted on one hand. Her and Jean are an open secret, but still a secret. 

There isn’t exactly anything Mikasa is desperate to get off her chest, as most of her time with her Commander leaves her feeling content and complete. Sure, it had taken some time for her to be comfortable not being the giver all the time, as being on the receiving end makes her lose the sense of control that keeps her at ease in the moment. At least Jean’s monumental amounts of patience had helped them as they figured things out, and nowadays she feels fully comfortable ceding control and allowing him to take the lead. He certainly did so last night, if the way she had sunk her teeth into her pillow was any indication. 

With that in mind, perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to indulge in some elements regarding Mikasa and Jean’s more salacious activities. 

“You know, sometimes I forget that Jean has chest hair,” Sasha suddenly remarks, mildly breaking Mikasa’s train of thought. “Does that ever, like… do anything for ya?”

After taking a longer pull of her tea, Mikasa slowly puts her mug down. In her mind she thinks of both the right words to say and the way her lover’s torso looks in his usual collared shirts, how only those who get close to him are able to see the few strands peppering his muscled chest. There’s certainly a reason why the younger Scouts — and sometimes the older ones — look at him so appreciatively. 

With that certain image in her mind, Mikasa soon says — 

The night was quiet as she navigated the HQ. She stepped through the torch-lit hallways with cat-like tread, then ascended the steps with short strides. Considering the hour, most of the Legion should be asleep — even Armin, who tended to perform his job as Section Commander until his body passed out from exhaustion. 

Mikasa fought back a yawn when she arrived on the floor reserved for the higher ups. Considering her level of energy, she forgoed going into her own room to discard her uniform and simply headed to the Commander’s. 

Yet upon coming to the door, she discovered that it was locked. Only mildly confused, Mikasa spent a moment turning the knob before reaching up to gently tap her knuckles on the wood. 

A few seconds passed and Mikasa heard the faint sound of shuffling from behind the walls. When another beat of silence followed, she nearly turned around to retire alone for the night before the door opened. 

Jean’s current state of being seemed to explain things. He stood in the doorway bare-chested and with a towel wrapped around his waist, his hair damp from a bath and the slightest bits of shaving soap sticking to his cheek. 

“Sorry, I was in the middle of uh…” he began to explain, then held up the shaving brush in his hand. There was still foam on the bristles. “...this.” 

Mikasa simply nodded and Jean stepped aside to let her in. 

“Don’t worry about it,” she spoke as he closed the door behind them. 

The two fell into a comfortable silence, a habitual quietude as they proceeded with their usual after hours routines. Jean headed back towards the bathroom connected to his private quarters, whereas Mikasa simply went to his dresser. Despite the many nights she spent in his room, she had to bring over any of her own clothes just in case. At least Jean didn’t appear to mind her habit of borrowing his stuff. In fact, he seemed rather fond of her taking his clothes. 

Mikasa removed her uniform slowly, methodically undoing the straps of her harness as she had done so for over a decade. As she folded her equipment and placed it into her designated dresser drawer, her eyes would go to the doorway to peek into the bathroom. 

As to be expected, Jean was in the process of shaping up his beard, as the Commander of the Survey Corps couldn’t go around looking ungroomed and scruffy. At the moment he had finished brushing the foamy lather onto his neck and cheeks, soon grabbing his trusty straight razor to begin the task for real.

There was something strangely soothing to Jean’s little routine — whether it be the sight of the foam lathering in his cup or the scratching noises as he moved the blade against his skin. He was meticulous about the process as well, only ever shaving after a hot bath and always carefully selecting which oils and balms to utilize. 

If Commander Kirschtein had one vice it was mostly likely his personal grooming routine. And perhaps Captain Ackerman as well, but that's besides the point. 

Jean proceeded to shave as Mikasa changed. In place of her uniform she donned the sleepwear in Jean’s dresser, a two-piece set made of soft, comfortable fabric. If she could recall, Jean’s mother had gifted it to him several winters ago. 

Mikasa forgoed the bottoms and pulled the top over her torso, letting the loose material hang free at the middle of her thighs. She felt a lot more relaxed as she was swathed by the material, letting out a sigh as she took in the warmth of the room. 

After putting away the final straps of her harness, she went to the fireplace in the room to throw in another log. 

Having finally finished his bout of late-night primping, Jean ended the space once more and looked to the Captain stoking the fire. The fact that she had borrowed one of his garments was not lost on him. 

“Nice shirt,” he said, smirking. 

Mikasa let out a hum before standing up straight. “I know.” 

Jean seemed amused as he went to his dresser. Mikasa went to the bed and let herself rest, though she did spend a moment looking respectfully at the Commander as he dropped his towel and changed into the bottoms of his sleepwear. It was moments like this that made Mikasa realize why some of the younger Scouts looked at their leader with a kind of shy, appreciative gleam in their eyes. Perhaps it was due to the broadness of his shoulders, the prettiness of his hazel eyes, or the way his short beard made his face look just a bit more chiseled. 

Mikasa let herself lay back, sighing as her weight settled onto the mattress. Being free from the confines of paperwork felt like a godsend, even if she would have to return to hell come morning time. The soft texture of the sheets and blankets already did wonders in terms of comforting her. 

After a few moments Jean approached the bed, letting himself rest on top of the sheets with her. They fell into their usual rhythms, Mikasa shifting to rest her forehead against his bare chest and Jean holding her close. His hands were gentle as he helped guide her into place. As she nuzzled him she took in his scent, the clean aroma of his soap and shaving balm filling her senses. 

She savored moments like this, the calm between storms where they could enjoy one another. Outside the door she was Captain Ackerman, a single soldier worth a thousand with a level of control surpassed only by her Commander and Section Commander. But here she was just Mikasa, a tired soul who wanted nothing more than a good night’s sleep in her lover’s arms. 

Mikasa closed her eyes and awaited slumber. She didn’t know how much time passed until she felt Jean kissing her forehead. With a mellow touch, his fingers began playing with the strands of her hair as he began to trace his lips against her skin. 

Mikasa shifted up slightly and soon she was kissing him, his palm gently finding her cheek as she tasted his lips. She moved again, then was practically straddling him as he continued to play with her hair, feeling the silky strands between his finger tips. 

Soon Mikasa began trailing her lips away from his, moving them down his jawline and onto his neck, gently nipping at the sensitive skin. The way she kissed him was characterized by a kind of imperfection, a feeling that she was experimenting — to an extent — to see what each of them would like. Judging by the hums and exhales Jean was letting out as she nibbled his neck, as well as the pressure building between the two, Mikasa was inclined to believe that he was enjoying it. 

With a steady pace Mikasa continued to move her lips across his skin, moving from his neck to his shoulder, then down the muscles of his chest. He let out a breath that sounded like a mix between a gasp and a shudder. 

Then the second Mikasa kissed his stomach, an idea popped into her head. 

“Wait,” she said, then moved back upwards to peck his lips quickly. Despite feeling the tent pitched under her, she moved off his lap. 

Jean took a moment to catch his breath, but when he lifted his head from his pillow he looked rather intrigued. 

“For what?” 

Mikasa didn’t answer, yet when she turned away the plain look on her face turned coy. She heard the sound of Jean sighing behind her — he knew she was teasing her, he just wasn’t exactly sure how. 

She was acutely aware that her Commander’s eyes were on her as she made her way to his dresser. As sides of her were obscured from his sight, her fingers slowly and discreetly undid the buttons on the shirt draped over her torso. 

At the dresser she opened her designated drawer and retrieved her hairbrush. Slowly and meticulously Mikasa went through her dark locks, using each stroke to gently smooth and untangle her hair. She wore it longer nowadays, keeping it tied up when on-the-clock and letting it hang below her shoulders when off. By now she was mindful of just how much Jean appreciated her hair, a fact that never ceased to make her heart beat just a bit faster. 

Glancing up, she caught sight of the mirror mounted above the dresser and noted how Jean looked in the reflection. While he remained on his back, he propped himself up slightly on his elbows, his eyes focused on only her as she continued on. 

Moments passed and soon Mikasa had finished running the brush through her hair. After putting it down, she gave herself a moment, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. 

Then in a single motion she turned around to face Jean and let the night shirt fall to the floor. 

She was quick to note the way Jean’s eyes widened the second he saw her, bathed in the moonlight and nothing else. 

He practically jolted up, unable to take his gaze away from her powerful frame, her soft skin, and even her scars. She had more than just the one under her right eye, only a select few were permitted to see the ones she hid. 

Standing from the bed, Jean was surprisingly slow as he approached her, taking his time as he stepped across the bedroom. 

Suddenly Mikasa felt silly for assuming her gesture would make Jean bolt over and immediately sweep her into his arms. 

But soon Jean was in her atmosphere, leaning down slightly to meet her gaze. The tender look in his pretty eyes could make the world forget that he was the fearless Commander of the Scouts. 

He was gentle with her as he reached up and put his hand on her cheek. On instinct Mikasa leaned into his touch. 

Not wanting to waste any more time Mikasa closed the gap between their lips, savoring his taste as she wrapped her arms around his robust shoulders. Holding him tight she hopped up slightly, her legs wrapping securely around his slender waist.

And Jean didn’t falter, being accustomed to holding her so preciously. His strong arms supported her as she ran her hands through his wild hair.

In the light of the moon and the fireplace, Jean didn’t break their kiss and carried her back to their bed, where they both fell onto the sheets and carried on with their dance. 

So they take things slow. When Jean looks at Mikasa during meetings or in the midst of training new recruits, it’s always with an air of professionalism. Of course, there’s the sense of admiration that had been there since they were young, but that would have been there irregardless. It’s impossible for him to look at her without it. 

Even when they eat at the same table, they only ever talk about battle plans, riding formations, or which rookies look particularly promising. For the most part the rest of the Survey Corps suspects nothing more of Commander Kirschtein’s relationship with Captain Ackerman and they intend to keep it that way. 

But nights are allowed to be different. 

One evening the HQ is quiet. Captain Ackerman heads to her Commander’s room with a bottle of red wine, a vintage she’s been hiding under the floorboards in her own private quarters. Clad in a cardigan over her usual nightgown, she slips into his space and makes sure to lock the door behind her. 

Jean is kneeling in front of his room’s fireplace when he sees her. He’s in the midst of stoking the burning logs as his eyes settle on her. 

He’s still partially dressed in his uniform, just his usual button-front and white trousers. His hair is still slicked back, too, a rarity at this time of night — it’s strange to see the remnants of the Commander where Jean Kirschtein should be. 

Night is usually where Jean’s mask of the fearless leader can fade, a time where the hardest parts of him can mellow into something soft. That icy, Erwin-esque look of determination is often nowhere to be seen, replaced with Jean’s usual set of hazel eyes, a gaze permeated by a sense of calmness and honesty. Admittedly, Mikasa appreciates this side of him the most. 

But she isn’t deterred. She simply walks in like she has a million times before and places the bottle on a nearby desk. 

Jean stands up. He usually smirks in times like this, but instead his face remains sullen. 

“What can I do for you, Captain?” he asks in a more formal tone than usual. 

“I’m going to finish this bottle,” she explains, then begins rummaging around his room for cups. “And whether or not you’re to help me is up to you.” 

Jean is flattered that she would think of him, though only slightly. Nowadays they are far past the stage of being awkward around one another, constantly contemplating what the best thing to do or say is. Such awkward habits had been aged out of them with time and now Mikasa can waltz into his room like she’s always belonged there. 

And in a way, she does. 

Jean runs a hand through his hair as he takes a few steps forward. Mikasa soon procures the metal mugs he keeps in his drawers and takes them to the table. She doesn’t waste any time, quickly uncorking the bottle before pouring two healthy servings for her Commander and herself.

Jean doesn’t refuse the drink, he takes his and gently swirls the liquid in the mug. His eyes are dull, like his mind is a million miles away. 

Mikasa’s seen this face a thousand times before, she’s worked with him long enough to know it, so she doesn’t beat around the bush. 

“What’s on your mind, Jean?” 

“I spent the whole night sending M.I.A. reports…” he starts, then sighs. He looks to be thinking of the next thing to say, but for the life of him he can’t. 

The way her stomach drops is not as bad as it was years ago, but it’s still there. Mikasa expected it to go away and that would make her a horrible person, but it never did — instead the emptiness lingers with her like a reflex she can’t control. 

Over the last few years Commander Jean has lessened the casualties of Survey Corps by a tremendous amount, but the team is still human. People falter and people fall, people break and people bruise. 

In her mind she still remembers the rookie that was assigned to her flank of the riding formation. Gertrude Wagner was only fifteen, having enlisted to honor the brother she had lost in Trost all those years ago. She would’ve been a toddler when it all went down. Her expressive eyes and blonde hair could immediately remind the world of Thomas, especially those who were familiar with him. She even smiled like her brother. 

And now there’s nothing left of her. During a mission outside the walls a Titan had tripped her horse at the wrong moment, then just as quickly she was gone. 

Mikasa still expects to see the kid around the HQ, either delivering notes between Squad Leaders or goofing off with her fellow trainees. Deep down, she blames herself for letting the whole thing happen in the first place.

The Captain takes in a breath before holding her mug to his. 

“Cheers.” 

Jean tilts his head slightly. “To what?” 

“To another few days,” Mikasa says, though deep down inside of her it feels like a plea to the gods. “Alive.” 

Her words comfort him, as the somber look on his face begins to soften. He’s learned to not expect anything less from his beloved Captain. 

“I’ll drink to that.” 

Their mugs touch before they take the first pulls of their wine. It goes down smooth and sends a wave of warmth through them.

They spend the rest of the night like this, slowly sipping from their mugs as they bask in the glow of the fire. They find a place to sit on the carpet in front of the flames, ignoring the chairs in the room to get more close and personable. At a certain point Jean even finds himself resting his head on her lap, Mikasa plays with the ends of his hair as she listens to his voice. 

They talk about anything but work — Jean’s planning on visiting his mother soon and Sasha has been expressing a desire to see Connie. Their old friend is a year into early retirement — as the loss of everything below his right knee has made maneuvering impossible — but he’s always keen on seeing his fellow trainees. Maybe because he knows that every visit they have just might be the last.

Armin would certainly enjoy seeing a familiar face. It’s only been five years since they lost Eren and he’s still throwing himself deep into his work, practically saturating himself in the life of a Section Commander and leaving time for nothing else. Mikasa understands his desire to cope, as her own purveying feelings of grief come and go in waves. Yet a part of her hopes that what remains of Armin Arlert is still there, and that it all hasn’t been replaced with the soldier that the Survey Corps needs. 

Knowing how easy it is to lose oneself in anguish after such a heavy loss, Mikasa fears that she may just witness another loved one slipping away. 

Even Jean wants Armin to find a moment to relax — humanity can afford for Section Commander Arlert to take a day off. 

By the time the bottle is mostly done, Mikasa feels unbelievably warm. Though perhaps it’s the heat of Jean as she rests her head on his chest, or maybe the nearby fire. She does this a lot, lying in a way that lets her listen to his heartbeat. The gentle thump echoes in her ear — an assurance that he’s there, he’s here, and he’s not going anywhere. 

With that in mind she takes head off his torso and moves upwards, immediately pressing her lips to his and letting her weight settle on top of him. 

Her hand moves through his hair as he kisses her back, letting out a gentle moan as his arms wrap around her waist. Her hips practically straddle his as she gently bites his bottom lip, a gesture filled with a fervent hunger, something she had kept bottled inside of her for the last few weeks. It’s certainly been way too long since they were alone together. 

Jean lets out a slight chuckle as he feels Mikasa reaching for his shirt buttons. She undoes them slowly, gradually revealing the musculature of his torso. His shoulders are a bit broader than they used to be but his waist has remained slender. The way she runs her fingers across him is laced with both adoration and earthly desire. 

There may be something inherently amusing about her ardor, but Jean heeds her requests and begins slowly undressing himself. His shirt is the first to go, followed by his trousers. She does the same, slipping her nightgown over her head with a similar sense of urgency. 

Once freed from their clothing the Captain and her Commander move forward with nothing between the two, searching for new ways to find warmth as the fire burns behind them. 

…

…

…

Mikasa doesn’t know what time of night it is when she hears Jean stirring. She opens an eye to a dark room illuminated by the moonlight from the windows. Even the fire near them had reduced to a pile of barely glowing embers. 

Jean is sleeping on his side and she’s behind him, her arms around his waist to both share his heat and keep him close. But as he wakes, she loosens her grip around him just slightly. 

Mikasa watches as Jean sits up, spends a moment yawning, then gets onto his feet. A part of her cannot take her eyes off of him as he walks around his room bare-assed. She fondly admires the shape of him as he lights a candle and goes to close the curtains. The Survey Corps would certainly think differently of their Commander if they suddenly saw him strutting around in the buff. 

In the dim light he goes to the bottle on the table and checks to see how much is inside. Whatever amount it is, it’s scant enough to justify finishing the wine straight from the source. 

Mikasa remains where she is, entangled in the blankets he had brought to the floor. 

Jean puts the bottle down before heading to his bed. He places the candle on his night stand, then walks over to his lover in front of the ashes to offer a hand down to her. 

“It’ll be warmer in bed, mon amour.” 

His pet name for her graces Mikasa’s ear very gently. He’s been calling her this for years and it still makes her heart beat just a bit faster. 

With a small, pleased smile on her face Mikasa wraps herself in the blankets and takes Jean’s hand. Together the two make the short walk to his bed and climb onto the mattress, immediately entangling themselves together again. Jean’s right, it’s certainly a lot warmer. 

He’s quick to press his lips to Mikasa’s neck again, at that spot that always makes her toes curl and garners a groan from her throat. One of his knees slots between her legs, a sensation that makes her close her eyes and hold him closer to her. She lets out a contented sigh, her fingers digging themselves into his back as she moves her hips against his. 

1.

You don’t get a lot of days off, being in the military, and ever since Jean made commander he hasn’t taken a single one. Which is—according to Eren, at least—a crying shame, because surely none of them want to watch their beloved commander work himself to death, right?

Right. So this is why, on a particularly special day, Eren swipes two glasses and a bottle of wine from the kitchens on his way up to the commander’s office. This is easier said than done, but he eventually convinces the kitchen staff that it’s going to a good cause (unlike the potatoes which they used to “test” the prototype of Armin’s new cannon design). He is also wearing a freshly-laundered shirt, a jacket with hardly any blood on it, and boots that have at least a faint gleam to the leather, if not exactly a shine. (Real, honest-to-god effort has been applied here, and mediocre though the results may be, the important thing is that he tried.)

Unfortunately, his initial reception is less than enthusiastic. “Go away, Jaeger,” Jean says, not even looking up. He’s poring over lists of figures; probably something to do with food, the rationing of. It’s stuff that’s better delegated, but for some reason Jean has never quite gotten the hang of that.

“You always say that,” Eren tells him, and plunks the bottle and glasses down on the desk. Jean gives them a desultory glance.

“What’s the occasion?”

“Guess,” Eren says.

Jean squints wearily. The lamplight casts his features into sharp relief, pooling shadows under his eyes, and there’s lines on his forehead that Eren is pretty sure weren’t there six months ago.

“Not a birthday...” he says, slowly. “Mine just passed, and yours was before that.” He peers at Eren. “Hold on, aren’t you supposed to be supervising the cadets? They’re graduating tonight, aren’t they?” Then he pauses. “Oh.”

Grinning, Eren removes the cork from the bottle, and pours them both a drink.

“Mmmhm,” he says, offering Jean a glass. “Happy anniversary of joining the survey corps, commander.”

Jean gives him a look, but takes it anyway. “And here I thought it was something important,” he grumbles, as Eren clinks their glasses together.

“This is important. It was,” says Eren, with a little flourish, “the first day of the rest of our lives.”

“You think you’re so fucking clever,” Jean tells him, and takes a drink. (The wine is subpar, but it is greatly improved by the taste of Eren’s mouth afterwards.)

***

2.

In the daytime the desert was a kind of hell, heat settling over them like a blanket, pressing into their backs like fists. They drove—or at least, Jean drove—for hours, along an infinitely long, infinitely straight road; Eren slept fitfully, waking every now and then to find his shirt glued to his chest with sweat. Two hours after sunset, though, a queer chill suffused the air and made his skin prickle. They pulled over beside a forlorn cactus (“This means it’s ours now,” Eren declared), and had beers out of the cooler which sat between them to celebrate arriving at the middle of fucking nowhere.

The sky was a sheaf of black, with little pinprick holes where light could pass through. Lying on his back in the bed of the pickup truck next to Jean, he counted nearly a dozen stars before he lost his place and had to start over. Jean was smoking menthols, trying not to get the ash into his mouth, and the brief flare every time he took a drag glowed like a coal in the darkness. Their arms almost touched, and Eren thought he could feel the heat of Jean’s body radiating across that millimeter of still air.

“Universe is big, huh,” he breathed, awe in his voice.

Jean gave him a sideways glance, nose brushing Eren’s cheek. When he spoke, smoke unfurled from his mouth like mist from a cave.

“—You high or somethin’?”

“No. Just thinkin’. I mean, look at it.”

He spread his arms like he was trying to hug the sky, and narrowly missed elbowing Jean in the stomach. Jean gave a dry little cough, and stubbed out his cigarette.

Then he rolled over and pushed his body over Eren’s. His skin, hot to the touch, made Eren feel like he was burning up.

“Thinking, huh?” he muttered. “I can help you fix that.”