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The bass thumps hard enough that she can feel it in her teeth.
Annie shifts her weight against the kitchen counter, fingers curled tight around a red solo cup filled with something sweet and pungent. She hasn’t taken a sip in over ten minutes, but holding it gives her something to do. something to anchor herself to while she keeps scanning the crowd. The music is too loud, the air thick with heat and sweat and the burnt-acrid twist of cheap weed. Someone bumps her shoulder. She doesn’t flinch.
She’s used to being surrounded by people she doesn’t care about.
Bertholdt’s laugh carries from the living room—soft, awkward, almost lost under the weight of Reiner’s louder voice. They’re standing shoulder to shoulder by the window, beer bottles in hand, lit up by the occasional flash of some idiot’s camera. Bertholdt’s trying, she can tell. He keeps looking over at her, like he’s checking that she’s okay. Like he can’t quite believe she agreed to come.
He had smiled when she stepped out of their bedroom tonight, a rare, stunned kind of smile that crept over his face in slow, uncertain waves. “You look… very pretty tonight.” He’d stammered, cheeks coloring as he rubbed the back of his neck.
She only shrugged. “It’s just makeup.”
But it wasn’t just makeup. Not really.
Annie doesn’t do pretty. She doesn’t do cute or seductive or anything with effort. Most days, she rolls on some mascara, throws her hair up, and calls it done. But tonight, she took her time. Ran eyeliner along her lids, sharp as a blade. Swiped cherry gloss over her lips and pressed them together until they shimmered. Her outfit is all black. Underneath, she wears the panties she picked out last time she was out with Hitch.
“Something sexy for Bertholdt! He probably gets tired of seeing you in sweats all the time.” Annie remembers scoffing, turning red. Anything she wore would catch his attention, really. But with Mikasa, it’s different. She wants to earn attention from her in the worst ways.
God, she hates that.
She hates how her stomach twists just thinking about Mikasa being here. Hates the tight coil in her chest, how she keeps scanning the room for a glimpse of raven-black hair and that unreadable stare.
She’d sworn she wouldn’t go to this party. Sworn it wasn’t worth the noise, the heat, the fake smiles. And then Pieck casually mentioned Mikasa was coming too, and suddenly Annie was curling her lashes in front of the mirror like it mattered.
It shouldn’t matter. Not when she has Bertholdt.
Sweet, gentle, safe Bertholdt. The kindest boy she’s ever met. The only one who touches her like she might shatter. Who never raises his voice. Who holds her after nightmares and doesn’t ask questions. He loves her; she knows that. Loves her in a way that feels permanent. Domestic. Inevitable.
She could build a life with him. She’s thought about it. Marriage. A quiet house. Sunday mornings, reading on the couch. He’d never hurt her. He can’t.
But sometimes Annie wants to be hurt.
Sometimes she needs something rougher, meaner—something with teeth.
And Mikasa… Mikasa bites.
She doesn’t ask. She takes. She grabs Annie by the throat and pins her down with nothing but a look. She tugs her hair, fucks her deep, says nothing. They don’t talk about it after. Don’t look each other in the eye. But the way Mikasa grips her hips and holds her open, like she owns her, burns in Annie’s mind for days. It leaves her wrecked and shaking and disgusted with herself. She comes home sore and dripping and ashamed.
And Bertholdt always notices.
“Are you okay?” he’ll ask, brushing his hand over her back when she winces, crawling into bed.
Annie always shrugs. “Sore.”
She hates herself for it. Hates how Bertholdt’s kisses make her flinch sometimes, not because she doesn’t love him, but because she does. And she knows. She knows if he ever found out what she’s done, who she’s let touch her, he’d be devastated.
He trusts her. Too much.
Maybe that’s what makes it worse. He’s never rough with her. Never forces. Never grabs. He holds her like she’s made of glass, always asking, always checking. Even in bed, he hesitates. He blushes.
When she told him once that maybe he didn’t have to be so careful, he looked hurt.
“I just… I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered.
Annie didn’t know how to tell him that’s what she wanted.
So she kissed him instead. Sweet and slow. And she let him take his time, because that’s what he needed. She let him be gentle, because he always is.
But it wasn’t what she needed. Not really.
A flicker of movement catches her eye, and then she sees her.
Mikasa. Just inside the hallway. Dressed in black too, but differently. Sleek. Bold. Her lips are a violent red and her eyes sweep the room like she’s hunting. Her gaze finds Annie in seconds. They don’t smile. They never do.
But Annie’s body responds anyway.
Her thighs clench. Her jaw tightens. A flush creeps up her chest that has nothing to do with the temperature of the room. Mikasa tilts her head, just slightly, like she’s asking a question without words.
Annie looks away.
Bertholdt laughs again, oblivious. Reiner’s elbowing him about something, and Bertholdt’s hand twitches toward his phone like he’s thinking of texting her. Asking if she’s okay.
She’s not.
Her stomach churns. Her lip stings from where she’s bitten it raw. She wants to disappear.
She wants Mikasa to grab her by the wrist and drag her upstairs, shove her against the wall, and make her forget her name.
She wants to curl up in Bertholdt’s lap and cry.
She wants both.
And she knows she can’t have either. Not without breaking something. Not without losing everything.
But she stays in the kitchen. Alone. And drinks the last of her drink.
Annie’s phone buzzes in her hand.
She barely glances at it. Probably Pieck or someone asking if she wants to head outside for a smoke. Some excuse to escape the noise, the people. But her eyes catch the name on the screen.
Mikasa.
She opens the message.
Mikasa: ‘You look pretty tonight.’
Annie’s heart gives a hard thud. She doesn’t react. Doesn’t smile. Doesn’t even blink.
Instead, she lifts her gaze slowly, letting it sweep over the kitchen, through the archway leading into the hallway. And there she is—leaned up against the doorframe like she owns the place, one shoulder propped casually against the wall, dark drink in one hand, phone in the other. Mikasa’s already looking at her.
Looking through her.
Their eyes lock.
Mikasa smirks. not wide, not showy, just the barest tug at one corner of her mouth. Then she raises her glass to her lips and takes a slow sip, her stare never leaving Annie’s. It’s deliberate. Lazy.
Predatory.
She’s undressing her with her eyes.
And Annie feels it. She feels it everywhere.
A hot flush crawls up the back of her neck. Her pulse thuds against her throat. Her fingers tighten around her cup, even as she forces her face to stay blank, cool, unreadable. Her only response is a simple text back:
'Thanks.'
She hits send and tucks her phone back against her thigh like that’ll be the end of it. Like Mikasa will take the hint.
She should’ve known better.
The buzz comes again almost immediately.
Mikasa: Did you dress up just for me?
Annie’s stomach flips.
Her breath stutters in her chest.
She doesn’t answer. She can’t. There's no answer that won’t give her away. Because yeah, she did. Not consciously, not out loud, but in that pathetic, aching part of her brain she won’t let herself look too hard at.
She closes her legs.
Mikasa sees it. Of course she does. She’s watching Annie like a hawk. She’s always been able to read her with disgusting accuracy.
Annie forces herself to look away. Her cheeks burn. She stares down into her empty cup like she’ll find salvation in the sticky ice.
Her phone buzzes again.
Mikasa: You don’t need to say anything. I already know. Upstairs bathroom? Meet me in five.
Annie almost chokes on nothing.
She shoots a glance around the room. Did anyone see that? Is it obvious that she’s flushed, in the corner of a kitchen surrounded by drunk strangers?
Bertholdt’s still with Reiner. Still laughing. Still trusting her.
Annie freezes.
Her heart punches through her ribs.
She doesn’t respond. Just stands there, phone clenched tight in her hand, nails biting into her palm.
She should say no. She has to say no.
She looks at Bertholdt again. He’s so soft in the face. So open. He’s standing in a patch of yellow kitchen light, shoulders hunched slightly forward the way they do when he’s trying to look smaller.
When he’s uncomfortable. He doesn’t want to be here either. He only came because Reiner begged. And Annie only came because-
She swallows hard.
Because she knew Mikasa would be here.
Her phone is still in her hand. It feels heavy now. Like a choice.
Annie stares at it. Then at the stairs.
Her thoughts spiral in tight, anxious circles. She can feel the weight of every decision pressing down on her like stones in her stomach.
If she goes upstairs, she’s crossing a line she already swore she wouldn’t cross again.
She told herself last time was a mistake. A lapse in judgment. A moment of weakness she’d put behind her.
But her body doesn’t feel guilty. Her body aches for it.
Bertholdt never makes her feel like this. Not because he isn’t good to her. He loves her so gently that it makes her sick sometimes. He touches her like she’s sacred. He listens. He remembers the way she likes her tea. He doesn’t even look at other girls.
But he doesn’t look at her the way Mikasa does.
Like she’s a challenge. A toy. A possession.
Mikasa’s hands bruise. Her mouth punishes. Her eyes demand.
And Annie wants to crumble for her.
She wants to crawl.
She hates it.
But she wants it.
Annie’s heart is pounding. Her cheeks are burning. She’s already wet, she can feel it, damp and humiliating under the delicate lace she wore on a whim. For no one. For herself.
For Mikasa.
She thinks about staying. About walking over to Bertholdt, kissing him on the mouth, and begging him to take her home.
But she doesn’t move.
She thinks about Mikasa’s hands in her hair. Mikasa’s thigh between her legs. Mikasa’s low voice in her ear, saying her name like a curse, like a promise, like something dangerous.
Her body decides before her mind does.
She moves. Slow. Quiet.
The hallway is quieter than the rest of the house. Still pulsing faintly with bass, but the music feels distant now, as if it’s sealed behind a pane of glass.
Annie ascends the stairs slowly.
Every creak of the steps feels louder than it should. She doesn’t hurry—Mikasa told her five minutes for a reason. This isn’t supposed to look planned. They both know this game. They’ve played it before.
One goes ahead. The other follows.
Don’t arrive together. Don’t leave together. Don’t speak unless the door’s closed.
It’s always like this—ugly in its precision. Controlled. Mikasa never rushes. Never hurries. She lets Annie wait.
It’s punishment. It’s foreplay.
Annie slips into the bathroom and shuts the door behind her. She doesn’t lock it. Not yet. That would suggest commitment. And right now, she’s not ready to admit to any.
Her heart is already hammering.
The bathroom smells like citrus soap and whatever cheap vanilla perfume the girl hosting the party wears. The air is warm. Dim. Quiet.
Too quiet.
Annie doesn’t pace. Doesn’t check her phone. She knows better.
Instead, she sits on the edge of the bathtub, legs together, knees bouncing with barely concealed tension. Her hands feel useless. She reaches into her pocket, pulls out her vape, and raises it to her lips. The nicotine won’t solve anything, but it’ll buy her thirty seconds of stillness. Maybe.
She exhales slowly through her nose, watching the smoke drift in front of her. It curls into the light. Dissolves.
Her thighs clench again. She shifts, irritated with herself.
She shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t have come up.
She could’ve locked the door and handled it herself. Just a few quick strokes, thighs shaking, jaw clenched. Mikasa’s name caught behind her teeth. It wouldn’t have been the first time.
But the real thing always lingers longer. Leaves her marked. Wrecked. Remembering.
Her phone is still warm in her pocket. She doesn’t check it. She just sits there, chest tight, fingers twitching, eyes on the doorknob—
Which jiggles.
Her spine goes rigid.
The vape slips from her lips. She barely catches it.
The door creaks open slowly, and Mikasa steps in like a shadow slipping through a crack in the wall.
She meets Annie’s gaze immediately.
Those cold, unreadable eyes rake over her face to her knees. Not rushed. Not polite. They linger.
Mikasa doesn’t say a word.
She closes the door slowly. Deliberately. Then lifts one hand, twists the lock with a loud click.
Annie swallows.
She’s still seated. Still staring.
The silence between them is taut. Charged. The air could spark.
Mikasa starts forward—step by step, each one quiet, but heavy with intent. Her boots are heavy against the tile. Her frame is broad, commanding. Her movements are careful.
Annie rises as Mikasa draws near, forcing herself to stand. To breathe. She lifts her chin as if it might protect her.
It doesn’t.
Mikasa towers over her.
She always has.
They’ve never spoken about it, but Annie knows how much it affects her. Bertholdt is the same way—tall, gentle, quiet. He wraps around her like a blanket. Mikasa pins her like a wall.
Together, they’d ruin her.
She imagines it without meaning to—Mikasa behind her, hand fisted in her hair, while Bertholdt strokes her soft and slow from the front, whispering praise into her mouth. The thought makes her pulse stutter.
Her thighs clench again. Harder.
Mikasa’s looking down at her like she knows.
She probably does.
Her eyes are sharp, icy—always watching, always seeing what Annie tries not to say. That unreadable mask she wears makes Annie feel like she’s already been stripped bare, no clothing required.
Annie doesn’t move. She doesn’t blink.
Neither does Mikasa.
The silence between them swells until it becomes something living. Something breathing. A third presence in the room.
Mikasa steps closer.
Annie doesn’t back up, but she feels it in her knees—the instinct. The vulnerability. Mikasa isn’t touching her. Not yet. But the tension sits on Annie’s skin like heat before a storm.
Close now.
Too close.
Their bodies don’t touch—but they could.
Mikasa leans in, just a little. Her breath brushes Annie’s cheek.
Annie doesn’t flinch, but her heart is going haywire in her chest. Her vape is still in her hand, dangling loosely by her side. She doesn’t even remember what she was doing with it. All she feels is the closeness. The threat of contact.
A reflex. Her old armor. “Took you long enough,” she said flatly, even though her voice sounded thinner than usual. Less certain.
Mikasa didn’t answer.
She could see how badly Annie was shaking beneath her skin. How standing tall didn’t change the fact that she felt cornered in the best, worst way. How much she wanted something she couldn’t name without choking on it.
“You don’t have to fight me.”
Mikasa’s voice is a whisper, low and certain. It hangs in the air between them like a challenge disguised as comfort. Before Annie can respond, before she even breathes, Mikasa’s hand rises slowly—no sudden movements, just a quiet, deliberate grace. She brushes a few loose strands of blonde hair from Annie’s face, tucking them behind her ear with fingers that are calloused and careful all at once.
Her palm lingers, warm against Annie’s cheek.
That look in Mikasa’s eyes makes Annie feel like prey. Beneath the softness, there’s hunger. Something carnal and focused. Annie knows that stare. She’s felt it before, across the room, through the haze of dim lights and alcohol. But this close, it steals her breath. She feels small under it, seen in an almost unbearable way.
Then Mikasa leans in and kisses her.
It starts slow, almost reverent. Her lips plush, warm, tasting like whatever drink she’d been nursing downstairs. But it doesn’t stay soft for long. As the kiss deepens, Mikasa’s grip tightens around
Annie’s face, not rough, but claiming. Her thumb presses gently beneath Annie’s jaw, tilting her head just so, deepening the connection with a precision that feels practiced, devastating.
Annie’s body betrays her before her mind catches up. Her hands, stiff at first, rise shakily, hesitant, but drawn forward like magnets. They find Mikasa’s hips, gripping tight. She’s solid. Strong. The weight of her beneath Annie’s fingers is grounding in a way that startles her. Mikasa’s curves fill her palms. Thick thighs, full hips, a body that speaks of strength and softness all at once. Annie swallows a gasp. Her thoughts spiral.
She’s so beautiful.
So powerful.
And she’s letting Annie touch her like this.
Mikasa kisses her harder. The rhythm shifts, hungrier now, like she’s tasting something she’s been craving too long. Annie moans against her, a sound she didn’t mean to let slip, but Mikasa doesn’t pull away. If anything, she presses in closer. One hand moves from Annie’s cheek to the nape of her neck, fingers tangling gently in her hair, guiding her, deepening the kiss.
Annie lets herself melt into it. The walls she’s fought to keep up inside her waver under the force of Mikasa’s mouth, her touch, the weight of her presence.
Mikasa’s hands begin to wander.
Her touch is slow at first—tracing the curve of Annie’s sides, the dip of her waist, the soft mound of her ass. She kisses her like she owns the moment, like she’s been waiting for Annie to stop running long enough to take what she wants.
And Annie lets her. Until she can’t.
Mikasa pulls away just enough to breathe, lips parted. A strand of spit still connects them. Her eyes are dark, her breathing uneven.
Without a word, she grabs Annie by the hips and shifts her, firm and unrelenting, until Annie’s back hits the edge of the bathroom counter with a soft thud. The cold surface seeps through her thin clothes, jolting her for just a second. Mikasa doesn’t give her time to speak. She leans in again, crushing their mouths together in another kiss, deep and greedy. She props her knee between Annie’s thighs. Pressing right against her cunt.
Annie moans against her. Mikasa’s hands roam more boldly now. palming her chest, sliding beneath the hem of her shirt, fingers teasing bare skin. Mikasa gropes her over her shirt, Annie stifles another moan. Trying not to shamelessly fuck herself silly on Mikasa's muscular thigh. She always knew what buttons to press. She starts tugging her shirt upward, trying to strip her, hungry and careless. Annie’s hands shoot up instinctively to stop her.
“No—wait—” Annie pants against her lips, pushing her hands down between them.
Mikasa pauses, breathing hard.
Annie shakes her head once, barely. “We don’t have time- Bertholdt...”
For a second, neither of them speaks. The weight of reality settles between them, clashing with the heat still pulsing in their veins.
Mikasa exhales slowly, forehead pressing against Annie’s. “Fine,” she mutters, reluctantly dragging her hands back down Annie’s sides, grounding herself. “Not all the way.”
But her lips find Annie’s again, and this time it’s all restraint and hunger fighting in equal measure. The kiss is urgent, but not careless. Mikasa’s hands stay roving, clutching, groping, memorizing the shape of Annie’s body through what little she’s still wearing. She kisses like it’s the only language she knows, and Annie answers with every breathless sound she makes.
There’s heat. Tension. But it’s fast. It has to be.
Every moment feels stolen, and that’s what makes it dangerous. That’s what makes it feel so good.
Mikasa pulls away, lips slick with Annie’s saliva. Her lipstick is a mess from their impromptu makeout session. She lowers her thigh far enough to tug Annie’s shorts down, keeping it planted firmly between Annie’s knees..
Mikasa smirks as she pulls the zipper down, revealing the panties she wore in hopes Mikasa would tear them off her. A black lace cheeky pair. Mikasa smirks, noticing the flush on Annie’s face.
“You look so cute in these.” Annie refuses to acknowledge the compliment, feeling her face heat up from the sheer embarrassment of it all. Mikasa doesn’t let her get the chance to gather her thoughts before she’s manhandled into facing the mirror. She sees the way her hair has been mussed and her lip gloss smeared as it muddled with Mikasa's.
Mikasa makes quick work of pinning Annie between herself and the sink. Bring her hands up to grope her tits. She puts her knee back in place, preventing Annie from clenching her thighs together.
Annie whines a little from desperation. Mikasa only giggles, leaning down to kiss Annie’s neck. A faint trail of red lipstick from her throat to her collarbone. The markings are one of her favorite parts. She hopes one day Mikasa will be able to mark her more properly and permanently.
Mikasa keeps one hand on Annie’s chest as the other slides beneath her panties. Annie tries to speed up the process by grinding down, but finds herself unable to move her hips from the way Mikasa has her.
Mikasa kisses and purrs against her neck as she toys with Annie’s folds.
“I can feel how wet you are for me, pretty girl.” Annie lets out a low moan at that. Tipping her head back onto Mikasa's shoulder as she continues to explore her body.
Mikasa rubs Annie’s clit painfully slow as she nips and teases at her. Annie bites her lip. She just wants Mikasa to touch her rough and fast like always, but she thinks the notion of someone noticing their absence has her determined to draw this out. God.
“Mikasa- faster-“ She manages to huff out. It seems to backfire fire though, as Mikasa stops all ministrations. She takes the hand that was toying at her breast and moves it to her throat. Roughly grabbing her to look her in the eyes.
“You aren’t allowed to tell me what to do. Are you, Annie?” She spits her name like venom. Annie shudders under her grip.
“No.” She sputters. Mikasa's eyes glaze over with an almost sinister look. Annie let out a shuddering breath as she said it. It seemed to please Mikasa and only solidified Annie’s loss of control.
As she hesitated, Mikasa's grip tightened, squeezing her airway. Annie swallowed her pride. The grip on her throat loosened but never left as Mikasa kissed her cheek with a wicked grin.
“Good girl.” She dipped her fingers back into Annie’s pants and slid two inside her without warning. Annie let out a choked moan as Mikasa picked back up at a cruel pace.
She tried to close her eyes, to blink out tears, to shut out some of the shame she was feeling. Mikasa moved her head harshly, forcing her to look in the mirror.
“Look at you. Look how pretty you look.” Annie moaned again, a bit too loudly for the setting. Mikasa was quick to silence her by moving her hand up to her chin and sliding her fingers into her mouth. Holding Annie's chin firmly in place so she had nowhere else to look but herself. She noticed how her mascara was running and her eyeliner was messed up. She loved it.
The shame in her belly was quickly replaced by something else as she drooled and stifled her moans behind Mikasa's fingers. Annie could feel a familiar knot beginning to build inside her. She whined loudly to signal to Mikasa her inevitable orgasm. Mikasa slowed again. Annie didn’t want to be edged tonight. She prayed Mikasa would just let her cum and be on her way. But that’s never how their encounters went.
Annie was close, she was so close. But she knew their game. If she came without Mikasa's permission, the next time they played, she’d make her pay. She released a few short breaths before gathering her words.
“M-Mikasa- I’m - ah I’m so close.” Annie mumbled. The phrase was hardly comprehensible around her fingers. Mikasa could decipher, though. She could feel it in the way Annie squeezed around her. It fueled her. A glint settled in her eyes as she leaned down to bite at Annie’s ear. Mikasa’s mouth was hot
and hungry against her, the pressure of her body pressing Annie tighter against the cool bathroom counter.
“Tell me, Annie,” Mikasa said, teasing her swollen clit with her thumb. “Does he fuck you like I do?” Her voice was low when she spoke, almost a growl, the question slipping out like it had been waiting there all along.
The words crashed into Annie. She already knew the answer. Both of them did. The fact that she was asking was psychological torture. The thought circled in her mind as Mikasa slid the fingers out of her mouth and picked up the pace of her other hand once again.
She tangled her now free hand in Annie’s ponytail and pulled. Annie released a struggled moan as Mikasa thrusted her fingers in her with impressive precision. She hated how hot and bothered the question made her.
She hated how badly she wanted Bertholdt to notice she was gone. To creep upstairs and hear the way Mikasa was fucking her through the door. She hated how she wanted to go home and ravage him as well. She felt tears pricking her eyes as her clit throbbed, signaling her rapidly approaching orgasm.
“Go ahead. Cum.” Her voice was low but unyielding, a silken command that slid past Annie’s defenses and left no room for refusal.
And she did. Embarrassingly quick. She let out a final strangled groan as she came undone. Bucking her hips into Mikasa's hand in hopes of some extra friction. She could hear Mikasa's small giggle as she did. She continued teasing her cunt, riding out the orgasm with her. Annie’s knees buckled before she could catch herself, the rush still flooding every nerve
Mikasa caught her, though. Pulling her hand from her shorts to wrap around her waist. She pressed Annie close, steadying her, the solid warmth of her body grounding Annie’s spiraling senses.
Annie’s fingers clung to Mikasa’s shirt without thinking, still trying to find her footing. She hated how weak she felt… hated how much she liked Mikasa seeing her like this. Mikasa’s hold didn’t waver; if anything, it tightened, like she’d known all along that Annie would end up right here. In her arms, breathless and undone.
Mikasa’s breath was still warm against Annie’s temple when she pulled back just enough to look at her in the mirror. Her mouth curved, not quite a smile, more like the promise of one, and she murmured, low enough that it felt like it seeped into Annie’s skin:
Then Mikasa leaned back just enough to meet Annie’s eyes, and her smirk was downright predatory.
“So I was right…” Her voice was a low murmur, a velvet blade slipping between Annie’s ribs. “He doesn’t fuck you like I do.”
The haze in Annie’s head evaporated in an instant, her guard snapping back up. “Shut your mouth,” she rasped, trying to summon her usual bite. But it landed weaker than she wanted, too breathless to hide.
Mikasa didn’t move away. If anything, she let the silence stretch, her gaze locked onto Annie’s with an intensity that made Annie’s stomach knot. Then, without breaking eye contact, she brought her hand up, the one she’d just had buried inside her, and slid two fingers into her mouth.
She closed her lips around them slowly, deliberately, as though savoring something decadent. The wet sound of it was obscene in the quiet. Her tongue curled, dragging over every inch, her cheeks
hollowing as she sucked with deliberate care. She didn’t rush. Each slow pull of her lips was exaggerated, her eyes half-lidded, fixed on Annie like she was watching her squirm, was the real prize.
Annie’s breath hitched despite herself. Her fingers curled uselessly at her sides, heat crawling up her neck. She told herself she wouldn’t look, wouldn’t give Mikasa that satisfaction, then immediately failed, her gaze catching on the glisten of spit as Mikasa let her fingers slide free with a wet pop.
Mikasa’s smirk widened. “Mmh,” she hummed like she’d just tasted something sweet, letting the hand drop. She turned casually toward the mirror, raking her fingers through her hair to smooth the strands back into place.
Annie stayed frozen, trying not to think about the fact that her heart was still pounding.
Mikasa glanced at her reflection, then closed the distance between them in two lazy steps. She cupped Annie’s chin, forcing her to look up, and pressed one last kiss to her mouth, slower this time, lingering. The kind of kiss that felt like it might pull Annie under all over again.
When she finally pulled back, Mikasa’s lips ghosted against her ear. “Wash up,” she murmured, like it was an afterthought. Then she straightened, reached for the doorknob, and left with a small, mocking wave.
The door clicked shut.
Annie stared at herself in the mirror. Hair wild, makeup smeared, Mikasa’s lipstick staining her neck, pants undone. The shame prickled at her chest, but it was different this time. Smaller. The pleasure was still winning.
She checked her phone. No calls. No texts. Bertholdt must still be distracted. Probably roped into beer pong by Reiner.
Annie fixed what she could. Hair tamed enough to pass, pants zipped, eyeliner smudged into something intentional. Her pulse was still racing when she turned the lock and stepped out.
--------------------------------------------
Annie slipped back into the hum of the party, her hair barely tamed, her lips still tingling with the echo of Mikasa’s kiss. She told herself she looked fine, passable, at least. But her skin buzzed like everyone in the room could see.
“Annie.”
She turned and found Bertholdt standing a few feet away, weaving through the crowd toward her. Relief softened his features as soon as he saw her, and guilt pinched at her chest.
“There you are,” he said when he reached her, tall frame leaning down to be heard over the music. His hand brushed against her arm, gently. “I’ve been looking all over. Where’d you go?”
Annie’s mouth went dry. The lie perched easily on her tongue. “Bathroom,” she answered with a shrug, eyes lowering just a fraction. Omission. Nothing more.
Bertholdt nodded like that settled it. His expression was warm but weary, his shoulders heavy with that familiar end-of-the-night slump. “I’m tired,” he admitted, almost sheepish. “Do you wanna head home?”
“Yeah,” Annie murmured, grateful for the easy out.
He slipped an arm around her waist, tentative at first until she leaned into him. The weight of his touch was steady, grounding in a way that made her stomach twist. She let him steer her through the crowd, his tall figure carving a path without effort.
That was when she saw her.
Mikasa was lounging on a couch across the room, one leg crossed over the other, a drink in hand. Casual. Perfectly composed, like she hadn’t just had Annie unraveling against the bathroom sink ten minutes ago. Her dark eyes lifted, locking onto Annie’s in an instant.
For a moment, Annie’s breath stuttered. Then, something sharp and reckless sparked in her chest. She tilted her chin, lips curling just slightly. Bold. Cocky. And she winked.
Mikasa’s mouth quirked around the rim of her glass, an almost imperceptible smile. Then she tipped her drink back, unbothered, like she had all the time in the world.
Annie looked away first, pulse thrumming as Bertholdt guided her toward the door. She let him hold her close, the warmth of him steady at her side.
-----------------------------------------
The night air was cool, carrying the muffled thrum of the party as Bertholdt led Annie toward his car. He kept his arm around her waist the whole way, ever the gentleman, even tugging the door open for her with that quiet, steady patience she’d come to expect from him.
“Thanks,” she muttered, sliding into the seat. She caught her reflection in the visor mirror and pulled it down with a practiced flick. Her lipstick was smeared, faintly crooked. Annie dabbed at it, evening it out just as Bertholdt climbed into the driver’s seat.
The car rumbled to life, headlights cutting across the parking lot. Annie clicked the visor shut, satisfied. That’s when she noticed Bertholdt wasn’t moving. His hand hovered on the steering wheel, his gaze fixed, not on the road, not even on her face. Lower.
“What?” Annie asked, stiffening under his sudden stillness.
His brows drew together, his finger lifting slowly to point. “What’s… that?”
Annie blinked, confused. until she followed his line of sight. Her stomach dropped. Right there, bold as day in the soft glow of the dashboard lights, was a smudge of deep red lipstick stamped against the pale skin of her neck.
Her breath caught, heat rushing up the back of her neck. “It’s—uh…” she fumbled, her voice scraping thin, “nothing.”
“Nothing?” Bertholdt’s head tilted, his earnest expression caught somewhere between concern and cluelessness. “It looks like a mark. Did you… bump into something?”
Annie swallowed hard, heart skittering. She forced a shrug, cool as she could muster. “Yeah. Something like that.”
Bertholdt hesitated, eyes lingering, but then his lips pressed together in that trusting way of his. He nodded once and shifted the car into gear.
Annie turned to face the window, her reflection flashing back at her in the glass. The mark still burned there, undeniable. And despite the jolt of panic in her chest, her mouth betrayed her, curling into the faintest smirk.