A/N: So, this is it. The story's finally come to an end. This chapter contains a veeeeery long love scene so read with caution. I'm having a really hard time letting this Eren go, but I'm happy to finally bring this story to an end and rip it off me, although I don't think I'll ever get over it tbh. Thank you for reading, and I'll see you all again soon!

.: Drizzle :.

.: Part III :.

There are a few things Eren Jaeger has never been able to explain in his life:

1. The economic system.

2. How Armin's voice is capable of reaching such a high, shrilling pitch (seriously, what the fuck).

And finally, 3. How a human being could possibly be this irrefutably, irrevocably, inexplicably perfect.

She's perfect.

Perfect.

It blows him away.

Breathless, he traces the contours of her body, marveling at every slope, every peak, every dip, and nook and cranny. He gets lost in them, in the familiarity of her scent on his skin and bed, in the startling grace of the curves of her lips as she smiles at him, the delicate balance she manifests with every whisper, every praise, every granted permission for him to venture farther.

Her skin prickles where he touches her, hairs that come alive to stand on point.

His does too, relishing in the aftermath of her presence, buzzing with emotions that awaken from a two-year-long repose.

Their garments litter the cabin floor, squelching thuds of damp clothing that fall off their incarcerated skins, freeing them in hapless bouts of giggles and mawkish chortles when she fails to tug his legs out of his pants on the first attempt. The only thing left now is her underwear, and his, barriers of sorts that stand between them as they sit facing one another on his bed. Make love to me, she'd told him, a grown woman demanding his submission. But now she sits, a girl, simpering with her legs hugged tight against her, staring at him through damp strings of raven hair, her small chin crinkling as she laughs, perched like a stone atop her knees, her face a flawless statue.

"What?" he asks her, scoffing at her quiet snorts.

"Nothing," she breathes, shaking her head, the rain washing down the window beside them dancing along her skin in the form of shadows. Her naked chest hides behind her folded legs, and he imagines that his must exhibit the same strange dance of ghosts laving down his body, covering him like a shower he'll never actually feel. Her features soften ever so slightly, and when he hears it, "Just looking at you, that's all", he knows he's safe.

Eren watches the lull of her lids as she blinks, tucking her curls behind her ears, her eyelashes moist and clumped together with tears and rain. Her diamond earrings shimmer in the dusky atmosphere, the coldness of the room thawing with the warm touch of his hand upon her chalky skin, fingertips running along the ridges of her knuckles. Her hands are adjoined at her shins, and he places his own by her feet on the mattress to lean forward and kiss one of the band-aids on her knees before, carefully, moving on to kiss the other. Her small breaths float around him, flaccid puffs of air he drinks up like water. She doesn't say anything, neither does he, but he knows what they're both thinking of how he used to do this.

Eren used to do this all the time.

He's lost count of the bruises he's had to kiss away, of all the pecks that were pressed to her cheeks to make her smile, to erase the ghostly trails of her tears and replace them with laughter. But this, right now, is very different. Not only because she's actually bled this time and because he's kissing wounds instead of contusions, but because back then, he'd had the liberty of calling her his, of counting her sleepy breaths beside him 'til he fell asleep, of knowing that when he awoke later on that morning, she'd be there. She'd stay there. She'd never go. He knows now—they both know now—that it's not like this anymore. Tomorrow comes with uncertainty. It comes with the knowledge that, in the eyes of the world, they are unfit for one another. Even if their corners do fit perfectly together; even if their differences do fuse in harmony and bind them as one, they're not meant to be for the simple fact that society says so.

It's a thought that boils at the back of their minds but that's promptly silenced by the calamity of the storm outside when the tip of his nose bumps the pointy tip of hers, and he hears her laugh again, and he knows, above all else, that he loves her.

"You're tickling me," she whispers, wiggling her toes by his hands. He peers down at them, smirking, tracing them with his finger, feeling how tiny they are, how cold to the touch much like the rest of her. He thinks of how every inch of her is perfect, from the points of her eyelashes to the tips of her toes, when suddenly he feels one of her hands digging through his rain-soaked hair, coaxing him to lift his head and look at her.

Wordlessly, they stare at one another. The air fills with the sound of their placid breaths, the roaring booms of trifling clouds, the drumming of rain, all different whispers of life. She cradles the side of his face in her hand, tracing his bottom lip with her finger, mouthing something he doesn't understand before smiling.

"What are you whispering to yourself?" he asks her, enchanted by the dainty glow in her eyes.

"Nothing," it's a breath, followed by a string of stronger words. "You're so handsome, Eren. I feel like I'm looking at you for the first time."

She's still holding his face, tilting hers to the side so that her cheek presses against her knee cap. Their voices are quiet, nearly trampled by the thundering and pounding taking place outside. And yet, always, they hear each other over everything.

His fingers pull a strand of hair that has fallen over her face behind her ear, and he watches the way her eyes close at the contact, how her lashes are so long they sit like brush strokes on her cheeks. His voice is warm, wafting out of him like steam.

"I haven't changed at all."

She's still got her eyes closed. She's still holding his face. She's not letting him go.

"No," she says, "you haven't."

Eren turns his mouth to kiss the palm of her hand, humming, and they stay like that for a while, until she opens her eyes and breathes, "You're beautiful," so soft it barely cuts through the space between them to reach him. He turns his face to look at her, whispering back, "So are you."

The smile she gives him is so bright that her eyes disappear into her face. And he can't help it. He smiles too. A small peck to her chin and then he sits back on his side of the bed again, reaching out a hand, much like how he'd done the day he'd helped her out of the car, only now to bring her to him.

"Come here."

On her face is something serious, something he doesn't quite understand. She's still for a moment, watching him, turning her head so that her eyes peek up over her knee caps. Thoughts whirl in her mind, he knows, but he can only imagine them. In the silence, the sound of sheets rustling underneath her rises against the chill, and soon she's taking his hand and allowing it pull her to him until she's sitting on his lap and he's flinging her arms around his neck, letting them hang limply and spill over his back and shoulders. His hands frame her hips as his eyes venture up her naked torso, absorbing every miniscule detail while his fingertips glide up her waist, her breasts, feeling her skin before he grabs the side of her face and flicks his eyes up to meet hers.

"I'm sorry," he utters, running his thumb over the arch of her brow, "for the shit I said."

"Don't apologize."

"But I was such an ass. I called you a c—"

"Shhh." She grabs both sides of his face and shushes him, brushing their lips together, moving hers from side to side so that it tickles his. "Shhh, shhh, shhh."

He feels her breath on his skin, every shhh leaving her mouth caressing his gently. He wants to reach out his tongue, capture them, savor anything and everything she breathes. She smells pure and delicious, like rain and cigarettes and perfume. Like everything he wants her to smell like. Cheery. Content.

Beautiful.

"Shhhh, Eren. Quiet, quiet…"

Shh...

Shhhh…

Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

Quiet.

He runs a hand through her hair, dripping locks gliding through his fingers, drops of water falling down the sides of her face, the slopes of her neck, the curve of her back. Their noses touch. Ba-dump. Their hearts beat faster. Ba-dump. Nobody can ever take her away from him again.

"Mikasa," he murmurs against her lips, swallowing her smell, loving how her name feels on his tongue and forms around his lips—like he was born merely to pronounce it. She hums questioningly, heavy-lidded eyes foggy with something indescribable and he feels as if he could dive into them and swim forever.

He swipes his thumb over one of her lids, coaxing her eyes to draw shut like flowers lost in slumber. "I love you," he whispers to her mouth, closing his own eyes, feeling her breathe against him. "I love you so much."

Her nails scratch the back of his head, grazing the nape of his neck before she opens her eyes to look deep into his and respond, "I know that, silly."

He smiles.

She smiles.

Everything's alright.

The violence outside contrasts the quiet bliss they share within his humble home. The loud cries of thunder juxtapose the careful way she leans in to kiss him: first his upper lip, then his lower; feather-like busses that barely touch his skin—like the light caress of fine rain drops, barely there, yet omnipresent. She parts her lips against his slowly, luring him to follow along, and it's an odd kiss. They don't press their lips together, instead mirror each other's mouths tentatively, as if all of his actions were a mere reflection of her own and her every inhale elicited an exhale out of him, and they breathe through each other like that for a moment, until her tongue peeks out to greet his, and then they both snigger a breath.

As their mouths resume their peculiar dance, his fingers graze the back of her neck, where he can feel the first small bump of her spine, the skin there is icy and moist. They draw a line all the way down her spine, whence he slips his hands down to cup her rear and hears her hum appreciatively, the last few mmm's taking flight to a glorious giggle and there's honestly no greater sound in the entire world; nothing as rich, as sweet, as wonderful as her laughter.

She kisses him right once his hands are roaming up her stomach—but with no tongue this time. Just lips. Just lips and her breath mixing with his and his palms going flat against her tummy and then up and up and up until they're cupping both her breasts.

The corner of her mouth splits into a wry smile, her hips shifting around on his lap before she gives a long, happy sigh. Her breath hits him square in the face, warm and stale and intoxicating. He watches the way her eyes fall shut as he feels her, thumbs drawing slow, steady circles on her nipples, their nubs hard already from the cold but she shivers in a whole new way, losing to the sensations he's sending through her system. Her cheeks turn such a pretty shade of pink that he can't help it when he leans in to kiss them. The sight of her rosy plush disappearing into her mouth is so endearing, he teases her a bit more just to see her bite her lip longer. The sight of her lips parting and breath quivering between them is so hypnotizing—he loves it, he loves it all so much.

Her arms are still draped around his neck, one hand resting idly on his shoulder as the other cards through his hair. She's not aware of how he watches her, admiring every line, every shadow, every aspect of her gorgeous face. After a moment, he closes the gap between them to lave his lips on her cheek, letting them melt down her jawline, ooze down her neck, kiss her collarbone as his hands grope her breasts and bring one up to his mouth.

The heat of his tongue on her skin makes her gasp. He suckles the soft curve hard enough to mark her but her every breath is laced with approval, the gloom of nightfall burgeoning within the cabin, denigrating their visions so that their senses guide the way. His lips are back on her neck when he slips a hand down the front of her panties to feel her. Another gasp from her mouth flares on his cheek, soft and startled, his nose buried in the crook of her neck when he mumbles if it's okay.

She doesn't answer him, just nods and feels her legs jolt when his fingers rub her through the cloth. Both her hands are in his hair now and she wants to feel him everywhere, all at once, wrapped up tight around her so that there's no escape, no ripping him off her. She tells him this by joining their lips and holding her entire self against him, forcing him to dwindle back down on the bed until his back is on the mattress, her breasts flat against his chest, porcelain legs straddling his hips and she starts to rock hers slowly against him, her faint pants pressed to his chin as the ends of her hair tickle his face, dripping water on his features like beads of morning dew rolling off of flower petals and landing on his skin.

She's a storm of her own, drenching him as their breathing deepens and blends. He admires the way she sighs, rolling her hips, stimulating their sexes through the barriers of clothes before he grabs her ass and grinds his hips up to meet her. And he's patient, so patient, but the way the hardened points of her breasts keep brushing his chest as she whines quietly drives him insane.

He grips her waist and flips her over so that she's on her back, an easy feud for dominance he conquers when she throws her arms around her head in full surrender, sparkling eyes hooded and dark with lust as he looms over her, smoothing her hair away from her face with one hand, gliding his fingertips down her stomach with the other. Her muscles tense beneath his touch, quaking in anticipation before he touches her where she wants him most. He never takes his eyes off her, burning her image into his mind as he slips two fingers into her core and she moans for him; fluttering lids going shut, her body twisting in the darkness.

He runs his tongue over her peaks, taking his time to caress her with his lips before taking a bud into his mouth and sucking hard. Her back arches and he can practically feel the mewl that travels up her body before it escapes through her throat as his fingers start to move in her. He's not even aware of how long he stays like that, with his head swimming and her little sighs making him feel faint and woozy, because time diminishes layer by layer until finally it disappears. She feels so infinite, hot and damp around his thrusting fingers, perked and pebbled against his tongue. He's lapping at her other nipple, tugging and then letting it snap back into place when she pulls lightly on his hair to make him look at her.

She doesn't say a word, but he's known her long enough to read the look she's giving him. He curls his fingers inside her just to see the face she makes, to perish in the beauty of her features contorting, of a gasp parting her lips before he retrieves his hand and resumes his quest down her centerfold, passing his tongue over her ribs, her belly, biting her hip and making her jump. She titters softly, throwing an arm over her face to hide her blush and he thinks of how amazing she is, of how stupid he's been these past few weeks for trying to ignore her, of what a damn fool he is. Just look at her. There's no way he'd ever manage to free himself of her constant grip on him. It's a blessing. It's a curse.

Damned, he hooks his fingers on the elastic band of her panties and peers up at her, wetting his lips.

"These gotta go."

She nods, ruddy and breathless.

"I agree."

His hands take their time rolling the flimsy fabric down her legs, lips kissing every inch of skin on the way down before he's discarding them to the side and sitting back to look at her. The rain still crawls down her body in artificial waves, but the day's grown darker—he can hardly see her face—so he takes this as his chance to reach over the nightstand and search for a match to light the gas lamp by the end of the bed.

"Eren," she queries once his back is to her, her eyes tracing every line of muscle on his skin, admiring the broadness of his shoulders, and he doesn't see the way she smiles to herself, satisfied. "What are you doing?"

"It's dark."

Nudging one of the dimples on the small of his back with her toe: "So?"

"I want to see you."

He can hear her scoff behind him, "Eren..." but she says no more. She's probably rolling her eyes at him like she always does when he insists on things being perfect. He's so conscientious, meticulous of their time together—and it's funny because he's usually such an impulsive, whimsical being, and yet he's so careful when it comes to her, so precise.

It doesn't take him long to succeed in producing a steady flame, but Mikasa's still impatient, poking his butt with her foot, giggling when he swats her away and tells her to stop it. The soles of her feet are flat on his back by the time the cabin grows dim with a halo of yellowish light, specifically covering the spaces around them, every other corner of his home submerged darkness, illuminated only by a few occasional flashes of lightning bursting in from the un-curtained windows. He feels her toes wiggling on his back as he sets the gas lamp on the table, pulling a tiny snort out of him but then they're gone, the sheets rustling behind him as she shifts around on the bed. There's scarcely any light except for the gas lamp, the fading gray outside, and Mikasa's incandescent smile when he turns around to find her legs splayed wide open, waiting for him, her hand guiding his eyes to her center when she reaches down to touch herself.

His mouth drops open, eyeballs nearly bulging out of his face and he literally has to sit back on his heels and take a second to breathe.

"God," he heaves, holding a hand to his heart. "You're too much."

Instantly, her sultry facade crumbles. She starts laughing, covering her face with both her hands, snapping her legs shut and wriggling around with her cheeks burning bright red and she looks, quite honestly, like a drunk. Eren can't help his smirk.

"Well, aren't you cute?"

"I'm naked!" She says it like it's the funniest joke, chortling and snorting. And he supposes that in some ways, it is. The last thing he ever expected to come of this day was this: her lying nude on his bed, wriggling around childishly and making him smile.

"Why are you so giggly?"

"Because your face! It's funny."

He narrows his eyes, clutching her shins to make her hold still. "Are you sure you didn't drink tonight?"

It takes her a moment to stop giggling and answer him. "Not an ounce."

"Nah," he shakes his head, pressing his lips to one of the band-aids. "I think you're lying to me."

She shakes hers, drawing a small 'x' over her chest with her index finger. "Cross my heart."

"Mmm," his callused palms skim up her thighs, pulling them apart slowly, slowly, until she's spread open and he's testing her expression, flicking his eyes down to her core then back up at her, "'kay."

She bites her lip as he nuzzles her skin with his nose, planting hot, open mouthed kisses up her inner thighs and she simpers when he hums because he's wanted for so long to do this, to lose himself on every expanse of her skin. His mouth meets the cradle of her hips and her lips part in anticipation, air escaping her in an outward gasp, chest imploding with the desire—the need—to feel him and she moans loudly at the sudden intrusion of his tongue, an urgent hand flying down to hold the back of his head and he feels a bright twinge of pride at knowing this is literally her mother's worst fucking nightmare.

He revels in the idea, rebelliously swiping his tongue in one long stroke so that he takes her in completely, hears her keen, savors all of her. She tastes musky and salty and he can't get enough. He licks her up until she's sifting her fingers through his hair and bucking her hips to heighten the friction before gasping, "Eren," tugging at a fistful of bistre strands, "please." He groans into her when she tugs harder, making her hiss, driving her crazy. She tries to speak but words stray, turning into helpless whimpers and he can tell she's balling up a fist over her mouth because they sound strained and stifled.

He revels in the tell tales of her body vibrating through her as she tries to hold everything in and clamps his head between her thighs because he knows that there's no other man who gets her like this, only him, no one else, not ever. Intent on driving her to her peak, he keeps on going, but a strangled, "S-stop," is her avast and he lifts his head to peer up at her from between her legs.

"Is something wrong?"

"Not like this," she tells him, raven hair splayed around her head like a halo. Her chest rises and falls rapidly with her stuttered, "I want you. Now. Inside me."

The rest of his clothes is off him in a flash.

Her eyes weigh heavily on him as he undresses—and she doesn't giggle or smile anymore. She's serious. Watching him. Breathing between her parted lips. Her skin emits a soft, ethereal glow in the light and every ounce of him throbs and thirsts to feel her, all of her, latched onto his bones and never letting go.

He goes to crawl over her body, kissing one of her knees in the process, "I'm not letting her hurt you anymore," kissing the other one as well. But Mikasa doesn't reply. She waits for him to plant some quick pecks up her stomach, a few more deliberately peppered on her cheek as he pours his love on the place her mother had attacked her, ghosting his lips over the smoothness of her skin before licking her and she wants to laugh but she's too impatient, too greedy. Her hand slinks down and grips his hardness firmly, making his hips jerk and his mouth snap open as he gasps against her skin.

"Hurry." Her voice dissipates into the air, thin and hasty. "Hurry, please."

He doesn't bother questioning her haste—he's just as lost as she is. Finally, he places himself at her entrance, teasingly brushing his tip along her folds before holding it against her clit and then dragging it back down her apex as her whole body trembles with need. He doesn't admit it, but he thinks he feels himself shaking too.

He can't help it when he questions, more out of habit than anything else, "Are you sure?"

"Yes." Her onyx orbs are dazzling, bright and full of love. "Yes, of course."

He runs his fingers down her centerfold, admiring the rise and fall of her tummy before reaching down to touch her between her legs. She's dripping. He closes his eyes, musters what little else is left of his self-control to test her.

"You're sure you want me."

"Yes."

"Me."

"You. Only you."

"I'll have to warn you," he croons, nipping her jaw. "I'm not good news."

"Oh-ho," he can hear her smile in her voice, the sudden catch in her breathing because of how he's touching her. "Is that so?"

"Yea-up. I'm a bad guy."

She squints her eyes at the ceiling, the sound of rain mixing with her words and creating something tremendously beautiful.

"I don't believe you."

He scoffs into the crook of her neck, inhaling her unique scent, moving his fingers up her body to spread her moisture on her skin. "It's true," he breathes, his bangs sticking to her forehead, hers sticking to his. Her breath hitches when his fingers return to her center, moving in leisured strokes. "I'm nothing. You deserve better than a lonesome prostitute's rat."

"Don't say that, Eren."

"It's true." His tone is sullen, a heart-broken sob against her shoulder when he wilts his head in melodramatic shame—she smiles, slapping him upside the back of his head. "My lack of money will ruin your life forever, Mikasa. You should purge yourself of my pettiness and pursue men on your turf."

She chuckles, turning her head to kiss his temple. "Such as?"

"Men with futures. Careers. You know..." his lips align with hers again, eyes fixed on her benevolent expression. "Guys who aren't lazy."

"Hmm, lazy…?" she reaches down for his hand before placing it on her chest, a lithe fingertip tracing the length of his shaft and he fails in negating his reaction, heaving out a pant when she grabs a hold of him and starts to rub his tip along her core. "But..." she gasps softly, closing her eyes when he meets her sensitive spot, "you know…" her breaths grow ragged, matching his, "I love lazy."

He's straining to hold still, to not give in to the urge of bucking his hips as soon as she holds him at her entrance, hesitating for a second before guiding him back up. He moves his hand up from her breast to touch her lips, mind utterly addled and yet he manages to speak.

"I'll tarnish you, Mikasa."

This silences her.

She's quiet for a moment, eyeing him sternly before he watches the tips of his fingers vanish into her mouth. He can feel her tongue as she sucks and tastes herself on them, her grip on him down low tightening and fuck, fuck, fuck, he's about to lose his shit.

"I can live with that," she quips, smirking at the expression on his face when a thread of saliva stretches between his fingers and her mouth. She gives his length a long, arduous pump and he hisses, sucking in a breath between his teeth as she does it again—slower—the expression on his face going pained and he knows she's enjoying it.

"Fuck," he heaves on her chest. "You're crazy."

"So are you."

"I…" he moans when her thumb presses down on his tip, smearing the bead of pre-come that's leaked out of the slit. His breath catches in his throat but he still manages, "I suppose."

"Eren." Her thin fingers grab hold of his chin, guiding his face up so that he looks at her. Her eyes are so eternal, molten gaze that burns right through him to his soul. "I want you. Just you. No one else," and she says it all in a whisper, so small he has to close his eyes to focus solely on her voice. "So please." He feels her lips all over his face, lazy and smooth and delicate before they find his ear and then she's whispering all over: "Make love to me."

He can't even think straight anymore.

He does exactly as she says.

This time, she guides him back inside her and he enters her painstakingly slow, inching in deeper and deeper as her mouth hangs open and his does too and she feels so incredible around him, he has to close his eyes and drown in her, lips parting in a groan once he bottoms out and he can't hear or feel himself sighing, only her heat around him and her nails searing him when they sink into his skin. His heart's swelling and swelling like it's ready to pop, beating stupidly fast as he studies her face, waiting for her to settle to his girth.

After a moment, Mikasa opens her eyes, gazes down at him, blinks—and they look so new, so pure. She's stunning.

"Are we doing this the right way now?" he manages, alluding to her previous comment back at the counter.

"Definitely," she smiles around a wince.

"Does it hurt?"

"A bit."

He waits.

"You can move, Eren."

And so he does.

He pulls out gradually, almost entirely, keeping his eyes on hers and she's so astounding, his girl, he loves her so much and he knows he'll never stop adoring her. Her dewy lids flutter, silent wing beats of butterflies that take flight once he thrusts his length back into her and she closes her eyes and lets out a cry. He does it again, again, again, and although they've done this many times before in the past it's never been like this, never quite like this. He's so glad he waited and didn't take her on the counter top because soft moans are pouring out of her every time he moves and she's wrapping her limbs securely around him, holding him, breathing with him, fighting to keep her eyes open but they're too much for her so she closes them and gives up and this is ten times better than anything they've ever done before in his life.

He moves slowly, pulling out gently and then sliding back in; each time he grunts or pants into her neck makes her hold him even tighter. She whispers his name over and over again, "Eren, Eren, Eren," so he closes his eyes and gets lost in her voice, pressing his forehead to hers and feeling her breaths push out of her with every roll of his hips, fanning his lips as he sways back and forth on top of her. They're so close and he holds her even closer, feels their chests rub, her hot sighs on his cheek, his ear, her nails scratching along his back and shoulders until she holds on to his arms, grasps his biceps, looks at him in the eyes and takes in a breath to gasp, "I love you."

A smile dawns on his face, fusing with her own when he leans down kiss her. He finds her hands and stretches them above her head, purring against those plush, rosy lips of hers he loves so much, "I know that, silly."

A shaky sigh is her only answer and he keeps moving, entwining their fingers, pinning her body to the bed with the length of his own as he thrusts and huffs and makes love to her. Her legs are taut and strong around him, pushing him in more and inviting everything he gives. She's got her eyes closed now, she's not looking at him, so he clasps her chin gently and turns her head his way.

"Look at me." Her lids flicker but she keeps them closed. "Mikasa, look at me."

Finally she complies, gazing at him with glazed eyes, pupils blown wide with pleasure.

"Finish with me."

She nods.

"We're gonna finish together, 'kay?"

She nods again, breathless because he's still moving in her so she whispers, "Okay, okay."

Suddenly, he ruts into her harder. Her arms are still stretched above her head when she arcs her back and cries out, his mouth leaving her neck to kiss her breasts and then he's tonguing at a bud and sucking as she arches even move, her noises filling the room, the sounds of thunder and rain fading to the back of his mind, fervent downpours receding to faint drizzles when he snakes an arm underneath her to lift her hips so he can fuck her better, plunging into her in an angle that transforms her cries into something far more acute with pleasure.

She's still squirming, her hips held in his arm so she can't move them, only hold still and let him drive himself into her as her pleasured moans rasp their way up her throat. Her hands grip the sheets above her head and pull. Arms bend. Elbows raise. Cheeks and lips turn crimson and something rosy and enthralling blooms on her chest as he sees the way her breasts bounce slightly when he rams her harder still.

He's breathless, so breathless, both because of his movements and because she's so beautiful, he can't breathe. He's still moving slow but the way her face disappears as she cranes her neck and grunts makes him lose himself entirely. He braces himself on a tremulous arm, hand gripping the sheets by the curve of her waist, her eyes flitting open to peer down at him and he feels every bit of oxygen inside him finally escape. She keeps fighting to keep them open, to stare at him as he moves, but each time he draws back and snaps back in she's closing her eyes to savor the feeling of him inside her, locks of her hair sticking to her lips, strands dancing upwards when she respires. A groan escapes her every now and then. His name does too.

"Eren..."

It's like he resurrects each time he hears it.

"Ohhh..."

His name, his name.

"Eren."

Eren, Eren, Eren.

"Ahh. Ahhh. Eren."

He's practically kneeling as he keeps her lower half suspended, his arm flexed around her and she brings down a hand to feel him, fingers meeting his sweltering skin, running down the side of his neck, tracing his clavicle, the curve of his shoulder, the muscled sweep of his arm.

His eyes have closed, barely cracking open to catch glimpses of her through the blinking veils of his lashes. She's swiping his hair off his forehead, grazing the curve of his ear, pad of her thumb pressed to his lower lip as she cradles one side of his face. The palm of her hand's clammy on his cheek, finger swiping along his mouth and she's feeling each breath he releases, panting just as hard, staring at him even with her eyes closed.

The look on her face is different. There's a reverence present and he can't fathom her thoughts, lacking the mental clarity to question. His mind's clouded and occult, governed by his senses and he doesn't even process what he's doing anymore, unsure of where he summons up the will to suddenly grab her waist and pull out of her.

She'd be surprised if she didn't already know what he was planning, predicting his moves before he flips her over, grips her hips, lifts them up until she's kneeling. Only he would be crazy enough to change positions in the middle of it all, as if they couldn't just start again and do it later. But she hums approvingly when she feels him at her core, because it's always been this way with him, the two of them taking as much as they can form one another, clawing desperately for the utmost fulfillment as if they were making love for the very last time. She feels his hand on her ass, wallows in his breathless voice when he pants, "Like this?"

"Like this," she nods, sighing. "Let's finish like this."

He clasps her hips and pushes himself back in, and the angle is so different, the sensation entirely new. She's even damper and hotter and impossibly tight and he has to clamp his lip between his teeth to retain some sense of self-control and keep entering her slowly until he bottoms out and they both moan. He's breathing so hard. It takes him a second to ask, "Does it hurt?"

"No, no, no, please, please, just move."

He squeezes her thighs. "Are you sure?"

"Yes!"

And so he moves.

Stretching her out little by little until it's burning pleasure coursing through them both. He's finding it impossible to keep his eyes open, the air rushing out of his lungs in thick puffs, parting his lips, furrowing his brows as his motions struggle to remain measured, muscles itching with the need to fulfill his every impulse until finally she holds herself up by shaky arms and bucks her hips against his, gasping, "More."

He's miserable, aching, goosebumps covering his body as raindrops roll down his back and chest and fall from his hair, down his face. It's gotten over his eyes, but they're half-shut anyway when he utters—practically delirious, "More?"

"I want to feel you"—she gasps again when he ruts into her—"more I want more."

Leaning forward, chest flush against her back, he pins her hands down on the bed, curving his fingers over hers and angling his mouth to talk into her ear. She's shaking. He loves that. She shivers even more when he asks her, "You want me to fuck you harder?"

She nods vigorously.

"You'll have to finish with me."

"I know, I know."

"No sooner—"

"Please."

"—no later."

"Please, please, Eren shut up." He smiles at her exasperation, trapping her earlobe between his teeth. "Do me harder please just shut up and fuck me."

He bites the back of her shoulder and plunges harder still. She groans, senseless, head wilting, arms trembling and he's pounding over and over and over again from behind, pants mixed with moans mixed with rain mixed with the wet slap their skins as he lifts one of his hands to grab her hair, smoothing it back on her forehead while simultaneously raising her head to see that her eyes are closed, eyebrows furrowed, mouth agape and she's tightening around him more and more.

"You feel so good," he tells her, tangling his fingers in her hair, sucking on her neck and oh how he wishes her mother could see them right now. She'd literally die. In his mind, it's some form of wicked payback. You call my dead mother a whore? I take your daughter from behind. How's that for poor, filthy, disgusting?

Mikasa's whines are lost in her throat. Breathless, she implores, "More, Eren."

His teeth graze the curve where her neck meets her shoulder as he starts to pick up speed, slipping the hand that holds her hair down her stomach, reaching past her navel to press two fingers on her clit. He's rubbing small circles and she's so far gone, gasping and practically choking on her sobs before slinking a hand over his, digging her nails into his knuckles and telling him she's close.

"Not yet." He doesn't stop rubbing her. "Wait for me."

She bites her lip and nods. She's still whining even with her mouth closed, his fingers working down there and he knows he's only pushing her closer to the edge but she keeps tightening and she feels so fucking good, he can feel himself catching up to her.

"Mmmm..." Her nails scratch the back of his hands harshly enough to draw blood. "Hah—Ah! Eren!"

"Just a bit more."

She lets go of his hand and he wraps his arm around her waist, going faster, harder, grunting into her neck and she shakes and shakes and shakes until finally her arms collapse under her weight and he lets her fall down on the bed, moans pressed to the sheets and they keep rising in pitch and fervor.

"Eren..."

Her knees and legs buckle, pressing them lower to the bed but he holds her rear end up, propping himself on a forearm by her head, his mouth just behind her ear:

"Almost."

"I'm gonna—"

"Wait."

Her hands are at a loss of what to do, knuckles turning white from how hard she grips the bed sheets until her cries grow so loud he can't even hear the thunder or the rain or the smack of skin on skin or even his own noises. She's trying not to but she cries out every time he plows into her, slinging her arms behind her to wrap them around his neck, clawing at whatever planes of skin she can get, tangling her fingers in his hair and pulling as his hand's reaching down low to—

"EREN!"

A staccato.

"Do it."

His fingers on her, grinding, and that's it, she lets go, it's the loudest fucking scream he's ever heard come out of her when she shudders and her pleasure tears out of her throat as she comes. She's falling apart below him, scratching up the back of his neck all the way to his scalp and he tries to hold out longer but she's too much, too much, too much, too much. His mind goes blank and he thrusts one, two, three more times before going still and coming inside her, her cries overpowering his and not even thunder claps register in his ears anymore, just her, him, this, the unrelenting bond that ties them together and the blinding burst of white that consumes his eyes.

Her arms cling around his neck and he's about ready to collapse but he keeps thrusting lazily, rubbing idle circles on her to ease out her orgasm as she melts, melts, melts, and finally they both go limp on the bed. Her arms fall from his neck, a hand grasping his wrist as the aftershocks quake through her in small waves that leave her whimpering, Eren's cheek pressed to the back of her shoulder as they both pant and gasp for air. She's sandwiched between him and the bed, and he knows he's squishing her but he can feel her breathing below him and taste the familiar, musky scent of her sweat and there's nothing more necessary, more vital, more breathtaking than her.

After a moment, he pulls out of her, and the second he's left her completely her body slumps on the bed like a slug: face down and arms dead by her sides, her butt poking up slightly and Eren has to scoff, nudge her butt cheek. "Mikasa?" No response. "Are you okay?" A low groan. "Mi—" Laughter. (Only from his part.)

He smooches one of the hollow dimples on the small of her back, apologizing. "I'm sorry. I was too rough." But she's groaning her answers into the bed, words muffled and undecipherable and he's trying really hard not to chuckle but she's all, "Mmrph ungh mfffburrb," and he's a tired, sweaty, snickering mess.

He plops down on the bed beside her, brushing her hair behind her ears and turning her head so that she's facing him—her cheek smushed down on the bed, pert lips parted with her tiny pants and he kisses them, swallows her little breaths.

"Mikasa."

"Mmrph?"

"I'm sorry."

"Mmrph."

He laughs.

She does too.

The way her lips stretch as she smiles is astonishing.

They pull him in and he kisses her over and over and over again. Cheek. Temple. Lips. Nose. Until she's whining in defiance when he suggets, "We need a shower."

"I don't wanna move."

"Come on." he presses, kissing his way up to her ear. "Come on, come on, come on, come on."

She hums, chuckling softly when he's nibbling at the sensitive underside of her ear. "I already ca— Ah! Stop that."

Apparently, he bit too hard, because she's bolting to turn over and glare at him, furrowing her pretty little brows and he has to bite his lip to stop from smiling because fuck, she makes him so happy he could just burst. He kisses her chin, her eyelashes, grinning when he kisses her forehead and she complains, "Why are you so energetic? Just let me lie here, please."

"Shower with me then we can lay down all you want."

The agonized groan she gives makes him smile even brighter, and fuck it all, he'll smile as much as he wants to. He'll smile forever, as long as he's with her.

"Fine," she retaliates against his wandering lips, clutching his chin to bring it up to her face and menace, "but no funny business, mister."

"None."

—o—

They do some funny business.

By the time they're wobbling their way out of the bathroom and back over to his bed, the storm outside has simmered down as much as their own bodies have, spent and exploited and exhausted. They're drenched all over again, only now, at least, clean. Eren has to fight with Mikasa to get her to wear one of his shirts, rebuffing her objections for wanting to stay naked because she prefers to "be free".

"But I wanna stay like this," she insists.

"Nope. You'll catch a cold."

"Not if we huddle real, real close I won't."

"It doesn't work like that."

"But—"

"Shhh."

He pulls his shirt over her head, waiting patiently for her to finish scowling at him before slipping her arms through the sleeves. "There you go," he praises, despite the way she sticks her tongue out at him. "See? That wasn't so hard."

He doesn't expect it when she responds by toppling forward and crashing into him in a violent embrace. Because Mikasa's always possessed an impressive amount of strength, he nearly tumbles back onto the bed behind him; but he manages to straighten, somehow, letting out a small noise of surprise as she stands on her tippy-toes and clasps her arms so tight around his neck he feels as if she's choking him.

"What's this?" he mumbles into her hair, running a hand down the curve of her back, smirking.

"I missed this," is what she says, holding him even tighter. "I just missed this so much."

All he can think to do is snort, hold her closer, let her hold her arms around him until her feet give out and he has to tip down to make up for the height difference. She feels so small to him all of a sudden, like some fragile thing he needs to protect. But it's all merely an illusion. If there is one thing Eren knows for sure—if there is one thing Eren absolutely adores about Mikasa—it's that she can always protect herself. He's not a necessity in her life. He's a choice. And for some odd reason, the thought gives him a great measure of comfort.

Eventually, they're laying down on the bed, facing one another, whispering sweet nothings between kisses and it's much like how it was when they were younger, when the sun's reign over the sky was promising and the moon scribbled down the stories they would never get to tell. Stories of meeting in secret, of reciting poems and staring up at the stars, of acquainting each other's minds, each other's bodies, building temples reserved only for the two of them and no one else. He was her doctrine, she was his faith. Their orisons were licks of ice creams stolen from each other's cones on hot summer days, long nights spent laughing with his mother over steaming plates of home-cooked meals, careful minutes spent worshiping every sliver of bare skin, bruises fading out to nothing and replaced by the gleaming traces of his love. Everything was bright, everything was real, everything was wonderful because everything was theirs.

Aging has the tendency to sully a person's spirit, but wasted ashes come together in reverse, resurrecting as embers, burning on like eternal flames because his girl is once again beside him. He can't rip his eyes off her, and she can't rips hers off of him, for they find themselves mirrored in one another, reflected in the exquisite features of each other's faces, in the contours of her body beneath the sheets of his bed, in the scent of his soap on her skin; her natural sweetness seeping through like a rebellious assertion, yet another reminder that she'll never be wholly his. She's hers before she's anyone else's. And he's more than flattered to be fortunate enough to have her with him tonight.

Their faces are hazy in the dim light of the gas lamp. It's night time now, and the storm outside is faint, so quiet, like the remnants of a secret before it wastes away. In a sense, it depicts what they share this very moment. She feels, if anything, immortal in his arms, on his bed, wrapped up like vines around him. But they know, they know, they know that time is inevitable, and that they will, eventually, inevitably, part ways.

Both of them stare up at the ceiling, lying on their backs, when he feels her hand seeking his until it finds him. She laces their fingers together, their breaths matching the muted dribbling of the rain until, finally, one of them speaks.

"Eren."

"Hm?"

Their fingers are light against each other. Almost absent. Almost distant. Almost scarce.

"What's going to happen to us?"

"I don't know," and he's very honest, closing his eyes because the last thing he can fathom is the future stretched out before them. A large part of him doesn't even want to think of it. A life without her—especially after tonight—seems unbearable.

How does one learn to live after they've lost everything?

How does one ever really breathe again?

He can't. He can't do it.

"I don't want to leave," she whispers, and even though Eren's eyes are closed, he sees the way her chest billows with her words, how her heart beats within its cage, a prisoner to her fervid emotions, the sentiments she feels so profoundly but only ever exposes to him. "I never want to leave this place."

"Then don't." He doesn't realize that he's said this, but he doesn't regret it once he does. He did, after all, merely voice it in his honesty. Lies shed off him one by one, until all that lies beside Mikasa is what she deserves: all of him. Raw and unguarded and scathed. Imperfect and broken and bleeding. Alive and scared and sad but oh so content. Alive, alive. He's so alive when he's with her.

"Do you think… your mom would be proud?" Her fingers move with his, titillating his bones through his senses. "Of us? Of who we've both become?"

"I hope so," is all he can think to say, heaving out a long sigh. "I really do."

"All I ever wanted, you know, is to be just like her." He can tell she's smiling by her voice, by the mildness of her tone. And he feels, more than sees, the tenderness in her eyes as she gazes up at the ceiling. "She was so brave, and honest, and kind. Just… the only woman I've ever truly admired. She used to say that raising you on her own was the greatest thing that ever happened to her." Eren scoffs a tiny laugh, and the sheets rustle quietly as she turns her head to look at him. "But you already knew that, huh?"

"Mhm," he nods, smiling softly, the image of his mother blazing in his eyes, shrouding his heart, burning in his being. "She told me. Many times."

There it is again, her smile. His eyes are closed, yes, but he's never had to look at Mikasa to read her expression. He feels her as if she were an extension of himself, another vessel to carry his soul and amble onwards.

"She said she got to mend you," she continues, her voice so quiet it's like the wind outside, like the rain, like their heartbeats, "build you up. That you're the greatest thing she's ever accomplished. I used to think…. 'Wow. I wish somebody loved me like that.'" She sighs, her fingers curling around his, latching on to them like a promise. "I've had money all my life, and yet I'd never felt more poor."

Teal-greens unveil to stare up at what feels like the entire sky, but is only the roof above them. They're silent for what feels like an eternity, until he turns his head to look at her, finding that she's already staring at him.

"Hey," he says, giving her hand a squeeze, "we should just… escape." Mikasa closes her eyes and shakes her head, frowning. "No, I'm serious. We should run away, Mikasa. We can do it. I know we can."

"You already made me this offer once, Eren," she laments, opening her eyes.

"Well, I'm making it again. It's all I want. Really."

She shakes her head again, planting her eyes on the ceiling. Her brows knit closer together and he knows she's thinking hard, battling with herself, regretting the conversation they are having. She closes her eyes again, and something tells him she's about to start crying, because the wounds are still too fresh to be meddled with, so he assuages them by swiping the back of his finger along the smooth plane of her cheek, his voice a low murmur: "Look at me."

Surely enough, tears are sizzling in her eyes, cooking them red. And she's the strongest person he's ever known. And she's the best thing that's ever happened to him. And he can't imagine what she must go through with her mother, with the snobby people at her school, yearning to have her nose buried in her books instead of being forced to mingle with the rich and brainless.

Eren smiles at her, pressing the back of his finger to her lips.

"I want to be with you," he utters, and he thinks he can feel tears stinging his own eyes. She's so overwhelming, so exciting, and she terrifies him in every way but still she's that fuel that keeps him fighting and pushing despite his worst fears.

Tears are beading in her eyes, and because he's always felt her emotions as if they were his, he allows beads of his own to collect at the corner of his eyes as well. They're both sniffling, and smiling at their sniffles, and crying together because they're one in the same. He knows her favorite songs, her favorite books, the specific scenes in every movie that make her laugh or weep or whisper along to the lines she's memorized from them.

And he can't, he can't, he simply can't go on without her. So with his breath—with what feels like his last one—he arranges all of his strength into his words, proclaiming, "I love you. I want you for who you are. I don't care if we're the poorest, richest, smartest, dumbest, weakest people in the entire world. When I'm with you, I feel that I can do anything. I'm invincible. I know exactly where I belong. And that's so important to me, Mikasa. That's the most important thing of all."

His finger is still on her mouth, feeling her breaths, her life. His voice is hushed, so hushed, but it rings like bells in her ears, he knows it, because tears spill from her eyes and they're so genuine that they make tears spill from his and he's cracking but he fights to keep on going, just to tell her, just to beg.

"So please, baby." She grins when he calls her that, wiping away his tears with the back of her hand. "Stay with me."

Stay with me.

Stay with me.

Stay.

Promises reverberate in the air, rattling their packaged souls within the parcels of their bodies. The rain has abated to a fine drizzle, a barely-there presence that calls and shouts and screams that yes, they exist, they deserve to, and it carries everything that's ever brought them together throughout the course of their brilliant lives—his mother, Armin, Annie, the beach, ice cream cones, bruises, a mother's scorn, princess band-aids, sunsets, weddings, blue french fries, pins worked into raven curls, satin dresses, porcelain skin, the written words the moon dedicates to their youths and the everlasting wealth that comes with being together—palpitating in her sweet angelical voice when Mikasa turns to him.

Buries half of her face in the pillow.

Blinks.

Smiles.

Whispers.

"I will."

—o—

Things I can do to avoid Mikasa Ackerman:

1. Ask her to marry me.

—fin—