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liquorisce · 2 years

Text

his wicked heart [2]

by me and @heartvu

rating: E | 18+

summary: Many years ago, Mikasa Ackerman was saved by the demon, Eren Yeager. Since that night she's devoted herself to him, worshipping and praying to him as a god. So when a sacrifice was demanded, naturally she is the first to volunteer.

chap 1 | ao3

He’d put her to sleep after that.

It was a simple trick for a demon of his rank, something humans whispered about, but in reality, rather than compelling the overly obstinate human species to behave appropriately, lulling them into a drowsy haze was much easier.

The girl confounded him with all her talk of grandiose servitude and it threw a wrench into his plans of consummating the sacrifice ritual as quickly as possible.

The “consummation” was just another fancy word; the founder— One of the “Gods” with too much time on his hands— was rather fond of them. According to Eren, this whole ritual of sacrifice was a tad bit tedious by now, and the only reason Eren abided by it was that it wasn’t worth the conflict within his hot-blooded group of demon siblings.

While he didn’t care much for the sanctity of tradition, even he realises how uncommon it is for someone to volunteer as a sacrifice. He had never paid much attention to it, but all the sacrifices were generally the same: the ones with the darkest souls who committed the most wretched crimes, forced to bear the burden of humanity’s deal with the Nine Demons. It’s simply what was easiest.

By the time they were forcefully brought to the ritual chamber, their stench would be steeped in fear and misery, seasoned in the kind of self-pity that he doesn’t have the taste for. However, this year was his, and despite his surprise that she ended up here, for the past 11 months, he stood by in the shadows as he watched her beg the shrine keepers to volunteer, to be chosen. This young woman, with a whole life in front of her, that she seemed so desperate to throw away, pleaded with her old keepers to choose her.

Regardless, the Attack demon had always done what he wanted; it was literally part of the lore. Brash, impulsive and hot-headed— Eren enjoyed living up to the reputation. So he never waited patiently for his 9 years to consume a human. Humans as a species were rotting at their very core; murder, abuse, and acts of sheer villainy that he was equal parts fascinated and repulsed by seemed to be the day-to-day for humankind, so why not engage in some clean-up?

Wasn’t that why the nine demons were created by the founder in the first place— to protect humankind by doing the founder’s dirty work? Snorting, he distracts himself from his ideological purism and looks at the girl he’d carried with him from the human realm.

She’s a small thing even for a human, and her ridiculously opulent robes make her seem even smaller as she floats in them. She’s breathing deeply into his neck, as she sleeps peacefully in his arms. Aside from the mildly annoying fact that she sleeps with her mouth open and a little bit of her saliva dribbles onto his bare shoulder, he can’t deny that there is a certain charm to her.

A wasted charm in the underworld, he muses grimly, because the human world could definitely use more of it. He holds her firmly around her thighs as they enter the Paths— a sort of middle dimension before he can descend into the underworld. It was a good thing he’d put her to sleep during the journey because the difference in the atmosphere often makes weaker spirits dizzy. His own lower demons couldn’t survive the journey without passing out.

He arrives at the little dock on the riverfront, his eyes narrowing at the decidedly empty ferry boat. “That idiot has one job…,” he grumbles, scouring the riverbank in annoyance.

Sure enough, his loyal demon servant had been snoozing on the floor of the boat, his little tail peaking out and giving it away.

Eren proceeds to noisily step into the boat, his heavy form— while not enough to break it— shaking the boat unpleasantly.

“Whaa,” the red-headed demon snaps up groggily. When he gathers his bearings, his cheeks burn to match the colour of his hair. “My lord,” he squeaks, in an utterly non-demonlike fashion. “I didn’t see you,”—

“Clearly,” Eren snaps, his sharp irritation enough to silence the blithering demon. “Make haste, Floch. And don’t speak unnecessarily, the girl is sleeping.”

Floch nods, embarrassed at displeasing his liege. As he rows to the opposite river bank, to the cave that leads to the underworld, his eyes dart furtively to the sleeping girl in the Attack demon’s arms. Eren never provided more information than what he needed to know— and quite often that was nothing— but he wonders if this girl was meant to be “the sacrifice.”

He’s nothing more than a lower demon, a creature whose existence is defined to serve one of the nine celestial demons, but he’s never seen the ritual or encountered a sacrifice before. And never Eren’s. This was the first time he’d seen Eren bring a human— and she was definitely a human, her scent made him sure of it— to the underworld. And having heard many loud proclamations of his lord’s hatred of their species, he’s surprised to see the care with which he cradles her in his arms, his arm almost protective around her waist as he stares listlessly at the waters, lost in thought. Her arms clutch his neck tightly even in her sleep, her beautiful face almost at peace as she is unwittingly brought to her demise.

She slips a little from his grasp as the waters roughen close to the opposite bank, and Floch sees Eren’s grip tighten, his eyes coming to rest on her face, a curious look on his features as he holds her closer to him. Surely he’s just eager to consume her, Floch rations. Surely that’s it.

…

Mikasa sleeps like a baby. It perplexes him, to say the least, that despite all the jostling and overeager greetings from his minions, she’s still out cold in his arms. The difference in the atmosphere should’ve been enough to alarm most humans… not that Eren has any real understanding of it.

He watches the rhythm of her chest rising and falling, the breath entering between her small, wet lips, the sweet ignorance of her sleeping expression. He’d meant to scare her, make her beg for her life, force her to run away in self-preservation. But here she was, asleep between the linens of his bedroom chamber. And here he was, above her, wondering what in blazing hell, he should do with her.

Fuck it, he thinks, and then decides to stop overthinking this. He’s never deliberated much over human life— granted they were usually lowlifes— and he doesn’t see why this should be much different. Perhaps he could just end it right away, rip into her throat whilst she is still asleep, ending her life with little pain or fear. She wasn’t the kind of human who deserved a good scare before death, at the very least.

He could carry her lifeless carcass to the stupid sacrificial pagan ritual that Zeke seemed hellbent on preserving for all eternity, and carry out the consummation there. He had no desire for the bloody theatricals that some of his peers— Porco, in particular— seemed to prefer, anyway.

But just as he sits next to her on the bed, trails a finger across her jaw, down her pretty neck and begins to hesitate about his decision, there’s an unwanted intrusion at the door. “My lord,” a small feminine voice squeaks at the door, utterly annoying and completely unnecessary at this moment. His irate green gaze snaps up at the quivering servant demon in front of him. “I ran you a bath,” she says, “Because you always hate the lingering stench of the human realm.”

It was clear she was only doing it to please him, to earn his approval but Eren’s lips thin into a line, staring at her as if she needn’t exist altogether. So she adds meekly, “… if it would please you, my lord.”

“Hm,” he grunts. She isn’t wrong; Eren hated the stench of the humans he devours with a passion. He consumed them terrifyingly fast, and licked their blood clean from his fingers, only because he didn't care to bring that awful stench of humanity home with him. But it wasn’t like that with this girl. She didn’t smell like the thugs he cleaned off of the streets any more than her biology allowed her to; this little priestess smelled of divinity.

He looks at the sleeping form of his human sacrifice once more. “Just as I was about to get it over with,” he huffs to himself, as he gets up. “I hope you’ve made it scalding hot the way I like it, Louise.” To which she whimpers in agreement and scampers off to check the water temperature.

…

When Mikasa wakes up she’s hit with a feeling of disorientation. She distinctly remembers a rather charged encounter between her and the Attack demon, both fearsome and thrilling at the same time. If she recalls correctly, there was some bodice-ripping involved, even— exciting stuff! Now, as she opens her eyes she finds herself in a somewhat antiquated room, in the centre of a large, regal bed, the air around her thick and heavy with a distinct otherworldly pressure.

The only thing that convinces her that she isn’t dreaming is the ripped robes that she clutches together to cover herself, frayed from where the Demon had clawed them open and bared her body to him. There wasn’t much to the room, a large gilded mirror on one side, and a little chest of drawers, a table on one side of the bed with a jug of… some liquid, she confirms, something with a blue tint and a heady aroma that was most definitely not water.

Her throat is parched, largely because of the feeling of the air around her with this indescribable heaviness, so in a highly unintelligent move, she moves to take a sip from the jug. The part of her brain that still has some good sense finally begins to freak out— is this how she meets her end? Not by the hands of some mystical demon whom she had an unhealthy obsession with, but instead by drinking some poisoned liquid that was strategically placed by her abductor? She’d barely spent any time with him yet!

Where was she, even? Had she walked into some elaborate booby trap placed by stalker perverts who had uncovered her obsession with the Demon and used it to kidnap her? Wait, was she sold off by the shrine to a trafficking ring?

While her brain works in overdrive, she hurriedly slips off the bed, uncaring that her dress— regardless of how tightly she clutches at it— is ripped open in the most indecent places, rushing out of the room, and into the corridors, hastily looking through every door for an exit. Until she stumbles across a marbled bathroom, with a large, luxurious black granite tub in the centre, two large horns poking out of it.

“Running away so soon?” He drawls, lifting his face above the water, his piercing green eyes catching her skittish grey ones.

“I,”— She’s not sure how to answer that, just staring at him dumbfounded, like she’d never seen a demon bathing before. (She hadn’t.) “Um,” she finds herself staring shamelessly at this being in front of her who was clearly bathing, an activity that normally demands privacy. “Yeah, kinda.”

“What happened to,”— his tone turns mocking, girlish— “I want to serve you, for the rest of my life.”

She blushes, embarrassed, somehow feeling ridiculous but also conscious of the fact that he was naked and bathing right in front of her.

“I didn’t realise it came with terms and conditions.”

“I…” she stutters, tongue-tied. “It doesn’t,” —

He smirks. “Come here, priestess.”

Despite everything; the blatant embarrassment on her face, the hesitation, she comes to him, stands next to him near the bathtub. “You’re my sacrifice,” he emphasises— even though she knows this part already, it’s the only part she knows— realising a new fondness for a term that he’s rarely cared for before, his teeth baring. “There are no takebacks for this type of thing.” And before she can brace herself for it, he pulls her into the tub with him, ruined robes and all.

She sputters, water spraying from her face, hair completely drenched and sticking to her cheeks and neck. Her robes were utterly ruined but she continues to clutch at them in a futile manner— dainty white silk clinging perfectly to her wet curves. “What was that for?!” She asks, her tone slipping, decidedly impolite as her cheeks puff up and turn red.

“A whim,” he shrugs, looking at her coolly. “Satisfying my whims should be part of your servitude, should it not?”

He has a point. “Demon…,”—

“Master,” he corrects, a gleeful urge bubbling up to watch her follow through on her devotion. “… You will call me master.”

“Master,” she repeats, the word weighing heavily on her tongue, binding in a way. She liked it. But as much as she likes him, or calling him master, or being with him naked in a tub, the way he calls her his sacrifice makes her shiver. Probably far too late, she finally asks the question weighing on her mind. “What does a sacrifice have to… do?”

He looks at her curiously, amazed at how someone so desperate to be a sacrifice would have no idea what it entails. For a moment Mikasa thinks he will rebuke her for the question. “Come closer, maiden,” he murmurs, deciding to have fun with her cluelessness, his voice rich and deep and incredibly enticing.

“Legs on either side of my lap,” he orders when he sees her hesitating. “… If you want answers from me, then you will do as I say.”

It’s easier when he tells her what to do, when he isn’t looking at her like she should know better or do better, so she does as he says. She waddles across the large bathtub that was clearly built for taking creatures of his size.

It occurs to her then that this is the first time she is actually noticing him up close— the way his legs are so long and his thighs large and thick, the way she struggles to sit astride them. There are little details the sculptures of him never managed to capture, the little marks on his chest, the ridges on his horns. When her eyes travel down his submerged torso, she’s reminded that he’s wearing nothing, covered just by water and the bashfulness of her own eyes.

Looking away hastily, she plops herself on his legs and looks at him with uncertainty. “Please tell me, Master,” she says sweetly, and Eren is struck by how easily the word slips out of her mouth, how naturally submissive she sounds. “Take your robes off,” he says, ignoring her plea, but this time his order is gentler. He’d seen everything he needed to see when he’d tried to scare her off earlier, and now even more with the way the robe clings to her body obediently. But the mild humiliation with which she looks at him, teeth worrying her lower lip and eyes downcast, make it worth a repeat.

She’s delightfully obedient, pulling off the drenched fabric shyly, exposing creamy skin and bountiful curves. No one’s ever seen her this way, bare without a stitch of closing, parts of her body she’s been told to keep covered up as long as she can remember. “Only harlots show their skin,” the head priest had reproached her once, when she lifted her robes to cross a particularly large puddle and avoid getting the fabric wet. She wonders what he would think of her now, her shoulders, breasts, stomach, her most private parts so dreadfully bare in front of such a holy creature. And even worse– how her nipples hardened under the Demon’s gaze.

Oblivious to her inconsequential internal dilemma, Eren runs a thumb across the self-imposed bite marks on her lip, and it shakes her out of her modest thoughts, parting her lips fetchingly.

“You came all this way without knowing what you signed up for?” He murmurs, watching her shudder.

“They only told me my life would belong to you.”

His jaw hardens, caring more than he should about things that really didn’t concern him. He didn’t have to feel angry that the priests deliberately manipulated her unreasonable devotion to sucker her into giving up her life without her knowledge. “What’s your name, priestess?”

“Mikasa.” Blushing, she can’t believe that she’s actually here, feels giddy that the object of her devotion would actually notice her enough to ask for her name.

“Not very smart are you, Mi-kasa,” liking the way her name rolls off his tongue. “What did you think I would do with your life?” I already saved it once.

She cringes at his beration, shoulders slumping, eyes downcast. “There’s only one thing Demons want humans for,” he says, his voice making her shiver. With a gentleness that didn’t match his stature, he brushes a wet strand of hair behind her ear. He bends to place a kiss on her jaw, before whispering, “... and that’s to consume them.” And his tongue slips out to lick at the sensitive spot where her earlobe meets her cheek.

He can feel her sharp intake of breath, the conflicting shudder that runs through her body, the way her legs– already spread across his lap– tightened around him. She smells like vanilla and sandalwood and purity, although the slightest essence that wafts through his nostrils tells him she is capable of impure thought as well.

“You want to eat me?” Her voice comes out dazed, more focussed on his proximity, his mouth, and the large hand on the back of her waist than the implication of his words.

He frowns, her question slightly unsettling him. What he wants wasn’t exactly the issue here– but more that this is what it's meant to be. “Master,” she starts, nervously, “... then…”

“Out with it, priestess.”

“If you only want to eat me then… why haven’t you eaten me yet?”

He glares at her, his mind totally boggled. Did this girl have no sense of self-preservation? He just informed her of her bleak fate and all she asks is why he hasn’t carried it out yet? Huffing, partly annoyed at her brazen questioning and partly mystified at how he does not in fact have a clearly thought out answer. “Is it…” she purses her lips cutely, “another whim of yours, Master?”

Rolling his eyes and internally sighing, he tilts her chin up to look her straight in her glassy grey eyes. “You promised me many things, sweet girl,” and he lets his eyes roam her body shamelessly, the dip of her collarbones, the swell of her breasts that rest on the water. “Maybe I just want to sample what I’m owed.”

His roving eyes make her flush, a heat from between her legs that flows up her skin and creeps onto her face. Her lashes are lowered, lips dry as she speaks, mouth barely inches from his. “... How can I serve you, master?”

She braces herself, a flutter of exhilaration in her tummy, prepared for something like what he’d insinuated earlier, when he pushed her to the ground roughly and hinted at claiming her virginity. It was decidedly immodest of her to fixate on those words, but she couldn’t deny that his threat (offer?) had taken root in her mind and made her think thoughts that she’d never thought before, imagined things she hadn’t known her imagination was capable of.

She can feel him stir, his member between her legs brushing against her thighs and making her feel hot over, a molten sensation between her own legs. But to her utter surprise and mild disappointment, he simply says, “Bathe me.”

“What?”

His eyes sparkle, almost challenging her. “... For someone who’s meant to serve me, you sure do ask a lot of questions.” He hands her a bottle of a fragrant-smelling soap-like substance and a towel that had been placed by the side of the tub. “Is it too difficult for you? Should I call for someone else?”

Pouting, slightly offended, she grabs the towel and soap hastily, clearly understanding that he was mocking her. “I’d be honoured to, Master.”

It shouldn’t be hard, she tells herself. She’s spent enough days washing different Attack titan sculptures, cleaning them till she shone, surely now that she had the opportunity to get to work on the real thing, it wouldn’t be too different.

But it is, it’s different in the way that she’s actually touching him this time, his broad shoulders, his hard chest, the little button of his nipple. It’s different in that she couldn’t zone out and hum her prayers to herself happily as she went about her job, but this time she feels his gaze acutely on her… testing her perhaps.

It’s awkward and intimate; her hands travel up his chest and onto his neck, and he’s so… large that she needs to lean forward to reach it. And in doing so, she can feel her mound brushing against his growing hardness. She lets out a small gasp, her eyes fluttering up to meet his. “Is there a problem?” He looks at her with amusement, mirth shining in his eyes at her obvious embarrassment.

She shakes her head rapidly, averting her gaze consciously. “... Well go on then.” Brushing his long hair to the side, she leans her upper body forward to brush more thoroughly against his neck, her breasts pressing against his chest. “Is this o-okay?” she mumbles, her body crushed against his, nipples pebbling against the solid walls of him.

His nonchalant agreement rumbles through her, making the growing heat between her legs even worse. And after a moment he says, somewhat casually, elbow on the side of the tub, resting his head in his hand, “I think my neck feels clean enough…”

“R-right…” She gulps, avoiding his smirk, having clearly understood that there was only one place left to go and that was in the direction of his legs. She clambers off of his lap to the other side of the tub and takes extra care to start with his feet, rubbing his toes– the attack demon has big feet she gleans, and large toes that she pays more attention to than required. She makes her way up his calves, fingers jittery as it reaches his thighs, anticipation crawling in her stomach and heating her skin. “So should I…” She trails off, a flustered mess as her hands stop just short of where she had felt his hardening member some minutes ago.

“I do believe that was part of the assignment.”

Nodding seriously– yet simultaneously falling apart on the inside– she reaches further towards his center, stopping to soap her hands generously before making contact. It’s utterly ridiculous and contrary to what she wants to achieve, but her eyes squeeze shut as her fingers brush against where he has hardened, so velvety smooth… and impossibly big.

Innocent and virginal though she was, she could compare it with her lessons of human anatomy and medicine, recognising the length of his shaft that ended in a smooth tip, making out the ridges of his veins. Her heart thuds in her chest as she can feel himself somehow grow even larger in her hands, filling the space between her fingers, her grip firming around him. Perhaps she’s dreaming it but she thinks she can hear a soft groan escape his lips. “Master,” she asks, adjusting to the weight of him in his hands, feeling him twitch. “Is this okay? Am I doing it correctly?”

Eren looks at her through heavy-lidded eyes. “Did they not train you for this type of thing? Are you utterly inexperienced?”

She can’t tell if it’s disapproval, but his words make her cringe inwardly. “I have never been with a demon, Mast—”

“I’m perfectly aware that no demon has ever touched you before,” he says with sudden, marked annoyance. “... what about human men? My body is not so different structurally from them.”

“I was told only the worst, most immoral woman would lie with a man she could not call her husband.” A repeated chant from her superiors even though she’d always personally doubted it. Tons of giggling girls who visited the shrines twined their fingers with the hands of boys they were not married to. They didn’t look horrible or immoral… they just looked cute.

He regards her for a moment, silvery eyes stricken with doubt as her hands still massaged him, a movement she continued like it was most natural. Her inexperience was only a mild convenience at best. Truth be told, he enjoys the way she touches him, it was novel, small hands brushing him tentatively. She’s quite nice to look at too, all curves and milky skin and pink flushes when hesitation overcomes her. The more it sinks into him that no human had seen her this way, the more it fills him with a deep satisfaction. None of those rotting humans deserved it, she was too good for them. So drunk with anticipation, he tells her, “Then listen carefully, priestess. Because I will teach you how to please me only once.”

She nods eagerly as his large hand settles over hers, rough palms enveloping her. Chest bending forward, lips at her ear, he whispers, “First, hold me tighter. I’m no man, I do not need to be treated delicately.” And he presses down, making her squeeze him tightly.

There’s a small wetness at the tip of him, slipping against her palms and making it slick and it makes her startle. “Master, there’s something wet—”

A hum rumbles in his throat. “It’s called precum. Means you’re doing something right.” The corners of his quirk up slightly, before he orders, “Don’t unwrap your fingers, move them up and down like this.” And he guides her hand along the massive length of him. Before he had fully eclipsed her hand in his, she had covered less than half of his length in her fist. Now with his massive palms, he looked so in control of his member, stroking it leisurely and watching her intently.

She leans forward, concentrating on her task, trying to go faster because she can feel him grow even larger, twitching in her palm. It’s an adorable sight, brow furrowed, lips parted slightly, licking her lips as she works. It only makes him harder. “Slow down,” he growls. “Follow my pace, I’m too dry to go any faster.”

“How do you mean… dry? Is that a bad thing? There’s already precum, you said—”

“If you want to go faster than this, then we have to get it really wet, Mikasa, just my precum isn't enough.” When she looks at him confused, he gestures her attention back to his cock. “Come here, spit on it.”

“What?” She looks at him aghast. “I would never offend you that way, Demon—”

“It’s ‘Master’,” he reminds her, roughly, fed up with her ridiculous human notions of propriety, “So just do what I say.” And because she hesitates, he threads his hands into her hair, and brings her mouth to him, hovering over his cock. Feeling her heavy breathing, he rubs her head softly and says, “Relax. Just dribble your spit over the head.”

She does what he says, albeit with trepidation, lips quivering near his cock. Pursing her lips, she lets her saliva fall down her chin, making a mess of her, and after her frustration (and his smirking) she spits on his tip, the saliva making him glisten.

A small shudder passes through him. “Good,” he murmurs, “... Now use your fingers and slide it down my cock.”

He’s not sure if it’s something he imagined, but her eyes darken slightly when he expresses his approval, her confidence growing slightly as her delicate fingers spread her saliva down to his base, just above where he was underwater. And without him even prompting, she spits on him again, getting him even slicker.

If anything, this pretty human girl was a quick learner.

“Does this,” she wets her lips as she asks him, “... feel better?” She moves her hand up and down, using the exact same pressure and pace that he taught her.

Hand resting at her neck, he looks at her with growing fondness, her eagerness to please growing on him. The way she looks intently at his cock, taking in every sound, every shudder, every drop of precum that she smears down his length, makes a foreign feeling settle inside of him— a feeling that makes him wonder why the hell he’s taking it so slow, and why he hasn’t gotten her on top of his dick yet.

Maybe it’s because she’s so small, and there’s no way she could possibly take him— but that’s never stopped him from taking his little lower demons before.

“Go on, take it in your mouth,” he murmurs, dick hard and throbbing with just how close her lips were to him. All he’d have to do is push her down the smallest notch and he would feel her pretty pink lips on him.

Anxious grey eyes look up at him, inches above his cock. “You’re so big, Master. I don’t know how I could possibly…” And her eyes fall to the sheer length of him.

“And you’re so small, Priestess. You’ll probably struggle with it.” His tone is mocking, challenging almost. “But look at you, you can’t stop looking at it, can you? I know you want to taste it.”

An embarrassed flush creeps up across her face, guiltily looking away. “T-that’s not true.”

“Lying to me, Mikasa?” He tilts his chin up so he can look her in the eyes, dark green pools boring into her. “Don’t bother with it. I can smell you, you know. Every time you rub against my thigh, I can feel how wet you are between your legs. It’s alright to admit that you want to suck my cock.”

She shudders at his crude words, lowering her lashes in mortification. She was so embarrassed she was ready to prostate herself in front of him in apology. “Are you ashamed of me, Master? No good woman, much less a priestess, would embarrass herself this way with such lewd behaviour. I’m sorr—,”

“Look at me when you talk to me,” he murmurs, and her gaze flickers to him instantly, obediently. “Is this what they taught you in that pitiful place?” His thumb brushes against her lower lip as he regards her grimly. “Instead of teaching you how to please me, they taught you to be a prude?”

His words are so harsh, tears begin to form in her eyes. “It seems whatever I do, I am simply incapable of pleasing you, Master.”

He leans towards her and presses his mouth against her cheek, tongue peeking out to lick her tears. “Your tears have such a unique flavour to them and I enjoy it. But that isn’t what I want from you right now.” Lips ghosting over hers, he says, “If you are to be my sacrifice, then I need you to unlearn everything you’ve learnt in that shitty human world. If you want to please me, then I want you to give in to these feelings you’re feeling.”

Leisurely, he runs his hand along her back, sending a shiver down her spine, the eager, damp spot behind her leg only getting wetter. “You’re not a priestess anymore, Mikasa. You’re a slut. A natural, unholy, completely shameful slut.” The words ought to make her cringe but coming from Eren, it sounded like praise, like something he was enraptured by, like she was finally what she was supposed to be, and it made her feel lightheaded. “Your body craves my cock, and I’ll teach you to embrace it. But give into what you want and suck my cock like you’re meant to.” She can feel his smirk growing against her skin. “And maybe then you’ll please me, after all.”

She nods, shakily, her body giddy with anticipation as she hovers above him, breath warm against his tip. Tentatively, she touches her tongue to him and takes in the flavour of him, a dark feeling pooling in her belly. It makes her want more. Swirling around him, her lips stretch to cover his girth. “Not too much teeth,” he instructs her, and she accommodates him appropriately, mouth forming an o-shape while her tongue laps at him.

Eren’s hands cradle her head, pressing her softly downward, urging her to take more of him. “You’re struggling aren’t you, sweet girl? You’re just human after all, not built to take this cock, hm?”

His words are a direct line to her centre, making her feel things she’d never thought she’d feel, a sensitiveness spreading through her body, tingling. She might be just human, but she’s his human now, and she wants to prove it to him, wants to show him just how devoted she really is, how she can take him if she really tries— but she ends up sputtering as she comes up for air, lips red and messy, a string of spit connecting between his tip and her mouth.

She looks to him apologetically, but she’s met with a dark fire in his eyes, gazing at her mouth in blatant arousal. “Try again,” he breathes roughly, pulling her towards him.

Taking a gulp of air, she brings her mouth to him again, warmth surrounding him deliciously as she laves her tongue under his base while sucking hard, managing to reach at least a third of his length. He lets out a low grumble of pleasure, thumb caressing her cheek as she works him. “Such a good girl,” he murmurs, “Trying your best to please me even when your tiny little mouth could never take me fully.”

It wasn’t a conscious choice of words, but he was starting to believe his previous suspicion— His sweet little priestess had a praise kink. He could feel her shudder around him when he called her good girl, his thigh soaked under the juices of her cunt where she rubbed against him. “Use your hands,” he urges. “Use your hands like I taught you, Mikasa.”

Closing a fist around him, she jerks him into her mouth, sucking as far as she can go, his deep groans telling her she’s doing it right. “Just like that, sweet girl, keep going.”

When she comes up for air, spit running down her chin, he looks at her like a wild thing, eyes so dark with arousal they looked almost black. “Sit on your knees, Mikasa,” he tells her, pushing her onto her back on the other side of the tub. His form looms above her, taking his full height, gloriously naked skin dripping water as his cock rests near her cheek. “You still want to please me?” he asks, jerking his cock furiously into his fist.

Mikasa looks up at him in awe, his hand setting a harsh rhythm and a much quicker pace than she was trying, so large around his even larger member, it makes her throb in the most secret parts of her, wondering if he’ll ever want access to that part of her, and how she’d ever make him fit. “Yes, Master,” she says, and almost subconsciously, she tilts her mouth towards his cock, lips parted and eager for him.

He feeds her his cock briefly, letting her tongue play with his wet, sticky tip. He’s immortal, but looking at her in this state makes him feel like she will be the death of him instead of vice versa, her innocent enthusiasm fucking with his mind and making him come apart much faster than he normally does. And with far less effort on her part than any of the other female demons in his house have ever had to put in. The more he sees her tongue on him, the more he wants to see how she looks with his cum all over her, filling her mouth and leaking across her chin, wet and messy—

“Now listen to me, Mikasa,” he breathes, voice rough and jerky just like his movements. “You made me feel so good, I’m really close.” And because he knows he needs to be explicit with her otherwise she won’t understand, he places a thumb between her lips and parts her mouth, murmuring, “I’m going to come inside your mouth. You’ll be a good girl and drink it all up for me, won’t you?”

And her eyes light up like stars, hunger burning inside of them, barely mumbling a ‘yes, master,’ before she’s eagerly wrapping her pretty mouth around him. He jerks into her with one fist while holding her head in another, and just as she looks up at him, innocent and pretty and so fucking obedient, he jerks into her mouth, spurting inside of her, a deep groan of pleasure escaping him.

As eager as she was, she was utterly and adorably unprepared for it, the taste of him foreign and not entirely unpleasant, not knowing whether to swallow or not and hence choking and sputtering, cum spilling out of her mouth and onto her chin, dribbling down her neck and between her breasts. She was a complete and total mess, gasping for breath, hair plastered to her face as she sank to the floor of the tub. It’s mortifying and she can barely understand it, she followed his instructions and tried her best, yet here she was knocked onto her bottom and having made a fool of herself. She feels utterly, terribly, inconsolably, dejected.

When she looks up at him, however, she sees something different, a lazy look of pleasure dancing across his features, his mouth curving into a self-satisfied grin. “Not going to clean yourself up?”

She colours, embarrassed at once at her ineptitude, her clumsiness, and she covers her face stuttering, “I-I’m… I’ll do it right away.” And she splashes the remaining bath water on her cheeks and her chin, trying to wipe away the white liquid, but only to feel it sticky and lasting on her skin. Regardless, she decides to take advantage of his seemingly cheery countenance, and asks, with curious pink cheeks,“... was it good, Master?”

He cocks an eyebrow at her. He could tell her it was good, that it was fucking great actually, and he’d come faster than he had ever before, and that it was all because she was so innocent and earnest and unique that he couldn’t really resist himself. But by now he’s also learnt that his priestess is weak for words like that, eating up his praise, and the deviant side of him doesn’t want to spoil her with it. So he lifts her up in his arms in one fell swoop, body naked and quivering and sticky, and tells her, “... It will be when I’m done with you, Mikasa.”

#eremika #liquorisce fanfiction #eren jeager #mikasa ackerman #eremika smut

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