Attack on Titan Fanfiction – A Decade in the Making: Chapter 4

[Warning: R-15]

The Tavern Where It Began

She paused for a moment. Who, exactly, was the Jean she used to know? She could pinpoint moments when she felt a rush of love for him.

One time it was on a wooden cart by the railroad tracks that they had helped to build. They were discussing the inheritance of the Attack Titan from Eren. Of course she had offered to inherit it. But Jean readily leapt against the idea, enumerating the “too many reasons” why she wasn’t a good candidate. It was as if he’d been thinking about it, the way he was prepared to dissuade her. Instead he offered to take up the titan in that usual cocky way of his. Touched, she wasn’t sure if she was merely imagining the tenderness behind his words. It wasn’t until later that night when Armin confirmed the obvious. “Jean really does love you,” he’d remarked. 

One other time was when Eren had them imprisoned to keep them safe while he fought the Marleyan warriors in the Second Battle of Shiganshina. Jean had keenly felt her suffering, saw her intense pain. “What did Eren do to her?” he’d demanded. Armin had wanted to tell him, but she shushed her best friend. “It’s okay,” she’d insisted, lying through her teeth. Eren had told her how much he hated her. She really did feel like her life was over, her heart hurting so much she felt the shattered pieces would pierce her insides and kill her once and for all. But Jean had given her that look. It was a look filled with compassion. And love. And kindness. “Eren wouldn’t do what he did without a reason,” he pointed out. He gave her hope, offering a tenderness that was like a salve to her battered, beaten, broken heart. Mikasa began to see Jean in an entirely different light from then on.

“After you, ma’am,” said someone to her. A man was holding open the door to the tavern. Snapped out of her reminiscing, Mikasa looked momentarily confused. “Well, are you coming in or not?” the man wanted to know. She thanked him and went in. 

It was warm and raucous inside, and her nose was hit with that peculiar tavern smell: a heady mix of alcohol and tobacco and grilled meat and seafood and sweat and cheap perfume. The large, cavernous main hall had alcoves branching out in either direction.

It was in one of them where she found the Navy men, occupying an entire table. And there he was, Jean Kirschtein, sitting at the head of the table with the blonde she saw at the port nestled in his lap, her arms thrown around his shoulders and her voluminous breasts only inches from his face. She was giggling and whispering into his ear. Obviously he was enjoying himself, laughing and drinking and flirting with her. Mikasa felt a stab of jealousy. She forced her gaze to tear away from them and take in the entire scene. 

It’s said that men don’t really talk to each other, and if someone showed any signs of vulnerability then they were fiercely ridiculed. Yet she’d been a soldier long enough to know that wasn’t true. In a one-on-one environment men had real, honest conversations. But in a group, at a tavern, on a Frīgedæg evening, Jean’s crew were being stereotypical men: singing loudly and burping and bantering and calling each other arseholes.   

Her gaze travelled back to Jean. Her Jean. Since when did you prefer blondes?    

Mikasa didn’t know what came over her, but she found herself standing next to him. Her gaze was fixed on the blonde. “Get off my man,” she ordered her. Mikasa was Army captain and when she put on that authoritative, unflinching tone, people found themselves obeying. The blonde stood up, scowling at her, but she took in the expression on her face and then glanced at Jean and she understood immediately. 

“You said you were single and available. Liar!” the blonde shrieked at Jean, slapping his cheek before flouncing off to the other end of the tavern to find another lap to sit on. 

Jean was staring at Mikasa with a surprised, quizzical look on his face but before he could say anything she hiked up her skirts and straddled him. Putting a hand on either side of his head, she entwined her fingers into his hair and said to him, loud enough for the rest of the table to hear, “You are mine, Jean Kirschtein.” He opened his mouth to reply but she crushed her lips to his. In a flash Jean had snaked an arm around her waist while his other hand held the back of her head. He coaxed her lips open and she took his tongue in her mouth and they were kissing hungrily as she ground her hips into his. She felt the strength of his arousal and it made her feel attractive and desirable, made her want to grind that tender spot between her thighs back and forth over the hard length of him. Their tongues battle as they kiss and lick and suck each other’s faces. 

The table erupted in a deafening hoo-ha. “Whoa!” the men were boisterous, hollering and chortling, egging them on. “Get a room!” someone shouted. “Don’t go anywhere!” another one squawked. “That’s right, give us a show, admiral!” someone else yelled. “Hey boss! Bend her over the table and take her from behind so we can all enjoy the action!” someone lewdly suggested. 

That last comment jolted Jean’s fuddled brain into awareness, bringing him back to his senses. He stood up, dragging Mikasa with him. An arm tight around her waist, he dug into his satchel and left a wad on the table while he smirked at his men. “Have a great night, lads,” he said cockily, winking at them as he ushered Mikasa toward the door. 

In contrast to the thick, heady smell of the tavern the night air outside was cool and refreshing. Jean was pulling her by the arm and walking fast, away from the noise and the crowds. In the cumbersome dress and heeled shoes she scrambled to keep up. He found a quiet spot under a street lamp, stopped and turned her to face him.

“Bloody hell, Mikasa, what was that all about?” he demanded, the cocky demeanor he put up in front of his men gone and replaced by a confused and angry Jean.

She lowered her lashes and stared at the hem of her dress. “I…went to the port to meet you this afternoon. I brought you flowers but…but…”

“You were at the port? I didn’t see you! Why didn’t you come up to me?” 

“Because you had a woman on each arm, you schmuck!” she found herself retorting in a fit of jealousy, lifting her chin up to meet his gaze with a glare. 

He stared at her. “And what is that to you, Mikasa? Why should that bother you? I’m supposed to be your friend. Don’t you want your friends to have fun?” 

“Well, it wasn’t fun for me!” she heard herself say. She knew she wasn’t making any sense. 

“What the hell do you mean by that?” His gaze was intense.

She wanted to slap his cheek the way the blonde had slapped him in the tavern. “Feign ignorance if you like! I’m going home.” She turned and started walking toward the direction of the southern Army barracks. It was about a half hour walk from the tavern. 

Jean groaned. He must be really drunk. He must be hallucinating. “I’ll walk you to the barracks. But I’m not letting you go until you explain to me what’s going on,” he said, falling into step with her. He grabbed her hand, entwining her fingers with his. To his surprise she squeezed his hand. They start to walk.

“How many women have you slept with?” she found her mouth moving, asking in spite of herself.

“What the fuck, Mikasa?” 

“I want to know,” she glanced at him, glowering.

“You’ve no right to know,” he glowered back.

“Yes, I do.”

“And why’s that?”

She tipped her face up. “Because,” she answered inanely. 

“Because what?”

“Just tell me!” she yelled at him.

“Okay, fine! I shagged a dozen women. Well, twice that if you count the one night stands. Oh, and since your question specifically mentioned women I’ll spare you the number of men I fucked. There. Are you happy now?” he yelled back. He was lying through his teeth: the truth was that as of yesterday he’d slept with far more than that, but from the look on her face he knew she would not be impressed.

“Why should that make me happy?” she retorted, glaring at him, yanking her hand from his.

Thank you so much for reading! Please take a moment to share a thought or two in the comment section below. Your comments give me life and are a real source of encouragement. xoxo, hana

Next – Chapter 5: The Scorecard

Back – Chapter 3: A Red-Blooded Man

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