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mondayrobot · 3 years

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Year-End Fanfiction List (M)

This year has opened me to so many fan-fictions. Here are the list of EM fan-fictions that I thoroughly enjoyed reading this year.

Warning: The contents contain adult themes.

Rating: Mature

a royal weakness ( liquorisce ) @liquorisce

In everyone else’s eyes, she was just his Commander, the Silver Lady, the first woman to take control over the entire King’s fleet. But to him she was so much more, the girl who’d been by his side for the longest time, his most trusted companion… His lover.

Abditive ( Blanca21 )

It was a countless time he heard them calling her cold-blooded and heartless.In his mind, she was anything except those words.

All I need ( liquorisce ) @liquorisce

This fic features long time lovers Eren and Mikasa, their bid to make their own family, and in that process discovering what family really means.

and i am a smiling woman ( orphan_account )

and they have longed for each other; mourned for each other.

Big Bad World ( MyTARDISsenseIsTingling ) @my-tardis-sense-is-tingling

What if Eren hadn't gotten there to rescue Mikasa in time?

Broken Down ( miikasaa )

It's in the dead of night, with innumerable regrets and dead faces haunting them, that Eren and Mikasa use each other's bodies to chase away the horrors of a failed mission. It never works, they know this all too well, but it doesn't stop them from trying.

Come to Me, My Sweetest Friend ( Lyssala ) @lyssala

A collection of Tumblr requests that take place in an Alternative Modern Day Universe where Mikasa and Eren grew up as neighbors with both their parents still alive.

Degrees of Sleeplessness ( cupofdaydream ) @cupofdaydream

“To share in the night’s quiet loneliness, a companion for the vast hours of sleeplessness, is, perhaps, all they’ve ever wanted.” Two teachers at the local high school, Eren and Mikasa, in the midst of work and home-life, find themselves indubitably and inescapably drawn to one another.

Elysian ( miikasaa )

Collection of works showing Eren and Mikasa's relationship in canon, post-canon, and modern settings.

Feels Like Home ( Lyssala ) @lyssala

Even when their homes were a thing of the long past, they always found a home in the comfort of each other.

Games ( miikasaa )

Restless after beginning their days as trainees, the 104th decide to relax a bit by playing strip poker. It goes about as well as anyone can imagine.

Girls and Boys ( Lindsey (Lipstick) )

A collection of one-shots depicting the relationship between Eren and Mikasa in various ways.

Happy Anniversary ( blehbleehhhh )

It's Eren and MIkasa's second anniversary. Things get kinky after returning home from dinner.

How to Coexist ( spoilerarlert ) @spoilerarlert

Rent in NYC is ridiculous, but by a stroke of luck, Mikasa manages to snag an apartment for mindblowingly cheap rates. However, upon moving in, she discovers, to her horror, that her roommate Eren was a past one-night stand. In which two twenty-somethings struggle to shrug aside their misgivings, not to mention diffuse a helluva lotta sexual tension—for the sake of affordable rent.

I Bet My Life For You ( Lyssala ) @lyssala

A collection of Tumblr requests that take place in the canon universe within the story line, or were predictions for future chapters at the time, focusing on Eren and Mikasa.

I'll Take You Back Where You Belong ( Lyssala ) @lyssala

A collection of Tumblr requests that take place in an Alternative Modern Day Universe where Eren saved Mikasa as children from a home invasion that killed her parents and caused her to live with her much older brother Levi.

I'm Gonna Be the Man Whose Coming Home to You ( Lyssala ) @lyssala

Still determined to keep things normal after a twist in their relationship, Eren and Mikasa still go through with their plans to take a road trip to the the Jaeger's beach house with Armin, Connie, Sasha, and Jean their summer after their first year of college. Their friends are weary of everyone being crammed in a car with them at close proximity, but they soon learn not all is as it seems (and that there are far more awkward things to deal with in close spaces).

Kaleidoscopes ( Kaekiro ) @kaekiro

A collection of stories that will follow Eren and Mikasa through various AUs.

Keeping Warm ( lionhart )

Eren and Mikasa’s first time.

king, lover, hold me tight ( artsycat )

Mikasa, as one of the heroes that single-handedly ensured the victory of Eldia against Marley during the war, must now use her newfound status to marry Eren, judged as a traitor in the eyes of Eldia, in order to ensure his protection.

Kiss With a Fist ( DenDenSushi, Lyssala ) @lyssala

It's always a normal day at school when an Apocalypse decides to descend. One minute Eren is trying to pass his chemistry class & the next he's wielding a baseball bat against bodies trying to bite him. Along with Mikasa & Armin, they are forced into a world where all it takes is one bite & you're dead.

Lawless ( kuchenackerman ) @kuchenackerman

Despite his youth, Eren Jaeger is one of the best and most required doctors of the Kingdom. Among those interested on his services is included a recognized criminal clan, which does not hesitate to use the youngest of the Ackerman as bait. Eren never imagined that this "harmless" girl in red dress would get him into so much trouble.

Lullabies in the Night ( happymikasa ) @happymikasa

People's voices sound quite beautiful when they sing, hum, or tweet. Mikasa discovered that after the defeat of the Titans.

Eren's voice is the most powerful though. Especially when he takes her to bed at night.

Lulls in the Sea ( dialectus ) @dialectus

"Lull: a temporary interval of quiet or lack of activity."

milk and honey ( bbyunnie ) @moonguks

a series of oneshots centered around eren and mikasa, across variant universes and situations.

OFFSIDE ( La_Ultima_00 )

Eren returns home and meets someone unexpected. After so long, his poor heart has not forgotten her.

Peace time ( almost_certain )

Eren and Mikasa haven't spoken since the last battle. Perhaps they can be civil long enough for their friends to tie the knot.

Reason for Dreaming ( mikasuhdude ) @mikasuhdude

Mikasa and Armin have known each other for the past three years, having the same college major and all. It's traditional of them to study in Mikasa's dorm with her stoner roommate, Sasha. One afternoon, they opt to study in Armin's apartment, and that's where she meets his roommate. He's a fiery guy, interrupting their study session by loudly cursing over a mustard-stained shirt and a family-owned restaurant.

Reckless Roses ( mikasuhdude ) @mikasuhdude

Not every couple is blessed with fertility.

Ruins In Bloom ( miikasaa )

Three years after the eradication of the Titans, Eren, Mikasa, Armin, and a few other survivors are ready to settle down in the free world. Finished with their travels and free from the oppression of the Titans, they're ready to begin their new lives. However, as each of the veterans knows, somethings are impossible to bury completely in the past. Scars will never completely heal, and sometimes, leaving behind a lifetime of warfare is unattainable.

Mikasa wishes for the domestic life she's always craved, and with Armin and Eren by her side, she thinks she'll finally get it. But the sudden change proves to be too much for Eren, and to her horror, he leaves. He leaves her behind, leaves everyone behind, and leaves her to deal with a change in her life she never wanted to experience on her own.

Say You'll Stay With Me ( miikasaa )

Sometimes it was enough simply to be with Mikasa, to hold her close, to hear her heart and know that they'd survived one more day together. And sometimes, she needed to be closer, to let him help her to forget the terror they witness every day.

Seasons of the Sea ( Lindsey (Lipstick) )

At the age of twenty-three, Mikasa gives birth to their first child – a small, tiny little girl – in their home by the sea, built after the defeat of the titans. An hour later, Eren disappears for three days, only a kiss on her forehead prior to signal his departure.

set in stone ( Beatingheartanthem )

Eren is jostled around by time, experiencing and re-experiencing different moments with Mikasa. Some choices made are the same. Some choices made are different. He knows he's going to die, but he'd like a moment of peace before he does.

So, then— ( Beatingheartanthem )

Over the past two years, Mikasa and Armin have grown estranged from their childhood friend. With a new girlfriend, new friends, Eren Jaeger is a person they don't quite know. Senior year: With graduation around the corner, Eren disappears forever. Now Mikasa wonders if things could've been different. In every version of history, in every universe, every path taken, is his fate set in stone?

the rivers song ( artsycat )

Mikasa has always dreamt about life afterwards.

Under the brine ( milkywaywide ) @milkywaywide

But Eren is still in her. And she can’t shake the utter alienation she feels, so bad it almost feels like an out of body experience, like a weird dream, like she’s drowning.

vermillion ( sionnacha )

Eren’s mouth tastes of blood—like putrid liquefied iron, and still, she cannot stop herself from diving in for more. Even though the earth around them is scorched, even though there is rubble and ash everywhere she looks, all she wants his him.

Washed-Up and Rundown ( spoilerarlert ) @spoilerarlert

Levi, a washed-up ex-journalist working a dead-end custodian job, finds himself transplanted into a suburban neighborhood, serving as the legal guardian of his sixteen-year-old second cousin, twice removed, Mikasa. There, he struggles to navigate the dynamic of this two-person household and in the midst locks horns with the local pain-in-the-ass: a teenager a few houses down the street by the name of Eren Jaeger.

We'll Go Home and Start Again ( Lyssala ) @lyssala

A collection of Tumblr requests that take place in Alternative Universes of many varieties featuring Eren and Mikasa.

When You Break ( cupofdaydream ) @cupofdaydream

"And when he kisses her, she can immediately tell that tonight is no different than the others." Eren and Mikasa seek shelter from the memories that haunt them in each other's arms. Mikasa comes to realize that you can't always kiss away the pain.

With You, I Am Home ( cupofdaydream ) @cupofdaydream

A collection of drabbles following Eren and Mikasa's relationship through various scenarios.

#eremika #tbd #fanfiction #writing

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liquorisce · 7 months

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boy next door

pairing: eremika

rating: explicit

[age gap modern au]

read on ao3

summary:

For sixteen years, Mikasa has watched the boy next door. First: through the eyes of a child, hand in his during family trips, his hand on her first bike when she learned how to ride. Then: through the eyes of a teenager, peeking behind her blinds into his room on hot summer months when he didn't wear a shirt, eyes lingering on his lips when he pulled away his cigarette.

Now, she is so much older, but he is older still, and the gap between them feels ever widening. But her desire to close it only feels more desperate.

(aka eremika age gap modern au)

...

“I’m not sure how this is supposed to go.” She hangs her jacket on his bed. There’s a little tie at her back that holds her dress together, and his eyes linger on the bare skin underneath it. He shoves his hands in pockets, so he doesn’t do something stupid like tug on the string. “Do I hug you?”

The corners of his mouth pull up into a smile. “If that’s what you want, do you want to hug me?”

It’s an innocent enough question, but it makes her blush. “We’re going to have sex, so I’m not sure how I should start things, to be honest.”

“We don’t exactly go from point A to Z like that.” Eren swallows, cringing at the clinical, matter-of-fact manner in which she states her purpose. “There are some steps in the middle, you know.”

[!!!!check ao3 for the tags!!!]

#eremika #liquorisce fanfiction #eren jaeger #mikasa ackerman #aot fanfiction

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liquorisce · 6 months

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monster

rating: g

ao3

summary: Post Canon. A letter from Armin to Mikasa telling her that he is coming to visit, and Mikasa's response.

...

Dear Mikasa,

How are you? Sorry, I suppose that is a difficult question to answer, but I think about it often. After everything. Every night when I wake up in a sweat, toes dipped in a pool of blood, I think of how you must be feeling. Do you dream of this too? Of him? In my dreams sometimes he is as we saw him last, big and cruel and with lifeless eyes, sometimes there is a punch to my gut and he shoves me to my knees and hurts me. But other times he is small, we both are— the three of us— and his hand extends to mine, to help me catch up to the both of you. We are running up the hill and it is beautiful, like it was when we were younger. But in the end, he is always dead. That isn’t a dream, though huh. It’s reality. I sound silly I suppose— a bit like Eren, sometimes I can’t tell what’s real and what isn’t.

Anyway, I am okay. It’s not all bad. I really wanted to tell you, it felt kind of insane to have you not know. The nights have gotten easier for me, when I wake now I don’t feel like screaming anymore. Don’t get me wrong: the nightmares do not leave me easily, there is far too much blood on my hands for that. But I don’t feel alone in them anymore. When I wake there is a hand in mine, a warm body next to me, someone who sees these terrors behind closed eyes and understands them. What I’m trying to say— God, it’s embarrassing to admit it, is that Annie and I… Well, you knew already didn’t you? Annie told me that you knew. That you took one look at her and knew her feelings. I kind of envy that, to be honest. I wish I could have looked at her and just known. It would’ve saved a lot of fumbling and stupidity on my part. But anyway, it’s not like we had time for romance then. Even now it feels weird calling it that— I feel guilty. So many people probably never got the time for romance, they were killed. By us. Neither did Eren— well I don’t have to tell you about it.

When I first knew that I liked her, I was a mess— we knew nothing back then, titans were monsters, so far removed from us, the foreigner, the enemy, the invader. I was in love with a monster and it should’ve repulsed me, but it didn’t. When you looked the other way I went down to the cellars and poured my heart out to her. And then I became a monster and I suppose it all equaled out in the end. But that’s the thing, Mikasa— nobody made me a monster, I always was. At the end of the day, nobody painted the blood on my hands, I dirtied them. It was my fault Eren became the way he did, did you know that? I showed him those books, I made him do what he did and then I couldn’t save him— God, I’m sorry, Annie says I should stop saying things like this, that it’s not my fault, and some days I believe her, but most days I don’t. Today isn’t one of those days. Sorry, it must seem pointless to keep talking about this, but what I mean to say is that it is always on my mind. The human cost of my survival, I mean. I am alive, and safe— and in love, even— and I don’t often feel like I deserve it. On bad days, when I close my eyes Bertholdt is looking at me, into my eyes, into my skull, he can see my every thought. He can see me living the life he was supposed to live, holding the hands of the girl he was supposed to love. But on good days, and it is hard to keep repeating this to myself, I tell myself that I deserve it. Because I need to keep moving forward. Because I sat next to Eren when he knew was about to die and watched him cry because he knew wouldn’t get to live a long life with you, with us. You understand what I’m saying, don’t you? We deserve to be happy. I want to be happy, I want you to be happy. I wish I could see you and know you were doing okay.

In two weeks, I will board a ship— Annie and Jean and Connie and Reiner and Pieck, they are coming too— for Paradis. We will visit Historia. I know you don’t want to be part of this anymore, I know you just want to rest. But I hope I’ll get to see you. We’ll be visiting the headquarters for a week. Please come see me, Mikasa. I miss you.

Love, Armin

...

Armin,

This is the fourth letter I’m writing to you, all previous attempts are now in the trash. I miss you so much. I wish we could all live in the same town again. I wish I could invite you and Annie for dinner. Yes, I could hear you gushing through your letter, and it makes me happy that you both are happy. But please don’t call yourself a monster, Armin. You were never a monster in my eyes. Annie, on the other hand…

… Just kidding.

You asked me a question and I don’t quite know how to answer it. How am I feeling? I don’t know. On some days I barely know that I’m alive. I built myself a house on the edge of the forest, and when I was building it I had something to do. Something to keep my hands busy. The days would be tiring and the nights sleepless. Armin, this is going to sound very strange to you but after I came here, I felt as if I didn’t know how to be alone. I didn’t know how to sleep alone. I didn’t know how to cook alone, I didn’t know how to walk alone. Well maybe it isn’t strange, because all our lives we have been together. I have never truly been alone before this. But my loneliness is now particularly difficult: it is as if, for each day prior to that day, I had a different life. For four long years, I had Eren. Did he tell you that? That we lived together? That I woke up to him and went to sleep with his arm around my waist? That when I cooked he would stand behind me, or chop the vegetables or go fish, and when I slept before him, he made sure to cover me with blankets? I didn’t know it when I told you I was leaving, but it is the loneliness that feels most disorienting. For so many years, I have never known what it is like for Eren to not be by my side. And even for that brief time, when he left me to go to Marley, I was still reaching for him. Now I have nowhere to reach, nothing to reach for. The bed is cold, and I need to chop firewood myself, if I want to be warm. Nobody cares if I am cold and tired. I have nobody to care for.

You talk about good days and bad days: On bad days I am awake but I cannot find the strength to do anything, I feel like I am drowning in my tears. On good days my eyes are closed and they only open in dreams– dreams where Eren is still with me. We go down to the creek to fish together and get tired of waiting so we go for a swim. On cold nights, we sit by the fireplace with a warm blanket and the heat of his body and I convince myself I will never be cold again. I hear him call my name, and I feel like my being has a purpose, a meaning, and things make sense to me. On other days I feel like I am only half-alive, my body carries itself to the market, it buys food to keep itself alive, my body takes out the right change to pay the woman at the vegetable cart, says hello to the son of the baker who tells me I need to eat more— apparently I look weak, I was never weak before this, I used to be strong.

I don’t really question if I deserve to be happy. I don’t know if I can be. I don’t know if I have it in me to move this body, this soul, without the immense burden of loss. Inside me there is a pit, a black hole, and I don’t know if happiness will survive inside it. But it makes me happy that you are happy. Your letter made me smile. Of course I will visit you. Please keep writing to me, Armin. I cannot wait to see you.

Yours,

Mikasa

#eremika #aruani #liquorisce fanfiction #aot

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liquorisce · 2 months

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undercover

fandom: lucy/tim, chenford, the rookie

rating: mature

wc: 1410 | read on ao3

summary: Post 5x01, Tim's POV exploration of the kiss(es) and being a couple undercover

He arrives at the conclusion that he isn’t really meant for undercover work. In a sense, he’d already known it. Nothing about Isabel’s work had ever fascinated him, it brought him no thrill apart from the deceptively similar rush of terror from a single wrong move. He glances to his left. Lucy, however, wears the shine of dopamine, a slight sweat sheen on her forehead, a sparkle in her soft brown eyes, a smile on her lips. Her body rewards her for this kind of work, revels in it. He saw it when she snapped the cuffs on while making the arrest, the keen way her eyes sharpened before she violently threatened the girl from the casino. He was thrown by it, the ease with which she touched him, casual, generous, on the chest, on the arm, draping his arm more snugly around her when he felt uptight, held back by the promises from his reality. What threw him even more was how easy it felt to stay that way, his hands on her body like it belonged there.

He’s curious about the why of it. He wants to ask her why she always rushes to escape her own person, when she is one of the best people he has ever known. Every insecurity, every trauma, wrapped in so much goodness, like a gift to every person she encounters. But they’re parked in front of her apartment, and he just says, “I’ll walk you up,” because he doesn’t feel ready for this to be over just yet. She beams at him, tilting her face in that way of hers, her eyes, her nose, her smile, all tilting up at him like she is surprised that he is capable of offering her kindness. Most times he is charmed by it, by how happy the smallest gestures make her, but today he finds himself annoyed. I’m good to you, he thinks, and then a thought he isn’t prepared for: I would do so much for you. Can’t you see that.

Lucy is making small talk about their mission, how fun it was. Her tone is casual and light-hearted like they went on a little holiday in a private jet, hit up some casinos and made love in the hotel. Like he saw a sliver of her back through an open bathroom door, and he had the right to slide it open further and run his hand along her spine. As if she did not tackle an assailant in a bathrobe and play pretend-lovers with him while a serial killer who almost killed her broke loose. “I can’t wait to get out of these clothes,” he offers, the only thing he really can offer to this conversation. He feels slow, sluggish like his mind is still on the mission, in the plane, in her apartment before any of this began, preparing to understand what it would be like to hold her. But he walks her up to her apartment and her demeanour slowly changes, nervous or reluctant or both, he can’t tell. He is still deciphering whether he notices all these things about her because he’s a cop or because she’s Lucy. He tells her he liked her hair and she smiles shyly, and turns her face forward. Everything about this feels tentative and strange and new. Like they are headed towards a home and it is meant to be a common destination. “We’re technically still undercover,” she’s saying, with a laugh, a smile. Coyness that comes perhaps with expectation. In a game he has played with several other women, he knows the obvious next move, for the obviously desired outcome. There are two ways to play it, one: a chaste kiss, the last chance to hold her face, her body in his arms, to honour the permission of this charade and then part. Two: prolong this deliberate delusion and close his eyes to reality. They can turn the lights off, and he can see her with his hands and mouth, the way he did every night in his dreams since the first time in her apartment when Lucy Chen put her lips against his and he found himself unable to pull away. The way he probably wanted to when he confronted her in the hotel room and told her none of this felt like pretend, it felt too real. And the unsaid, what his brain was unable to catch up to, that he wanted her to spell it out for him, to tell him he isn’t alone in his madness, that it could be the two of them, and they could do it again without a time-limit or the threat of someone walking in and figure out this horribly intense feeling.

“Do you want to come in,” she asks, in a low voice. She drags her lower lip under her teeth, and looks at him with hesitation and heat.

It should be easier to say yes, usually he is better at understanding this primal dance with women. But she just explained that they’re still undercover, they’re still other people, this heady pull between them is borne of two other persons. And it doesn't feel right. “I shouldn’t,” he says. Because he remembers Ashley, and the fact that what he could have just now wouldn’t be real and it pricks him.

She nods and opens the door, and he still feels rooted to the spot, not unlike the way he did that day outside her apartment, struggling to understand why kissing her felt like the best thing in the world. Like something he had a right to. Lucy is watching him still, with uncertain invitation, a little shrug, as if to say: why are you hesitating, don’t you want me, don’t you want this. And he feels dumb, under a thrall, his morality feels a stranger to him, he steps inside the apartment.

What happens next makes him feel even dumber; he is a policeman, being aware of his surroundings is almost an innate instinct, but this situation, this new knowledge of her disarms him. His focus is singular, the tug of her teeth on her lip, the scratchy nervousness of her voice, the lack of purpose in his arms when he should be holding her face and kissing her already. He only realises they’re not alone after Lucy does, and then everything happens in a blur. She calls her boyfriend’s name, and then says frantically, “Oh my god,” and “he has a pulse,” there’s blood on her hands where she touched him, and her face contorts with fear, and she’s pleading: Tim.

…

Some days later, he finds himself on her doorstep, where he hesitated earlier. He is hesitating again. Her boyfriend is inside on her couch, happy because he is still alive and Lucy is taking care of him. Tim is on the threshold of her home, entertaining the green monster on his shoulder, but smiling externally, wishing him well.

He tells her he’s here to convince her to go to UC school, she’s made for it. She reminds him of what they almost did, as if she knows inside that she is made for him. But he tells her that they didn’t do anything in the end, and he does his best to hide how much he regrets it. “You think we should have some space,” she says, sounding almost resentful.

No, he thinks, unbidden. He has come to hate this space between them, the awfulness that has crept between them over the past few days. “I think it’s time for you to move on,” he says instead, something he truly means but he doesn’t want. She runs her tongue over her teeth, nodding. He was talking about her career but everything feels personal. An end before a beginning. Her eyes look glassy, she stands bravely upright when he can see that she is upset. He can read her now, he knows when she is trying to be strong. He moves toward her almost automatically, before he stops himself. Chris is inside. This moment is too different from what feels natural. It feels like his duty to comfort her, to make her understand, to tell her it will be okay between them, but he’s prepared only so many words and those aren’t part of them.

“I understand,” she says. She goes back inside, closes the door. In the emptiness of the hallway, Tim finds that he doesn’t really understand at all.

#chenford #lucy chen #tim bradford #the rookie #liquorisce fanfiction

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liquorisce · 6 months

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boy next door - chapter 2

pairing: eremika

rating: explicit

[age gap modern au]

read on ao3

summary:

“Mikasa,” he says, in a low voice. Slowly, he gathers the strength to look at her.

“Yeah,” she says, softly. Her eyes are a little wide and she backs herself against the door, like a scared mouse.

“You want to lose your virginity in a car?”

She bites her lip on the left and then on the right. “I’m not opposed to it.”

“Really?” For some reason her tentative answer only annoys him further. “Then why not do it now, let’s just get it over with.”

#eremika #mikasa ackerman #eren jaeger #aot fanfiction #liquorisce fanfiction

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liquorisce · 2 years

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shotgun kiss

rating: nsfw / E

pairing: eren x mikasa | read on ao3

summary: “Do you want a puff?” He should feel terrible, but the more she looks at him that way– sweet, trusting, he gives into the pulsing desire in his gut.

“I-I don’t really know how to,” -

“… I’ll teach you. Put in your mouth.” It sounds kind of crude the way he says it, makes her think of other things, memories from when they were a lot more intimate. He places the joint between her lips and says, “… Suck.”

a/n: ok so some of u tumblr fam have read parts of this before, but I have added about 2k+ of smut in celebration of kinktober, and it is now complete so yay!

She doesn’t know what she’s doing here. The minute she steps inside she’s overcome by how much she doesn’t fit in here.

(Maybe that’s why he left, why he doesn’t keep in touch— maybe she just doesn’t fit into his lifestyle anymore)

There are so many faces she doesn’t know, just a lot of people in varying styles of black, and some flashes of metal here and there.

There are some people on the couch crowding around the bong, and they seem to be playing some sort of game where people take hits from the bong depending on their answers.

There’s a couple in the corner making out, or maybe three of them she isn’t sure, who are only decent because of the way their hands cover each other up.

She’s certain she can feel eyes on her, and she cringes inwardly because she probably sticks out like a sore thumb - pale pink blouse and modest but figure-hugging denim. She looks almost virginal in this house.

Thankfully she knows this house - basement? - well enough to find her way to the kitchen, and she reaches for a glass of water, to calm herself down.

“… Sure you don’t want anything stronger?”

Gulping, she turns to face him, watching her with a detached expression. “… Eren.”

He looks every bit as handsome as she’d always thought he was, growing up. Except instead of his boyish enthusiasm, his green eyes glow with a sort of magnetic darkness, his willowy brown hair pulled up into a messy bun.

There’s a new tattoo that peaks out on his collarbones, some sort of wings that are still healing. “… I didn’t know you were having a party today.”

“Yeah,” he walks towards her, “… I don’t recall inviting you.”

She winces at his not-so-subtle reminder that he doesn’t want her here. “So what did you come here for, since it’s certainly not to have fun? That’s not really your style, is it, Mikasa?”

His eyes give her a once over and she can’t tell if he’s displeased or just simply unreadable; she can’t tell a lot of things about Eren nowadays. He takes a puff from his joint, his perfect lips pursing for an exhale.

“What are you smoking?” She asks, trying to sound conversational. Her tone doesn’t sell it though.

His eyes narrow. “What does it matter? You’re just about to tell me a million reasons why I shouldn’t be doing it anyway.” His lips curve in a mocking smile.

She looks away from him. A huge part of her hates it, hates what he’s become, a boy who’d only wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps, studied his ass off to get into med school only to drop out two years later. The last time she’d confronted it, she’d asked him how he even supported himself if he’d dropped out of school and quit his job. The grin he’d given her told her maybe it was better if she didn’t know how he made his money nowadays.

The smaller, more desperate part of her just wants to ignore all of it; she misses him, misses being a part of his life, and thinks maybe she could at least turn a blind eye to his self-destruction if she cannot save him from it.

“Maybe I just wanna try it,” she says defensively, not sounding convincing in the least.

He raises his eyebrows, his mouth twisting into a smirk. “… Yeah?”

She nods hesitantly, biting her lower lip as he moves closer to her, making her step back subconsciously against the counter. “Well why not,” he murmurs, “… maybe sweet, perfect Mikasa’s finally going to learn to have some fun.”

He takes a deep inhale of the joint, eyes boring into her before he drops lower, lips hovering just over hers. The proximity is enough to make her gasp, lips parting slightly, her body feeling hot when he slips his knee between her thighs.

He exhales directly into her mouth, the intoxicating smoke flowing directly into her. “Take it in, sweetheart,” he urges, “… till your throat burns.”

Mikasa does as he says, eyes watering a little from the smoke, the taste and smell being completely new to her. She’s not sure if it’s the smoke that’s making her feel heady or if it’s the fact that his lips are so close to hers, they’re literally brushing against hers.

His hands find purchase on her hips, his thumb brushing under her sweater and against her taut abs. “… Again?”

She nods, and he does it again, and she wonders if she imagines his leg brushing just a little closer to the warmth between her legs. After he blows into her mouth, this time, his lips fall just below her lips, pressing featherlight kisses along her jawline.

She coughs lightly, and he looks up at her. “… You okay?” Her pupils are dilated just a little bit, pink lips parting invitingly.

“A little dizzy,” she breathes, “… or something like that.” She can barely recognise her own voice.

He smiles, regarding her intently, and her heart skips a beat because it’s been so long since he’s looked at her with affection in his eyes.

“… You like it…” A question? A statement? She has no idea. All she knows is that his breath is kind of tickling her lips, and she’s rubbing down on his thighs, sort of, and yeah, she does like that.

“You want another shotgun kiss, sweetheart?”

She’s not really sure what it means, but whatever he was smoking was starting to get to her, and it’s kind of taking over her body, like a warmth, relaxing, uncoiling, and she doesn’t really want to think about it too much anymore, so she nods, whispering, “… Please, Eren.” And maybe she just really likes it when he talks sweet to her like that.

It’s so transparent, Eren feels guilty. She’s in his arms, relaxed like she hasn’t got a care in the world. Apart from getting him to kiss her. It’s so sweet, the way she begs him with just her eyes, it goes straight to his cock. That’s why he preferred the distance between them.

Miss Goody-two-shoes Mikasa Ackerman with her perfect grades, perfect career… perfect fucking body. She never did anything wrong… except for Eren Jeager. Classic bad boy with anger issues and a penchant for things on the other side of the law. At first, she’d tried to lecture him, pull him back, and remind him of all the good things he wanted from life, but he isn’t sure if he wants all those things anymore.

But Mikasa? She used to be a good thing in his life. Maybe the only thing he still wanted… regardless of how much ever he tried to push her away. It was even harder to deny now, when she was so pliant in his arms, silly grin on her cheeks, lips shining from where she licked them.

He blows the smoke into her open mouth slowly, hands on her cheeks as soft as he can manage. Runs his fingers through her hair afterward as he watches the haze in her eyes. “You good, Mikasa?”

She hums, closing her eyes. It was too tempting to pass up. He kisses her slowly, suckling her lower lip and pulling it into his mouth, one hand finding purchase on her hip. The fact that he gets to kiss her after so damn long (he’d almost given up on them ever getting back together), even though he knows he’s probably taking advantage of the situation, gets him carried away. He likes feeling her relax in his arms, watching her pupils dilate in this heady mixture of intoxication and arousal, seeing her nipples poking through the soft fabric of her blouse.

Mikasa’s lips are so pretty, so perfect, he’d always been enamoured by them, by how they feel, how they look when she’s happy. She giggles when it finally hits her, breathes on his ear that he’s tickling her with all these kisses. It makes him do it even more, if only that he can see her laugh with him again. They’d been fighting for several months now; all he’d ever see in her eyes was disappointment.

So he commits it to memory, her laugh, her arousal, takes it a step further when his hands reach inside her shirt to grope at her breasts and fondle her nipples. “Eren, there’s people here,” -

“And none of these people care, Mikasa.” He lifts her up swiftly and places her on the counter. There’s clear apprehension in her eyes as she looks at him. He picks up his joint and takes a drag.

“Do you want a puff?” He should feel terrible, but the more she looks at him that way– sweet, trusting, he gives into the pulsing desire in his gut.

“I-I don’t really know how to,” -

She does exactly as he says, pursing her lips around the joint and sucking hard. The smoke fills her mouth and abruptly she coughs sputtering all around her.

Smirking, he murmurs, “… You have to hold it in, babe. You can do that, can’t you?”

She’s not really sure if she’s imagining it, but she feels nervous under his gaze, exposed maybe, and it makes her body feel hot. Tears in her eyes from the smoke, she tries again, this time letting the acrid smoke go down her throat. She lets it out in a more controlled exhale, not without a few stray coughs. “I don’t think I’m very good at it,” she says, throat itchy.

She scrunches up her nose, looking absolutely adorable.

“Relax, Mikasa. You don’t always have to be good at everything, you know.” He boops her nose playfully, remembering how much he hated that growing up; she was good at school, good at sports, good-looking, good at heart -

He’d hated her almost as much as he loved her. (Was it all that different now?)

Her eyes widen, cheeks flushing as she looks at him in a kind of dazed wonder. She rubs the tip of her nose gingerly. “… it’s been so long since you’ve done that.”

Shit. It was just a gesture he’d done so many times, he hadn’t even thought about it before doing it. Hell, he’d practically been kissing her minutes ago, and that hadn’t sounded off any alarms in her head apparently, but a little nose boop had her looking at him with the kind of hope in his eyes that he just didn’t have the emotional bandwidth to deal with right now.

“Forget it,” he says, harsher than he intended, reassessing the position they were in; faces mere inches from each other, him nestled between her legs in the corner of the kitchen. “… I shouldn’t have done it.”

Shouldn’t have kissed her, because it’s all he can think about even though he’s stepped back and put some distance between them. His lips burn where they touched her skin, her mouth, craving a sensation he has no business seeking anymore.

She pulls on his sleeve and his gaze flies back to hers, pretty grey orbs looking at him pleadingly. “… I miss you, Eren.” Very simply, a truth she doesn’t hesitate to say. Eren thinks she’d say it even if she wasn’t high because that’s just how she was - honest, simple, perfect. “Don’t you miss me?”

Her voice wavers because she’s scared to hear it, afraid that he’s going to say no and push her away like he has for the last few months; he’d tell her he doesn’t care and step on her heart the way he’s done unflinchingly in the past. He sees it, sees the vulnerability, and he hates himself for it.

It’s an addictive kind of pain, a stabbing self-loathing that came with loving Mikasa Ackerman. He’d never felt good enough for her even when he was doing everything right - doing med school and a part-time job, driving up every Sunday to meet his father, taking flowers to his mother’s grave.

Now he can’t bear to do any of it, he feels betrayed by all that he thought was right, and anything more than waking up and distracting himself from it all feels like a weight he isn’t strong enough to carry. Especially when the weight is from his girlfriend’s crushing disappointment.

This is why he’d distanced himself, why he doesn’t like her coming over, why he can’t bear to be near her anymore. He takes a deep drag and prays that the smoke in his nostrils and his mouth will make it all hazy again, because he doesn’t want to see these things clearly anymore.

He shuts his eyes for a brief moment, whispers, “Why? Why do you miss me, Mikasa?”

Because what else do I do for you other than weigh you down?

She threads her fingers into his, pulling him closer. “… it used to feel good,” she breathes, kind of wistful, “being with you.”

He feels the whisper on his chin, her lips brushing against his skin, and he feels it; it used to feel more than just good… being with her used to feel right.

As right as it does right now, when her legs loop around his thighs, locking him into place flush against her hips, her hands resting on his chest.

He’s starting to recognize that he’s already ruined, he’s already fucked up, and maybe there’s no point overthinking this anymore. Taking another drag, this time he runs a thumb along her lip and opens her mouth before he shotguns into her. Maybe it’s selfish, but he doesn’t want either of them to be seeing clearly when none of this is real.

“I could make you feel good again,” he murmurs, hands roaming her thighs, loving the feel of her in his hands. (He’d missed her too, how could she ever have thought otherwise?)

“Mmhmm.” Her hands thread into his hair, and she angles herself against his mouth, tasting his weed-stained lips, tongue tracing his teeth before it slips inside of him.

She tastes a little bit like him, of regret and smoke but mostly of longing, and it makes him yearn for her in ways he hadn’t allowed himself to recently. Her breasts press up against his chest, and it feels so natural, so unbelievably good, he almost groans into her mouth.

He wants her to feel good too, he wasn’t lying when he said he would do it; that’s what she misses about him after all. His fingers reach for the button of her jeans and slide her zipper down, and he feels her gasp against his mouth. “… What are you,” -

“I thought you wanted to feel good, baby,” he says, knowing just how unfairly he was twisting her own words. The hitch in her throat however tells him she doesn’t truly mind this, not at all.

His thumb reaches into her panties and finds her weakness immediately. He brings it to his mouth and licks the pad of his thumb, his eyes not leaving hers, enjoying the way her mouth parts wantonly with the knowledge of what he was going to do.

He brushes against her clit and she arches, unprepared for how good it would feel. She hears the noise of someone rummaging at the other end of the kitchen and she stills, panicking.

“Relax,” he tells her, because she’s still too tense, there’s no way he’d let anyone see her; his entire frame blocks any vantage point anyone else could have of her. “Focus on my fingers, baby. That’s it.”

She’s unbelievably wet, his index and middle finger are drenched as he works them into her. “… Do you really think I’d let anyone else watch you when you’re like this?” His lips hover over the shell of her ear. “When you’re dripping onto my fingers,” he nibbles on her lobe, “like a slut?”

She tightens around him as he says it, cheeks burning, a low moan escaping her lips. He kisses her again, before she can get too loud, consuming her little whimpers before they can escape him.

She feels so precious like this, so small, clinging on to him while he makes her come with just his fingers. “It’s been a while since you’ve done it, haven’t you?” He wonders if it’s the weed that makes him ask this so boldly, if that’s what makes her blush when she nods. She’d come so quickly, so easily, like all she needed was his touch.

He likes it though, likes that he still has this effect on her, that despite all the disappointment he seems to cause, he can make her unravel for him in minutes. He extracts his fingers from her pussy and keeping his gaze fixed on hers, slips them into his mouth, sucking deliberately.

“You taste just as sweet as I remember, Mikasa.” he murmurs.

Her hands move to his pants, tugging on his zipper. “Am I allowed to taste you?”

He can feel himself grow harder at her words. He thumbs her lower lip, pink with saliva and the juices from her cunt that were on his finger. “Did you miss that too, baby?” And when she blushes he says, “Beg me for it and I’ll let you.”

She threads her hands around his neck, reaches up on tiptoe and clings to him, breath hot on his ear. “I missed sucking you off, Eren. So much.” And God, if that wasn’t hot enough, she brushes her fingers against his bulge. “Please?”

Maybe a younger version of him, less experienced, would have made a mess of himself on the spot. His hand moves up to grip her neck, tipping her mouth up to meet his. Exactly then, he hears an absolutely unwanted, annoying, infuriating voice call his name. “Jaeger, Connie got a bit uh, enthusiastic and um, broke the bong. Do you have– Whaaa–”

Eren turns to the side, his gaze blistering with fury. “Get the fuck out, Jean.”

It takes a second for Jean to fully comprehend the scene in front of him. Maybe because he’s stoned out of his mind, he lingers, his gaze taking in Mikasa tucked into Eren’s chest, her messy state of dress. “Didn’t know you guys were back together,” he says slowly, the faint fire of lust glowing in his eyes.

“We’re n—”

“It’s none of your business, actually.” And this time he doesn’t hide the venom from his voice, his grip on Mikasa’s neck tightening.

Jean smirks, levelling with Eren for a hot minute. And then he puts his hands up and walks out. Before he leaves the kitchen he turns over his shoulder and says, “Missed seeing you around, Mikasa.”

Dick.

“Get on your knees, Mikasa.” His grip is firm around her neck, and his gaze is burning— annoyed, possessive? She couldn’t tell.

When she hesitates, he narrows his eyes. “Just one minute ago, you were begging? And after Jean came in you’re suddenly not interested anymore? Is that how easy it is to change your mind, sweetheart?”

The anger lacing his voice should scare her. Maybe if she weren’t so fucking high, it would. But all she can focus on is what she wants; and she’s willing to beg for it. “I was just wondering if we could go somewhere more private, Eren. I don’t want anyone to interrupt us again.”

He considers her slowly, lets the anger ebb and fade. Rubs his thumb against her neck softly, before dropping a kiss on her collarbone. “He’s always been sweet on you, that motherfucker.”

His kisses feel like little shots of vodka poured straight into her bloodstream. The possessive edge to his voice makes her clench her thighs. “Let’s go to your bedroom.” Her fingers slip under his shirt. “Please.”

He loved hearing her beg, but he doesn’t make her beg too much. He doesn’t have the patience for it. “Wrap your legs around me, baby.”

If people see them when he carries her up the stairs, he doesn’t care. If they think they’re back together… Well let them fucking think it. When he shuts the door behind him, she immediately slinks down to her knees.

It was fucking heavenly. The sight of the girl he loved so eager to blow him, so fucking sweet as she pulled him out of his pants and licked him from the balls to his head? Pretty fucking hard to beat.

He lets her warm up, licking and sucking the tip, being cute with her kisses, until he pushes forward, goes a bit deeper, makes her gag, murmuring, “You’re so fucking perfect, it pisses me off.” She lets out a gasp as he slips out of her mouth with a pop, cock smacking against her cheek.

He fists his hand in her hair, pulling her gaze up to him. A string of spit falls down her chin. “You satisfied, Mikasa? This is what you wanted, right?” He smears the spit along her cheek with his thumb.

She touches her tongue to his head, licking the precum on top. “Wanna taste your cum,” she says faintly, pretty grey eyes flickering away from him.

Suddenly he’s overcome with the urge to kiss her. It’s a little bit sappy and mostly ruined, but this is how she fucks him over— tells him sweet things and then dirty things with that perfect mouth of hers. Makes him want to spout fucking love poems when his dick is hard in her mouth.

“Maybe… I don’t want to come in your mouth.” He nuzzles her chin, watches as she looks somewhat dejected.

He pulls her up to her feet, makes himself comfortable on the bed, nestling her between his legs. Trailing his hands over her toned belly, his hands dip lower until he cups her pussy over her jeans. “Maybe I want to come in here.”

“You ok with that, Mikasa?” Almost inadvertently, she clenches her thighs. He can feel the warmth radiating from her. “Mmm-hmm.”

“Gimme a kiss,” he murmurs. She bends down and kisses him, open-mouthed, kinda messy, the smell of smoke still heavy on her tongue. He plays with her tongue, sucking, pulling it into his mouth and savouring it.

“So fucking sweet,” he tells her, “... you do whatever I ask for.” He unzips her jeans, pulling them down along with her panties. His gaze darkened salaciously as it dropped from her face to the place between her legs. “But you were gonna tell Jean we weren’t back together, right?”

His fingers dip inside of her again. The second time that day that he found her wet and wanting. When he thinks about the fact that she was this riled up just from giving him head… He wanted to be inside her so badly. He pulled his fingers out of her and saw them glisten. She didn’t even need the fucking foreplay.

She looked at him, conflicted. “But we’re not,” she mumbles. “You didn’t even want me here.”

“And you didn’t want people to think we were together.” He sounded a bit crazy to his own ears, but he didn’t care. “Wanted people to think this didn’t belong to me?” And almost cruelly, he pinches her clit.

Moaning, she almost falls forward, bracing herself on his shoulders. “Never,” she whispers shakily.

“You’re soaked, Mikasa.” Lifting her by the hips, he throws her onto the bed beneath him. Without him asking, or prompting, she spreads her legs to accommodate him as he nestles himself between her legs. Grinding down onto her through his boxers, he says, “Fucking drenched.” His hand splays around her throat before he kisses her. Hard. “Because of me.”

And before she can even say yes, that nobody else could ever have this effect on he slips his boxers down and sheathes himself inside her, fully, in one smooth motion.

“I missed this,” she says hoarsely, as she adjusts to the size of him, as he fills her up slowly. “Missed you, Eren.”

She says it so easily, so sweetly, he kind of envies her. Is this what it’s like to love without pride or anger or the debilitating insecurity of never being enough? Because how much ever she sighs his name when he fucks her, he can’t shake that little niggle at the bottom of his heart that tells him that he’s ruining a girl who’s far too good for him. So instead of saying it back he kisses her harder, swallowing her words, allowing only her moans when he talks dirty to her. When he tells her she’s so good, so good for one thing— and that’s taking his cock.

He palms her breasts, reaching down to kiss them, pinching them as he sees her reaching the edge. She’s the prettiest thing as she comes, back arching off the bed, toes curling, mouth open as she gasps his name in pleasure. It’s his most favourite sound. And once she’s done, she whimpers, “You promised.”

“What’d I promise you, baby?” And for a moment he’s worried. Because sometimes she feels so fucking good, he tells her things he can’t really reason, promises her the fucking world, and the moon if she wanted it.

He thrusts in and out of her, a bit unsteady, his thrusts shallow, because she’s so fucking slick it feels like she’s going to milk the orgasm right out of him.

“Said you were gonna cum inside of me,” she pants, fingers digging into his arm as she winced from the aftershocks of her orgasm.

He pulls her hair away from her face, sweaty and matted to her face. Kisses her by the side of her mouth because that’s all he can manage. He buries his face in the crook of her neck. “Not wearing a condom, Mikasa,” he breathes, so fucking close he’s nearly a second from blowing.

“Don’t care, Eren. You promised–”

“Gonna come, baby,” he groans, the most pathetic warning, because he before he even finishes that statement, he’s spilling into her. Thick and hot deep inside of her, making her feel dirty with the feeling of having him as deep inside of her as he possibly could be.

They lay together after that, his breaths harsh next to her mellow ones. As he slips outside of her, she can feel the essence of him drip down her crack, pooling onto the sheets. “You’re impossible, you know that,” he whispers, slipping one finger between her legs and pushing his cum back into her slit almost absent-mindedly.

“Can’t say no to you, can’t get you out of my mind.” Tiredly he places a kiss on her forehead. She doesn’t say anything, still looking somewhat dazed.

“You feeling okay?” He asks, concerned. She’d never smoked before and even though it was possibly too late to develop a conscience, the guilt had caught up with him.

“Why do you say it like it’s a bad thing?” She looks at him sincerely, lips swollen from his kisses. “I can’t get you out of my mind either.” She snuggles into his arms, mumbles something into his skin.

It sounds suspiciously like, “It’s because I love you.” And it could be so easy to say it back— the way Mikasa does, innocent, sweet, pure. But Eren isn’t like that. There’s nothing innocent about him— not his heart and not his body. Nothing sweet about the way he wanted her; a vicious, undeniable creature inside of him that kept him dishonest.

So he just sighs, pretends he doesn’t hear it when he really does, when it sits inside of his heart like a heavy thing, and places a kiss on her shoulder, stroking her back until she drifts off to sleep. “It is a bad thing,” he murmurs, before his eyes fall shut. “Good girls like you deserve better.”

#eremika #liquorisce fanfiction #eremika smut #eren jaeger #mikasa ackerman #aot smut

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liquorisce · 7 months

Text

hello!

i’m sick as a dog which means i’m in bed writing about teenagehood and insecurity (boy next door 🙄 it’s so dramatic), instead of working. here is a snippet:

i feel as if i’ve been writing the same thing over and over: growing up and wanting sex and being embarrassed about it, longing for something yet being simultaneously ashamed by it. it feels to me like a universal coming of age experience: navigating the embarrassing nature of sexual desire. (unless ur a person who doesn’t experience sexual desire, ofc). perhaps bc none of my explorations of this theme have felt complete until now, i’m still at it. i do think, for the first time ever, i have some grasp over how to communicate what i want to communicate. and that feels thrilling.

anyway: ty guys for the nice comments and encouragement i really appreciate it!!

#eremika #boy next door #liquorisce fanfiction #writing blog

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liquorisce · 1 year

Text

a fool's choice

rating: M / nsfw

pairing: eren x mikasa, aot | read on ao3

summary: Only a fool chooses war over love, Eren has learnt. And he is a fool. [Eren contemplates the many ways he could have done things differently with Mikasa.] cabin fic.

They left on a night like this; a starry night sky drenched in ink blue, a shot of green seeking out the grey, Eren and Mikasa’s faces inches from each other. He’d asked her a question that had burned inside of him for the longest time… And Mikasa had answered.

Today, Eren has a different question.

…

“What are you looking at?” Mikasa is sitting on the grass, legs stretched out in front of her, palms on the soil.

Eren is sitting with his arms around his knees, his face resting on his arm. “You.” He says it softly but without hesitation, as if he doesn’t have time for it, doesn’t have time for the embarrassment. Doesn’t have space to keep words inside of him anymore.

Mikasa blushes; pink is a nice colour on Mikasa, he thinks. Like her sweater. It’s a soft shade dusted on her cheeks, delicate like her lips. Her blush blooms like the blood inside of her, blood that won’t spill for a long, long time. Mikasa is different from him. She has a lot of time for embarrassment, so much time. Another man will see her this way, he thinks, an inevitability that twists inside of him. He will see her softness and her strength, he will see her blush; he will love her.

Someday when Eren is not there to love her anymore.

Now when he is teetering on the edge of death, he has thoughts like this sometimes. Bitter and heady with regret, and utterly futile— nothing he can say or do will go back in time and rewrite his choices. No matter how much he wishes he’d written his life differently, watched her face when she walked beside him instead of worshipping the survey corps, caught her hand when she offered it, it wouldn’t change what they’d become.

Only a fool chooses war over love, Eren has learnt. And he is a fool.

Freedom doesn’t taste the same when he would no longer be there to taste it— when he wouldn’t be able to partake in it with the people he loves. Death has a way of making things painfully clear; Eren wouldn’t be able to see the life of freedom Mikasa would live, and he wouldn’t live it by her side. And on his lowest days he wonders if she would’ve been happy just with the latter, if she’d gotten only Eren instead of freedom, if she’d lived inside these caged walls, but inside a home with a warm fire, with Eren to bring her firewood, with a belly swollen with the proof of their love.

“Mikasa,” he says. His voice is urgent with questions.

“Hmm?”

She looks peaceful beside him, like she has never held a blade in her life. Like he has never stained her hands with blood. It breaks his heart.

What right does he have to ask her all this: Will you be mine, Mikasa? Will you promise me your heart? Will you love me more than anybody else, forever?

So instead, he asks, “Will you sit close to me?”

She smiles at him shyly— beautiful, he thinks— and asks “Closer?” They are sitting barely inches apart. If he leans only slightly to the left his arm will brush against hers. But it isn’t close enough for him.

“Yeah.” She gets on her knees and crawls to him, his legs opening up to make space for her. His arms close around her like that space was meant for her, like she was a part of him that she felt uneasy without.

His fingers skim the tips of her hair, brushing against her shoulders. Mikasa’s hair is longer now, and it frames her face sweetly. Eren sweeps it away gently and lets his lips fall to a spot between her neck and her jaw.

Like this, with Mikasa in his arms, with her pulse point below his mouth, he feels less anxious. He doesn’t think about his rights, or his choices, or regrets or all the mistakes he has made in the past.

He only thinks about her, and how right this feels. How if him and Mikasa were made in this world, then it was only natural that they were made to be together. It’s as if her heart is speaking to his; telling him this is ok, this is how it was meant to be.

His eyes drift shut, his mouth parts, his kisses develop a hungry nature. His teeth scrape lightly against her skin. “Hah,” she gasps, verbal noises of nothing that Mikasa makes that he has learnt intimately over the past days. It has so many meanings— affirmation, surprise, pleasure, bliss. Things he likes seeing in Mikasa.

Her body changes when he holds her this way, when his mouth touches her skin. There’s an urgency that lives in with her, like a shorted wire, and he feels it under his fingertips, when she moves— squirming, back arching when his tongue flicks against a part of her shoulder that is particularly sensitive.

“Eren, stop.” It’s a breathy command; he pulls back, green eyes wide and hungry as he asks her, “Did I do something wrong?” His voice is rough with passion.

She shakes her head. “I want to kiss you.” She whispers it like a confession, like her desire is still new to her even though they have explored each other before.

“Okay,” he murmurs. He bends forward till he is pulling on her lower lip with his teeth, sucking it into his mouth, his palm turning her chin and angling her into him. Mikasa is sweet, sweet on her tongue, and her lips, and her teeth, and her breath, and it makes him think she only moves the way she does against his mouth because she must feel it too. “No,” she breathes. “I want to do it properly.” And she pulls back until she turns around and positions herself facing him, wrapping her legs around him.

It makes his heart race. This position is confrontingly intimate, Mikasa’s eyes boring into him like she can see every shameful, illicit, wanting thought he might have. But when he returns her gaze, her lashes lower, gaze dropping to his mouth, cupping his face with her hands before she kisses his cheek. Left first, then right, then the corner of his mouth, softly on his lips, and then open-mouthed, tongue licking against his when Eren meets her with his mouth open, his hunger heavy on his breath.

“This is nice,” she says, as she kisses him like she’s tasting him, savouring him, teeth and tongue and lips and it makes him grown, his hands digging into her hips and pulling her as close as he can. There’s no way she doesn’t see it now; just how much he wants her— it presses against her core, a heavy pressure digging into her skin, his body powerless against the force of it, just as the groans that seep out of his chest.

But it doesn’t turn her off, it doesn’t deter her. Her hands thread into his hair, the soft, downy hair at the nape of his neck, and her own moans mingle with his. He can feel the heat between her legs warming his cock through his pants. She wants me to be hers too, he thinks desperately, it has to be so, there’s no other meaning to this.

Because it spurs every action of his; when his hands slip under her shirt and stroke her abs, fingers grazing against the swell of her breast. I want her to be mine. His fingers circle around her mounds, moulding around her.

They’re moving against each other, hips unwinding, her chest thrusting into his palm, mouths sloppy. She inhales sharply, makes the prettiest noise, when his thumb circles around her nipple deliberately. He thinks he could hear it forever.

Is this the life they could have had? Clutching each other in the dead of the night, mouths hungry, bodies hot for each other? Maybe he could have held her hand in the streets when they went shopping, maybe he could have told Carla that she was the one. Maybe he could have given her his mother’s ring, and she would have bought a dress, like the one from the pictures his father had of his family, on his desk. Maybe he would kiss her in front of everyone and call her his ‘wife’. Maybe someday they would have made a child—

“Eren?” She asks, her finger wipes against a wetness on his cheek. “Why are you crying?”

He shakes his head. “I’m not.” As if denying it ever happened, would mean it really didn’t. As if he pretended he didn’t have regrets, he would really not have them. “… I just.” His voice is hoarse. “I really want you.”

She looks at him fondly. “I’ve always wanted you,” she says softly. “It’s a feeling I’m used to.” And she finds his mouth again. Her admission creeps into his skin, tightening around his heart and squeezing. Once again he is reminded of how he could have had a lifetime of loving this girl, but he had been too blind to see it. His hands hike up the fabric of her skirt around her thighs.

She undoes the ties of his trousers deftly. It’s been such a short while but they’ve come to know this dance so well; the first time they did it their fingers trembled with anxiety, now it shakes with urgency, Eren’s with the impatience of a boy who knows his death sentence. The tips of her fingers caress his happy trail and he shudders with the knowledge of how good it will feel when she has them wrapped around his cock.

Through it all, all he thinks is, Mikasa is so good, so good, so good with her hands, her mouth, with her heart that she gave him such a long, long time ago. And not for the first time he wonders how he could’ve been stupid enough to ignore it. Because now when he holds her, his fingers dig into her with the desire to leave a lasting imprint, to take the feeling of her with him to his death.

What comes after? He questions it sometimes, when it is late at night and despair drives sleep away. Mikasa sleeps next to him with her lashes fanning her cheek, her mouth slightly parted, and he thinks if this feeling, this precious fragility that he wants to protect could stay with him even after he is nothing, then it would be enough.

But when Mikasa drags him out, thumb brushing the ridge of his head in a way that makes him feel lightheaded, he feels greedier, like nothing could possibly be enough after this. She brings him to her, guiding his cock inside of her opening, her body warm and so perfectly accepting of him, it drags a moan out of his chest.

Before she can move, before she can capture his mouth in a kiss again, he catches her chin tipping it towards him, his fingers caressing her mouth. Her gaze is heavy with desire. “I like seeing you like this,” he admits, his tone steeped in awe and hunger.

“How do you mean?” She is breathing hard against his fingers. He slips her thumb into her mouth, grazing her teeth.

“Honest,” he murmurs. Like he can see her every thought, like he doesn’t have to wonder what she thinks of him, what he is to her. When she is like this, in his arms, half-dressed and wanting, he is certain that she looks at him like a man. Mikasa looks at him like he is a man that she wants. And it strokes a hunger inside of him that feels as if it had been lying dormant his entire life.

“I never meant to hide from you,” she says. “I always thought…”

He pulls her lip into his mouth, suckling it, cutting her off because he has enough regrets for the both of them. Mikasa didn’t do anything wrong, he thinks. He was always family, it’s just that he wants something different from that word, wants her to wear his name, wants to make her his wife, wants to keep her heavy with his child, wants to tie her to him in every irrevocable way possible.

He groans into her mouth as she squirms on top of him, her hips unwinding and taking him deeper. She fits around him like a glove, his mind blanking from how good she feels. Some days he craves it so terribly, he wishes he could be inside of her forever— an oasis where he isn’t plagued by his thoughts and his fragmented mind, it is only him and her and just how undeniably good they are for each other. His teeth graze her collarbone, open-mouthed, breath hot against sweat slick skin. “You feel so good,” he thinks he tells her. He wants to tell her. He wants her to know just how much she changes him, his body coming apart underneath her. But he isn’t sure the words have come out. The pleasure feels almost delusional; something so good for somebody so terrible felt dishonest, like it just couldn’t be true.

She rolls her hips against him, and he watches as she arches her back as if he were in a fever-induced dream. Everything feels as if it burns, his nerve-endings are on fire. She tells him she’s going to come, and he likes it so much, the fact that she is taking her pleasure with him, that she is honest, that she is telling him she’s feeling good. (Because of him.) He follows soon after, hanging on by a thread, only because he wants to make it as good as he possibly can for her.

“Did you ever think about it?” She asks him, breathlessly, sweat-slick forehead pressed against his. “When we were younger.”

He knows she is referring to what they were talking about before. About them. Like this. “I—“ He feels ashamed thinking about it; thinking about every opportunity at a better life that he missed. “I don’t remember.” It isn’t a lie. “My memories are—“ stained with the future, indistinguishable— “confused.”

She tries to hide the disappointment on her face, but it comes through. So damn honest, it hurts. “I think about it a lot, you know. Now.” Her eyes flicker to his. He clears his throat. “About making you mine.”

Mikasa is quiet. Her fingers are playing with his hair. Do you think about it, Mikasa? Do you want me to be yours? He wants to ask her so badly, but what would be the point? He is already hers, whether she wants it or not. He has been for a long time, even if he hadn’t known it.

She says she has wanted him since forever, but does she want forever with him? He doesn’t know why but it plagues him so. He feels terribly inadequate in front of her, when he thinks about it this way. Maybe because forever is not possible, it isn’t something he can give her, but he wants to know.

No— he wants her to want it. He wants it to drive her mad the way it drives him mad, the feeling of wanting something you know you cannot have.

“You’d make me yours?” She whispers it across his lips, like it’s a wish that feels too precious to even be spoken out loud. But when she says it, says the word yours, it feels a little bit more real. That this make-believe fantasy where he held her in his arms and whispered sweet things to her, his cock still semi-hard inside of her, had a fighting chance of being real. (In another world, in another life, perhaps.)

“Yeah,” he says. “We’re old enough to marry now, you know.” He pauses, awkwardly. “If mom, hadn’t—“ He inhales sharply. “I would’ve given you her ring.”

“If we didn’t— If it weren’t like this,” he confesses, unable to keep it inside him, “… I would never let anything take you from me.” And once it comes out, he cannot stop it. “If we’d had a chance, I would have done it right, you know. I wouldn’t have been this stupid.”

It sounds like an apology. His fingers trace her scar. “I would never hurt you.”

Mikasa is crying now. He realises this when her tears fall onto his cheeks, a sniffle turning into a laugh. “Mikasa?” He tenses. Has he said something terrible? Did he read everything wrong?

Maybe this entire thing was terrible after all. What kind of man builds a mental fortress to be with the woman he loves just to tell her he loves her? Because he had been too afraid to say this in the real world? This should be an everyday thing— Mikasa should never have to go a single day questioning this fact. Because he loved her, he loved her— he wanted to scream it— it was immutable. His head hurts. He feels a little bit unstable, he should’ve known no amount of regret and play-pretend would make up for the pile of mistakes he’d built up in his life. He just wanted her to know—

She lets out a watery laugh again, and shakes her head. “I’m fine.”

He watches her carefully. She laughs again, a pretty, giddy sound. She wipes her nose and her cheeks. If nothing else, the dreadful anxiety he felt in that moment was definitely a completely real sensation.

“We’d be a family,” he says tentatively even though he recognises that Mikasa still hasn’t said anything. He had spilled his guts but Mikasa was still quiet. Quietly crying. He laughs nervously. “I’m not sure if that’s the kind of family you wanted us to be though.”

She looks at him with something bright in her eyes. A light that shone from inside of her. Just for a moment it dispelled the fog that had settled inside of Eren; the dark, consuming heaviness that sat inside of him and made him want to tear himself apart just to get another chance to do things right. Just one more chance with her. “Eren,” she says gently. She cups his face with her hands. “Of course I wanted it.”

“I wanted everything with you.”

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

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liquorisce · 2 years

Text

him & i

rating: E / nsfw

pairing: eren x mikasa | read on ao3

summary: Eren and his crew have planned the perfect heist. Only problem is- Mikasa is high out of her fucking mind. And horny. Mostly horny.

...

He tips up her chin, his gaze falling down her neck, skimming the tops of her bare breasts. She smiles at him sweetly. “Are you high, baby?”

“Nope.” She bats her lashes at him almost coquettishly.

“Open your mouth.” Rolling her eyes, she listens to him. Parts her lips, and touches her tongue to the top of her mouth so he can see the slow-dissolving tab under her tongue.

Brat.

cw: gunplay, kinda ooc, drug use

There’s a map of the casino on the table, and five of his men surround him as he pores over it. “Should be fairly simple,” he tells them. “Unless Zeke shows up.”

“We’ll be fine, we know the routes, we should be able to do it without engaging in gunfire,” Jean says to the group, but it sounds more like a reassurance to himself than anybody else.

There are some nods, some snickers, some handing around of cartridges. Eren looks over at Mikasa, sitting at the end of the table, long, smooth legs stretched out onto the chair in front of her. She surveys her nails absentmindedly.

“Get your asses moving,” he tells the other guys roughly. “I’ll meet you at the casino. How we discussed.”

They nod and leave, the notion of obedience and hierarchy generally respected amongst men who tried to organize hits of this magnitude. But the one woman in his squad seemed to have missed the entire briefing.

“Not coming with us, Mikasa?”

Sparkling grey eyes snap up at him. “Of course, I’m coming with you, Eren. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” She sounds almost giddy, like she was talking about a field trip to Candyland instead of an armed visit to Sina’s wealthiest casino.

He tips up her chin, his gaze falling down her neck, skimming the tops of her bare breasts over her generous cleavage. She smiles at him sweetly. “Are you high, baby?”

“Nope.” She bats her lashes at him almost coquettishly.

“Open your mouth.” Rolling her eyes, she listens to him. Parts her lips, and touches her tongue to the top of her mouth so he can see the slow-dissolving tab under her tongue.

Summoning all the patience he can, his fingers thread into the soft baby hairs at the back of her neck. Swiftly, he yanks on them, tipping her head back, so she pays attention to what he says. “You don’t lie to me, sweetheart. Okay?”

She pouts. Brat. “Okay, Eren.”

He liked it when she listened to him. Said yes, okay, and made his wishes come true like some sort of genie. Mikasa wasn’t very good at it. But when she was sober enough, she tried her best.

“Now come on, grab your gun, and let’s go.”

She gets up gracefully, long, lithe legs disappearing into black-heeled boots. “Don’t need them,” she says cheekily. “Got my knives.” She lifts her short, white denim dress high up her thighs, displaying tight black straps along her smooth skin, a set of four short knives sheathed carefully. “See?”

And because she’s a tempting fucking minx, she lifts it high enough until she’s sure he can see the mound of the pretty pink lace panties she wears underneath.

“Cute,” he says gruffly. Unable to help himself, he slips a hand underneath her dress, giving her plush ass a squeeze. “Now get moving.”

He runs her over the plan again when they’re in the elevator, buttoning his shirt sleeves and rolling them up, tying up the loose ends of his man-bun. “You got it?” he asks, before his gaze catches his reflection in the elevator mirror. Next to him, she watches the way his fingers move, long and elegant as he unbuttons his top button. “... Mikasa.”

Her eyes flicker, obviously not paying attention to Eren's words, a dark heat burning within them. Subconsciously, she runs her tongue over her lower lip. “I got it, Eren.”

He sighs as he gets into his Porsche. Finally, a moment to take out his ridiculously expensive sports car without having it stick out like a sore thumb. Not that he cared. If Jean were here, he’d tell him that this was a bad idea. That when this empty haze took over Mikasa, she was nothing more than a risk.

But Jean wasn’t here. Mikasa was his best fighter. She didn’t look it— small, despite her strength, toned. He tore his gaze away from her body as she strapped herself in with her seatbelt. Actually, Mikasa was his best girl.

And maybe he just liked how fucking good she looked next to him in his passenger seat.

When they reach the casino, queued up to enter on what looked like an extremely busy night, he tells her, “... Stay by my side, okay?” Even though she didn’t need to. But he liked it. Liked walking into the room with the prettiest girl in the room on his arm.

“You look tense, Eren,” she tells him, concerned. She places a hand on his thigh. “You want some candy?” She lifts her tongue again to show him what she means. He resists the urge to roll his eyes.

He turns to look at her, a small grin curving up the side of his handsome mouth. He places a hand over hers, squeezing her dainty fingers. “Give me a kiss, baby.”

She leans over and plants one on him, open-mouthed and wet, fingers warm against the side of his neck, as she pulls him in. “You’re all the distraction I can handle, Mikasa,” he murmurs, nipping her lower lip harshly before he lets her pull back. He doesn’t mind the indulgence of some acid once in a while, but tonight he needed his head screwed on straight. That one kiss from her was temptation enough. Made him consider parking in the garage, and parking the rest of their plans too, just so he could hike up that tiny dress of hers and seat her on his lap and on his dick.

She grins at him, lips pink and swollen, like she knew exactly what he was thinking. “Don’t worry, Eren. When we’re inside, I’ll make sure to distract the other side.” And she winks.

He purses his lip in displeasure, as he parks. When he unbuckles his seat belt, she slides onto his lap smoothly, her back pressing against the horn slightly. Her dress hikes up high on her thighs, as she seats herself across him, lace panties brushing against his crotch.

His erection, which was slow-building since earlier that evening, sprung to life. Despite the fact that his men were probably waiting for him upstairs, he allowed himself a small indulgence, one hand caressing her thighs, the other running along her back. His voice low, he brings his mouth up to her ear, “... Don’t slut around up there, sweetheart.” It’s a warning, but it’s playful, embers of jealousy roughening his tone. “Don’t need you to distract them like that.”

“Mmm-hmm,” she smiles against his cheek. “You always need me, Eren.”

…

And she’s right. Later, when they’ve made their way inside, without stalling, Eren calling upon every ounce of restraint he had to not unbutton his jeans, not pull her panties to the side and thrust himself inside her, he admits he really did need her to distract anyone who looked at them suspiciously.

See, as much as he liked flaunting her off on his hip, Mikasa was good at what she does. Doe-eyed and gorgeous, giggling when she needed to and sounding innocent when she thought the man in front of her would like it. Now she stood with Porco at the bar, sipping champagne that he’d obviously bought her, the fucker’s eyes blatantly roaming the smooth skin she showed off.

As much as his palms itched to pull out his gun and shoot the back of his head, Porco was head of security, and the fact that he was distracted made the rest of their jobs significantly easier.

Armin’s algorithm worked like a charm— as he knew it would, the dude was a genius— and Connie’s maps were spot on. But after they gathered the briefcases full of cash, as they shut the last door, they messed up. It was probably because it was simply too good to be true, no guards at the walkway, their timing perfect just as they had discussed. But either his hand fucking slipped or it was the work of a higher power, but the alarm was triggered. It was a single beep, loud and clear but not loud enough to alert the whole building. “Zeke knows,” Connie whispers into his walkie-talkie. “He definitely fucking knows.”

“Idiots,” Eren mutters under his breath. “Jean,” he instructs, “Cover me.” Jean was probably cursing him out at this moment, because he had agonized over every fucking detail to make sure this would be as close as possible to a picture-perfect heist.

He sees a guard to his right and shoots, hitting him right in the arm, and sending him to his knees. Well, maybe it wasn’t picture-perfect without a little blood.

“Gotta deal with Porco,” Jean’s voice comes through the static. “Sorry.” Motherfucker.

“Shoot him in the fucking head,” Eren grits out, ignoring the fact that it was probably his personal feelings speaking at the moment.

Connie and Armin are thankfully unharmed, even though they are scared out of their wits and waving their guns around cartoonishly. Three guards surround them, yelling at them to hand over the briefcases so that no harm would be done. It was nice of them, Eren supposes. He shoots them without remorse, hitting two of them right in the back, a fountain of blood splurting out onto their expensive suits.

The third one takes a minute to orient himself before he takes aim at Eren. “Lay down your gun and no one—”

He could barely finish the sentence before a knife whizzed past Eren’s ear. A stream of blood splurted out of the guard’s neck, before he warbled his last words and slumped to the ground.

Eren groans as he sees Mikasa sashay across to the guard’s body, pulling out the knife from his neck. She looks far too relaxed for the position they’re in.

“He didn’t say anything about knives.” She grins at him. “Ugh so messy,” she complains, as the blood continues to spurt out of him, and sprays onto her white dress.

He chuckles as he walks toward her. “Maybe you shouldn’t wear a white dress to a heist, baby.”

“I’m just tryin’ to look cute for you, Eren—”

Before she can register it, Eren draws his gun, firing at one of the guards who had tried to get up and take aim at Mikasa. “Oof,” she mutters, “he didn’t have to be so persistent.”

He rolls his eyes at her. She was a sight to see— a pretty pixie, splattered in blood, with a giddy, drug-induced haze still burning in her eyes. “You’re not hurt, right?” He gives her a once-over just to be sure.

“No one can hurt me, Eren,” she says cheerfully. “Not when I have you looking out for me.”

His gaze hardens. “When we get home, I’m gonna—”

“I am right fucking here,” Armin says, rubbing his ears. “Let’s get the fuck out of here, and you guys can flirt later.”

…

The ride home after a successful heist was always thrilling. Partly because they always gave chase but Eren was excellent at losing them. Feels even better when the other boys were in another car and it was only him and Mikasa and she tells him, “... You lost them, babe,” with a pretty smile. “Let’s celebrate.”

And before he can say anything about it, she undoes his zipper, and extracts him out of his boxers smoothly. He groans as her tongue laves the length of him. “Couldn’t wait until we got home?”

Lips parting, she slips his tip into her mouth, pumping him at the base and reviving his arousal. She eases him into her throat, all the way down until she comes up for air with a pop. “Nope.” Saliva glistens on her lips as she looks at him fetchingly. “Felt like you’ve been waiting so long already…”

He can feel himself pulse in her mouth as they take the turn towards his apartment. “Yeah,” he says, hoarsely. “I have.” And with one hand on the wheel, he uses the other to guide her head back down onto his dick.

…

Somehow he managed to make it all the way back home without blowing his load in her mouth. There were moments when he wasn’t sure, when the feeling of her lush mouth around his cock was just enough on top of the adrenaline, to tip him over the edge. Every time his eyes slanted to the side to see her bent over her seat, ass in the air, as she blew him, it just made him harder. Especially when her dress rode up so hard, he could see the curves of her ass peeking from underneath it.

He was grateful the road was empty, otherwise, he’d have had to shoot anybody who got to see the view from Mikasa’s window.

It feels like a herculean effort, especially when Mikasa is like this— jaw-droppingly gorgeous, flirty, and high out of her fucking brains. She’s so damn clingy, hands straying all over him, trailing over his chest, kissing his neck, chest pressed against his arm. His jeans are still undone, and his erection is raging, raging at him to make her finish the job she started.

So when they enter his apartment, he has her pinned against the wall before she can even kick her shoes off. His lips are bruising, nipping at her mouth for her to open for him, tongue sweeping across her teeth to feel her. She tastes of cock, of his arousal, and he enjoys it. Likes the taste of himself off of her.

“You were reckless today, sweetheart,” he murmurs into her mouth. As if they weren’t reckless every time they broke the law. But he preferred Mikasa sober for the heists— it was one less thing he had to worry about. Even if he thoroughly enjoys how… loose, she gets when she’s high. The button that held her left strap together comes undone, the strap falling low on her shoulder. He nips her bare skin harshly. “You’re covered with blood.”

She pulls him closer by his shirt, moaning into his mouth as he grinds his erection against her clothed cunt. “So are you.” And then, lower, flirtatiously, “... I like it.”

He lifts her up, strong, milky thighs closing around his hips. “Could’ve been your blood, Mikasa,” he says dangerously. “You need to be more careful.” He squeezes her ass tightly before giving it a light slap.

“But you wouldn’t let that happen,” she says brazenly. “You’d shoot anyone who tries to hurt me.” She watches him through heavy-lidded eyes. “I saw you do it.”

He shakes his head, a small smirk spreading on his lips. “So sure of it, huh…” Kissing her softly on the lips, his hand reaches for his gun. “Killed someone today for you, Mikasa.”

The front of his gun slips between her legs, the barrel brushing against her heat. “All because you were careless.” Her eyes widen when she feels the metal against her. She licks her lip subconsciously. “Decided to get fucking high just before a job.”

Yanking on her hair, he forces her gaze up to meet his. “Need to know you’re serious, baby.” He could see the slightest tendril of fear uncoiling within her. “Need to know you’ll have my back on the job.”

He can feel her hips unwinding against his gun, rubbing, her eager cunt desperate for friction. She whines when he pulls it away from her. “See, you’re not paying attention to me, Mikasa.”

She huffs in frustration, pupils blown with arousal. “I had your back today, Eren. That guy was gonna shoot you but I got him—”

“And almost got shot in the process.” He rests his gun against her cheek, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “I can’t have that.”

Maybe he was finally firm enough, or maybe she was desperate enough that she was willing to say what he wanted to hear; but she whimpers, “I’m sorry, Eren.”

“I’m thinking you deserve a punishment, sweetheart.” He kisses her on the nose sweetly.

“That’s not fair, Ere—”

“Sssh,” he whispers, smoothening her hair. “I decide what’s fair.”

Teary-eyed, she looks at him pleadingly. “What do I have to do?”

He regards her for a moment, almost feeling bad for her. Almost gives into her pretty tears. It was easy to do, but he almost equally enjoyed teasing her and drawing out her desperation. “Promise you won’t be reckless, next time?”

She nods eagerly. Maybe even sincerely, he thinks. “Promise me, baby. Use your words.” But before she speaks, he brings the barrel up to her mouth, cold metal tracing her lower lip.

He can feel her shiver around him. “I promise I won’t be reckless, Eren.”

“Hmm.” His gaze drops to her mouth. “Promise you won’t get high on a job?”

“I prom—” The cold barrel slips into her mouth, his eyes darkening as her lips form an O around it. “Go on, baby, say it.”

He looks at her with a cruel affection as she tries to get the words, out, sloppy and barely coherent. He can feel her body taut, her thighs tightening around him. And because he’s just a little bit mad he says, “Promise you won’t slut around with the staff next time?”

“Nnghh,” she mumbles, shaking her head, swearing to him with her pretty eyes that she didn’t do that. “Don’t fucking lie to me, Mikasa,” he warns, and he shoves the barrel deeper, watching it sink into her mouth, taking in the way she breathes to accommodate it. She was so pretty with her mouth full like that, stuffed, making stupid noises because she couldn’t speak. It was cute… despite his irrational anger.

And what was even cuter was the way she writhed against him, trying to rub against him, an obvious discomfort growing between her legs. Pressing her against the wall, he uses his other hand to thumb at the wet spot on her lace panties. “I’ll give you what you want, sweetheart, just promise me…”

He presses the gun even deeper, rewarded with a small choking noise from the back of her throat. A tear slipping down her cheek, she babbles around the thick cylinder, making him promises that he couldn’t really understand but that her eyes conveyed with desperation.

She coughs as he pulls it out of her mouth, a string of saliva hanging on between her lips and the gun. He strokes her hair with his free hand as he moves the gun between her legs.

“So desperate,” he tells her softly. “Promised me the world, just to feel good. Isn’t that right?”

“I meant it, Eren,” she hiccups softly.

“Maybe.” With the front tip, he pushes her panties to the side. “Or maybe you did it because you just wanna be filled up.” And without warning, he pushes the barrel into her opening, cool metal grazing against her soft, wet heat.

She gasps, her entire body shuddering as he penetrates her, watching the gun slip inside of her pussy. Clinging onto his shoulders, she whispers, “I meant it, I swear, I meant it.” Her breathing is harsh as she moulds around the foreign object, a dangerous heat pooling inside of her belly. He catches her lips in a kiss.

“Breathe, Mikasa,” he reminds her, when he sees that she’s holding her breath. “Are you scared?”

Scared? Turned on, maybe. Aroused out of her fucking mind most definitely. “You scared of me?” he prompts, again, when she hesitates.

She shakes her head. “Good girl.” He tips her chin up towards him. “Now, I want you to fuck it like you’d fuck my cock.”

His words feel like liquid fire in her veins, like gasoline that had been lit with a match. “I—”

“You can do it, baby, I know you can.”

And really what more encouragement does she even need? Maybe it’s the pill from earlier, or maybe it’s just Eren, but when he speaks to her like that, calls her a good girl, talks dirty to her and tells her what to do, it makes her feel like she can do anything.

So she sinks down onto the metal, jerking herself up and down with as much leverage as she can muster. A tiny part of her brain reminds her to feel some kind of fear, tells her that she’s probably playing with her life, that she’s in the arms of a man who’s probably crazier than her. But it didn’t matter. It was often that way when she was in Eren’s embrace— she didn’t care much for sanity. Just for him to hold her close, whisper dirty things in her ear and tell her she’s being so wonderfully good for him.

That’s her favourite drug, actually— Eren, his voice, his incredible mouth, his addictive body.

“This what you wanted, Mikasa? I could smell you dripping into your panties,” he says, amused.

Panting, she leans into his ear. “I want you, Eren. Want you inside of me.”

He places a kiss on her shiny, sweat-slick forehead, brushing her hair away from her pretty eyes. “Come for me, baby. And maybe then I’ll give you what you want.”

Whimpering in protest, she still rides his gun. “Not fair.” But he can see she’s getting there. He can see her breathing change, her teeth rough against her lips, her nipples hard through her dress. “I’m close, Eren,” she mumbles, “Will you rub me?”

And even though it’s cheating, and not what he told her, he gives in to her. Uses his thumb to press down on her slick clit, and give her the friction she needs to feel good. Besides, he likes watching her feel good, likes seeing her head thrown back, mouth open as she comes. Swears there’s nothing prettier in this world than seeing his girl on the brink of an orgasm.

Swears there’s no sound sweeter than when she says his name, and breathes in his ear that she’s gonna come. She didn’t have to warn him, he can feel it, he can feel her pussy flood against his finger, feels the shudders wrack her body.

He’s quick to slip into her when she’s riding out her orgasm. The second she mourns the loss of the cylinder inside of her, he’s already pressing at her entrance, his cock thick and ready and painfully hard from just how long he had to wait to feel her. He’d wanted it since before they left for their stupid job, wanted to cancel their evening plans and rip this tiny, work-of-a-torture-artist dress, that showed off more than it covered, off her body.

“Love how you feel,” she whimpers, and honestly he thinks he should be the one saying that because the way she fits him like she was fucking made for him, is the best feeling in the whole damn world.

He’s panting against her mouth from how rough he’s being with her, but he doesn’t care. And she doesn’t either. She loves it, he can tell because she doesn’t bother to restrain the pretty noises she makes, gasps when he drives into her all the way up to her sensitive spot, moans when he grinds against her clit. “I’m close,” he tells her, when he’s rung one more orgasm out of her perfect pussy, unable to take the way her walls squeeze around him much longer. And because she doesn’t let him pull out, whining when he thinks maybe he should finish on her thigh, he comes inside of her, groaning as she spasms around him one last time.

She’s dripping down her thighs, onto her ruined lace panties and onto the floor before he carries her to the bed, and drops her there. He can feel her panting as she rests her head on him, still seeing stars himself, from just how good it felt.

“Pass me a smoke?” He murmurs, when he hears the rustling of a bag. She brings it to his lips and helps him light it.

“That was pretty hot,” she says with an exhale, voice breathy and thoroughly fucked out. “You had the safety on, didn’t you?”

He chuckles. “That’s a secret.”

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

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liquorisce · 2 years

Text

wet heat

rating: E / nsfw

pairing: gojo satoru x iori utahime, jjk | read on ao3

summary: Gojo, Utahime, and their toxic sexual habit.

...

It was humiliating to realise that she couldn’t really blame it on the drugs or booze or Shoko’s bad influence— The truth was, Utahime with all her public displays of disapproval, melted when it was just the two of them. When he put his hands on her. When he told her how she should take it. When he told her it was all she was good for.

a/n: prompt 1 - degradation / overstimulation for dark gojohime week on twitter!

It’s her own fault that she’s here.

At least that’s what she tells herself. What other excuse could she have for being in this position over and over again? Broken down and pathetic, a quivering mess— brilliant blue eyes boring into her.

His boot nudges at her clasped hands, hooked on top of her knees. “Don’t look at me like that,” he says mockingly. “Like you don’t want it.”

She draws in a shaky breath. She curls into herself, despite her good sense. There was no sense in trying, really. Those eyes would probably follow her anywhere.

The denial vaporizes on her tongue, her thighs quivering from the many orgasms he’d drawn out of her today. “It’s too much,” she says faintly.

“Too much?” He pries her legs open with his hands. Her cunt shines up for him, slick, wet, fucked open after everything he put her through. “Doesn’t look like it.”

His boot presses up at her opening, rubber developing a shine from her juices. She lets out a low groan, an embarrassing, utterly undignified noise. What it looked like was exactly how it was, that she was somehow reduced to a vacant, drooling mess, while he towered over her, still clothed, still composed, still the cocky asshole that he always was to her.

Before he can press his boot against her clit again, she covers her cunt with her hand, a feeble protection she knows won’t get her anywhere. “No more. I can’t.” And because it was just the two of them, and dignity was a concept she’d forsaken when he closed the door behind him, she mumbles, “... Please.”

“We’ve talked about this, Uta,” he says, his voice still sing-song, a mockery of seriousness. “You always give up so soon.”

It’d been seven orgasms before she lost count. Flushed with endorphins, she can’t tell if he means it, or if he just hadn’t paid attention.” But looking up through watery lashes, she catches his gaze, glasses lowered just enough so she could see him. And pathetically, it just makes her believe him.

“Can I use my fingers?” She sounds hoarse, like a woman who’s been fucked so good, she’d forgotten her own name in the process.

He shrugs, unimpressed or uncaring, she can’t tell, but he watches her intently when she places her index and her middle finger on her nub. Takes in the way she flinches, the hiss that leaves her lips when her body tells her how fucking sore it is. But she wants to change that look in his eyes; wants to show him she can take it. That Iori Utahime doesn’t give up.

She can hear her own pussy as she works it, as loud as her breathing, slippery and slick. It doesn’t feel good anymore, it doesn’t feel like anything, her pleasure rung out of her so completely, there’s nothing left to give. Her knees feel weak, and they quiver, but before they can knock together, he shifts her thighs open with his foot. “Go on then,” he says, insouciantly. “Put on a show.”

And if there’s a God out there maybe he really is laughing at her, because at that exact moment she can hear a voice outside the screen. Voices, in fact, one that belonged to a man who used to be her underclassman, another that sounded far too much like Gojo’s most recent acquisition.

A smirk curves on Gojo’s lips. “Not satisfied with the audience? I can invite them in if you'd like.” And almost fondly, he says, “I remember, you always did like showing off, didn’t you?”

“Don’t confuse me with yourself,” she growls, forgetting, just for a minute, the position she was in.

He cocks his head at her indulgently. Lets his gaze run down her body, head to toe, her sweat-slick hair that was matted to her face, her left breast that had slipped free of her kosode. Her hakama pants lay pooled at her feet, exposing her graceful legs. “There’s only one of us who is on full display right now and it isn’t me.”

And to her utmost mortification, she can feel herself get even wetter, finger slipping between her pussy lips with almost no effort at all. Bending his knees, he watches humiliatingly as she attempts to finger herself— a sloppy missive with almost no technique, because she’s too sore to apply pressure properly anywhere.

“You’re so wet, your fingers are all wrinkled,” he says, bemused. Humiliation burns in her cheeks as she lifts her fingers up to look at them. They’re soaked the way they would be if she’d steeped in the bath for the past hour. Except instead of smelling like her lavender bath bombs, they smelled of her cunt. “It’s okay, I’ll help you out.” The smile on his face grows, pissing her off. “... Like I always do.”

His hands are rough on her thighs as he spreads them open for his perusal. His fingers are even rougher against her already overstimulated nub. He lets his eyes trail across her body, across her bare skin, and the parts of her that no longer felt private under his gaze. The first time she’d surrendered to him, he’d explained it to her. Said it was like a fact, and not his immense ego. “You can’t hide from me, Utahime.”

She’d scoffed at the time, brushed it aside, and let her legs slide open for him, because she’d been a little bit inebriated at the time, and was thinking predominantly with her pussy. She was sober the second time though. And the time after that. And it was humiliating to realise that she couldn’t really blame it on the drugs or booze or Shoko’s bad influence— The truth was, Utahime with all her public displays of disapproval, melted when it was just the two of them. When he put his hands on her. When he told her how she should take it. When he told her it was all she was good for.

Maybe that’s all it boiled down to: in front of an ego that huge, her’s stood no chance. Or maybe Gojo Satoru was all the drug she ever needed. Truthfully, she didn’t understand her body’s undeniable pull towards him.

There’s a smart retort at the tip of her tongue, curses she’d let fly at him if they were outside his bedroom, but they weren’t. And all that comes out of her instead, are weak, pathetic little moans.

She’d tried telling him it wasn’t possible, that after he’d made her orgasm with his fingers, his cock, the edge of the sparring stick, there was nothing left to give. But Satoru doesn’t like hearing the word ‘No.’ Likes showing off when he can make the impossible, possible. Maybe that’s the real high for a man like him, for someone who’s been taught he’s a God.

To her utter humiliation, she feels her growing warm for him yet again. A fire in her belly he’d manage to coax out of her after she’d thought the embers had died. It feels so good it hurts, her nerve endings so high on stimulation, every stab of pleasure making her toes curl.

He works her till he’s certain she’s on the throes of another orgasm, waiting till he sees the tell-tale signs of her back arching off the floor, eyes almost rolling back into her head. When he pulls away and stands up before finishing her off, she almost wants to cry. As she struggles to catch her breath, she says, “... You’re cruel.”

“Oh sorry,” he says, except he doesn’t sound sorry at all. “You aren’t done yet?” She stares at him as he leans against the wall, looking smug, as if he’s playing some stupid game that only he knows the rules to. “Go on then, finish yourself off.”

She never thought pleasure could be this painful. Tears bead on her lashes. She doesn’t want to say it, she doesn’t, she really doesn’t want to— “Please.”

“What? Didn’t hear you.”

Bastard.

“Satoru,” she breaks, calling him by his given name the way she never does, bowing down to this inexplicable hold he has over her. “I need you. Please.”

Behind his glasses, she catches his eyes flicker. “I like it when you’re honest,” he confesses, an unnamed emotion in his voice. She wonders what it is. Pity? Affection?

“Fiiiine,” he drawls, a moment later. “Because you asked me so nicely.” He moves his boot back between her legs. It makes the most embarrassing noises; her pussy against new rubber, squelching against the synthetic material.

It feels pathetic, and she knows it’s intentional, a feeling he probably wants her to feel, and that’s why he presses harder, dragging an involuntary moan out of her. A sob escapes her when she realizes there’s probably no point in searching for affection in those eyes. It was just cruelty.

“That’s it, Uta,” he murmurs, as she gives into the humiliating desire that consumes her, hips unwinding as she grinds down on his boot. He’d gotten her so close, and if this was all he’d give her now, she’d take it.

And even though she’d sworn she couldn’t, she comes for him like that, pathetic and a little too far gone, on his fucking boot, loud and messy. She feels the aftershocks in her whole body— her skin coated with sweat, chest rising and falling with her heavy breaths. He pulls his foot back and surveys it.

Shame hits her like a sharp recoil, a meaningless promise to herself that she will probably break; she would never do this again. Before she turns to her side, she sees him through the corner of her eye. Sees the pleased curl of his lips. She wishes more than anything else, that at least this she could hide from him— at least a single moment of shame that she could suffer in private.

“... It’s so shiny,” he says cheekily, bending slightly to look at his boot. “I can see my own reflection in it.”

#gojohime #cw: humiliation #gojo satoru #iori utahime #jjk smut #liquorisce fanfiction

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liquorisce · 2 years

Text

Welcome! [18+ only]

Hi! My name’s ris. I’m an aspiring writer and lover of kinky erotic fiction. you can find my fics on ao3.. i predominantly write for eren/mikasa from aot, but this is a multifandom, multiship blog. this blog is also dead-dove friendly, so be warned.

please consider all of my work to be rated EXPLICIT / 18+ unless otherwise specified. warnings will be duly mentioned, please heed them.

longfics:

i dreamed i left you: eremika mafia au. ongoing.

boy next door: eremika age gap, modern au. ongoing.

darling: epistolary yumihisu fic ft troubled actress historia. temporary hiatus.

bring your love baby(i could bring my shame): stripper mikasa x recently separated eren jaeger. temporary hiatus.

his wicked heart: Demon eren x priestess mikasa au. temporary hiatus.

high school years: eremika hs modern au. completed.

anthology/series:

don't stop said she: eremika smut anthology ft a bunch of kinks. completed.

all alone in space & time: eremika cabin au & related canon-verse series. completed.

brainrots & drabbles:

priest au: priest eren au that is currently only a bunch of porny drabbles on tumblr. it will be released in full length in the upcoming eremika zine, amour! (Aug, 2024)

omega: omegaverse au based on this brainrot. cw: pseudo-incest (kinda)

starchild au: following the life of eren and mikasa as starkids on a disney-like show.

if you like my work and want to support me, please consider giving me a tip 💞 :)

my ask box is currently: OPEN

welcome and enjoy your stay!

DNI: if you can’t separate fiction from reality and are somehow convinced that fictional characters are real people lol

#about me #liquorisce fanfiction

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liquorisce · 2 years

Text

iced frappuccino

rating: t / fluff

pairing: ichigo x orihime | read on ao3

summary: /It’s like Orihime entered the cafe with neon signs screaming “Ogle me”. Like she was some kind of magnet that they couldn’t turn away from him. Some of them tried to be covert about it, some didn’t care, and some were blatant enough to look straight at her chest. Ichigo was on the verge of breaking things; Orihime didn’t seem to notice.

Gritting his teeth, he wondered if this is what it would mean to live by her side– a lifetime of poorly concealed jealousy./

Ichigo and Orihime get a coffee. Ichigo is simultaneously an emotional sap and a horny, utterly repressed man.

He’d finally done it.

It was something he’d contemplated for months (years), agonized over for weeks, obsessed over every word and action— He’d finally asked Inoue Orihime on a date.

Well. Maybe it wasn’t really a date, and he hadn’t so much as asked, and perhaps he’d chickened out so many fucking times that this was more of a coincidence of their free schedules than anything else.

“Wanna get a coffee?” He blurts out when he realizes they’re both stuck at Karakura station with trains cancelled for the rest of the day. There was a storm coming apparently, and Tokyo was in red alert. However, for the sleepy townsfolk of Karakura, the sun was still shining, and people strolled about like Tokyo was a thing of another world.

“Iced frappuccino for me,” she tells him happily, “I hear there’s a new cafe around the corner!”

He knew exactly which place she was talking about. It was a french bakery, and he knew their timings and menu right off the top of his head because that’s how much he’d thought about taking her there. Picked out the perfect spot too– a little table by the corner where there was enough privacy for him to spill his guts.

But because life takes every opportunity it can to laugh at him, not only was it she who had suggested this place today, the table he’d picked out was occupied, and the cafe was busy as fuck, because it seemed everyone who’d been at the station had the same brainwave as they did.

And to make things worse, men stared. It’s like Orihime entered the cafe with neon signs screaming “Ogle me”. Like she was some kind of magnet that they couldn’t turn away from him. Some of them tried to be covert about it, some didn’t care, and some were blatant enough to look straight at her chest. Ichigo was on the verge of breaking things; Orihime didn’t seem to notice.

Gritting his teeth, he wondered if this is what it would mean to live by her side– a lifetime of poorly concealed jealousy.

“We could just get it to go.” She smiles at him like she gets his discomfort, almost apologetically. It only ticks him off further. Because not only did she have no clue about his frustration, it was absolutely not her fault. And instead of saying it, or saying anything for that matter, he just nods.

It seemed words had become difficult for him ever since the wedding. Or at least ever since Renji decided to pull the rug from under his feet, and inform him that nobody believed in the illusion he thought he had so carefully constructed. Now he struggled to even look her in the eye, and when he did speak he sounded like a blithering idiot. Not today, he tells himself resolutely.

“Can I try some of yours?” She asks him as they walk by the river bank, with a distance between them that never used to drive Ichigo crazy when they were younger.

“It’s just a regular cappuccino, nothing special. No pumpkin spice, or hazelnut, or whatever sugary evil you like to overload your caffeine with.” He rolls his eyes at her playfully.

She pouts at him. If he’s honest with himself, he knows he only makes these remarks to see her do it. It’s pathetic, and kind of lecherous, but she looks cute when she pouts. Full lips jutting out, a hint of shine on them, like she’s just licked them. Sometimes when his thoughts catch up with him— usually late at night, when he’s allowed himself a beer or two, he thinks it’s more than just cute. He thinks about her lips a little more than he should, thinks about how they’d feel to touch, against his fingers and his mouth and his— when he catches himself staring, his cheeks heat up.

“It’s special when you share it with your friends.” She looks at him meaningfully, and when she reaches out, he lets her take it.

She screws her face when she takes a sip. “No sugar at all,” she sputters.

“I’m just here to protect you from diabetes, Orihime,” he says with a smirk. Huffing, she lifts her mouth from the cup, his eyes lingering indiscreetly at the motion. And as if the devil himself sits on her shoulder taunting him, he notices the foam on her upper lip. It was such a thoughtless thing to do, but his fingers lift to her mouth, caressing the shape of her upper lip, brushing the white foam away.

His thumb is rough against her soft lip, dry against the wetness of her mouth. He wonders what it would be like to press his thumb into her mouth just a little bit, to feel the pink of her tongue, the shape of her teeth, the way he did with his tongue in his inebriated dreams sometimes.

“Ichigo?” Her voice is meek, embarrassed, cheeks red, and he doesn’t know if it’s from his touch or the closeness of his own mouth, pretty grey eyes watching him with a shy hesitation.

It would be so fucking easy to dip lower, tell her, “You have something on your lip,” and use his tongue to brush it away. To pull the swell of her lower lip into his mouth after, and taste just how sweet she really is, because yeah, he wanted a taste too. Pretty sure it’s what happens in shoujo mangas, and he knows this, because in a pathetic display of desperation he’d flicked some Yuzu’s shoujo manga, for some inspiration.

But there’s a voice in his head that screams at him, at war with the rest of him. A voice that tells him she deserves better. That she deserves to be treated right; flowers and a restaurant and maybe some wine, and maybe a man who actually had the courage to tell her how he feels about her, before he put his hands on her.

“Sorry,” he says roughly, giving her some space. His thumb burned from where it lay just seconds ago, and his breathing felt laboured. If this is all it took to get him so worked up, just a brush of his thumb against her lip, he doesn’t know how he’d survive any of the vivid images in his mind coming to life.

“Ah please don’t apologize,” she says flustered, “I should really learn to be more of a lady, I’m so clumsy, it’s my fault…”

Classic Inoue. Apologizing when she had nothing to apologize for, berating herself for just being herself. Ichigo sighs. “If you became any more of a lady, I don’t think I can handle it.”

Any more of her being a lady, and he’d probably be charged for assault with the way men throw themselves at her.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He just grins, returns his gaze to the street in front of him. “I don’t understand it, but I feel like you’re being mean to me.”

“And why’s that?” He teases.

“My killer instinct.”

“Cute,” he murmurs. It slipped out of him before he could process it or deliberate over it and repress it like he normally would have. But now a little piece of his feelings was out there, floating in the air, too late for him to grab and shove back into his mouth.

“What?” The words leave her a little bit breathless, as if she didn’t hear him correctly.

He feels his old friend anxiety peering over his shoulder. And then he swats him away. “I said you’re cute, Inoue-chan.”

About time he started on his agenda of treating her right, anyway.

#ichihime #liquorisce fanfiction #ichigo kurosaki #inoue orihime

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