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“ Honey, we can run forever, if forever's what's in store
Oh, time doesn’t love you like I love you,
So take me home.”
- Mikky Ekko
Unbelievable , he thinks.
He feels it as he sees her walking with the others, sandwiched between Armin and Jean, as they tease her over something trivial. He sees it when she first discovers the confection they call ice cream.
She’s unbelievable . Her strength, her presence… her beauty.
There’s a melancholy to it, to the way he looks at her today. Because even though he’s never seen her so relaxed, so carefree, so guileless and lost in her surroundings (maybe just once before in the ocean, and she’d looked beautiful even then).
It tugs at him when she calls him, the same way she’s always called him, ever since they were children and innocent and clueless, the way she comes up to him with the most self-conscious smile, offering him what she just discovered.
He can’t tell her it isn’t new to him, that none of this is. He can’t tell her that when he tastes the ice cream she offers him now, he’s had it before, or at least he remembers it, because now he can remember his future, and that’s something he doesn’t even know how to explain.
So he takes it from her anyway, relishing in the treat that she relished in, partaking in a small piece of joy, something he can share with her.
He wonders when was the last time he saw her in civilian clothes. Especially like this - Mikasa had always been partial to long, flowing, skirts. That’s just who she was, and if this life hadn’t done this to her, that’s who she would have been, carefree and indulgent… and free.
And at that moment he’s never felt a stronger urge than to see her like that. To witness the beauty of Mikasa in a different life, maybe a different life with him.
He'd asked her to forget him. No, he'd begged. He heard his own voice, raspy and choked up at that moment, overcome with Mikasa's tears, and the cruel nature of their reality.
In that moment, standing outside their little cabin, nestled in the woods, far far away from any kind of reality, in the beautiful golden glow of the sunset that bathed her delicate face, all he'd wanted was her happiness. A long life filled with love and joy for the love of his life even if it was a life without him.
But Eren is not a simple man, he doesn’t want simple things, and he doesn’t love, simply. Because as much as he wants Mikasa to be happy, the thought of her forgetting him twists inside him painfully, a knife in his already diminishing soul.
It’s a stain in his mind, spreading, and it darkens him to the point where he can’t even look at her anymore without thinking of her smiling, beautiful, hair long and free in the wind, a child hugging her knees. A man who holds her waist with pride.
It makes him sick. It’s a vision he wants to reach out and grab and crush, make it so small until it ceases to exist. Vaguely he realizes just how far gone he is, but he doesn’t want her smiles to belong to anyone else.
He doesn’t even notice the effect his darkening mood has on her, until she asks him, tentatively. “... Did I do something to upset you, Eren?”
He’s stumped really, doesn’t know how to respond because he doesn't know how to say that she could never upset him, not as long as she’s with him . Pulling her onto his lap, he tries to dredge up a smile. “... You know me, I’ve always been moody.”
She rests her forehead against his, and he can feel her cool breath as she speaks, a small hitch in her throat as she says “... maybe I can improve your mood?”
It still makes him breathless when she speaks to him this way - coy, teasing... flirtatious? And when he thinks of the possibility that she might speak to another man this way, it leaves a bad taste in his mouth, his grip on her waist tightening.
She litters kisses along his jaw, fingers deftly undoing the ties on the front of his shirt, grazing the faint bit of chest hair that peeks out. It takes very little for her to turn him on and she knows it, a pleasing hum at the back of her throat as she feels him get aroused under her.
It’s an intensely addictive feeling, her lips, her fingers, and the more Eren feels himself give into it, the more the irrational anger bubbles over, his mouth betraying his displeasure when he thinks of her speaking this way to someone else. Would she touch him like this, caressing his chest, pressing her enticing body against his the same way?
Would she grind her hips against another man’s erection?
Would she sigh so temptingly into another man’s lips?
He can’t help the growl that spills out of his lips, and he nips her lips angrily, greedily. She recoils for a minute, grey eyes startled, her palm covering her lips. “... Eren, what was that,” -
He lifts her easily, strong muscled thighs wrapping around his hips as he carries her to the bed, pressing his lips gently to hers in apology. As he lays her out in front of him, skirt hitched up to her waist, his green eyes are stormy as he struggles with his words. “... You,” you’re beautiful, he thinks, “You don’t even realize,” -
He chokes, unable to continue, unable to explain the dark cloud brewing in his mind. He pulls the scarf off and discards it on the floor, fingers moving to the buttons on her sweater.
“... You’re all I have left Mikasa,” he wonders if that is enough for her to understand, but judging from the way she looks at him, a mixture of confused and aroused, it isn’t. “You’re all I have,” he murmurs again, before divesting her of her skirt and pressing a kiss to her inner calf. “Sometimes I can’t bear it.”
“... I don’t,” -
She doesn’t need to say it, he knows she doesn’t understand. How could she? She wasn’t like him, she loved him without complication, for the longest time, with the most straightforward dedication. But Eren’s always loved her in hiding, the way he does now, running away from the whole world into an illusion, where it’s just her and him and nobody else... to the only place where he could have her completely, only his.
“My time’s running out, Mikasa,” he says with vehemence. No longer depressed, but just angry. Angry that there was a timer on their relationship, a deadline for the time he had with the girl he loved for so long, he can’t even remember a time where he hadn’t loved her.
“... I have you now,” he whispers possessively, cupping his hand around her heat, hooking a finger into her panties to pull it down. “... But not much longer.” He takes a minute to appreciate the sight in front of him, Mikasa naked from the waist down, and he confesses, “... It drives me insane .”
If she weren’t completely, irrevocably in love with him, she might have thought he looked as insane as he felt, green eyes wild, hair messy from where she’s run her fingers through it. She doesn’t like to dwell on it either, they’d promised each other that they wouldn’t bring it up, they wouldn’t talk about their friends, or the war, or the fact that the clock was ticking on their love. “... Only you, Eren, that’s all I want to focus on,” she’d told him, breathlessly, when they’d first spoken of running away, and that’s how she wanted it to stay.
Because she can’t imagine a life without him, without the boy who’d been there for her ever since she thought she had nothing else. “We said we wouldn’t think about it,” she whispers, doing her best not to let her own thoughts stray there, there would be time for that aplenty when the only way she could keep him with her would be with tear-filled memories.
“Not think about it?” The anger betrays him, seeping into his impassioned voice, “... How can I?” His words are harsh, biting, deliberate with the scraping of his teeth against her nipple. “It’s all I think of nowadays, Mikasa.” Her hands thread into his hair when he uncovers her shirt to suck on her breast. “... That someday someone else might touch you this way.”
She inhales sharply when he squeezes her breast to the point of pain. “... Never .”
“You say that now,” he says, with melancholy, but someday you’ll do this with another man , is something he doesn’t add, when he slips a finger through her panties, testing how wet she’s become.
“... God, I’m so selfish, Mikasa,” he pants, relishing the sounds she makes, the way her beautiful grey eyes clouded with lust. “... But I want those moans only for myself.”
“Eren, I’ve only ever wanted you, you know that,” -
“I know,” he murmurs, selfishly. He doesn’t let her catch her breath, slipping another finger inside, letting her adjust to the pace that he sets, “... all this,” he lets her taste how wet she is, smearing her juices on her lips before he kisses her, “It’s only for me, isn’t it?”
He can feel her grow impatient, hips moving up to meet his, to grind against him, desperate for some friction. “You’re not lying are you, my love?” And he knows she isn’t because Mikasa is so honest with her body, her mouth, her words, as she whispers, “... I’m all yours, Eren.”
It pleases him so much to hear it, even though he’s always known it, through his jealousy, his possessiveness, there’s never been much doubt about just how much Mikasa is his. She reaches for him, for the drawstrings of his pants that should have come undone a long time ago.
It’s unbelievable just how good she can make him feel with her mouth alone (with her words, her smiles, her moans), soft and warm and wet and so, so eager to please. She works him up till he’s slick and throbbing, lips smacking around the length of him until he threads his fingers into her hair and pulls on it, grey eyes unfocused and watery from how deep she had him mere moments ago. “... You look so pretty with my dick in your mouth,” he confesses, and he doesn’t even know where he gets the courage to say it, because Mikasa looks so pretty all the time anyway.
“... Eren,” she whispers urgently, and he can see the way she’s pressing her thighs together, can see the urgency she wants to convey. “... I need you.”
“I know you do, my love,” he whispers, caressing the side of her face, “... Be a good girl for me and get on your hands and knees for me.” She blushes prettily but moves to accommodate him exactly how he tells her to, on her knees and her hands, turning to look at him in anticipation.
He swats her ass playfully, and she wiggles. “Raise your ass for me, Mikasa, don’t hide.”
She’s so obedient, so beautiful, and the darker side of him relishes it immensely. He loves the way she listens to him, how eager she is to please him, and there’s an irrational, selfish thought, that surely this side of her, submissive and pliant Mikasa, will only be his.
He spreads her with his fingers and blows gently, and she lets out a long whine. He nips at her outer lips possessively, lapping at the juices that betray her arousal. “... So needy,” he whispers, and in a breathless whimper, she supplies, “... only for you, Eren.”
He groans as he slips his length inside of her, inside her ready heat, so deep inside of her, he’s almost certain she’s taken hold of his soul. “... Mine,” he whispers, almost subconsciously, kissing the soft skin over her spine, licking gently over her vertebra.
She bucks back against him, eager for him to move, but his fingers splay around her throat possessively. “... So desperate for me, huh, Mikasa?” His fingers tighten ever so slightly as he drives into her, and she can feel her flutter around his length as he gets rough with her. He thrusts again and again, his hold loosening, not wanting to hurt her.
But what Eren doesn’t realize is that Mikasa needs this as much as he does, that he could do anything to her and she wouldn’t break. That when he chokes her and drives into her, everything else ceases to exist, except him and his all-consuming presence. “Do anything, Eren,” she begs, a hoarse whisper from the back of her throat, “... just don’t be gentle.”
Because their love had never been gentle, it had always been violent, cruel, asking too much of them, burdening them with pleasure but only with the promise of pain. And now with the things that played on both their minds, she’d rather he drove it out of her mind with the sheer intensity that only he could give her.
“I wasn’t planning to be,” he murmurs, yanking on her ponytail, watching her back arch beautifully as he fills her completely before thrusting into her again. He has a stray thought about how pretty she looks with her hair grown out again, sleek and soft and so perfect for him to hold onto as he drives into her from behind.
The angle is so good, so deep, that she whimpers, “... I can’t… I’m so close, Eren ,” and that’s when he knows he has to see her. He pulls out of her quickly - she whines at the loss of fullness - and demands, “... Lie on your back, my love. I want to see you feel good.”
It embarrasses her how easily he vocalizes what he wants, but Eren’s always been good at that, and Mikasa’s happy to make him feel happy. So she complies. He parts her legs, bending them onto his shoulders and slips into her so easily, she groans.
He bites down on the soft swell of her calves to suppress a groan because he’s slid so deep into her wetness, he feels like he could almost drown. He fucks her thoroughly, building a pace that he can no longer say he’s in control of, his hips bucking into her erratically. Her orgasm is building, and he can sense it in the way that she quivers, how she looks away from him, biting her lip, and he doesn’t like it.
Grasping her chin with his fingers, he turns it towards him, thumb forcing her mouth open. “Don’t do that,” he breathes, “... I want to hear you say my name.” He bends over and licks gently on her earlobe, lavishing the way she likes, the way he knows she’s weak for. “... I want to hear you scream it, Mikasa.”
And she does .
He watches her sleep, after. He tucks her in and watches her breathing deepen, her hair framing her face beautifully on her pillow.
She’s even more beautiful after he’s fucked her, lips swollen from the way he’s kissed them, skin bruising delicately under the pale moonlight. She bruised so easily under his fingers, from where he enclosed them around her throat, and for the briefest moment, he feels bad about it - about causing her any kind of pain.
But the larger part of him, the part that screams for nothing but his own gratification, wonders if these bruises will stay long, long after he’s gone, reminding anyone who dares to look, whom she truly belongs to.