A/N: This is the result of my shipper panic that ensued from that recent interview shiz regarding the future of Eremika. Wrote this on the fly, so, sorry if it's garbage -.-
'You left me.'
Her skin is warm under his tongue and soft beneath his fingertips, each restrained whimper that escapes her lips flaring his ego like sweet, sweet revenge.
"Eren…" she murmurs his name, and god, he is so mad at her, but then why does it feel so good to hear her say his name like that?
His stomach churns and he's unable to discern anger from want as his fingers fumble eagerly at her buttons.
And then she's helping him along until her firm flesh is exposed, and she's pulling his shirt over his head and she's so willing–so incredibly willing, much to his surprise.
After all, she had abandoned him–distanced herself from him, veered from his path completely.
Just like he'd always wanted, he supposes.
Yet he resents her for it.
'You left me.'
Even so, he cannot for the life of him detach his mouth from her body, and has absolutely no desire to put any space between their bodies.
When he pulls back to look at her, her charcoal blues are dark with something completely foreign to him, snow white flesh on her neck pinkened and marked from the relentless pull of his lips and scrape of his teeth, chest heaving, lips parted slightly to discretely suck in the air from the brief respite he has given her from his weight.
The sight nearly knocks the betrayal clean from his mind, but he holds onto his grudge, letting out a grumble as he bends forward to press his mouth to hers, as if to say, 'Now you have to breathe me and only me.'
Her fingers in his hair tell him she doesn't mind–her tongue, bold and hot on his, tells him that perhaps she prefers to breathe only him, but he doesn't let himself believe it because she left him.
He reminds himself of this like a mantra as he returns her kiss, fingers clawing at the clasp of her bra until they pull and pull and tear the cloth on the back clean apart.
She yelps her surprise–or disapproval, maybe–into his mouth, and he pushes her back into the sheets, hands sliding beneath the loosed, inhibiting cloth, fingers roving over the only remotely pliable part of her otherwise firm and machine-like body. He is pulled briefly from his anger at his wonderment–at the contrast between her muscle and this, and at how she writhes beneath him when his thumbs flick over the sensitive nub.
Then, he makes the mistake of looking into her eyes, his impulsive instinct knocking down several pegs because he suddenly feels self conscious and guilty, because she's observing him as he touches her.
And then he wonders what he is doing, and how their confrontation had ended this way. It had begun with questions, and quickly devolved into a shameless deluge of fighting and impassioned words directed at her. Her cool, reasoned rebuttals had only further fueled his anger, and it had all come to a head when he pressed her flush into a wall, pressing his mouth to hers as though trying to prove something–shortly after realizing that he was unsure of just what he was trying to prove. Immediately horrified at his own actions, he had torn himself from her shamefully–only to have her pull him back in, much to his genuine surprise, and only to spiral down into this escalating mess.
Perhaps it was for reassurance–the satisfaction of knowing that, although she had left, he still meant something to her.
'Pathetic.'
Since when did he need validation from another? He had always been more than alright with going it alone. His mission was his priority, after all.
Perhaps he had kissed her to assert dominance–however much the thought disgusted him. To, in not so many words, remind her that she was supposed to stay by his side, no matter what.
Or, perhaps he just missed her.
He's angry with himself more than with her at his foolish and thoughtless actions, until he feels her palm slide up his crotch, feels her unzip his pants, his eyes snapping down to watch and feel as she pulls his length free, and watch and feel her palm sidle up the incredibly sensitive and rigid flesh.
He sucks in a breath through his teeth, hips involuntarily bucking into her hand, and he realizes just how pathetic he is.
Because she no longer needs him. He is the one that needs her.
"Stop."
His voice is a low rasp as he captures her wrist in his hand.
Their eyes meet and she is inquisitive and breathless and bashful, and he is sad and sad and sad.
What an awful thing to resent someone for. She had become her own whole person, completely independent of him, and he could not be happy for her because she was no longer by his side, fighting his fight in the way he preferred. He had become so accustomed to having her around, and she made him feel safe, and he had taken it all for granted.
"You left me," he blurts like a child despite these revelations, because it's the only reason he so longs to be this close to her–it's the only reason he's acting in ways he's never acted before.
Armin's decision to turn from him was shocking and hurtful, but Mikasa following suit was different, and confusing, and hurt a hundredfold more, though he never really understood why, or showed just how much it affected him, until now.
She shakes her head and rises onto her knees to meet him at eye level, placing her hands on either side of his face, and he is so sad and mad, because it feels nice.
"You understand why, don't you…?" she trails off and he does understand and it makes everything that much more frustrating.
He says nothing back, instead reveling in his despair and the feel of her hands on his face, soft and warm and comforting and her.
But then she shakes her head again, the armor falling, eyes shining with emotion in a way he knows that, to this day, is meant only for him.
"I… didn't want to," she says softly, and he frowns because she's not supposed to make him un-angry at her.
With a grumble, he pushes forward and kisses her again, and he forgets his sadness momentarily as her hand closes around his length once more, and it's over because she has him roughly tugging her skirt off – has him kicking his pants off, has his fingers pressing past her moistened undergarments into the hot, and soft and wet flesh that sends his hunger into overdrive.
"I've missed you," she breathes into his ear as he shoves her back down into the sheets, and it's too much and has him tugging the only impeding piece of cloth left on her body off, and flicking it over his shoulder.
Then they are completely flesh to flesh when he bends down to kiss her, and when she spreads her legs and raises her hips to let him in.
He shudders with pleasure because she molds to him perfectly in every way as he pushes in, almost as though she was made for him, and him for her, and she is murmuring those words into his neck through her moans, until he covers her mouth with his once more and loses the ability to control the frantic and rough jerk of his hips into hers–each thrust harder, her fingernails digging into his back, legs wrapping around his hips to pull him in deeper, and it feels so fucking good to be this close to her, and to know she still wants him, because he has missed her so much.
His body tightens with inevitability as he moves faster, and she is struggling hard to restrain her voice, and he almost wishes she wouldn't. It's not long before pure euphoria rips through him as he comes, his breath hitching, hips grinding hard against hers, before he melts into a puddle of nothing in her arms.
And then they are a panting heap of flesh, coming down from whatever the hell this was that just complicated their relationship even further.
He rolls off of her, only to curl up next to her and pull her in close, head in the crook of her neck, eyes closed as tears begin to stupidly well up stream down his face, much to his displeasure.
She notices it for certain, and it is likely why she is stroking his hair and turning more into his embrace.
"Stay. Please," he murmurs into her skin like a child, the words going much further than this hour, or this bed, and he cannot believe how pathetic he sounds because he has never before begged in such a way.
He feels her shock in the way that her body momentarily tightens in his arms.
But then she tilts his head up so he is forced to open his eyes and look at her.
"I'm…" she begins softly, voice a whisper, and he's afraid to hear what she's going to say.
"I'm yours," she says. "I have always been."
'Oh fuck,' what is she doing to him, what is she doing to him, what is she doing to him?
He clenches his teeth to fight more tears from welling up from relief at hearing such affirming words, but she looks too sad for him to be completely relieved.
"I just…" she continues, and he presses his palm into the small of her back, pushing her flush against him once more.
"I know," he says, before he kisses her again, because he there is no need to talk about the rift that will continue to exist between them until the world is a less vile place. So he rolls over so that she is on her back, and he is hovering above her once again, morose emerald greens boring into morose charcoal blues, both filled with knowing.
Both elect to ignore such knowing, as she pulls him down once more.
A/N: I'm unsure as to what will cause Eren and Mikasa to go their separate ways, but regardless, I feel as though Eren would feel betrayed by Mikasa if she ever decided to leave him. He, of course, wouldn't let on, and would probably be confused about his thoughts and feelings (hence how he's written here), but I'm sure it'd in some way get to him, as her leaving would be a complete 180 from how she's been towards him since they've known one another.
And through this, I saw a window of opportunity for almost hate!sex :)
Anyway. Yeah. Eren Jaeger cries after sex, and you cannot tell me otherwise. Goodbye.