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He’s only a child when he finds her sitting in the middle of a battlefield, surrounded by a circle of steaming corpses.
The sun blazes hot over their heads, worsening the smell of death, but Eren has grown accustomed to it. Despite his youth, he already knows his domain and is eager to learn it. His father— the king of gods, the Most High— often takes him to the aftermath of skirmishes, telling him to memorize the images, the odor, the warmth and feel of blood. One day, he will be the master of this particular kind of violence.
Eren supposes that it’s because of his nature, but half of him is afraid to admit to his father that he likes it.
He’s studying the body of a fallen warrior from the East, still dribbling blood, when he hears it: a small, shuddering cry.
He blinks, surprised, and looks over to see a hunched figure sitting several feet away. Their hair is long and dark, their fair skin coated in crimson and soot. Their shoulders shake with sobs, and he approaches, tilting his head in curiosity.
He nudges the person with his foot and is rewarded with the startled face of a little girl. She is delicate-featured and small, with large, wet grey eyes and a pink mouth. Her bottom lip trembles with tears. Eren finds her to be quite pretty, although it hardly registers.
“Why are you crying?” he asks.
She blinks, like she’s surprised to see him too. “B-Because I’m alone. I woke up here and all I could see were…”
“Dead people,” Eren offers unhelpfully. She cringes, seemingly aware of the implications already, but his mind lingers on something she said.
“You woke up here?”
“Yes. There was nothing and then suddenly I was here. I-I don’t know why—“
His childish mouth forms an o. His father had told him of this before, the different ways that gods could be born: either from divine reproduction or cosmic happenstance, but always, always because of need.
She’s like him, he realizes. A creation of two worlds, a child made from war. Just like him.
“Come with me,” he says, squatting in front of her and taking both of her hands. He grins with excitement. “I think I know what you are! You can meet my father!”
“Your father?”
“The master of heaven,” he recites, as though from memory. “The ruler of the skies. His name is Grisha.”
“Grisha.” Her eyes widen suddenly, like she knows the name, and she nods, allowing him to bring her to her feet.
“My name is Eren,” he says, taking her tiny, grubby hand. She was only recently born, but she looked to be the same age as him. How strange. “I am the god of war. Or I will be.”
“Mikasa,” she replies softly. An uncertain expression crosses her face, and her brows pinch. “A-And I think I am too. Maybe.”
“Father will know,” he says, and turns to drag her along. Her fingers tighten around his palm, a comforting pressure, and he smiles.
Somewhere, somehow, Eren has already decided that she is his.
Mikasa freezes slightly when she spots his father on the edge of the battlefield. Eren supposes that he understands her hesitance; Grisha may not appear very intimidating— what with his easy smile and soft eyes— but he has an aura that radiates power. Sometimes, when he’s very cross, lightning crackles at the end of his fingers.
“Eren, who is this?” he asks patiently, as they approach.
Mikasa makes a quiet eep, ducking behind him to cower, while Eren tries not to smile. He looks up at his father, boldly meeting his eye, and says, “Father, this is Mikasa. Can I keep her?”
“Well, that depends, son,” he says with amusement, bending down to his knees. “Where did you find her?”
“Alone on the field. She said that she just opened her eyes and found herself there. I think she’s like you and me!”
“That seems to be so.” He then glances at Mikasa, beckoning her over with a gentle smile. “Come, child. Let me see you.”
She slowly steps out from behind him, her gaze fixed upon her feet. Eren directs her forward by nudging her shoulder, and she stumbles into his father. He catches her by taking her hands, and places one of his large palms over the center of her forehead. As she gasps, his smile widens, and he says, “You’ve done a good job finding her, Eren. She's one of us. The Fates have decreed it so.”
He preens with satisfaction, giddy. “What does that mean, Father?”
Grisha looks away from Mikasa to direct his smile at him. “She’s like you, my boy. A goddess of war.”
Eren grins widely. He knew it.
“Does that mean she can stay in my room?”
His father laughs— a rich, booming sound— and stands to his feet. He takes both Eren and Mikasa’s hands and leads them away from the battlefield, now putrid with the smell of decay.
“We’ll talk about that later. In time,” he says. “But she is one of our own now. She’ll be living with the rest of us.”
The walls are trembling with the onslaught of pouring rain and thunder when Mikasa suddenly scurries into his room and crawls under his blankets. He readily accepts her into an embrace, clutching her tight as her heart races against the walls of his chest. They stare up at the ceiling in silence; her with restrained fear and Eren with practiced indifference. He half-hopes that the storm isn’t strong enough to make the roof cave in again.
“What happened this time?” she whispers.
“Dina found Father with my mother again,” he replies tonelessly.
“Oh. And they argued?”
“Mhm.” More than that, really. He’d heard her screeching from down the hall. Zeke shoved a pillow over his ears and quietly told him to get to his room and hide while he still could.
“It’s not prudent for my mother to find you,” he had whispered.
“Are…” she hesitates. “Are you upset?”
“Not really,” he says. And it’s true. It wasn’t his mother’s fault that she was so lovely and beautiful and kind that his father couldn’t help but fall in love with her. Dina was just overreacting, as she always did. No wonder Grisha can barely stand to be around her for too long. The woman was horrid.
“But I hate her,” he announces suddenly, with a burning vitriol. “All of this is her fault. She’s ugly and stupid and mean, and Father loves Mama better than her and she hates it. It’s no wonder he likes us more. Right, Mikasa?”
She doesn’t respond, which piques his interest. He leans up to look down at her, tilting his head when he notices her empty expression, her wide, stricken eyes, betraying it. He prods her.
“Mikasa?”
She turns over on her side, facing away from him. “Right,” she whispers.
A boom of thunder shakes his room.
She asks to take the Sacred Vow the next day.
She climbs up on his father’s lap and throws her arms around his neck. She leans against his chest as she asks, “Can I be an eternal maiden?”
“What?” he laughs, surprised. He tilts her head up by her chin, his eyes wide. “Do you understand what you’re asking for, my dear?”
“Yes,” she replies. “Of course I do.”
“Do you know what that entails?”
“Yes. I asked Lady Faye about it just this morning and she told me.” She then pouts, grabbing his hands. “Please, Lord Grisha. Please, please—“
Eren stares at them from his mother’s feet as she continues to beg, his ears ringing. A haze of cold shock falls over his head, his veins surging with ice.
He’s not entirely sure what the Vow means, since so few other goddesses have dared to take it, but he knows enough to understand that it prohibits marriage, companionship, love. His father’s sister was one; she’d taken it when she was young after a frightful encounter with another god that he’d only heard whispers about.
“An eternal maiden is a sister to all, Eren,” she’d said to him once when he asked, brushing his hair back behind his ears. “It’s the only way we can protect ourselves.”
Why would she want that? he thinks fitfully, clutching his mother’s skirts. Doesn’t she know that he can protect her? That he’s the only one? Doesn’t she know that he—
“Yes,” his father says, and his agreement settles like a dark, heavy cloud over the room. “But only if you truly want it.”
“I do, my lord. I really, really do.”
His eyes gleam, and he kisses her forehead, ruffling the top of her silk-soft hair. “Then it shall be done.”
The room bursts into applause. Mikasa grins and launches herself at him for a hug that Grisha eagerly accepts. Behind him, his mother claps dutifully, nudging him with her foot when she notices his lack of reaction. She’s visibly surprised when he turns around to snarl at her, tears bright in his eyes.
“Eren?” she asks, concerned.
From the corner of his eye, he notices Mikasa slide off his father’s lap. Her attention lands on him, and her expression shudders.
Eren storms off, seething, crying, before either of them can try to speak to him.
Mikasa kneels at Grisha’s feet, dressed in a simple, white chiton, bare of all finery, her head bowed before him. She holds a bowl of clear water in her hands, held up like an offering. The hearth, stoked by Faye, a burning, purified element, flickers just behind them.
His father has his hand on her forehead. “What have you come here for today?”
“To become an eternal maiden, my lord, the ruler of heaven, the king of all gods.”
“And do you swear to uphold this Vow for as long as you live, to join the eternal sisterhood and reject all temptation for the rest of your immortal life?”
The answer falls too easily from her lips. “I do.”
“Do you swear to accept divine punishment if you ever do break this Vow before an official rescission?”
Divine punishment. What a simple phrase for such violent torment. They all knew what it meant. Tirelessly and repeatedly rolling a boulder up a hill for all of eternity. Being chained with golden manacles to a rock to be pecked at and eaten by hellish vultures in Tartarus. To be transformed into a ravenous monster, destined to lay waste to the earth. The possibilities were endless— and frightful, if Mikasa’s pinched expression was anything to go by.
“I-I do.”
“Then by all the forces of nature, by all the powers in the universe vested in me, I declare you a maiden of the eternal sisterhood. Rise, Mikasa, and accept your new status.”
The fire suddenly blazes behind her— the Fates have accepted her wish. Mikasa stands to her feet and brings the bowl to her lips, drinking the purified water. The hall of gods surrounding them gives her a rousing applause, and Mikasa smiles shyly, wiping away the excess from her chin. His father pats her head.
“I’m proud of you, my dear.”
“Thank you, Lord Grisha.”
Her eyes then dart to the audience, instinctively seeking him out. Eren stands between his mother and Zeke, his little fists clenched tightly, his knuckles white. Silent tears stream down his cheeks, and she glances away, ashamed.
He glares down at her viciously, despising her for the first time in his life. Even after his mother tugs him away, he lingers, wishing the universe would combust for daring to take her away from him.
He hates them all.
The years pass. Before long, she’s grown into a lovely, talented young woman, praised by all, a patron of her own city-state, while Eren grows taller, tanner, more muscular. And although no one would ever say it to his face, he proudly becomes the black sheep.
There’s something about him that most of the other gods find unsettling. His eyes are always just a bit too bright, his smile too wide, his blood too hot. He thrives on the extreme. He’s brutality and bloodlust and the eager rush of adrenaline.
He's the god of war, but he’s the aspect that humans won’t write songs or poems about. Mikasa is glory while he is death. Mikasa represents nobility while he is desperate survival, stabbing a sword into a man’s throat just to ensure living another day.
What the other gods don’t know, however, is that those two aspects of war cannot exist without the other. There is no noble battle without bloodlust, there is no bravery without cowardice, there is no winner if he cannot survive.
He and Mikasa complete each other. It’s always been as simple as that.
Eren pauses just steps behind the shooting range. In front of him, Mikasa stands with her back to him, notching an arrow into a bow. Jean stands right beside her.
His smile is too wide, his eyes glazed over with admiration as he speaks. He’s not sure if Mikasa is paying attention, but the idea of her ignoring Jean is enough to make him smug.
Calmly, Eren waltzes over to the wall of bows and arrows. He takes one, testing its weight in his palm, before grabbing a quiver and slinging it over his shoulder. He steps back to the place he stood in before, about a hundred paces from the nearest target.
And, coincidentally, right next to Jean.
In the span of a single breath, Eren notches his arrow, aims, and releases, hitting the target square in the center. Seconds later, Jean’s aggravated shout echoes in the air.
“Jaeger!” he snarls, whirling around. He clutches his ear, golden ichor dripping between his fingers. He looks positively furious. “You fucking brute! Didn’t you see me?!”
“The sun was in my eyes,” he says dryly. “I must’ve missed you completely. My apologies.”
“You—!”
“Jean, maybe you should go,” Mikasa suddenly interjects.
He sends her a betrayed look, but she meets it calmly, coolly raising a brow. After a prolonged beat of tense silence, he finally scoffs and storms off, roughly shouldering past Eren as he goes. He grins wolfishly after him.
“There’s something wrong with you.”
“Oh, is there?” he taunts, approaching her. He leans against a stout mud wall that Jean had been standing beside before, and smiles at her. “How are you doing today, Mikasa?”
She resolutely turns back to her target, notching and drawing back another arrow. “Fine.”
“How was your rest?”
“Adequate.”
“What were you talking with Jean about?”
“Shooting.”
“What’s your damn problem?” he snaps, suddenly incensed. “Did you lose the ability to speak?”
She whirls around to face him, scowling. At the same time, an arrow flies from her bow to the target, landing off-center.
“Did you forget that you just tried shooting Jean five seconds ago?!”
He sneers. “I didn’t know you cared that much.”
“You’re ridiculous,” she scoffs.
She jerks back around to face the target, aiming again. She holds her position for a prolonged beat before releasing. The arrow falls just below the other one, and she huffs.
She shoots three more, each of them falling short from the bullseye. Frustration gradually begins to line her features, and when the fourth arrow imbeds itself just inches off from the center, her mouth thins.
Eren tilts his head, trying not to laugh at her obvious, increasing annoyance. “Is there an issue with your aim today, sweetheart? It seems a bit off.”
“It’s fine. I’m only distracted.”
“Oh? By what?”
“By you shooting Jean.”
He chuckles lowly, stepping in close behind her. He doesn’t touch her— not yet— but her breath hitches when he lowers his mouth to her ear, her silken hair brushing his cheek. “Should I help you?”
“I don’t— I’m fine. I don't need your help.” She hesitates before adding, “Thank you.”
“I have to admit that I’m confused. You’re usually a better shot than me.”
She draws the bowstring back to her cheek. Her eyes narrow but don’t close. “That’s why I don’t need your help.”
She releases just as his hand closes around her waist. She startles, gasping slightly, and the arrow launches into the trees. Eren gives a rich laugh, settling his other hand over her shoulder. “It seems that you do need my help.”
“Eren, I don’t—“
“Shh. Just follow my lead.” With his hand, he repositions her face, turning her forward. He then draws her shoulders back, straightening her into a proper stance. Despite being obviously flustered, she takes his silent instruction well, fluidly notching her bow and pulling the arrow. She slows her breath, concentrating, and Eren places his palm at the center of her back, a light, gentle pressure. He presses his mouth to her ear and whispers, “Let go.”
It’s a perfect bullseye, which he expected. Eren smirks, leaning his chin against her temple. “Again.”
Mikasa shoots three more arrows. He doesn’t have to direct anymore— never needed to— so he rests his hands along the curve of her waist, sliding them up and down. When her third arrow hits the target, she exhales deeply and leans against him, fluttering her eyes shut.
“Are you tired?”
“A little,” she admits.
“Why?”
“I don’t—“ She hesitates, her pink mouth pursing. He wants to taste it. “I don’t sleep well when…”
“When I’m not there?”
She doesn’t respond, but he didn’t expect her to. Instead, he hums to fill the silence, smoothing his hands down to squeeze her shapely hips, hidden beneath her practical chiton. “Good job.”
Her head lolls against his chest, and her eyes open to meet his own. Their faces are close enough to feel significant, to push closer, closer, closer, if only she would let him. His heart races beneath her temple.
Her name on his tongue is a fragile, hopeful sound. “Mikasa—“
“Eren! Mikasa!”
She startles, jumping away from him, as they both turn around to see Sasha. She waves, her silver bow and quiver of arrows already slung over her shoulder. Connie, her twin, grins just beside her.
“Did you two want to try shooting against us today!”
Eren growls deep in his throat while Mikasa sends them a patient smile, already remarkably composed. If not for the flush on her face, no one could’ve ever guessed that she was flustered.
“Actually, I was just about to head inside again. Lord Grisha wishes to speak with me about something important.”
“Oh,” Sasha pouts. “Alright. Good luck then.”
She nods, before spinning on her heel and walking off, moving like she can’t escape fast enough.
Several seconds pass before Sasha finally scoffs, “Oh, stop looking at me like you want to kill me, Eren, what did I do?”
Eren’s eyes snap open when he feels a weight sink against his mattress. He’s up before he’s aware of it, reaching out and grasping the intruder by their neck. He instinctively presses down and hovers over them, his lips twisted into a sneer, his pulse pounding, until a small, cool hand drifts up his bare chest.
Suddenly, he realizes who’s crawled into his bed.
“Peace,” Mikasa whispers, serene in the face of his violent alarm. She soothingly rubs her palm over his skittering heartbeat. “It’s only me.”
Eren’s grip softens, but it doesn’t stray, a possessive hold around her delicate throat. “And what are you doing at this time of night, stealing into your brother’s bed?”
“You’re not my brother, Eren. Don’t say that.”
“Why shouldn’t I? According to your sacred Vow, everyone is to be thought of as your brother and sister. The only love you can ever share is familial.”
She frowns. “If I knew you were going to be like this, I wouldn’t have come.”
Then, to his dismay, Mikasa attempts to slip from his hold. Immediately, Eren moves his hand from her throat to the curve of her waist, sliding his arm around her back and tugging her close. She falls against his chest, scowling, but he doesn’t budge even after she’s shoved him. He buries his nose into her soft, fragrant hair, stubborn.
“Let me go. Clearly, you don’t want me to be around you.”
“I always want you around me.”
She doesn’t offer a response to that— he doesn’t even think she can— but she relaxes, snuggling into him. Her cheek slots against the hard ridge of his pectoral, and she sighs, content.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she admits.
“Why?”
“I… I’m not entirely sure. I’ve just found it hard recently.”
“Is it because of the battle in Trost? Even I can admit that was bad.”
And it was. A long and bloody battle in an equally long and bloody war. Eren fought in the thick of it, his sword red and viscous with blood, his teeth stained pink and his grin wild, but Mikasa had stood near the edges as she watched the brutality, stunned. He couldn’t exactly fault her for her reaction. She was the goddess of strategy and warfare, not the dirty, unsavory bits. That was his realm, where he thrived. She likely just hadn’t prepared herself for it.
Regardless, Eren predicts that she’ll grow out of it soon enough. Mikasa has always been adaptable to a fault.
And who knows? She might even come to enjoy it.
Her words are muffled against his chest. “I didn’t expect it to be like that.”
“War isn’t only about strategizing. It’s shit and piss and blood and wailing and grown men dying with their intestines out in the blazing sun. There’s nothing noble or clean about it.”
“I know that. Of course I know that, but—“
“But it’s different to see it,” he says, holding her tighter. Even bitter, he doesn’t delight in her pain. “I understand. My father should’ve prepared you better, like he did me.”
“I should’ve prepared myself.”
They fall into a content silence after that. Eren continues to breathe her in, falling further and further back to sleep, while Mikasa nestles herself into his warmth, gently scratching her nails against his scalp. He feels her press a kiss against his chest, above his slowing heartbeat, and smothers a smile into her hair, his eyes fluttering closed.
The next time he wakes, it’s because of her restless squirming. In her sleep, she’d turned on her side, leaving him to curl around her body and possessively wrap an arm around her waist. Her head is tucked beneath his chin, his knee slotted between her thighs. His hand rests at her sternum, just under the swell of her breast.
He’s torn between tugging her closer, folding over her so that she can’t leave, or sending her from his bed. It’s torture to put up with this, to hope against hope that she will change her mind and accept him into her heart. But Eren has always been a selfish, foolhardy bastard with a masochistic streak a mile wide. He sighs and tightens his hold, shifting her down his thigh.
And then she moans.
It’s a small thing— a half-choked off sound that gets caught in her throat— but he catches it immediately. His heart sets to a thundering pace, his blood roaring in his veins. His mind races, coming up with a million explanations, but settling on one. And it’s damning, exhilarating.
This isn’t real, he thinks, but he has to check. He won’t do anything. He just needs to check.
He shifts his knee again, flexing his thigh against where she’s molten-hot. She shudders, mewling, her fingers tightening around his arm, and Eren can feel the exact moment she fully wakes up, because she freezes. The air becomes so still and so tense he can choke on it.
Don’t leave, he urges, refusing to speak, to remind her, as all things do, of what she’s beholden to. Don’t leave. Don’t leave. Don’t leave.
“Eren,” she breathes. His resolve crumbles.
He binds her against him in a steely grip, burying his face into her neck. “Don’t go,” he begs. “I swear I would never—“
“That’s not what I’m afraid of,” she whispers.
There’s another beat of silence as she slowly turns her head, her grey eyes molten and luminous as they meet his own. Her fingers drift to the hand beneath her breast, clenching around his wrist. Either to keep him there or push him away, he doesn’t know.
“What are you afraid of?”
“You.”
“Why?”
With every word, he shifts closer. Their noses bump, and her lashes flutter, her gaze falling to his mouth. Her neck cranes, as if to seal the distance, but she stops herself from following through.
“Eren, you—“ She sounds distressed. “You have no idea—“
But he does. He does know, more than she does, probably. He aches for her daily. She’s stolen into his chest and rooted out a space for herself in his heart. She eats at it until he has nothing more left to give. He is heartless because his heart lives outside of him. She has to know that.
“You’re wrong,” he says fervently, pinning her against his chest and pushing his forehead against her temple. “I do know. I know more than you.”
He kisses her.
Mikasa arches into him instantly, their mouths meeting in a sloppy, overeager gnash of teeth and tongue. She tilts her neck, trying to push closer, and he forces himself to soften it. He pulls away, lips swollen red, and presses frantic kisses down her chin, her jawline, her throat, pausing over her fluttering heartbeat.
Her heart. If he swallowed her whole, would he reclaim his own? Would he remember the feeling?
“You’re so perfect,” he whispers fervently. A reverent prayer. “Gods, Mikasa. I’ve dreamt of this for years.”
“Eren.”
He silences her with another kiss. His arm around her waist is iron, his leg pushing between her thighs. A shudder runs through her, and when he separates their lips to kiss her temple, an airy moan drips off her tongue.
Her thighs squeeze around his knee, dragging that tantalizing warmth back and forth, back and forth, until she finds an unsteady rhythm. She sighs in bliss, tilting her neck back as he kisses it. He then buries his face into her nape and grinds his hardening cock against the curve of her ass. His hand drifts upwards, hovering atop her breast. She takes his wrist and brings it down.
He groans at the first touch, nervously grasping at the unfamiliar weight. She’s so soft, almost too large to fill his palm, but under her guidance, he begins kneading gently, skimming his thumb over her pebbled nipple. Changing direction with every soft sigh and whimper.
She’s slicking up his thigh. He can feel it; her unbearable heat pushing down against him, bucking up to find delicious friction, but it’s aimless movement. Within minutes, she’s frustrated, whining at the inadequate pressure.
“What do you need?” He asks, eager to please.
For a moment, there’s conflict in her eyes. The haze of lust settles to reveal uncertainty. She’s debating if she should leave, and the idea is so viscerally repulsive that he feels like he could throw up.
Desperate to maintain her attention, Eren gently pinches her nipple and licks a hot stripe up her throat. She gasps loudly, instinctively jerking her hips, and he presses his knee into where she’s soaking.
“What do you need, sweetheart?” he whispers, pressing a hard kiss behind her ear. “Tell me, tell—“
“My— my—“
“What?”
She huffs, a plaintive, frustrated sound, before she takes his hand and slides it between her legs. Eren immediately groans at the white-hot sensation of her cunt. She’s soaked through the fabric of her undergarments, which does more for his ego than he can wisely admit.
At first, his exploration is directionless, shaky and unsure, but when he passes his fingers over the top of her core and she moans, he stops. He dips his hand beneath to feel her hot flesh. With her guidance, he finds the swollen ridge of her clit and circles it, grinning into her skin when she sighs. Her ass grinds back into his erection and he thrusts into the movement, his mind clouding over.
He’s stuck between the planes of ecstasy and disbelief, half-afraid that this is a dream he could wake up from, hard and bitter and cursing his circumstances anew, but Mikasa’s sounds are unmistakable. The give of her soft flesh beneath his touch is better than anything his mind could’ve possibly conjured. This is real. It’s real.
He’s almost glad that she can’t see his face, but there’s nothing he can do to conceal the breathless giggle he presses into her neck.
Mikasa comes with a stuttering cry just moments later, shaking slightly, while Eren follows soon after. He slips his hand from her core and binds his arm around her waist, tugging her close enough to hurt. He peppers kisses from the crown of her head to her temple to the slope of her cheek, only pausing when he tastes salt on his tongue. Confused, he pulls back to see Mikasa crying.
“My love?”
She cringes, shoving her face into his pillow, and a cold swirl of dread suddenly has his heart in a bleeding vice. He swallows it down to ask, “Is something wrong?”
“I’m sorry,” she croaks. “I’m so sorry.”
He grips her shoulder. “Why? What’s wrong?”
She abruptly snaps her head around to face him. Tears swim down her cheeks, but her eyes flash with a determined light.
“This was wrong, Eren. We can never do this again. Ever. I took a vow and I intend to keep it.”
He’s stunned speechless for exactly half a second before rage swallows him whole. He snarls.
“Your vow means shit now, sweetheart. I just had my fingers in your—“
“Quiet.”
“No. You don’t get to hide from your decisions. You let me—“
“I did!” she snaps, and for a moment, he can see a flare of panic, of honest remorse. “But we can’t—” Her breath hitches. She clenches her eyes shut. “I made a promise that I intend to keep. I’m sorry, I truly, truly am, but this can never happen again.”
She slips from his grasp before he can stop her, practically stumbling out the door. Eren stares blankly at the space she occupied in his bed, still warm, smelling of her, and feels his shoulders hunch. A wet hiccup bursts from his lips, and he fists his sheets, smacking his palm against his forehead as he heaves stuttering, painful sobs.
He cries until his head aches. He doesn’t manage to sleep a wink.
Something changes in him from that night onwards.
Mikasa tries her hardest to avoid him after that, but fails consistently. Purposefully.
Namely because they live in such close quarters. And also, really, because no matter what they do, they can’t seem to stay away from each other.
Within a week, moments after he shoots her a scowl, she grabs and pins him against a wall, clawing at him as she kisses him desperately, whispering, “Don’t be mad at me, my love. Please, please, please—“
A mere two days after that, she comes on his tongue for the first time behind a heavy, velvet curtain in the grand hall. Just moments later, she shyly takes his cock into her mouth.
It’s a study in contradictions. Mikasa sneers and pushes him away from her as eagerly as she lets him in. She’s already fighting a losing battle, and her vows, whispered to herself, said with anguish, are simply words in the wind.
No matter what she does, she’s lost.
They come together again.
—And after when he’s panting, resting on her breast and his mouth wet with her essence, she cradles his head. She’s silent, always silent, even as he whispers fervent declarations into her hot skin.
She won’t say I love you—
Today they’re on opposing sides.
Eren knows this because he can sense her presence in the Hizuran tent, can see their crest marked on her billowing cloak when he goes outside to take a piss and she’s there. He sniffs disdainfully at her in passing, and she sighs, lowering her hood. He tries not to look at her.
“You should give up now,” she says, by way of greeting. “My forces outnumber yours two-to-one. Hizuru—“
“Has the weaker military,” he finishes. “Is fresh off of another war and hardly has the money to fund this one. I’m surprised at you, Mikasa. You hardly ever choose to support the obvious loser.”
“It’s my city-state,” she says, offended. “Of course I’m going to defend it.”
“And Shiganshina is mine.”
With that, he turns on his heel to walk past her, but she takes his wrist, stopping him. Her head tilts up to meet his gaze, and she whispers, “Don’t do this. Don’t fight me because you’re angry. These are people’s lives.”
He sighs, expelling his initial irritation in place of fondness. He can never be annoyed at her for very long anyway.
He rests a hand on the curve of her nape. “Oh, my love. We may be against each other now, but soon enough, I’ll be fighting for you. Humans will die regardless. Don’t be overly-sentimental.”
She scowls. “I’m not being sentimental, Eren. I understand the drawbacks of my domain, but I simply don’t want to fight a battle in which your main motivation is your spite.”
Eren smiles, kissing her lips once, then twice, humming against her mouth. When he pulls back, she almost looks hopeful— his precious girl.
“I’ll see you on the battlefield tomorrow,” he says, and walks away before he can see her face fall.
It’s a violent one. Eren gets lost in the thick of it, stabbing his sword into wailing men, slicing the edge across their throats. The warm spray douses him in red and he howls with pure victory.
He cannot die, but the rush of adrenaline is the closest he’ll ever get to fear. To mortality.
Well, that and—
He storms over to her after, dripping in blood, grinning so widely the muscles in his cheeks ache.
She stands in the middle of the battlefield, amongst a circle of still-warm corpses bubbling blood. When she sees him coming, her grey eyes narrow to slits. Eren can sense that her pride has been damaged; Mikasa doesn’t like to lose.
“So?” she asks sharply. “Are you satisfied?”
“Not nearly,” he says, his voice a rasp, low and dangerous. A shiver visibly runs through her as her jaw clenches, and his stomach jumps with anticipation.
He stops in front of her, stained crimson, blood and ichor smeared across his skin like battle paint, the remains of entrails stuck under his blunt nails. He feels like a wild animal, closer to his true nature here than he is on Olympus, idle and waiting.
He’s only missing one thing, his body pulsing to an ache, as though yearning for a missing limb. And how lucky he is to see it standing right before him: his glorious other half.
“Well?” she demands, raising a brow at him. “Aren't you eager to gloat somewhere else?”
Eren stalks closer. “Not particularly.”
“That’s surprising.”
“Is it?”
“Yes. You love to brag.”
“Only in front of you.”
Her pretty mouth pulls into a frown, but the eager shine of her eyes betrays her. She steps back as he crowds her, stopping only when her back meets a covered wagon, the white tarp stained with blood. Eren’s red hands find her hips and he effortlessly lifts her onto the ledge. He keeps his fingers near the tops of her thighs.
“You’re filthy,” she says. Their eyes lock. She regards him with a certain wariness, as though he’s temptation personified at her feet; a bad decision waiting to happen. Eren doesn’t mind. In fact, he’s always enjoyed playing into her worst expectations.
Let him be her tempter, he thinks magnanimously. So long as he is hers.
“I have just been in battle.”
“Your face is covered in blood.”
He grins. Their noses bump, sliding against each other. Her eyes flutter closed.
“It can’t be helped, I like to be thorough,” he replies, as his hand dips beneath her white skirt. “The fight is always most exciting near the frontlines.”
“Exciting? You think of war too fondly, Eren. People die.”
He smiles, kissing her once. “Not us.”
She scowls slightly, preparing to argue, but he leans forward, catching her lips in another kiss. She falls into it quickly, arching up as his hand finds the bend of her neck. His free one inches upwards, slowly skimming over her leg.
His thumb finds the hollow of her thigh. Wet, inviting heat radiates beside it, and he hitches her skirt up higher, just to see it.
“Eren,” she breathes, as if in caution, suddenly cognizant of her Vow. “We—“
Desperation stirs rampantly in his chest. He presses a hard kiss to her throat. “I want you.”
“We shouldn’t.”
“Please.” He lowers his head, mouthing around her still-covered breast until it peaks and she sighs. “Let me touch you.”
She hesitates, only heightening his anxiety, his need, before she spreads her legs, turning her face away.
She can be ashamed all she wants, he thinks savagely. She won’t be feeling it long.
To be mean, he finds her clit immediately, foregoing teasing for violent pleasure. Mikasa gasps, her legs jerking as he circles it hard. A little cry falls from her mouth, and he kisses it, fervent.
“You deny this,” he says fiercely, licking down the column of her throat. He rubs her through her bucking hips. “But you need it. You need me.”
Her voice is a stuttered gasp. “I don’t—“
“You do.” Two fingers sink into her with a soft squelch, and he rubs the heel of his palm into her swollen cunt. She moans loudly, tipping her head back. He pecks her parted lips.
“You need me.”
“I-I—“
“Say it,” he commands. He crooks his fingers and she yelps, squeezing her thighs. Her slick marks his palm, dripping down to his wrist. “Say it.”
“Eren!”
“Say it.”
“I-I need you!” she cries to their audience of rotting corpses. “I need you, Eren, so much. So, so, so—“
Her warm, velvety walls flutter around his fingers, hinting at her impending release. Her breasts heave, her nipples hard, pointed peaks beneath the white fabric, and he takes one into his mouth to add to the sensation, making her shudder. Her mouth opens, her toes curl. Her body hunches over in preparation, and—
And he pulls his hand away.
“Eren!” she loudly whines, desperately searching for his touch. Her fingers fly between her legs, but he keeps them from where she needs it, grasping her wrists in a vice grip. Grinning, exaltant, he sticks his wet fingers into his mouth, sucking them clean. She pants, her eyes black with arousal.
“My love, I need—“
“I know what you need. Get back,” he says.
She blinks, still hazy. “What?”
“Lie down.” He pushes her back by her waist, rucking up her skirt. “I want to taste you.”
Eager, she settles back, raising her knees as he lowers himself in front of her. He blows a gentle stream of air over her swollen flesh, grinning widely as her legs twitch. She keens when he pulls her lips apart and kitten-licks her exposed clit, digging her hand into his hair; he can’t help but laugh. He’s delighted. He loves her so much.
He says as much, kissing her wet slit up and down. “I love this. I love your cunt. I love you, I love you, I love you.”
“Eren.” Her eyes are terribly fond as she slides her fingers along his scalp, the touch nearly a caress. She won’t say anything else— she never does, she’s beholden to things greater than him— but he won’t lower himself to beg, no matter how much he wants to.
So, he hitches his hands under her ass and licks into her core instead. He peppers kisses around her pink lips, drinks from her like she’s ambrosia, and he pretends. Her sighs become indications of unspoken affection, her moans declarations of I love you.
He deserves that much, at least.
She had been close to coming before, so she doesn’t take too long to reach the edge again. Her clit throbs against his tongue, her little hiccuping sounds growing in volume. She kicks her feet out, squeezing the sides of his head with her thighs, and he hums, smiling as she convulses.
He licks her through it, only pulling back once she pushes his head away, overstimulated. His cock pulses then, demanding his attention, and he pulls it out. Seeing this, Mikasa suddenly sits up, panicked.
“We can’t—!”
“Relax,” he sneers, pumping his fist along his shaft. “I won’t come inside you.”
Her eyes dart down, and she watches as he strokes himself. He orgasms quickly, angry, already near to release. His come spills over stomach and the tops of her thighs, dripping down to her exposed core.
He huffs bitterly. That’s the closest he’ll ever get.
Mikasa stares up at him apologetically. With her kiss-swollen lips and her hazy eyes, she looks utterly debauched, well-fucked, but it isn’t enough.
Namely, because he didn’t actually fuck her.
She sighs, reaching for him. “Eren—“
“Shh, my love.” He kisses her lips, dried-blood flaking off his chin. He squeezes her thighs hard once he pulls away. She can still sense his spite. “Until next time.”
She ducks her head at the jab, and he steps back, turning on his heel to stride away. Behind him, he hears Mikasa attempt to straighten herself, wiping off the remnants of him. He tries to feel the rush of victory, reminding himself that he won, that he claimed her as he planned.
But no, he hasn’t. They have done this hundreds of times and he never has.
And he doesn’t feel anything but a low, sinking dismay.
Battles rage. Wars spark continuously, without fail, because humans really are such simple, brutish creatures.
And like clockwork, he and Mikasa find each other at the end every time, magnetized in a singular direction.
He pretends that it’s not killing him.
At his father’s party, he has her rammed up against the wall, milky thighs spread, her head tilted back as he ruts against her.
She looks gorgeous tonight, which is why he’d decided to take her, entranced by the toned curve of her back that her dress exposed. Mikasa had feigned reluctance at first, offering half-hearted refusals when he approached her, but it didn’t take terribly long for her to agree. Within minutes, he had her shoved into an alcove, half-hidden by shadows, and pushed his hand up her skirt, leading to where they are now.
She sighs softly, her breath hitching as his cock spreads her wet, bare cunt, the head knocking her clit.
He’s so close to where he needs to be, and it makes the pleasure painful, fruitless. He yearns to press inside her, to feel her fluttering walls hug him like a slick vice, suck him in, but she said no. She won’t let him. She’s bent so many of her own rules to indulge herself in ways she shouldn’t, but she refuses to cross this line.
This is where she and Eren are diametrically opposed. He’s never seen the value in bending a rule he didn’t want to break.
“Hurry,” she gasps, mouth pressed to his ear. The faint strains of music and laughter echo down the hall— an electrifying reminder.
“Why?” he sneers. “Are you afraid someone will see you? A sworn virgin breaking her sacred Vow?”
“I-I am not—“
He grinds into her, her words breaking off into a hiccupy moan. “You are. I could shove my cock inside you right now, and it would be so easy, sweetheart. I can already feel how much your cunt wants me.”
She shakes her head fitfully, her mouth pursed into a pout, drunk with ecstasy. “P-Please— oh— don’t. Eren, oh fuck, Eren.”
He shoves his face into her throat, bracing his hands against the wall and thrusting up into her like he’s actually fucking her. He licks the salt of her sweat. She keens into his ear, her thighs squeezing his hips. She’s so close, so unbearably close to release he can smell it. He idly wonders if other people can too.
To bring it to fruition, he pushes his hand between them, sliding it down to where she’s slick. He presses his thumb hard into her throbbing, swollen clit, and she jerks, sinking her teeth into his shoulder to keep from screaming.
“Hush,” he croons into her ear as she shakes. He starts thrusting again, prolonging her orgasm, and a little cry leaves her throat. “Did that feel good, my love?”
She whimpers, nodding, and he smooths a hand down her side. His erection pulses angrily between her wet lips, and he lets out a sigh.
“I wonder what I should do now, then. I fear as though I’m about to make a mess all over you, sweetheart.”
Mikasa immediately understands his implication. “Eren, you can’t finish on my—“
“Your cunt?” he asks mockingly. “I considered it, but—“
“You can’t—“
“But I can’t,” he echoes, before grabbing a handful of her breast. “I thought of coming over your tits too.”
“No. They’ll n-notice.”
He hums, slowly tracing the seam of her petal-soft lips. He pushes his fingers inside, slicking them up with saliva. “Then what about your mouth? Is that okay, my love?”
She doesn’t reply at first, hazy. Eren jostles her.
“Mikasa?”
“Yes,” she breathes, nodding hastily. She drops to the ground, her legs trembling coltishly as she lowers herself to her knees. Eren stares down at her as she lifts his chiton, bringing his cock to her lips. She kisses it once before sliding him down her throat, hollowing her cheeks with a practiced efficiency. She gazes up at him, her eyes wet, glowing with affection, and he crumbles, wishing.
He braces his arm against the wall, moaning, his other hand fisting her hair. He tenderly rubs his palm against her crown and tries not to feel angry.
“Yes, sweetheart, just like that.”
“You’re disgusting,” Jean spits at him from the shadows, just seconds after he’s straightened himself. He leans against the wall with his arms crossed, scowling viciously.
Eren glances at him. “I’m sorry?”
“Don’t you dare feign ignorance. You know exactly what I mean.” He marches closer, jabbing a finger into his muscled chest. “Not only do you leer at her in public without any regard or remorse for her situation, but you steal her off to dark corners at every chance you get. Do you have any idea what the repercussions of breaking the Vow are? You would rather damn her, selfishly, just so that you can whisk her off and— and—“
“And what? Fuck her?”
Jean growls, a savage light flaring in his eyes. He jerks him close by his collar. “You impudent, piece of—“
“Do you want to know what I did to her? Is that it?”
“Eren, be quiet—“
“I shoved my hand under her dress,” he whispers fiercely, madly, delighting in his horror. “I backed her up against the wall and I warmed her up until she was nice and wet—“
“Stop it! Do you hear what you’re saying?”
“She’s always so sweet after she comes, you know. She curls up like a kitten and she clings. She calls me her love.”
“You’re sick,” he snarls, disgusted, but his eyes dilate. He’s processing that image, trying to hold it close. Smirking, Eren raises his hand between them.
His fingers catch the light, wet and gleaming. Jean’s eyes widen as his nostrils flare. “What are you—?”
“Do you know why I do it? Why I seek her out?”
He dimly shakes his head. Eren sends him a bitter smile.
“Because I have no other choice. I’ve never had another choice. She’s chained me to her since the day I found her on that battlefield, bloody and crying.”
He doesn’t reply, but he doesn’t expect him to. Eren wipes his hand down his front as he passes, ignoring his indignant glare.
His sandals click against the marble floors as he steps inside the temple.
It’s quiet, save for him. The last of her priests left hours ago, leaving offerings near the foot of her tall, golden statue. Beams of moonlight shine between the columns— the only illumination provided— but he doesn’t need them to see.
He shouldn’t be here.
He knows that. They both know that.
In fact, he can feel her watching from the shadows, just waiting for a moment to spring.
“I know you’re there,” he says to the darkness. “If you’re planning on surprising me, give up now. I’m not someone you want to ambush.”
“Ambush?” she asks, stepping out from behind a wide column into a beam of moonlight. It shines off her porcelain skin and sends a lump straight into his throat. “You are too unforgiving with me, Eren.”
“Not nearly enough.”
They fall silent, the agony of anticipation hanging between them. Now that he’s looking at her, he’s not entirely sure why he’s here. At first he had plans of cornering her, kissing her, maybe licking her sweet cunt until she cried and passed out, but now—
But now—
Sasha is technically the goddess of the moon, but no one looks quite so resplendent than Mikasa does beneath the moonlight. It turns her skin luminous, makes her eyes shine like stars.
“Eren,” she prods, gently.
He bites his lip to hold himself back, but it’s fruitless. He feels the dam break.
“I love you,” he croaks, his voice rough, thin and reedy. “I… I—“
She steps forward, palm held out as if to quiet him. “Eren, don’t—“
“I love you, Mikasa, so much. So, so fucking much. So much that sometimes it… it hurts? It feels like you’ve crawled inside my head and my chest and you’re just there, and no matter what I do, I can’t get you out.” He laughs, crazed, bitter. “What’s worse is that I don’t want to.”
She continues to approach, stopping just a few paces away. Her expression is too soft, the shine of her eyes too meaningful, like her heart has grown too large and is taking up space, filling everything else. And how is that fair? How does she get two hearts and he gets none? He was born without one. It exists in front of him now, living and breathing, on the verge of tears.
“I know you love me too,” he says before she can say anything else, ask him to leave. He steps closer, his hands finding the fabric of her skirt. He ducks his head like a fucking child, because this is what she’s reduced him to. “Just say it. Say it once and it’ll die between us. No one will know. You won’t get punished. I’ll leave you alone forever after you do, if that's what you want. Just say it. Just say it, Mikasa—“
“Eren, you know that I can’t,” she whispers.
“Why?” He presses closer. Close enough to kiss, touch, to make her pant and beg and cry, but he won’t. “If I don’t— If we don’t have sex, your Vow isn’t broken. Father won’t punish us. It’s just— It’s just three words, Mikasa, my love. My love—“
He cradles her face, kissing her from her temple to her wet cheek then down. Gentle kisses down the column of her throat and her chest until he kneels in front of her stomach, kissing her there, once, twice, three times. He hugs her tight around her waist and feels her abdomen jerk as she begins to sob. As they both do.
“I love you,” he whispers into her soft skin, nuzzling her. “I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you—“
The temple echoes with the sounds of her quiet sobs, of his fervent, muffled declarations. She tenderly cards her fingers through his hair, her other hand clapped over her mouth, and he thinks, Is this enough? Is this enough to make you love me?
He doesn't need to vocalize it to know the answer.
Because no, it isn’t. It never is enough.
She's beholden to forces greater than him.
The sun rises to welcome the dawn of another day. Eren wakes to find Mikasa in his arms, her lovely face relaxed with sleep. He kisses her forehead, breathes her in.
She never said it back.