Sunshine and Rainbows

by Jigglywigglypuff

College AU set in the year 1999. Mikasa met Eren the first week of junior year, and it seemed like love at first sight. However, the intensity of their fast romance would be their downfall as Eren's childhood trauma comes to light and threatens their relationship. A story of love, heartbreak, and friendship while attending university in the late 90's.

7. Frozen

When Eren opened his door, a dog was shoved in his face immediately.

Mikasa hadn't given him a chance to greet her or even acknowledge her presence, too excited since Levi had allowed her to keep the animal. She could feel the elation in her heart, how it pulsed against her chest, her skin, through the cage of bone that protected it. So when Eren opened the door, he hadn't even seen her face for a partial second before she lifted the dog to show him with the enthusiasm of a small child.

"Surprise!" she chirped, holding Jax vertically, her fingers pressed underneath his arms. His tail wagged as he lifted his ears, and she wobbled him playfully to further establish his presence.

Eren stood at the doorway, his eyes large, and he remained expressionless for a moment. There was no immediate indication of surprise, confusion, or even the same happiness as her own. Scratching at his head, he met Jax's stare before shifting his attention to her.

"You…got a dog?"

Her knees locked from nervousness, until he laughed, the sound subdued and released as a breath out of his nose. A smile trickled over his lips, a handsome dimple indented into his cheek as he reached towards Jax and ruffled the hair on his little head.

"You're insane," he mused, stepping to the side to allow her access. His tone was only a little more amused than Armin's was when he spoke the exact same words. She slipped off her sneakers from the heels, holding the dog against her chest.

The room was dimly lit, the faint sound of the TV floating in the background, while she noticed a shot glass and bottle of whiskey on his desk. The alcohol was next to a closed textbook, and it had spilled a bit, droplets speckled over the wooden surface.

Her jaw shifted with uncertainty as she watched him close the door, leisurely dressed in a black pullover and grey sweats, his hair partially and messily tied away from his face. Unkempt strands lingered around his forehead, while the rest of what was unbound fell below his chin.

She saw the gloss that glimmered over his eyes, their color muted, dull. And she approached him, her grip on the dog tightening, while he leaned down to kiss her. The moment his lips touched hers, she could smell the whiskey, the scent strong and sending a sharp stretch to her nostrils. On impulse, she slipped her tongue along his lips. The flesh was warm and soft, and she could taste the alcohol. Even more so when he opened his mouth, inviting of the gesture, deepening the contact.

There was a flutter of her heart, a simultaneous feeling of anxiety and longing, and after a few seconds she pulled away from them. His saliva coated her mouth, her cheeks flushed, and she lowered her eyes to the ground as her toes curled beneath her.

"Have you been drinking?" she asked as casually as she could, trying to pry the concern out of her voice. Her eyes found his then, and he seemed a bit uncomfortable at the question, moving several strands of loose hair behind his ear.

"A little."

She said nothing more of it, and she watched as he hunched to properly greet the dog, rubbing underneath his chin.

"He's cute," he beamed, a gentle smile cursing his lips. "What's his name?"

Repositioning him in her arms, a proud grin swept her face. "Jax."

"Hey, Jax." A soft chuckle hummed in his throat when Jax lapped a kiss at his palm. "You just got him today?"

As she dropped her backpack, she lowered him to the floor, and the dog began to walk curiously around the room. She took off her jacket and placed it behind his chair, and before she could answer, she felt Eren glide his arm around her waist, his palm pressed at her low back. At the guidance of his light pressure, she molded herself against him, her breasts flattened right below his chest, while her arms draped loosely around his shoulders.

He pressed the first kiss at her neck, and his lips were warm and wet, gliding along her skin. She felt a hot breath heave through his nostrils, shooting at her flesh, and further she melted into him.

"I found him in an alley," she explained, her eyes fluttering closed. The arches of her feet curved dramatically when she stood to her toes, allowing him to kiss the junction of her neck and shoulder, and she trembled holding this position. Her knees were weak, her balance off, and feeling the repetition of his mouth, kissing the same area, sucking in her skin, she sighed into it. His hands enveloped her waist, fingers briefly slipping under her thin sweater to graze her skin.

"And you're allowed to keep him?"

She felt the loss of heat when he pulled away, his eyes greeting hers. She began to see the light of their usual vibrancy. "Yea, well, I had to convince my uncle," she said timidly, and he scoffed an amused laugh.

"I forgot you're like royalty around here," he mused, and she rolled her eyes at the comment.

Instead of kissing her again, he gathered her into a hug, and she rested her cheek against his shoulder. The drumming of his heart was slow, steady, with such a heaviness that it vibrated against her profoundly. And his usual, intense fragrance lingered on him, spread along his neck, peppered on his clothing. She breathed him in through her mouth, taking in every morsel of his scent and warmth.

"Did you walk here alone?"

A guilty frown tugged at her lips. "I did." She could hear him breathe a disappointed sigh.

"Why? It's dark out. Why didn't you wait for me?"

She hugged him taut. "I'm sorry. I was just really excited for you to meet Jax. I hope I didn't bother you coming early."

The cotton of his sweater was soft against her skin, and she eased when she felt his grip around her tighten, their bodies so close that they became one form.

"I wish you were here all time." His voice was like velvet against her ear, and the heat that emitted from his mouth as he spoke trickled down her neck.

"Can we just stay here tonight instead?" she asked him almost breathily, pressing gently from him so their gazes could intertwine. There was a hopeful cloudiness to her eyes as her hands curled into fists, bunching at the fabric on his chest. She felt the firmness of solid muscle right beneath. "I don't want to leave Jax alone."

His fingers slipped into the length of her hair, now dry but void of its earlier bounce. She had not done much to get ready, besides forcing on a pair of jeans and a slightly cropped hot pink button-up sweater. But when she felt him delicately jerk her hair to bring her mouth to his, she assumed he probably didn't care.

"Yea, no problem," he spoke against her, that she could feel him mouth every word on her lips. "But I hope it's okay I sleep for a minute. I haven't slept much all week."

Her nod was slow, and she felt a coldness cloak her when he pulled away, only a remnant of his heat lingering. She noticed Jax had taken a liking to a specific area of the rug, rolled into himself in a little ball, breathing rhythmically as he slept.

"I love when you sleep," she said, and immediately after hearing the words leave her mouth, she cringed. Why would she say such a weird thing to him? But he chuckled, going to a drawer and pulling out a blanket. She observed him with a lifted brow as he folded the garment on the floor besides the bed, kneeling so he could scrunch the corners. It took her a second to realize he was making a bed for Jax.

She crawled to the sleeping dog, shaking him gently and he stirred, opening his eyes quickly. His ears perked up upon seeing her, a generous wag to his tail. He took interest when she pointed him to the blanket, in which he sauntered over and began kneading at the sheet, ruffling it to his liking before he plopped himself down comfortably once more.

And she crawled into the bed with Eren, a hollowness emptying her belly, a tenderness to her chest then, as they lied on top of his sheets, gathering close. They faced each other, separated by a breadth, their heartbeats now a single rhythm. She felt cascaded by his warmth, his body heat radiating and flowing against her skin. And the tenacious scent of his cologne overpowered the faint smell of alcohol that lingered in his mouth.

She sighed when his palm cupped her cheek, his thumb trailing over the line of her jaw. Her hand found his, embracing it, and she hoped that could seclude it there forever.

There was a gentle intensity in his eyes, glittering emeralds settled like gemstones on his face, so vivid in their hue and the emotion that leaked out of them. She felt the light press of his nose against her own, her lashes batting timidly at their proximity.

"Having a dog suits you," he said.

She waited for him to continue, and when he didn't, she cleared her throat quietly. "Why?"

His lips lifted into a small smile as his palm left her cheek and his fingers gently delved into the hair by her scalp. She eased into the gesture, feeling like a light massage.

"Because you're so sweet and kind." He moved her hair away from her face, and she felt a trickle of cool air on her neck. "You're everything that is good in this world."

His gaze settled into hers then, residing there. "You're like candy and flowers." His smile deepened, and his fingers rode the length of her hair. "You're sunshine and rainbows."

She chuckled lightly at his words, moving her body closer against him. "You must be drunk."

But his hand briskly slid to her back, clutching at the patch of naked skin above her jeans. His eyes shone brighter, and she felt the tempo of his heart stiffen, a tension to his pattern of breathing. And though his smile remained, he grew more impassioned, a direct seriousness glazing his eyes. His body was so warm and he smelled so good, she wanted to tangle herself in his arms and legs and kiss him. But she restrained herself, lied there breathing through her mouth, the silver in her eyes glistening.

"I'm really not," he clarified, his voice low. "You make me happy, Mikasa. You are happiness."

And she faltered, a gloss coating her eyes. "You make me happy too."

He kissed her once, his lips damp, his mouth hovering over hers. Slowly she wrapped her leg around his own, feeling his hand trace her thigh. The pressure against her jeans sent a shooting pang of desire up the center of her body, a feeling that completely seized her.

"You make me feel like everything will be okay," he continued, his voice above a whisper. "It'd been a long time since I felt that like."

She was moved by his words, how he bled his vulnerability, pouring it out to her that she became drenched in his emotion. He was vague, he always was, only revealing bits and pieces to her, usually in tender moments like these. Where they would lie together in the stillness, his eyes gushing every feeling and every secret he held within him through unspoken words.

And she held him then, her palm smoothed against his face as her thumb grazed his cheekbone. Heat radiated from his skin, the flesh soft underneath her fingers. And the subdued lighting of the room enhanced every sharp curve and line of his body with shadows. He was so beautiful to her this way, so honest and raw. He took her wrist, his fingers gently clasped around her, a fierce depth to his eyes she had never seen before.

"I love you, Mikasa."

Her body stiffened, every muscle clenched, while the beating of her heart grew to a mad pounding against her bone. Every pulsation heavy and intensified, as if her heart were trying to force itself out of her body, to gift itself to Eren with an unyielding, relentless devotion.

She tried to speak, but a desperate choke was all she could muster from her throat as her eyes watered, tears uncried at her bottom lashes. So he said it again, a bit more firmly, retaining the same affection and warmth. "I love you."

An instant was all she allowed herself to wonder. If this was all happening too soon, to press into why did he actual think he loved her, for him to make such a bold declaration only a month into their relationship. And when that instant passed, she shifted herself so that their bodies were pressed together compactly, creating a single, heated entity

"I love you, too," she said, feeling each, individual, and profound rumble of her heart as she spoke the words, nestling her face into his chest.

She couldn't answer why she loved him, to properly describe the intense feeling she had whenever she was near him or even from the thought of him. She never knew what love was or how it could be described. She never considered it until she lied beside him on his bed, shrouded by his aura, encaged in his smell, his heat, melted into his kiss and touch. She never truly knew until she heard his voice, felt his heartbeat, fell asleep to the sound of his breathing. Until she wanted to dance to the melody of his laughter, move in visual poetry, a sonnet to the beauty of his eyes and his smile.

She never knew until he said the words to her, and an instant understanding of love fluttered in her heart, taking her soul.

When they kissed, it was a different sort of passion. Not one of desperation, of hopeful clinging and longing. It was a kiss that was full of certainty, pouring the love that they had confessed, an embodiment of that emotion that leaked from their mouths like dripping honey. So sweet and so luscious that they drank it from each other, their lips parted and gliding, swerving, sloppily. With no distinct rhythm or pattern. Just moving for the sake to feel, to love.

And his mouth was wet, warm. Soft. Her lips puckered against his own, kissing him repeatedly, elongating the motion so she could taste him, allow his spit to dribble along her teeth when his tongue would prod inside. Finding hers, smoothing her own, their kiss so deep and so connected, so beautifully filthy, that she felt herself gush between her legs. The wetness damp, uncomfortable as it sat against her, reminding her of her lust, her desire. Of how badly she wanted him.

All of her senses heightened to a point of ecstasy, his smell engulfing her, his touch a maddening shroud of sensation over her whole form. The sound of his breathing, so fragmented and chaotic, the taste of his dripping mouth as she swallowed his moans and gasps. She felt could see him through her closed eyes, her sight replaced by the touch of his hands all over her body, sliding along her back and thighs. His fingers felt like she was being caressed by a flame, the heat trickling dangerously over her flesh.

She didn't know where to touch him, how to touch him, except that she only wanted to touch him everywhere. Anywhere plated by tender skin and solid muscle, her palms starving as they scattered over his neck, warmth spreading from his bronzed skin and scorching her hand. Her fingers curled along the fabric of his sweatshirt, tugging gently, and he took it as an invitation to remove the clothing and the shirt he wore beneath.

Her eyes followed his form as he sat upwards, taking in every inch of skin revealed when he took off the clothes of his torso. The scar glossed like a scale of a fish, shaded over the side of his stomach. It was horrifying but beautiful because it was a part of him, and everything that defined him was breathtaking.

She didn't think when she pressed her hand onto his stomach, tracing the sharp carving of his abdomen, her fingers delving into every individual muscle. Her breath hitched when she felt him flex beneath her touch, and he cloaked her into an embrace, lying beside her once more.

And he was kissing her, on her mouth, her chin, down the elegant line of her neck, his mouth wet and hot and trembling. Her hands squeezed at his arms, the muscle there thick and lean and beautiful curved.

She felt the dramatic, painful arch of her back while they squirmed on the bed, felt when his hands crept underneath her sweater, trailing carefully upwards towards her naked skin. They stopped kissing then, eyes opened in a low hover, panting through open mouths like dogs in heat.

But she was needy, wanting, that she dug her nails into his shoulder, feeling his skin gather as she licked his lips hungrily. He kissed her once, and then again. Several more staccato touches until he pulled gently at her shirt, his eyes locking into hers.

She saw the desire in his gaze, the lust bleeding out of his eyes. That, before he even asked, "Can I?" she was already nodding, her eyes beaming an enthusiastic silver, penetrating him with her excitement.

He shuffled then, the two of them sitting upwards, and she watched as he bit down on his bottom lip in a rushed concentration, unbuttoning her pink blouse, sliding it off her shoulder until she left concealed only by a white tube top.

She could feel her breasts throbbing, nipples painfully perked and rubbing against the fabric. And he seemed careful when he reached for it, as if he wanted to have this moment engraved in his mind. She lifted her arms as he removed the top from her body, her breasts released from the captivity with a delicate bounce.

As a cool drift of air grazed her naked chest, she winced, and she could feel the burn of his gaze, the parting of his lips as he admired her. The attention made her blush, that she wrapped her arms around her breasts for modesty.

A delicate gasp stifled her throat when he grasped both her wrists, unraveling her arms and throwing her onto the bed. She sunk into the mattress, her nipples hard and sensitive, and he loomed over her, a gentle rise and fall to his chest.

He pressed his forehead gently against her own. "You're beautiful." The words were light and breathy, and she rubbed her knees together to generate friction between her legs. He lied beside her then, pressing a kiss against her cheek as he traced the bone of her clavicle. She felt when he heaved a breath, the air a hot mist over her neck, his palm sliding downward and grazing over the space between her breasts.

She held her breath, clenching her body, while her fingers clutched at the bed sheets and wrinkled the crimson, silky fabric. His thumb was warm, yet freezing to the touch when he grazed over her nipple. It sent a shock to her body, the feeling sharp and pulsating. And his mouth sunk into her shoulder, sucking at her skin when he did it again, rubbing her rosy peak with a carnal tenderness. In slow, sensuous circles. Over and over again, while his mouth glazed along the bone of her chest, leaving a wet trail of spit on her skin.

He was still rubbing when he placed a kiss on her jaw, the warmth of his skin enveloping her. And she puckered her lips, desperately reaching for his mouth until he kissed her there.

"Are you okay?" he asked her quietly. It took everything within her to nod.

"Yes." She breathed in sharply. "It feels good."

So good, she could feel everything. The pressure of her jeans strangling her thighs, the cushion of the pillow beneath her head. The sheets grazing her form, soft against her back. The heat of his body encompassing her, the warmth almost unbearable. And the movement of his lips, brushing along her skin, sliding with such a dreadful slowness that she shut her eyes waiting for the inevitable.

When she felt the slip of his tongue against her opposing nipple, her hips buckled forward, her neck elongating and jaw shifting as a gasp fled her mouth. The sound was a sharp breath of air, and she felt her back curve off the bed, her fists full of bedsheet.

And she moaned, low and deep, when he traced his tongue along her peak while he continued to rub the other, both sensations causing a warmth to pool in her belly, an intense throbbing sparked at the center of her body.

It felt so good, she could have never imagined feeling this good, her body so passionate and willing to be touched, begging for the release of pleasure. And when he began to suck, so erotically slow and languid, swallowing her nipples so sensuously, gingerly…she couldn't control the sounds coming out of her mouth, rumbling in her throat.

Her body fidgeted in the bed as she attempted to show restraint, but the pleasure was overwhelming and she began to lose herself. Forgetting any sense of decency or modesty and only living and breathing for this physical satisfaction. How her body felt being touched by him, the way he licked and sucked on her nipple, how his thumb kneaded at tip of her breast.

She wanted to be dirty. Absolutely indecent, vulgar. Obscene. She never wanted to think a proper thought again. If she could only live for his mouth and his touch, she would. And oh god, it felt so good. Her breasts usually a source of shame, actually a temple of pure pleasure, being kissed and worshipped and making her tremble, leak, throb.

She was throbbing. It was almost painful, excruciating, her core pulsing at the apex of her jeans. She tried to rub her knees but it wasn't enough. She was so close. It felt so good. She felt like she would explode, burst in a euphoric release. And she didn't realize that she slipped her hand into her pants, her fingers finding that sensitive mound of flesh. She could feel it's begging pulse against her fingertip. And she rubbed. Just as slowly as he sucked. Gushing even more onto her fingers, her skin sodden.

And she moaned, writhing, heat escalating at her core, rising towards her belly. It was so fast when she felt him entrap her wrist, his mouth detaching from her breast in a quiet plop. He latched his gaze into her when he pulled her guilty hand from her pants, her wetness dripping down her fingers.

"Do you need help with that?" He smiled.

A blush burned dreadfully over her entire face then as she sat up quickly, turning away from him in shame. She became aware of every sound then, the low buzz of the television, Jax's gentle breathing as he slept on the floor beside them. And the ringing in her head, so loud and unrelenting.

"I…Well, I…" she stammered, averting his gaze. "I don't want you to see, I didn't shave there or anything. I wasn't thinking about anything like that. I don't want you to look there—"

But he took a gentle hold of her shoulders, turning her to face him. His hair was a bit disheveled, his breathing causing a visible movement to his chest. He looked so good, so tempting, and the gleam in his eyes, capturing her own while his smile warmed towards her. She melted into his smile, her body relaxing. And she felt the rawness of her breasts, her nipples still tingling from his caresses. She felt so cold when he wasn't kissing her.

"I won't look anywhere but here," he said to her then, his voice gentle, soothing, and his finger lifted her chin, his nose swiping against her own. Her breath was slow, deliberate, as he lowered them onto the bed on their sides. Just as they had been earlier, when he told her he loved her.

His gaze remained on hers, intertwined, unyielding. Even as his palm slid down the bare skin of her waist, when he clutched at her hip bone. Her low back curved, in fear, anticipation. But she kept her eyes on his, unable to look away, to break the hold he had on her.

She inhaled sharply when he unzipped her jeans, her thighs pressing together. Her lips parted, and she leaned forward to kiss his mouth lightly, her eyes half closing at the trembling peck. His hand slipped inside her underwear. She felt the pressure instantly, smoothing along her short curls, sliding over the source of her wetness.

Her jaw clenched, no sound emerging. But her eyes grew ample, taking the vicinity of her face, so large and trembling, and she pressed her legs together as firmly as her body would allow her. He was quick to find her source of pleasure, and even the softest touch of his fingertip was enough to make her wince.

He pressed a kiss against the center of neck, the gesture warm and wet. She could feel the heat of his breath when he said to her, "Relax and open up a little."

Any remnants of bashfulness were overpowered her desire, moved by the tone of his voice, the sultriness of his words as they spilled with such a tender authority from his perfect mouth. She followed his instruction, shifting her hips and loosening the clench of her thighs. And as he touched her again, he kissed below her jawline, his tongue hot as it grazed her skin, while his middle finger pressed at her sensitive, pulsing flesh. She throbbed against his touch.

He was gentle, slow. Attentive. And his eyes, concentrated into her own again, their gazes unmoving. It was so sexy the way he looked at her, looked into her. The way his teeth sliced along his lower lip, the thick breath that heaved through his nostrils. And Mikasa had lost the knowledge of how to breathe, having to force it from her mouth, her pounding heart clogging her throat. Desperately she tried to stay still while he touched her, but she found herself squirming on the bed, sinking into the mattress, her face contorting into strange expressions of intimacy.

Her hand clasped his arm, squeezing at his bicep. It was her attempt to steady herself, but she was already too lost, too wrapped in the satisfaction, the absolute bliss her body was swallowed in.

He rubbed her in slow circles, just as he had done to her breast. His finger was lubricated with her own wetness, and the tender movement was slick, allowing him to glide against her with ease. It was so warm, so pleasing, that she sighed as she lengthened her neck, feeling the mess of her hair shrouding her head. And he kissed her again, capturing her lips, his kisses short and repeating, until he clamped onto her mouth, nibbling, tasting.

She could barely find the strength to kiss him back, her lips puckered lazily as she wallowed in the feel of his tender mouth, feeling him take her bottom lip and tugging at the skin with his teeth before kissing her there. He was slow, sensual—his kissing, his fingering, both at the same voluptuous pace. It was causing a heat to simmer, seething at her clit. And a pressure, burning at her core, a release that pleaded for fulfillment. Begging, praying. So close, she bucked her hips, her muscles contracted.

And he was kissing her so slowly, messily. Kneading and rubbing her, his hand doused from her fluids. Her naked breasts pressed against his torso, a cool draft passing between the crevice of their bodies. The scent of his fragrance bathed on his body, filling her nostrils, urging her forward.

Urging, urging. His smell, his taste, his touch. Pushing her forward. Heightening her pleasure. Urging, pushing. Until there was nothing left but the gushing heat between her legs, erupting into a fiery climax that consumed her entire body.

She shook, manically, moans dripping from her mouth together with a trail of drool, riding the swell of her orgasm along his fingers, thrusting her hips to meet his movements. Her body became a canvas to her euphoria, every part of her taken by the release, convulsing wildly onto the bed. Her neck long, nipples, erect, the sounds leaving her throat a combination of gasps and groans.

And rapidly her clit pulsed against his fingertip, urging him to knead further, to dare not stop as she continued to come, the pleasure growing stronger and stronger with each swift passing moment. Her teeth sank into his shoulder, his skin tender and warm, and he winced at the token.

It was soon after when the pleasure began to subside, carefully evading her body until it remained as a sensitive tremor. She was left as a sweaty heap on the bed, her breathing heavy, difficult to control. Thick breaths sounding like gasps leaving her mouth.

Her eyes batted and found his, her vision hazy and blurred. She felt the gentle press of his forehead on her own, exhaling hot air onto her face.

"Can I keep going?" he asked her.

She didn't know what he meant, and it brought an instant blush to her cheeks. She attempted to let her gaze wander, but his stare was gripping.

"I, well, I…I don't know."

But when he slipped a finger inside her, she stiffened, clenching around his digit. And he eyed her with a delicate intensity before he asked again, "Can I keep going?" She nodded swiftly.

Another finger slid inside, causing her to inhale sharply, her eyes broad and adamant. It gave her a full, satisfied feeling, part of his hand nestled within her, unmoving. She found herself caressing the bite she had marked onto him, feeling the indentation of her teeth on his skin.

She sucked in her lips, hoping to steady herself, to focus on the beauty of his eyes, the adoration that seeped from them. But her heart had accelerated, slamming into her chest, a desperate pang throbbing at the pit of her belly.

He curled his fingers, and she twitched, her back arching. He pushed them deeper, as if reaching for her cervix, and she stifled a gasp, her palm clutching at his neck. When he did it again, a bit harder, the same reaction oozed from her, and she moved her face closer to his, hoping to blend their breaths into one hot mist.

His fingers began to move within her, sloshing against the heavy wetness that continued to gush out of her core, pressing into her, massaging her walls, going as deep inside as his hand would allow.

And she gasped, bucked, at every instance, each time he pushed into her, thrusting his hand, curving his fingers. And she writhed against him, meeting his movements, a flurry of desperate noises cascading from her mouth. Her gasps evolving into grunts when he pumped harder, faster, pushing into her with a heated frenzy that she could see brew in the pupil of his eyes.

Faster, harder, deeper. A third finger glided inside. His hand moved like a frantic artist, and she grabbed his wrist as if to stop him but instead held it there, feeling the vibration of his powerful movement. Quicker, so quick and hard that she took in one sharp breath and could release no sound, the air trapped in her lungs.

And the pressure building, engulfing. Unlike before, it was not a gradual release, a beautiful tremble to her body. This was intense, instant, a pounding throb at her very core, and it would not stop unless he stopped. And he went on and on and on, stealing the breath from her mouth, swallowing her gasps, while her grip on his wrist was unyielding.

She contracted against his fingers, wishing he would stop, praying he would never. The sensation so vehemently intense, hurting so good. She squeezed his wrist until his skin turned blue and her knuckles were white. And without warning, he stopped, to which she released a loud gasp of air, releasing her hold.

Before she could collapse as a trembling heap onto the bed, he pulled her into an embrace, gathering her limp body and bringing them together, skin to skin. And he held her—softly, possessively, the testament of his longing hard and prodding at her exposed zipper.

But he made no effort in his own release, his palm gliding down the length of her back. She felt the thick wetness that coated his fingers now staining her skin. And he was so warm, so solid, yet so soft, her arm slipping under his and holding him in return. She pressed her fingers into the creases of his shoulder blade, feeling the tenseness of his back, tracing the indentation of every muscle plated there.

And her cheek found haven on his shoulder, his scent still so thick and warm, their bodies entangled, soothed by their own body heat. She had never felt more connected to him than she did now, listening to the sound of his heartbeat, feeling it pulse against her breasts, following the gentle progression of his breathing as it slowed into a steady pace.

Soon she joined him in his sleep, her eyes fluttering closed as her lips puckered against the mark she left on his shoulder.

~oOo~

Late October 1988, Marley

It had been nearly six weeks since And Justice for All was released, and today with the day Eren was finally going to get his hands on it.

He begged his parents for the new Metallica album, did whatever he could think of to convince them that he absolutely needed it. He kept his room clean, helped his mother with the laundry. He even mustered the strength to get along with his older half-brother. Well, he at least attempted to, anyway.

Yet, his parents were reluctant to yield to him. It wasn't because of the money, as their family lived in a nice house in the city, his father a celebrated physician at the nearest hospital. His mother also brought home a decent income working as a part time hairdresser; not because it was necessary, but it gave her a reason to get out of the house and engage in something she really enjoyed.

Eren was not the most disciplined child, and many would have considered him spoiled. He was always dressed well, nourished, gifted extravagantly by his parents. So he was surprised when they did not agree to stand in line at their nearby record store to buy the album the day it released.

Even the next day, and then the week after. Until his mother set the precedent that he needed to bring his grades up, specifically in his science class.

He did not believe her conditions, and he waited another week to ask again. She gave the same instruction. When he attempted to convince his father, he had already been wise of the standard set for this reward. So he did what he needed to do to get his desired album. He finally began to study.

Most of his evenings were spent seated next to his brother, Zeke, at the dining table. The older college senior would be briskly pressing against the keys of their typewriter, writing an essay or delved deep into a textbook, like the fucking geek he was. Eren did not immediately take to studying, loosely glaring at his homework at first and distracted by the intent pattering of his older brother.

It was absolute torture trying to read and digest this subject, having no real interest in it. Eren hated school, despised doing homework. He believed he would never become as studious or as smart as Zeke.

But he was determined, and that alone fueled him to do better, study harder, focus on his homework no matter how lame and boring it was.

And his mother loved seeing it, the nights she would come home from work and find him and her stepson at the table together, studying in silence. And since it made his mom so happy, it made him a little happy too.

It was that day, during the last week of October, when he came home from school later in the evening after hanging out with his friends, wielding his science test proudly, the paper flapping against the air and a giant grin plastered on his face.

He hadn't even bothered to take off his sneakers when he walked through the door to his home, the neon checkered Vans snug against his ankles. Almost as snug as his acid wash jeans. He had rolled up the sleeves to his brown bomber jacket, despite the cold weather, failing to zip it as well. His mom would have lectured him if she saw him dressed this way, but he noticed she wasn't around when he saw his father and brother seated at the dining table.

Throwing his backpack across the room, his sneakers squeaked against the linoleum flooring as he approached them, slamming his test in the center of the table. He expected the two men to be taken off guard and shocked to see the giant A written and circled in red ink. But his father remained glued to the newspaper, while Zeke moved his fingers along the typewriter. It dinged when he began a new line.

A bothered sigh heaved Eren's throat as he ran his hand through his slick backed, heavily gelled hair. He observed his father, how he rubbed at the patch of hair settled at his chin, a reflection of his reading glared through the spectacles of his glasses. Before turning the page, he licked his thumb, his striped dress shirt shifting taut at his torso.

Then his eyes shifted to his dumbass brother, wearing a bright polo shirt and slacks like a preppy nerd, his blonde hair a stark contrast to the brown of Eren and their father. He had taken off his own glasses, his eyes squinted at the paper tucked into the machine.

When they didn't acknowledge him, Eren slapped his hand onto the glass of the table once more, a gentle rumble to the surface. Zeke looked at him from the corner of his eyes briefly, his father's gaze unmoving.

"Eren, how was school," the eldest man spoke, barely an inflection of a question in his tone.

"What you got there, a detention slip?" Zeke mused, a smirk tugging at his lips as he continued typing.

"It's my science test, barf bag," Eren quipped, his brows furrowing together. This finally got the attention of his father, who placed the newspaper onto the table, his jaw shifting. "Eren, what have I told you about talking to your brother like that?"

But Eren ignored the lecture, showcasing his test paper, displayed triumphantly at the center of the dining table.

"Dad, I aced my science test." And he folded his arms over his chest, stiffly due to the thickness of his jacket, when his father picked up the test paper, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

"Great job, son," he said, reaching out and ruffling the perfectly styled mane of his youngest child. Eren groaned at the gesture, attempting to block it before he could ruin his hair. "I know you've been studying very hard for this."

But he rolled his eyes, sweeping his fingers through his strands once more. "Yea, thanks. Now where's mom? She said she'd take me to buy the Metallica album if I passed this test." He glanced around expectantly for her, irritated at the sound of Zeke's excessive typing.

"She's not home yet. She should be back soon," his father said, then shifted his chair back with the intent to rise. "How's about I take you? I'm sure she'll be very tired from work."

But Eren was quick to shake his head, his face contorting in actual disgust as he waved both his hands to emphasize his point.

"No way, Dad. You always start lecturing the cashier about real music like an old geezer. It's embarrassing."

He only smiled at his son's nuance, picking up the paper and resuming his reading, eyes visibly scanning the text. "How about Zeke then? He's young and hip."

Both brothers chocked a laugh at this simultaneously, that Zeke's fingers ceased their annoying strumming along the lifted keys. "I think I'll pass."

Eren snarled. "I'd rather go with Ed Gein."

Their father sighed, rubbing at his temple. "Sometimes I don't know what to do about you two."

Eren would have pretended to care about the comment, but when he heard the sound of the front door, he quickly grabbed his paper, boldly transferring it to his intended destination.

The moment Carla Jaeger entered the house, she dropped her purse to the floor, then undoing the Velcro straps of her white Reebok high-tops. An exhausted sigh heaved through her nostrils, unzipping her jacket to reveal a pair of tight, high waisted jeans, the fabric hugging her ankles, clinched at her small waist. Her sweater was baggy and tucked into her denim, a floral light pink.

There was a voluminous bounce to her teased bangs, her side ponytail going with the motion when she was bombarded by her impatient ten-year-old son. He was shoving the test into her face before she had a moment to completely enter the house.

"Mom! Mom!" he beamed, allowing her to grasp the paper that hindered her vision. "I did it! I passed the test!"

He saw the shimmer of blue pigment on her eyelids as she glanced over the sheet, her red lips parting in astonishment. "Eren, this is wonderful!"

He scowled when she pinched his cheek, a thick glob of his skin pursed between her fingers. The emerald perched on her ring glistened in the light, the gold of the band a fiery yellow hue.

"I'm so very proud of you." He could feel the imprint of her lipstick when she kissed the apple of his cheek, and he winced at the gesture, using the top of his hand to wipe away the evidence of her affection.

"Mom, gross. Stop," he cooed, but then he saw the stern look that enveloped her face, her hands planting onto her hip bones.

"Eren, why are you wearing your shoes in the house?"

He looked down at her objection, noticing the vivid neon green that checkered his sneakers, and he shrugged. "Because you said we'd go get the Metallica album if I aced the exam."

But she was walking past him now, towards the dining table, yet he could hear the flustered exhale that emitted from her mouth.

Following her hastily, he kept his shoes on. She kissed her husband, then approached Zeke, her smile towards him warm as she lightly grasped the skin of his cheek between her knuckles. "You're such a good boy, Zeke. Always studying. You're going to make a great doctor like your father."

Eren wanted to puke when he saw the flush of his cheeks along his clean-shaven face, bashfully running his fingers through his shaggy blonde hair. "Thanks, Carla," he gushed, and Eren stood behind his chair, grabbing the flesh of his face as he began to tug on his skin mockingly.

"Good boy, Zeke," the boy mimicked as a tease, pulling at his brother's cheeks as he snickered behind him. He shrugged Eren off, smacking him away.

"Beat it, runt."

And he continued then to follow his mom like a lost puppy, lingering near her as she poured a glass of water from the sink. She gave him a suspicious look.

"No need to make fun of your brother, Eren," she said to him. "You can be a doctor too if you keep your grades up."

He scoffed however, a generous roll to his eyes. "I'm not going to college."

"Then what's your plan?" She almost spat out her sip of water at his words, but he was aware she knew he was trying to get a rise out of her. "You expect us to support you forever?"

A smirk crossed Eren's lips, his arms raveling at his chest. "I'm going to own a strip club."

Carla sighed, an aggravated gleam to her eyes as they shifted to the dining table. "Grisha."

His father turned a page to his newspaper, his gaze never leaving the text. "Still need a college education for that, son. You'll need to study management, or business."

Carla seemed pleased at the answer, though Eren pushed further. "Then I'll just be a stripper."

He flinched when his mother smacked him against his arm, a scowl cursing her lips. However, Grisha seemed more amused at the comment, snapping his neck towards them as a smile curved at his mouth.

"Well, if you grow up to be as good looking as your mother, that's a possibility."

Eren could feel the lift of bile in his throat, even more so when his mother apprehended his father, shoving his shoulder playfully before planting a firm kiss on his mouth.

"If you don't want to go to college for yourself, at least do it for me," she continued, when he came back to the table and knelt his torso over the glass counter, a deep shimmer glazing over his eyes. She reached over and plunked her fingers at his forehead, causing him to squint and wrinkle his nose.

"Make your mommy proud." When she playfully winked at him, Eren rolled his eyes so hard they became blank bleak white canvases.

"So are we going to go get the album?" he mentioned, his foot tapping in apprehension. His face fell when she sighed, taking a seat beside her husband and resting her elbows onto the table.

"How about we go this weekend?" Her palms cupped her cheeks. "I'm so tired, honey, I had to do like ten perms today. We haven't even eaten yet."

But Eren pushed, clasping his hands together like a beggar. "Please mom, you said you would. I worked so hard to get an A on that test."

Then he did the thing he knew she couldn't resist, he pouted. Exaggerated, nasty, the flesh of his inner lip exposed. Zeke gagged at the sight of it, but his mom saw his bratty, trembling eyed face and seemed to melt.

She fumbled with her lips, her hazel eyes blending into the green of his. And her relenting sigh was one of triumph for him, that he jumped from the table victoriously, following his mother to the front door.

"I need to warm up the car first," she said, but Eren tugged at the sleeve of her sweater, fidgeting with impatience.

"It's only a few blocks, Mom. It'll be faster just to walk."

She nodded in vague approval, slipping on her Reeboks as she reached for the hook where her jacket stood. Eren made no move to adjust his appearance, and she frowned at him, grabbing his arms to slide down his sleeves before grumbling and zipping his bomber jacket.

"Mom," he grunted, though made no effort to stop her as she tugged the zipper up to his neck. Her black brow lifted in frustration.

"You're getting too old to not know how to dress yourself, Eren," she scolded. "You'll freeze going outside like that."

He shrugged, however, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket, "It's not that cold out."

Hauling his wrist, she pulled it out of its hiding, fumbling with her keys from her purse.

"We'll be right back, boys," she hollered, opening the door. "I'm getting Eren that record he wanted."

As they left the house, he groaned, yet allowing her to maintain her hold his wrist. "Cassette tape, Mom. Nobody is buying records anymore. They're out of style."

Within fifteen minutes, they were leaving the music shop, his Metallica cassette protected by a glossy plastic bag as he held it securely. An automatic smile had plastered onto his mouth, and as the two of them stepped outside into the crisp cold darkness of the evening, Eren reached for his mom's hand. The gesture touched her.

"Are you happy now?" she asked him, an upward tug at her lips. He met her stare briefly, his nod timid.

"Yes."

She chuckled lightly, pleased with herself. "Good. You earned it."

When he felt her fingers curl around his, he welcomed the motion, squeezing back against her. "Thanks, Mom."

"You're welcome, sweetheart."

There was a light bustle of shoppers on the Marleyan byway, until they turned the corner to their block, a quieter and wealthier tree lined street. The glimmer of the moonlight guided their path, as they walked together in harmonious silence, surrounded by the vibrant scattered autumn leaves.

At the time, Eren only appreciated his family in retrospect. He knew he had a good happy life. He loved his parents, even his brother, their comfortable living arrangement. It was a peaceful existence, one he never questioned or acknowledged. He was only ten years old, too naïve to sit and think about what all of it meant to him, how blessed he really was.

And his mother, the backbone of their family, the one who always brought them together, never made short of her promises. She was his favorite person, the most important one in his life. If he had known that this would have been their last moment of peace, he would have held her hand longer, squeezed tighter against her skin. He would have told her he loved her just to see her smile.

It was when they passed the alley of a liquor store when she stopped moving, crushing his hand with her grip.

Wincing from the contact, he looked up at her inquisitively, growing concerned at her blank, forward stare, a haze of tears glossing her eyes. Her lips were pursed together, trying to keep from trembling.

He saw the muzzle of a handgun pressed against the back of her head.

His body locked down then, his throat constricting, his pulse heavy and stammering. Battering wildly against his ribs, the reverb reaching to his neck, clouding his ears. So aware he was of his heartbeat, it must have been audible, the sound a distraction, that maybe he could run, pulling her away with him.

He tried to think if he could have done something, anything, but he was petrified, unable to move, to even breathe. The only movement stemmed from his quavering eyes, the green now almost black, swirling in a desperate terror.

Their assailant was a tall man, towering over Carla, dressed in baggy, dark activewear and concealed by a ski mask. Only a sliver across his face revealed his dark brown eyes, surrounded by a lining of his white skin.

He plastered the gun more compactly against her and she winced, a stream of unkempt tears slipping from her eyes. Eren could see the bob of her neck when she gulped.

And he guided them away, towards the alley. It was well lit, the blatant street lamps glaring at them like a direct spotlight. It felt like an attack by the flash, the brightness and luminosity. And yet, they remained alone, unseen, lacking protection.

He wanted to protect his mother, to save her. If he was taller he would have thrown himself in front of her body and taken all his bullets if it meant she could still live, to run home to their family. She belonged there more than he did. She meant the world to everyone who loved her.

But he found himself worthless, pressing his body against the old, red brick, the rough texture scraping his cheek. A shiver coursed his body, watching her arrange herself in the same motion beside him. She was still crying.

"Give me your purse."

His voice sounded young, unaltered, and she let the bag slip quickly from her shoulder, landing on the concrete. He took it without hesitation.

"Please don't hurt my son," she pleaded, her tone quivering as more tears slipped along the length of her face. Her palms pressed against the brick, the rings on both her hands glittering brilliantly. And he took notice of the thick diamond sitting elegantly on her left hand, as well as the sparkling deep emerald of her right.

Eren flinched when he pressed the gun at the base of her head again, his body creeping closer to her back. "And the rings too."

Her hands shook as she removed the jewelry from her slender fingers, gathering them in her fist to give to her captor.

What happened next occurred in a matter of seconds, but it felt as if time had slowed, every harrowing moment elongated and lingering. Never ending.

Instead of taking the rings, he grasped her wrist harshly, lifting it above her head and slamming it against the hard brick. A sharp gasp fled her throat, tears splattering from her face. Eren could see the scratches grazed at her knuckles as he pushed her vehemently, forcing her body onto the wall.

She opened her eyes, weeping, sobbing, their hazel a glittering mess, finding the broken gaze of her son, and she forced the will to smile at him, the expression grim and comforting.

"It' okay, baby," she spoke, her face drenched, black lines of her mascara staining her cheeks. "It's going to be okay."

And he wanted to believe her, passionately, with all of his heart. But when he heard a scream emerge from her mouth, rippling through her throat, his eyes followed the movements of their captor, as he let go of her arm, the rings falling from her grasp.

Yet he ignored them as they clamored to the gravel, the jewels glimmering like blood diamonds. His attention was instead directed to the zipper of her jeans, and she struggled against him, if only by instinct, the gun still hoisted to her skull.

He thought only to save his mother. The idea shouting in his mind as he detached himself from the wall and threw his body at the assailant. The sudden force sent the man off the smaller woman, that she turned around briskly to see her son struggling to hold him off of her.

She shrieked his name, but the sound was muted against his ears. The pounding of his pulse clouded his head, narrowing his vision. And when he was thrown to the ground in defeat, the gun went off.

He wasn't sure if it was purposeful or a result of the altercation. But the sound that echoed from the weapon was boisterous, clamoring in the walls of his head, the noise bouncing and repeating itself over and over. It happened so fast, but it felt so slow, the moment he saw his mother's eyes grow dark, blank. Blood dotted at the center of her forehead, trickling down her face, over her nose, staining her lips.

Her body slid down the brick wall until she was a motionless heap on the ground.

Eren screamed, cried, shouted at the top of his lungs, tears flowing and dirtying his cheeks, sliding over his jaw and continuing down his neck.

It was the only scream his body would allow him, the air taken from his lungs, and he was unable to speak, to breathe, could feel nothing but the drum of his heart. He crawled to her, shaking her shoulders, trying to reawaken the life in her eyes. But even in his small hands, she felt limp, her neck thrown forward as blood persistently dripped down her face.

Blood, smeared all over her cheeks now, staining his own hands when he clamped onto her. And he felt a tall shadow loom over him, looked up with trembling eyes to find the man standing over their forms. His eyes looked conflicted, frantic. He paced back and forth in fear and regret, seemingly unknowing of what to do.

But Eren knew his choice when he lifted the gun again, his finger quavering when he pulled the trigger, aiming at his stomach.

One shot, one deafening sound, and he saw only black. Blackness draped his vision, shrouded his hearing. It was nothing but him in this absolute nothingness, this eternal dismal agony. And slowly the pain crept, simmering on his flesh as if it were being boiled, burning and burning, so strong and so severe, he hurled his torso forward, gasping, choking.

Inhaling repeatedly, but unable to release each breath, each shot of air a cold sharpness in his chest. Heaving, panting, wheezing, gravely he attempted to breathe, his palms straddled to his abdomen, the source of his recoiling pain.

And he felt hands on him, shaking his shoulders in desperation, fear. "Eren? Eren!"

Splotches of his vision returned, combating the emptiness, but he still couldn't breathe, gasping for air, pressing firmly against the maddening ache. It felt like he was dying, fighting his body's inclination to be taken with each breath he forced.

"Eren, what's wrong?"

The panic echoed in the feminine voice, her small palms grasping his face, trying to force his eyes to focus on her. But everything was still so blurry, so fucking painful.

Yet, when he saw the silhouette of beautiful, long black hair and cream hued skin, his body tensed, gathering her in his arms, holding her compactly against him. She felt so soft, the scent of rose hip doused in her hair. And he inhaled her deeply, allowing her fragrance to fill him, that it finally forced the breath out of his mouth.

She held him back gently, comfortingly. Just as she always had.

"Don't leave," he begged, his voice cracking as he sobbed relentlessly, staining the bare skin of her shoulder. "Please don't go. I love you so much. I'm so sorry."

He could feel her heat mingling with his own, felt the tender caress of her hand along the vicinity of his back. And the pain in his abdomen began to subside, becoming a languid throbbing at the surface of his flesh.

He never wanted to let go of her, his head pulsing, thoughts spinning, forgetting where he was, the memory so fresh in his mind, replaying itself repeatedly in his thoughts.

But she pulled away from him carefully then, her knuckles swiping at the mess of tears on his face. The haze of his sight balanced, the blurriness diminishing. And he saw clearly not the teased black hair of his mother, nor the large, subdued light eyes that usually brightened her face. Long, wavy black hair, parted down the middle in a zigzag, ample, ethnic silver eyes staring at him in distress, bewilderment.

Her bottom lip trembled, so beautifully, as a thick lock of hair fell over her shoulder, resting onto her naked breast. His weeping had ended, the remnants only a sticky dampness against his skin. And she continued to wipe at the tears, her touch delicate and loving.

"I'm not leaving," she said to him, her voice a sweet hum. "I'm right here."

His breathing was thick, faltering, but now manageable as he exhaled heavily through his nose, easing into her embrace as her fingers trickled over the skin of his neck. His eyes drifted when she kissed him, her mouth warm and wet, pressing softly against his lips. She felt like velvet, and he draped his arms around her thin waist, encasing her against him, deepening their contact.

The sigh that heaved from her nostrils was light and delicate, a cool puff of air over his face. He could feel the pucker of her nipples pressed along his chest, taste the sweetness that dripped from her mouth. When one kiss ended, he began another, unwilling to part from her sugary lips. He felt her talk against him, her fingers seeping into the divots of his shoulder blades.

"Did you have a bad dream?"

Her voice was just above a whisper, and he separated his mouth from her then, his gaze lowering to his lap. "I did."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

His eyes engaged hers, her palm sliding down the length of his torso, thumb brushing over his nipple, traveling down the ridges of his abs. The tips of her fingers only drizzled over the circumference of his scar. He stopped her travels by grasping her forearm, planting a kiss at the inside of her wrist. He could see the dog still sleeping peacefully on the floor beside them.

"No. I don't."

Her mouth fumbled at his blunt answer, an unspoken disappointment glittering in her eyes. But she smiled gently at him, her thumb swiping at the final tear lingering at his cheekbone.

"It's okay, baby," she assured him, pinching softly at his skin. "It's going to be okay."

His body stiffened, every muscle seized in a painful contraction. There was an emptiness to his gaze as he stared at her, how she sat on his bed so beautifully, half naked, a gentle bounce to her perfect breasts with her every moment, her nipples hard and rosy and so provocatively perked just for him.

His vision shifted painfully from the sexy girl in his bed, to the image of his mother, squeezing his cheek, taking his hand, the fear that plagued her face when she too told him that everything was going to be okay.

Mikasa yelped when he pushed her flat onto the bed, clasping her wrists together and pinning them above her head. Her legs separated when he positioned himself on top of her, looming over her body, casting a shadow over her form.

She didn't move or struggle against him, but only gazed toward him with big, sterling silver eyes. He watched the rise and dip of her chest, her breasts falling naturally to her sides, the fabric of her cotton underwear peeking through her unzipped jeans. Creamy, milky skin decorating her flesh, lips quivering, long hair thrown about her face and shoulders.

Her hips bucked forward when he placed a kiss at her navel, sliding his tongue along her skin, his travels wet and warm, smoothing between the hollow of her breasts, over the length of her extended neck. Until he found her mouth, kissing her there once, watching her brows crumble when he pushed his knee into her groin. He released her wrists, but she kept them in the same position, a sensual wince hailing her expression.

"I want you so bad," he confessed to her, a rumbling in his voice, while he grasped the mound of her breast, feeling her nipple pebble against his palm. She moaned, the sound released as a deep sigh, as he saw the aroused shift in her, how her body writhed against the sheets, the thick curve of her back. And he held both her breasts, squeezing the soft swells of fat, feeling himself lengthen and harden against his sweats, his desire firm and almost painful.

"I want you too." Her tone was quiet, clear.

He didn't immediately know how to react, not expecting this response. "Yea?" The pillow creased when she nodded slowly.

A beat passed, and they were both a hectic mess then, removing the rest of their clothes and throwing the articles to the floor. Their breaths were a jumbled clutter, mingled together to become one tumultuous sound.

Eren could feel everything then, completely, fully. The strain of his hair, partially bound and pulling at his scalp. The thick pulse of his longing, standing erect and throbbing for sweet relief. The flex of the muscles of his stomach, his arms, the movement visible against his tinted skin. Even the sound of the room, how the TV had been turned off, even the lights, that they sat in total silence despite the beating of their hearts, the panting of their breaths.

Mikasa must have done that, had taken care of things when he fell asleep before slipping back into his arms. Just as she had been there that day to save and care for a homeless dog, and then when he had awoken from a deep, desolate sleep, a vivid retelling of his past.

And he loved her more then, holding onto this maternal aura she exuded, clinging to it desperately, hungrily taking from her like the twisted soul that he was.

There was a bashful fog to her eyes when he was revealed to her, her glare following his length, the swells of her thighs rubbing together in both fear and anticipation. He had pulled a condom from his nightstand, leaving the wrapper there haphazardly before sliding on the lubricated rubber.

And he was hoisted on top of her, his body leveled gently against her own, feeling the tremor of her pulse, the shakiness of her exhalation. She looked so fucking good lying there naked on his bed, her hair framing her face, legs spread open for him and only him as he nestled himself between them.

One palm cradled her cheek, while the other slipped to her groin, feeling for her readiness. She flinched at his touch, but he could feel her drip onto his fingers, her fluid so thick and gushing, it turned him on even more.

He rubbed at her temple, hoping to ease her. "When was the last time you've done this?"

Even in the absence of light, he could see the tint of her cheeks, her eyes unmoving. "Four years ago."

He was a bit surprised at her response, and his teeth churned when she added with a lift of her brow, "and you?"

He faltered. "Before I met you." And she chuckled lightly, smiling against his mouth when he kissed her.

"Good answer."

He kissed her again. And again. Choppy, wet kisses. Audible kisses. Tasting her mouth as she relaxed into him, her arms gliding around his neck as he pressed more of his weight onto her. And if felt so natural when he entered her, sliding inside her body with ease, feeling her wetness and warmth engulf him so good that he shuddered the instant he felt her squeeze in retaliation.

Her eyes shot open, a sharp gasp striking her throat as her lips parted, her chest filled with a swift gust of air. He could see her irises darken, no longer a glittering grey but a deep black, blending with her pupils, consuming the plane of her eyes. There was a beat before he moved again, allowing her to adjust to the intrusion, how thickly he filled her.

As he peppered kisses along her neck, she moaned, throwing her hips forward, as if urging him to continue, and he followed her lead.

Every time he heaved into her, she moaned, loudly, carelessly, her nails sinking into his shoulders, her face a chaotic contortion of pleasure and intimacy. His rhythm progressed, moving within her with a prolonged swiftness, and she just felt so fucking good, how she hugged her knees at his hips, holding onto his neck desperately as if she would die if she let go. The sound of her moaning was beautiful and melodic, the sexiest noise he had ever heard.

His lips trickled over her ear, his teeth nipping at the cartilage. "You're so wet and tight."

He could feel her clench. Probably the same way she had done that night she came while sporadically doing kegels. And he remembered he was with a trained dancer, someone who had direct control and discipline of her entire body.

Her eyes were half closed when they found his. "I feel good?" The way she spoke so breathlessly just above a whisper furthered him, that he pushed harder against her, the bone of his hips digging into her thighs. She gasped at the sensation, the sound muffled in her throat.

"So fucking good," he murmured amorously, watching a spark ignite in her eyes. "You're the fucking best." His hands slid to her low back then, lifting her hips against him.

"I'm the best?" she repeated, her voice a low purr. And then again, more as a declaration. "I'm the fucking best."

He was thrown off when she flipped them, pinning him onto his back as she buckled her knees into his hips. The insides of her thighs were wet, weeping from her core, and a drop of her fluid landed onto the skin of his stomach as she poised over him.

Her palms were hot, plastered onto his chest, fingers spread and curled. Her breasts looked so good from this angle that he couldn't resist but to touch them, strumming her nipples, watching in sweet satisfaction how she arched her back from his touch before impaling herself onto him.

They gasped simultaneously, how sharp the feeling was when she sat on him without hesitation, the satisfying friction she created as she rocked her hips, grinding herself towards a euphoric release. And when she pressed forward, hands gripping the headboard, he grappled her thighs, biting down onto his lip so hard he could taste the coppery flavor of blood lacing his tongue.

The way she rode his length was almost manic, a desperate control to her hips, thrusting onto him with an aroused vigor. And his fingers pressed onto her flesh, indenting her skin, shifting her to hit a more pleasurable spot toward her cervix, and the moan she released was sharp, thick, oozing with lust and eroticism.

Her riding showed no restraints, no holding back from fear of embarrassment or indecency. It was sexy and utterly breathtaking how her hair was thrown over her shoulders, the way she panted with every thrust and downward plunge of her hips. How her breasts were bouncing from the frantic movements. She cared for nothing except her pleasure, taking his body for herself and using it to feel good, fucking him with a pent-up passion that spiraled from her love and devotion.

And she was the fucking best, never having been with anyone so enthusiastic, in control, chasing her release like an addict for their fix. And he could feel when she came, how she contracted around his length, a gush of wetness dripping and warming him, that she threw herself completely on top of him, her breasts flattened on his chest, lips finding his in a sloppy, unguided kiss.

It was glorious how she rode the waves of her orgasm, so unbounded, free, her body quavering against him, a slew of moans and filthy words spilling from her perfect mouth like pure sweet honey. And he drank it, swallowed her syrupy spit, the drool that dribbled from her lips. He was getting close, too close, and she inhaled sharply when he detached himself from her. A shiver coursed his body at the loss of her heat.

Just as quickly, he reversed her, chucked her so that she supported herself on her hands and knees, facing the end of the bed. Her hair fell over the side of her shoulder, and her back was so elegant and beautiful, the pearly hue of her skin glistening in the dimness. And she was hot to the touch when he pressed his hand flat onto her low back, watching the deep arch that subsided.

He could see the plump curve of her derrière, admiring it with a grapple of his hand, clutching at her skin and delving his fingers into the fleshy mound. Even her toes pointed, with the painful precision of a dancer, her feet dramatically curved. And she was wheezing, struggling to maintain her breath, the movement of her chest striking and elongated.

When he took her waist, he could almost hold the entire circumference around his grasp. His fingers pressed into her navel, her skin there so soft and tender. As he mounted her from behind, she did not gasp or moan. She grunted. The sound was harsh as it fled her throat, curses spilling from her pretty mouth.

And he could feel himself, pulsing inside of her, controlling himself because he was so fucking close and she felt so good, clamping against him, so wet and restricting the way she tensed the muscle of her pelvic floor. When he finally began moving, he became lost in the waves of pleasure, feeling the budding warmth seethe at his groin. And he knew she must have been there with him, grunting at every single, callous thrust, her body jerking from the forced movement.

He watched her hands gather fistfuls of bedsheet, her legs spreading further, back curved even deeper. Until she fell onto her elbows, her grunting turning into weeping, her words indistinguishable from her sobs as she came again. Trembling, shaking, pushing back against him; she was so fucking loud he almost wanted to clamp his hand over her mouth but he was so turned on by the sound he never wanted to hear it end.

His own climax was sudden, unable to be contained, spewing from him with such an intensity that he fucked her harder, slamming against her, forcing sharp, hoarse breaths to heave from her mouth. When one wave ended another began, twitching and pulsating as he released into the condom, taking her on this delirious ride with him.

A multitude of images flashed in his mind as he reveled in his orgasm. He saw glimpses of the perfection and sweetness that was Mikasa, her smile, her laughter, the flow of her body when she would dance so freely for him. And it morphed, transitioning to a different picture. One equally sweet, meaningful. Of another woman, out of his reach, who he tried to not think about, to allow his mind to wander towards the forbidden area. But being around Mikasa forced her out of him, on display in his thoughts.

They collapsed beside each other on the bed, their bodies submerging into the mattress. The pattering of his heart was fast, trepid, as if it would flatline at any moment. He felt her reach for his hand, and he took it, sliding his fingers along hers. The pulse of her wrist was just as brisk as his.

A soft hum sang in her throat, but she waited a moment to speak before turning her head towards him cautiously.

"Can you tell me you love me again?"

He met her gaze, a lift to his brow. He could see the hopeful shimmer sparkle in her eyes, two silver jewels settled on her face. "You don't believe me?"

"I do," she said, her fingers squeezing his as a blush darkened her cheeks. "I just want you to say it to me. Every time we do that."

A gentle smile tugged at his lips. "I love you."

When she only beamed in response, he pushed her, sending a flurry of harmonic giggles to spill from her throat. "You're not going to say it back?"

"I love you, too." She kissed his cheek as her arms draped his shoulders, her mouth warm and damp.

He later stood staring at himself in the bathroom mirror, splashing cold water onto his face repeatedly, dripping down his neck and chest. It was still difficult to catch up to his breath, his pulse rapid and fluttering. And his hands grasped at the sink, skin cooled by the slick porcelain, the dull throbbing returning to the site of his scar.

He winced from the ache, the pain seething at his skin, and he could hear the clamoring sound, the echo of the shot, and it felt like he had been transported there again, in that cold alley, bleeding alongside his mother.

He blinked once, hard, opening his eyes to find his reflection once more. His eyes shimmered a deep, intense emerald.

When he entered the room again, he noticed Mikasa had already helped herself to one of his shirts, and she had brought the dog onto the bed with her, nuzzling her cheek against his fur as she spooned him.

He watched her with an amused look, gathering his sweatpants from the floor and sliding them back on, and she glared at him timidly, hugging the dog tighter as if he would object to his presence.

He only huffed a breath in amusement, lifting the comforter to join her underneath the sheets. Jax lied in the middle between them. It was oddly cute.

"I gave him a bath today," she clarified, as if to settle his concern.

"He still smells." Eren looked at the sleepy dog, so nestled and resting in bliss alongside her.

Mikasa placed a light kiss to the top of his little head, her mouth furling into a smile. "I like his smell. Whenever I smell it, I know it means he's with me."

Her words sat in his mind for a while, and he turned to his side to face her. He ran his palm along the soft fur or the animal, observing the comfortable and relieved sigh he exhaled through his small black nose.

When he felt her glide her leg around his, his eyes transfixed on her, his forehead resting against her own. Her breath was light, soothing, a delicate warm draft against his face.

"Then I like his smell too."

~oOo~

Eren woke to the welcoming ray of daylight hailing him through his window. He squirmed in his bed, his eyes drifting open. Immediately, he felt the soothing warmth of body heat, and once his vision cleared, he saw Mikasa gathered into his embrace, her hair unkempt as her cheek rested against his chest.

The blanket had slipped off the top of her body, and he saw that she was naked. They both were. The quick glance of open condoms wrappers on his nightstand reminded him that he had told her he loved her three more times last night.

He noticed the dog curled at her feet, his face planted on her shin. And she looked so stunning lying there, her cheeks flushed, the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she slept serenely. Her skin was so beautiful, so pretty and milky that he was tempted to taste her, to savor the flavor of her flesh once more.

Lying there with her, it felt so perfect, so unflawed. It felt like the three of them were a little family. It was unnatural almost, how happy she made him. That being with her allowed him to forget about everything bad in the world. Until it didn't.

Until her tender image unraveled painful, harrowing ones. That every time she smiled or laughed or even rolled her eyes, he could see her. And it felt wonderful, almost as if she were there with him. But she was not. She would never be. What was a blissful reminder began to morph into a wretched memory, one he tried to forget, spent years avoiding, fighting. Inwardly punishing himself. Until he allowed himself to be happy.

And as gloriously good as it felt, it fucking hurt just as strongly.

His vision filled with the blankness of the ceiling, trying to refocus his mind so he could think of nothing but Mikasa and everything she represented to him. Kindness, happiness. Sunshine and rainbows. Enveloped by her heat, her scent, her beautifully radiating aura.

And it seemed to work, if only for that moment.