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jjkeremika · 4 days ago

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your AoT boyfriend lets his best friend eat you out

your AoT boyfriend tells his best friend about how damn good you taste. but what happens when he promises him a taste of you...

afab reader

Boyfriend/Best friend: Reiner/Porco, Eren/Armin, Jean/Connie, Levi/Erwin

nsfw/mdni

inspired by this ask i had received a while ago...

You had your legs propped up on the bed, squirming slightly at the view of your boyfriend and his best friend crouching between your legs, both salivating at your still-panty covered body…

Reiner/Porco

Porco knelt before you, his wide eyes and dilated pupils focused intently between your legs. He was drooling slightly, the saliva pooling in the corner of his lips that he licked so incessantly because he just couldn't believe how undeniably hot you are and that you were dating Reiner of all people.

You flicked your gaze to your boyfriend, who stood with his arms crossed and a bite-ridden bottom lip, his gaze mirroring Porco's and fixed on your pussy, which was throbbing over the attention of two very attractive men. Reiner towered over Porco, his muscles flexing with every inch Porco moved closer to you, and you considered countless other possibilities of the three of you intimately together. Perhaps this would just be the beginning.

Porco glanced up to you, smiled weakly as his eyes kept flicking back to your dampening panties. "Can I touch you now?" he asked, more-so out of politeness than genuine concern. You nodded, and Reiner grunted, looked away as Porco's hands caressed your inner thighs and his warm hands reached for the delicate line of your panties.

You noticed Reiner's pupils dilate as Porco removed the fabric obstructing the view, and smiled wide at the hitched breath he took before lowering his lips to your clit. You tilted your head back, exposed the vast expanse of your throat to the room as the man licked away, the ache in your pelvis growing greater with each motion and the temperature of your body increasing under the intense observation of Reiner standing over you.

The breath was catching in your throat, your fist tangling into the sheets and you snuck a quick glance to Reiner, only to see him reaching for his erection, palming himself off at the sight of his best friend pleasing you. He was into it, fully into watching the two of you and hearing your blissful moans throughout the room, even if he wasn't the sole cause. But his intense observation was sending shivers down your spine in tandem with Porco's lips on your clit, and now you were really considering the horny opportunities blossoming between you three.

(Eren/Armin)

"You said you were okay with this, right?" Armin asked lightly, crouched between your open thighs, his crystal blue eyes sparkling with excitement. So kind of him to ask. “Eren didn't assume anything... right?"

Eren rolled his eyes at Armin's implication and held your hand tighter, protectively, more defensively. "Yes, asshole," he grumbled. Armin's eyes flicked to Eren briefly before refocusing on the liquid clinging to your labia, licking his thin lips. “Now hurry up before I change my mind.”

You chuckled, a sound that admittedly soothed both their nerves, and squeezed Eren’s hand tighter. "Yeah, Armin, I'm okay with this," you breathed out coyly, squirming slightly on your legs but smiled wider when you noticed that Armin's stare followed your clit with every movement.

So Armin's tongue and fingers reached out simultaneously, settled on your body like it was home and evoked a breathless gasp at the light yet powerful touch against your clit. Armin quickly adjusted his motion with each encouraging noise slipping from your lips, with each muscle contraction in your legs that inspired him to finger-fuck you faster, harder. He was a bright student, and he learned your body's quirks quickly enough to spark moans and gasps with every touch.

Eren's grip on your hand tightened with each pleasureful noise you released, so tight you couldn't break free from his grasp. But you honestly couldn't focus on that right now, with your mind centered solely on the feeling between your legs, one that should've felt so foreign but honestly felt so good you almost forgot it wasn't your boyfriend at all.

Your thighs were squeezing tight together, collapsing in on Armin's head at the rising pleasure. You could feel Armin's smile against your sensitive skin, could feel Eren's tight grip verging on breaking your hand, when the man suddenly ripped his hand from yours, wrapped it in Armin's hair and ripped him away from you too.

(Jean/Connie)

“Daaamn, babe. Lowkey, you need to kill Jean because he was wayyy understating how sexy you are,” Connie says as he tucks between your legs, biting his bottom lip and glancing briefly to Jean before immediately relocating his gaze to your thighs. Jean's looks could kill right now, the intensity bore a resolution similar to that of strong determination.

"Just start, moron. Put that big mouth to good use." Jean wasn't entirely thrilled with the prospect, but your excitement about the idea won him over. So, he was determined to allow you to experience this with actual pleasure. But he worried about Connie's ability to please you--to thoroughly, genuinely please you.

So when Connie stuck his head between your thighs and you weren't instantly moaning, Jean's hand was immediately caressing your inner thigh the way he knew you liked it, his other hand coming to your hip and pressing circles into the dip in your hips too. In between directing Connie on the best movements and spots to touch you, on where inside he should angle his fingers and when he should lick your clit, Jean whispered praises to you, various good girl's and that's it baby's that entered through your ears and fed straight to your groin.

You were gasping for air as the feeling of four hands caressed your sensitive skin, as Connie licked and fingered you and Jean caressed your body and tits. You were gasping, but Jean knew you could be screaming, so he advised Connie to tilt his hand a little more, thrust in a little faster, press a little harder, as his own hands made their way to your nipples and his mouth pressed to your neck.

(Levi/Erwin)

One of Levi’s hands firmly held onto yours as the Erwin's hand swiped the panties to the side, a light shiver from the cold exposure and their intense gaze running up your spine.

Erwin looked at you and smiled, warmly and inviting, and you couldn't help but wonder what else his mouth was capable of doing when Levi's hand gently rubbed against your upper thigh. You indulged in the view, the two of them standing there, Erwin towering over both you and Levi, both men staring wantonly at the warming and dampening muscle...

Your mind wandered to what else you could do together, what other positions you could make use of and how they would have to position you to accommodate their height difference. How fun that could be for you, to be stretched and flexed and rotated and used.

“Still okay?” Erwin asked gently, more of out respect than genuine concern, as he was already bending down and leaning closer to your apex. You hummed in response, and as soon as the hum vibrated to his ears, Erwin's lips were on the exposed muscle, licking and kissing and biting at your inner thigh. He indulged, heavily, into the role, giving you no time to process as his hands and mouth explored your lower half.

The feeling burned inside Levi as he listened to your moans fill the room, watched the way your squirmed and made a mess on the sheets. He couldn't just watch anymore, so he leaned over you and started kissing your neck and chest, his hands roaming all over your torso as Erwin played with your clit. The sensation was almost overwhelming your senses, too much to focus on while the noises you released were verging pornographic, nonstop streams of moans and groans flooding the room with reckless abandon.

You sighed loudly as Erwin's lips suddenly ripped away from your throbbing clit, "Levi, why don't you lean over her? Make her do something more productive with that mouth.

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jjkeremika · 1 month ago

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you are the measure of all things

continuation of in sin, we delight; the light of love falls upon us

ao3

description: mikasa struggles to cope with physical euphoria and religious guilt

tag/disclaimer: religious imagery; catholicism and christianity references; goddess ymir references; just religious references in general; greek mythology references; worship and idolatry; fondling; fingering; hand job; blow job; penetrative sex; inspired by blood in the wine by aurora and some of her other songs

"Take me as I am or kill me. Peel my skin off like a blindfold. Love me despite the horror. Please, god, love me because of it."

Oh, Goddess Ymir. May your eternal light and love fall upon us.

Mikasa kneels before the altar, palms firmly pressed together with unnerving, unadulterated belief. She continually murmurs under her breath, lips parting in prayer faster than the rampant thoughts in her mind.

May your repentance and sacrifice absolve us from sin.

Mikasa grimaces lightly as the words slipped out, soft and light like air. Because it is too contradictory, isn’t it? Praying to a goddess who cared too deeply to solve her inner conflict. Because the goddess loved too—most ardently.

She was human once, bravely engulfed in an over-world more powerful than her. A heaven crafted around her, acceptance and adoration surrounded with decorum and wisdom. She learned, somehow—evolved beyond a lustrous love for a royal into a symbol greater than herself.

Pray tell, advise a lost soul and guide me with a heavenly body—

The illicit image flashes in her mind, unsolicited and undesired. Yet still a light moan breaks through the barricades. A light blush fans her cheeks and flares in her gut. A palm flushes to her mouth.

The dark feeling brews as her imagination mixes with a past reality—a past truth of rolling in sheets and disturbing altar candles. Memories mixing with further desires, emulsifying into an intangible and intimate dream.

A heavenly body—Eren, in all his wondrous glory. Magnetic and illustrious. Shirtless and bare and beautiful. Standing in magnificent poses, Herculean and heroic, muscles flexing with each movement and feather-like touches against her feverish skin.

Her hands grip into dark strands of hair, forcefully shaking her head to scramble and rid her brain of these unkempt thoughts.

Each move had always been passionate and intentional, each kiss felt like drinking from Dionysus’ chalice—addictive and sweet, delicious and heavy with salivating wine.

Oh, how she did enjoy the flesh of the fruit and the blood of the wine.

Oh, pray tell, Goddess Ymir, hallowed be thy name. May your eternal light and love fall upon us and absolve us from sin. Advise a lost soul and guide me with a heavenly body towards salvation.

She forces her eyes shut, through the leaking tears as the storm raged within her, upending her stomach and churning her insides with swirling guilt and a lack of repentance.

The thought is fleeting, yet its effects are lasting and detrimental. Did she need forgiveness? Did she crave it the same way she craved another bare soul—with a name so delightful and full of harmony?

Will the prayer resolve the fight? Will she earn an easier life in the presence of a man she deems more powerful than the deities above? To have this control over her, to feel so powerless even without his physical presence. To have her mind feel so convoluted and lost without his guiding light.

She speaks faster, announcing prayers she had almost forgotten in an uneventful life. Fruitless, like the garden of Eden before humans graced its presence.

Did the mortal’s presence delight the plants so? Was nature so overjoyed with the arrival of guests that the trees bore with fresh fruit and blossoms to be enjoyed by eyes beyond the gods? Were humans simply brought about to enjoy life’s magnificent intricacies and beauties, or did the humans encourage and foster far greater? Did the love and nurture supplied by different beings support and sustain improvement beyond mere survival?

Did we surpass all expectations? Did we become something to be admired and revered by kingdoms to come? By the gods above? Were they disappointed or surprised at the instincts we harbored? Love and joy and amusement. A desire to spread and to feel. To love and to be loved.

Even Lucifer was once an angel. Was he so full of life and love? Graceful and gratuitous—heavenly and kind and holy. Was he still beautiful? He was once God's favorite. Could he be still? Does even he have the capacity to be forgiven and absolved? Was he merely lost, but welcome and adorned at home? Missed, even?

Fighting against instinct. Innate forces hardwired into their genetics. Electrostatic touches between them, soft and magnificent and everything in between. Biological and chemical; mythical and physical—intoxication surpassing innumerous realms.

What if they were meant to sin? What if was never a sin at all?

————————————

“Mikasa, are you alright?” her father asks, concern laden in his voice and tight in his features. He has watched her grow distant—clipped responses and retreats to solitude. He has felt her presence shift.

His formerly jubilant daughter reduced to silence and hardship, harassed by demons and devils unbeknownst to him.

She hardly casts him a glance, no more than a solemn look of acknowledgement. Out of love or respect or mere duty, he could never know. Mikasa is lost, in mind and spirit, that much is evident.

“You’ve hardly touched your food tonight.” Or any night, he silently adds. But he has more of a mind than to prod her further. Does he ask what was plaguing her? What demons rest on her shoulders to ruin her appetite for food and life?

Instead her father rests a hand against hers, a light touch for comfort. A beacon of light, a semblance of salvation, to pull her from her torment. Even if for only a moment. “I’m here for you,” he reassures.

Mikasa humbly meets his gaze, far greater than a conviction beyond his eyes. I will bring you back from this, he pleads. Tell me, my darling daughter, and I will free your soul from the river Styx.

His eyes bear a similarity to Eren’s. A resolution. A promise burning beneath them. Eren’s blistering green irises, scathing for desire and piety. For something real. Untouched. True. I will move mountains and reshape valleys for you. I will end wars and kill kings for you. I will search the ends of the earth and farther for you. I will travel through the underworld for you, defeat Hades and Cerberus to free you. I will always look for you.

Does she truly need saving? Is the affliction she suffers truly so horrible, if she feels so safe? An impurity to others, but a security in truth. A justice in its own right. Does it really matter, in the end?

If her tale ended so tragically—like Eurydice and Orpheus. What was there to complain of, if she had only ever felt loved?

Mikasa turns back to the full plate, her mind wholly elsewhere as she crosses her legs beneath the table. Further thoughts of a certain male intrude her mind, contorting into twisted visions of the past and future alike. Memories scolding into form, futures yet to happen. Fate trembles before them; destiny fears them.

They are beyond destiny, yet still inevitable. Like two stars orbiting each other, like two galaxies hurdling towards one another—collapsing in on one another in an otherworldly, majestic collision. Beyond circumstance and fate, a mysterious third event entirely. Pure happenstance to have met, with choices building together in a snowball of events of pure intention. Pure devotion.

She wants this. She wills this. To be worshipped and to be loved.

“Okay,” she responds. Small, unconvinced, because she doesn’t yet want to be saved.

————————————

Mikasa understands the depth of the Reverend's sermons now. She understands a deeper truth with which she is not meant to coalesce. That greed and pride were traitorous deities, gleefully deceitful and all-consuming.

The guilt still swarms within her. To stand near an altar which had seen her at the most vulnerable. An altar which had seen a complexity of human emotion unmatched in the hallowed hall. The betrayal rooted and deep. To reaffirm her father's preaching in one breath; to bless her lover in another.

Taunted and tumultuous and taken. This is how it feels, standing near the altar, praying during her father’s sermon. Trapped in a predicated perfection of humankind. A failed embodiment of all that was holy.

Eren approaches her conflicted being. Offers to help clean up following the service. Offers to walk her to her quaint room. Offers to remove her robes, to hang them neatly before attaching their lips, before tasting her skin.

With each kiss she feels the love of a man. Re-awakened. Re-imagined.

Each touch is starved, like they'd been hungry since they'd last parted. Each smile is secretive, like they were always alone. Each craving is met by one equal or greater, divided deeply with infatuation and hearty arousal.

As she removes her dress, his eyes rake over her body, bare in mind, body, and soul. He indulges, his body reacting before his mind. His lips part, watering with a thirst only she could satiate. He falls to his knees each time, overcome and overwrought by pure desire.

The burning of her skin, the fiery turmoil unsettling and licking at her bones. The heat rises to her flesh, painting her paleness with myriads of pink and red hues. Is this the product of innate need or misplaced faith? Will this condition plague her routinely, upon every simple touch, as virtue or punishment? If she retracts from him, rejects his admiration, will she recover succinctly or feel the abomination in her gut? Feel a despair more constricting and punishing than that of stealing from the trees of Eden?

The undeniable pull to him is stronger every time. Instinct and memory outranking the guilt within as she outstretches a hand, draws him in closer every time. Anguish by being regarded impure by the Father, overcome in mere seconds by sheer joy and delight at being chosen by a lover.

Eren's worship starts low, gently caressing up her calves to her thighs. Soulless in heaven. Beside her in hell. At rest by her hips in purgatory. A nonbeliever in solitude; a faithful servant in love. He doesn't care. The truth stands before him, and tastes effortlessly sweet under his tongue.

Is this how Ymir had felt? Chosen and selected by royalty, a love reciprocated in pure luxury and adornment. She acted on her inhibitions, relied on her instincts in the moment, and she had still been immortalized by the gods. Now worshipped in these hallowed halls, did she love any less? Did she feel any more?

The light tickle shivers up into a small smile, reserved uniquely for him. Mikasa delicately places a finger below his chin, lifts his head to angle to hers. He stares—stares with dilated pupils in holy attention. Every unsaid word is intently heard. Every silent intention is impressively understood.

He litters kisses up her thighs, rises to a stand upon her command and desperately wraps his arms around her spine. Pulls her in so close, until the space between them transcends into a vacuum seal. Until he can love her, with no space between.

The tales and stories flood her mind. The stories that had withstood the tests of time. Kings and kingdoms had fallen for less. Deities had fallen before her. Those far more holy and revered, eternally lost to the very same simple complexity that haunted her now. The tales were plenty, the morals perpetual, the endings the same.

And yet, she collapses into the arms of a lover with free will. In the arms of freedom—is this how Icarus felt when he flew too close to the sun? How Eve felt when she bit the apple?

Human. Endlessly human. The desire to feel. To feel it all. The beauty in the beast. The flesh of the fruit and the blood in the wine.

Eren’s lips root at her collarbones, strong kisses spread in a deliberate cross amongst her chest. Highlighting across her collarbones, along her sternum, up the soft skin of her neck. One hand squeezes at her bum, inadvertently releasing a cautious moan at the weak resistance of the plush flesh.

He fondles her cheek with one hand, brings the other to her jaw and rejoins their lips. With his grip on her ass, he pulls her impossibly closer, until her exposed lower abdomen meets his clothed hardening erection and he can’t choke back a hearty moan.

Eren tucks his thigh between her legs, pressing inwards and upwards. She sits obediently, grinds her hips against his thigh. His tongue against hers, her apex on his sculpted physique—rocking her hips greedily in an asynchronous motion. Desperate to feel.

Mikasa is out of breath already, tilting her head sideways to rip her lips away and pant. Her eyes wide open, dilated, taking in the sight of Eren’s focus, like Apollo helping her see the light. The gods took their time creating him, each muscle chiseled into flesh with a fine craft and steady hand. A passion for art and human body; a strong urge to sculpt a heavenly form into a mortal being; a sense of serene pleasure in mind—Eren embodies it all.

Her hands tug at his clothes, nails digging into his arms and back as she hastily ripped his shirt to the floor. Even the playing field, bare and exposed. Her eyes scan over his pecs, the pronounced muscles in his shoulders and neck—she is curious, wanting. Is this how Pandora felt when she opened the box? Ripping at the hinges and locks like tainted fabric, desire curving on desperation?

Her lips connect to his neck, hands raking across his chest and feeling the muscular tension underneath her fingers. All the while she continues to grind onto his thigh, his hands tight on her iliac crest and indulging her as he thrives under her touch.

Her heart races, adrenaline and excitement and anxiety. She is overcoming, but her mind is still reeling. She is grieving, the death of a faith she was given before a name. She is rejoicing, redeemed by the inevitable love of man.

Eren removes his trousers, cast out of a blasphemous heaven to a withering ground. One of her hands trails down his center, a light smile plasters her bitten lips as she approaches the appendage she couldn’t name.

To give love to receive love. This is what she’d be taught.

The twist in her stomach is inexplicable, a sultry mixture of excitement and confidence with hesitation and confusion. She holds his shaft with little more than blatant curiosity, and now she kisses into his gasping mouth with eyes yearning for direction.

An obedient priestess. A fallen angel, with half a halo and clipped wings. Joining those who had indulged too far, loved too deeply, cared too much. Fallen from the sky with grace, and landed in a soft and warm embrace.

One of Eren’s hands encompasses hers, the other raises to her breast. With one squeeze and a soft moan from her precious pink lips, he guides her hand along his cock, biting his bottom lip to swallow his own unholy sermons.

Oh, the things he would say! Too cursed for these holy halls. Too private to risk ears beyond hers to listen. Lest they stick to the walls and echo for all to hear during ceremonies. Lest they intrude on the thoughts and the minds of the unworthy. Of the impatient. Of the unsound mind.

So he whispers them into her mouth, haughty gasps and broken moans between desperate kisses. Oh, how I love you. In heaven or in hell, I will always look for you. I will search endlessly for you. I will bring you home. You are my home.

They kiss as he flicks her wrist, silently directs her on the motion. Each breath expels with a labored intensity, an eagerness spreading with each pulse of hot blood through his core. It feels like he is running out of air. Like the gods in the room deem them unworthy of the substance, thinning the supply so they will suffocate on each other. A death of lovers—dying in an airless embrace.

With each kiss he finds what he's been searching for. Real. Holy.

With each kiss she feels the love of man. Real. Blessed.

Is this how Apollo felt when he commanded light itself? When he cast away evil for the sake of lovers and sinners alike? Were they really any different in the end?

Her thumb caresses the tip and he bites into her shoulder, cutting off a throaty gasp in the process as his eyelids shut tight. His sounds are surreal, otherworldly, and she’s hardly touched him for long yet.

The temptation is building, constructing from endless whimpers and gasps under her dainty feel, from an endless curiosity of what he will taste like on her tongue. Greed and gluttony sit on her shoulders, whispering countless suggestions in her ear. Feeding her mind with ideas that her heart jumps at, leaps into her throat with utmost glee.

Her grip slackens as she slowly—achingly slow—falls to her knees, until she knelt before him. A position so familiar, yet right now so foreign.

In none of their stories, their tales of sins and the like, did they say it would all feel so right. Like puzzle pieces slotting together into a perfect fit, like a match finally lit, like a performer identifying and protecting their muse. The mind soils with ideas from the devil, the body taints with Nyx, the henchmen come to collect, but what happens to the heart?

Eren’s gut leaps, his cock twitches at the pure sight. A purity, kneeling before him in promiscuous intent. To drink. To feast.

She glances up, stares at him with round pleading eyes. His breath caught in his throat, lodged and released in a high-pitched whine. The blood floods his veins, with it came a warmth like no other—following with an immense pleasure that fills his body and mind. Is this how deities felt? Is this how the gods lived? Worshipped and revered and all?

Trapped in time. Immortalized in space. The two of them—sole perpetrators of an unholy matrimony. Mikasa, who believes in a god greater than herself. Eren, who believes in no god other than himself.

The temptation spirals out, like an uncontrolled hurricane threatening to consume the church and themselves with nothing left in its wake. Unforgiving. Her desire disgusts her, the sheer enormity of it, ugly and disastrous and feeding.

She licks out, tentative and simple and wrong. So utterly wrong and impure she couldn't have possibly brought him pleasure.

But the moan he releases—it is raw. Primal. Vibrates out from immense depths within, like she grabs him by his throat and drags it out with her bare hands. Lay his own desire bare in front of her, exposed and writhing. Let his heart beat before her, vulnerable and aware. Beating. Always beating.

He is so responsive, petting her hair and revealing copious sounds of encouragement as she hollows her cheeks and encompasses him whole. Her cheeks redden, blushing as Eren's eyes snap closed and his hips gently rock in her motion. She is leading. He is peacefully following.

Like bringing a lamb to slaughter, a horse to the river. There's blood in the water, she knows—it's hers, from the heart she ripped out and laid free for the devil to keep. An offering, for relaxing her inhibition, for leading the charge. For following the organ instead of her brain. She knows better, or she at least she did, once. Even the devil was once an angel.

Her mind stills. The eye of the hurricane. Serene and tranquil while her tumultuous body boils and storms. Blood cast through ferocious winds, skin tingling like whirling leaves and sand, sparks flying as tears line her eyes—mouth stretched and full, burning at the corners like she’s been caught in a wood fire.

She didn't care. Not right now. The devil is human. He never repented. Maybe he is happier now.

She’s demanding. More and more and more. She’s wanting—wanting the circumferential spirit to swallow whole. She’s chasing. The feelings and his hips and her breath. She wants the world to disappear and collapse beneath her. She wants the world to quake beneath her, to bow on its knees for her. She wants to be worshipped and she wants to be loved. She wants, and she wants—she’s wanting it all from him.

Like Achilles. Always wanting more. Always chasing. Is this how he felt? Always catching up, never catching a breath. Air taken for granted, lungs burning with effort. Heroic in effort and valor.

Eren’s hips stumble; he is losing momentum. The climax is building. His grip on her hair tightens, pulls on the roots until the nerves fire endlessly into her system. He thrusts his hips forward, until the tip of his desire is pressing against her soft palate and she can barely breathe without gagging. His mouth is open, panting countless weak breaths and no more praises, no coherence in each expulsion as his body trembles with surmounting pleasure until there's a hot liquid streaming down her throat, burning itself into the back lining with no regard for her being.

Biology is cruel, but Eren is not. As quickly as the liquid had come, it vanished. He hastily retrieves himself and kneels in front of her. The hand tight in her hair now loose against her cheek, his dilated pupils drilling into her own. Her jaw aches now, but his thumb rubs along the edge so smoothly, like he were soothing the affected area until she is numb to all sensation. He's smiling, so greatly it must burn, dimples etching into his cheeks from the depth of this euphoria. He's panting, chest heaving to catch all the air he didn't even miss.

The gratuitous green bears a truth larger than life. She shivers beneath its intensity, amplifying the blood coursing through her vessels until she could hear the roaring message etching into her skin and bones. Glutinous in glory. Greedy in love. I will destroy this world for you. I will rebuild it all for you.

He inches closer, closer, until his nose brushes against hers and she feels the heat emanating off his lips. Feels the thin skin of his lips reaching out for connection.

She once searched for him in everyone. She still does, looks for him in the crowded pews, searches for bits of his soul in others. No one surmounts to him. He's looking for a semblance of truth. She gives him it. For me, you are the measure of all things.

Their lips touch once, twice, until they do not separate again. Meshing together with a blinding impurity, a heathenish quality that would make the weak-willed and weak-hearted tremble. A connection, morphing into more. One being. One soul.

Eren's hands dance across her body, caressing the bumps of her breasts and folds of her hips like they were everything holy. He does not restrain himself—he wants and he takes, he craves and he feels and he has. He doesn't heed the inhibition, the guilt. To him, there is no pride veiled as vanity, no pleasure dressed as greed. There is no restriction on the heart. There is no forbidden fruit.

He kisses with intent, a love and a lust powered by Eros and Aphrodite themselves. There is no line to be crossed, no threshold of allowance set by a higher order. There is no higher being to please other than the woman in front of him, who moans and preens under his touch, who continuously yearns for more. There is no greater heaven than the one between us on Earth.

He kisses along her jaw as his hand approaches between her thighs, soft and careful, slow and delicate. He watches Mikasa carefully, each gaze towards her features lingering a moment too long as his hand slides towards the apex and feels for the bud of her flower.

Her eyelids flutter, the lightest inhale to accompany a soft, firm touch to her sensitive skin. She remembers this feeling from the altar. The rising pleasure, the blood boiling, the explosive euphoria to ensue if he continues for long.

Eren's fingers lower even further, until they slip and disappear inside her and feel at her soft, velvet walls. Mikasa gapes at the feeling, barely any air left in her lungs to attempt a futile escape, because she's gasping shortly after, as his fingers poke around and she's desperate for air.

Mikasa's hands grab at Eren's biceps, digging her fingernails into the unyielding muscle with a forlorn determination. She feels every movement, each crook and angle of his bending and stretching fingers, each tongue lick and kiss against the skin of her chest as he explores her body, each wavering hold on her hip with his other hand as he relies on strength to hold him over her. She feels it all, each with a graduating intensity and an ever-faster beating heart and lungs that can't keep up.

Each movement lays a foundation, a heated layer upon layer slowly developing into an inescapable tension of her body, into a numbing sensation that silences her mind. And he doesn't stop, doesn't yield as he fusses with his position over her, until he's laying directly on top and she can feel the awkward way his wrist bends against her thighs.

The blood roars in her ears, silencing any wet noises that resonate from near her hips as he further shifts his fingers. Her eyes are closed, her lips are parted. She feels the pulsing in her arteries against the barring restraints of her skin, so harsh and heavy it feels like they might burst at any moment. She feels the want, steeping and steeping to an ever inclining point.

He removes his hand, whispers something she didn't quite catch in her ear before he shifting above her again. She doesn't open her eyes, doesn't move a muscle, doesn't even breathe. A restless purgatory, set in stone as she waits endlessly for his next action. And he leans over her, admiration and love and all, overbearing in his chest with no way to express it. He'd cut open his chest if he could, let it bleed over her until she could truly envision how deeply he cares, how deeply he burns. Most ardently.

Mikasa feels the press of his tip between her legs. She shivers, a smile breaking the reins and encompassing her cheeks. Is she free yet? Floating with the wind and running with the wolves.

He pushes deeper, deeper, and deeper until she can no longer feel where her skin ends and his begins. Until they've physically melded, warm and seductive.

What happens to the heart? It burns. It bleeds. It beats. It always beats.

It burns because it's warm. Fiery and volcanic, hot and turbulent and tempestuous. It bleeds because it loves. It's full and giving and desirable. It's loving and providing, always, always providing. It beats because it's free. It continues to beat through it all, the upset and the uplifting, the turmoil and the restful. It beats because it's alive.

With him she feels purer than heaven. With him, she feels seen. With him, she feels love.

The love swells within her, pushing further into her body with each careful thrust of his hips. The fullness of him, forcing her care and warmth to go elsewhere, spread throughout her body from her fingertips to toes to the ends of her hair. She feels it all. Each nerve ending resonating, communicating, firing.

Mikasa opens her eyes. Brings her hands from his arms to his cheeks. He looks to her, her movement catching his attention and finding himself incapable of looking away. He's sweating, he's pink. He's exhilarating.

She pulls him in, until their lips are attached and moving in rhythm with his hips. She follows his lead—she wants; she takes. She's starving, craving. Finally chasing the remedy. Because heaven is here, encompassing us on earth.

She wraps her legs around his hips, encouraging him to be closer. It's exalting the feeling, accelerating the intensity of blood through her body. Mikasa's elated here, bodies intertwined in a temporary union. She allows herself to feel whole, to squash the guilt arising from not truly feeling guilty at all.

And the world didn't end. The ground didn't collapse beneath her and swallow her whole. Her heart still beats. Her lungs still breathe. Her spirit still talks. Her soul still believes.

Mikasa clutches onto her lover, tighter and tighter as the pleasure reaches a climax free of guilty restraint and restriction. The explosion fills the chambers of her heart more greatly than ever before, as it pounds relentlessly against her chest. She feels Eren's heart, synchronous and harmonious, marching in line with her own beat. Until they are too merging as one, heavy beat, reaching out for the other through bones and skin.

He leans his forehead against hers as the same burning liquid from earlier coats her insides, the sheer force of the spill matching a fervent moan from the man himself. Her body tenses, toes curling in her own world, and she reciprocates his noise with her own, crawling out from the depths of her hard beating chest.

They pant together afterwards, bodies still joined and attached. Eren rubs his thumb along her cheekbone, smiles softly as the fire in his eyes continue to burn unkempt. Show me your thorns, and I will show you hands ready to bleed.

#god will forgive me because he compelled me to write it #eremika #eremika smut #eren x mikasa #eren x mikasa smut #eren jaeger #mikasa ackerman #attack on titan eremika #shingeki no kyojin eremika #attack on titan eremika smut #aot eremika #aot eremika smut #jjkeremika #heavily inspired by many of aurora’s songs #author is not religious dont come for me

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