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jjkeremika · 14 days ago

Text

in sin, we delight

description: Mikasa’s a Reverend’s daughter. Eren's a doctor’s son who doesn't believe in God.

"Mikasa," he repeated in a whisper, a new name sounding so familiar on his tongue. A tone so hushed lest the angels hear a demon's child say her name. The light in a perpetual darkness. The hope in an eternal damnation. The bliss in a life lost. The freedom in an unwilling confinement.

She stayed in front of the altar, staring up at the man. The resemblance was there, of course it was. He would always bear the same face of that young boy she desperately prayed to forgive and forget.

And in that moment, Eren realized that God does exist--because she stood before him, in all her effervescent glory. Because he just said her name.

tag/disclaimer: very late submission for eremika smut week 2024 (kind of a mix of day 3 and day 5); religious motifs; God or Goddess; overstimulation; oral sex/cunnilingus; first time; penetration; wondering how to get eren on his knees? be mikasa; worship and idolatry; ao3

To love another is to see the face of God.

Reverend Ackerman wasn’t strict about attendance. He understood the turmoils and stresses of life. He accepted that some days were harsher than others, and a tumultuous trek to the church was rougher on weary, exhausted bones. He praised those who could make it, hoped for those who skipped to come another day, prayed for those who lost hope, who disappeared.

Reverend Ackerman never enforced attendance. He reminded his clergy of the kindest tenants, spoke highly of those who were likely tired and frustrated within their lives, recited relevant scripture to persevere. To hope. To believe once again.

Reverend Ackerman never mandated attendance, yet he remembered all those who appeared. Memorized who arrived for what session and when. Kept space in his heart and mind for those who may return. Reserved seats in pews at the back for those who never did.

Reverend Ackerman remembered them dearly, prayed for them daily. For the one family that routinely stopped coming on Sundays. For the one family whose father disliked the preaching, took his son by his hand, and exited through the arch doors, golden with rays of God’s light. Disappeared and never returned. He hoped for their safety, their sanity, their resiliency, their forgiveness.

And so, Reverend Ackerman prayed every night for the Jaeger’s sanctity, for their eventual return.

His daughter matched these prayers. For the happiness of the boy she never saw smile. For the safety of the boy who always shifted in the pew. For the return of the boy she never saw again. For the salvation of the boy she never saw pray.

--------

20 years ago, the Reverend delivered a notable Sunday sermon. About forgiveness for the Eldians for century-old sins, about a history intentionally forgotten by its people, about how devils are born from rejecting God's love. How these sins carry with the living, find a peaceful retribution in the souls of those who remember. How it lives on achingly in the spirits of the dead.

It is important to remember. Not for punishment, but wisdom. It is important to remember. Not in terror, but respect. It is important to remember. Not for revenge, but forgiveness. It is important to remember. For salvation, not condemnation. It is important to remember. For our ancestry, for our lives. Lest we forget.

The attending crowd murmured approval, hummed their joint hymns of appreciation and solidarity. Praised their Reverend for a truth thoughtfully spoken, with words delicately weaved and threaded together.

Reverend Ackerman could never forget the one man who quietly stood at the back of the pews. Would never forget a face forged of a quiet indignity, with a fist tightly grasping at the hand of a boy the Reverend could only presume to be his son. A hardened version of the face he witnessed sit silently at the back every Sunday.

Clearly the man had heard enough. He carefully led his son to the entrance. The young boy--couldn't have been much older than his daughter--his head turned over his shoulder to look out at the Reverend for what would be the last time. The boy extended his free arm, reached out down the aisle, palm open. Expressionless, yet painfully expressive.

His daughter bore witness. Stood carefully next to the Reverend and observed the premature, gallant exit. Her head tilted. She flexed her hand.

This moment wrote itself into their brains. Hardwired into their memories. The sermon would be forgotten. Their actions would live on forever.

Lest we forget.

--------

Mikasa was older now. She'd grown into her existence as a confident soul. She knew more, could remember more.

What God decided which memories were retained? With the evolution of the brain, its multiple networks and high capacity--how were some events unforgettable? How were some events on permanent recall?

What God decided what was worth the precious storage? Why was his face always a part of that?

The young boy who would have grown into a man. The last day of his in their church. Decades passed, yet she remembered his face so vividly. The last rays of noon highlighting a confusion that she didn't quite understand at the time. An emotion that, as she reflected back, she still didn't quite comprehend.

A sense of boredom from the sermon. A sense of excitement from the abrupt actions of his father. A sense of betrayal from the exit. A sense of longing towards the altar. A sense of loyalty. Of dread. Relief.

Mikasa was older now. She'd watched many families leave the church after long days of prayer. Many of their lives blurred between the lines. Whose grandfather was on life support, whose lives experienced particular hardship, whose families needed extra prayer to set them free from their actions, or from the actions of those they'd never met. All of it bled into an indiscriminate mesh, an impossibly coiled weave of strings and wires she could never untangle.

Yet she'd never been able to forget him as he was dragged down the aisle, one foot after another. The feeling in her chest, constricted and chafing. An epitome of something more, something she couldn't quite name, something that never made sense. Never fit right.

Mikasa was older now. Full of love and forgiveness and belief. To believe in love, because she is full of it. To know of its existence, because she spreads it. To witness its effects in her community blossom into a fruitful meadow, intertwined with kindness and blessings that she felt honored to provide. To be selfish with it, by all the while searching for a face she couldn't be certain she'd recognize.

That is, until she stood before him. Preparing the altar for another day of service, in early morning, when footsteps approached the gallivant entrance, echoed through the hallow hall.

She turned around, set the basket of unlit candles on the table. She met the barely taller man by eye, smiled gently. Her eyes scanned his face and body, kindly assessed him.

“Good morning,” she greeted softly, the nerves in her brain firing as they processed the sight of the man. “The service doesn’t start for another hour or so, but please feel free to make yourself comfortable here.”

He stared at her silently for a moment—a moment that likely lasted a few seconds, but felt like slow minutes, passing like coarse sand in a fixed hourglass.

Her eyebrow knit closer to her eye as she considered his features. He looked oddly familiar, yet she was certain he had not attended any recent services. She had half a mind to ask, yet she knew better—service was not mandatory, people could come and go as they pleased. Her family served a large community. The doors were open to all those who passed by, travelers and inhabitants and settlers alike. Was it possible to remember everyone who had graced these pews?

His green eyes filtered to the candles, gestured out with a large palm towards the basket. “Can I help at all?”

Her eyebrows raised, in surprise by the gesture or the sound of his voice, she couldn’t be sure. The thought briefly crossed her mind: if she left him unanswered, if he’d ask again, she’d hear the sound once more. In that moment she could surmise definitively, she had never heard this voice before. Never would it be lost in the symphony of a crowd’s prayers and hums and amens.

He took a daring step forward. She took a sudden step back, bumped into the table and knocked a loose candle from the holder. It snapped as it hit the decorated floor, rolled towards him.

He knelt down on one knee and grabbed both ends easily, held them up to her with an outstretched palm.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he started, still on one knee, staring up at her like something holy, like she were an angel in her own right. He spoke slowly, like each word was formed with an intentional breath, like he was speaking to someone revered. He watched her carefully, listened even when she had nothing to say. “Just wanted to offer my service before the prose.”

Like she were hit with a flash of lightning, she knew who she was speaking to. Felt the memory run through her bones, fought the urge to welcome him back to salvation.

“My name is Eren.” She carefully took the broken candle from his palm. He carefully rose to his feet, kept his hand out to take hers. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

A boy she hardly knew, now a man she’d never met. There was an unfamiliar warmth and ache sent through her body at his words. Did it hurt to be unremarkable? Unmemorable? By someone she could never forget?

"Mikasa," she introduced, allowed him to take her hand in his palm.

"Mikasa," he repeated in a whisper, a new name sounding so familiar on his tongue. A tone so hushed lest the angels hear a demon say her name. The light in a perpetual darkness. The hope in an eternal damnation. The bliss in a life lost. The freedom in an unwilling confinement.

And in that moment, Eren realized that God does exist, because she stood before him, in all her effervescent glory. Because he just said her name.

“We’ve met before actually,” she spoke without forethought. Did it need to be known? Did it palliate the ache? “A long time ago.”

He seemed unphased. Like a lapse in memory was commonplace for him. Like he’d had this very conversation before. “Ah, I’m sorry, I don’t recall. Though I suppose that makes sense. My family did attend this church when I was young.”

“You remember coming here?” Mikasa picked up the basket again, replaced the candle that had broken.

“No,” he answered with a curt shake of his head. Quickly glanced around, but settled back on her. His gaze was intense, yet she didn’t feel observed or scrutinized. More—admired. Revered. “But I’ve been told. It feels awfully familiar.”

“It's common to forget as we grow old." It was a passing comment-- a caption merely meant to pass between phrase. To go unnoticed, unneeded. Unmemorable, like most.

“You remember.” It wasn’t intended as a question, nor was it really addressed to her. More of a confirmation for himself, that such a God would permit his residence in her brain for such a long time. He wondered what he had done to deserve such. "You remember me." He wished he remembered.

There was no need to continue. There was no need to speak at all, yet she couldn’t help but reaffirm. “I do.” Did she add that she’s been looking for him since the day he left? That she searches the crowd of people for the boy who disappeared? That she spent cumulative years out in the community, hunting for that familiar face? That she always felt drawn to him for reasons unknown?

“What did I do to deserve such a grace?” He maintained eye contact, considered reaching out his hand for her to hold. He’s been looking—searching for connection, a semblance of something real. Untouched. Holy.

She smiled smally. To have found what she’d been looking for. To know with certainty, it exists. “Will you be staying for the service?”

He nodded. "I will." He returned her smile. “For as long as it takes.”

--------

Eren's seen her before, in the town. Twice, to be exact.

The first was at the final worship for the passing of the old Duke. The clergy in the district had been assembled to speak to God on the peoples behalf, to assist in the town's processing of the Duke's eventual passing. To help the Duke cross over into heaven.

Eren didn't care. He was only present because his father was the Duke's doctor (which, in Grisha's own words, "was a sentence worse than the death the Duke will face, because who else would the town blame for his demise, if not the doctor meant to save him?").

Eren spent his time watching the crowd, eying the hungry, the cold. Those the Duke had forgotten who had still come to his bedside. The people surmised the Duke akin to God. Eren called them fools.

There was one member of the church, dressed yet not at the stageside. She was dishing out soup with others he didn't recognize. With hair black as a demon's eyes, eyes charcoal like remnants of a wood fire, she stood out amongst the rest. Her demeanor was warm and inviting. Her smile was soothing and healing. In white, like an angel sent to grace the Duke, she graced his people instead.

He watched her from the back of a large crowd, hidden from view in the creeping shadows. He fixated on her smile, on the flashes of teeth as she spoke to the hungry. Her hands appeared dainty and smooth, yet she worked them with the ineffective spoons and bowls. Something stirred within him, deep inside. Something untouched for ages.

The second time was at a patient's home. The patient had called for the local doctor and a priest. While Grisha and Eren fixed remedies and medicines at the patient's bedside, Reverend Ackerman and his daughter spoke to the family, blessed the room and assisted the patient's comfort.

Eren watched his father ignore the Reverend as they worked independently; one to help the man in bed reach heaven, one to keep him from its pearly gates. Eren recalled vividly the Reverend speaking to his father, interrupting the medicinal concoction. He remembered his father's poignant response, "Reverend, you ask his God for forgiveness and entry. Allow me to keep them from meeting." The Reverend forced a smile. His response was strained, "Continue with your honest work."

The girl outside the room heard, turned her head enough that Eren recognized hair as dark as the devil's, a face as pale as snow. She was the same woman, he was certain of it. Within his proximity, this time, he could she was as pristine up close, as she was from a distance. Truly an angel in image, a goddess in honor.

Never did he speak a word. Never did they interact. Yet she took up permanent residence in his mind.

--------

Eren didn’t worship.

His family never said grace at the dinner table. His father never encouraged him to pray. He watched his mother kneel at the foot of the bed every night, mumbling incoherent sentiments that he could never quite understand. Forgiveness for what? For being alive? For having a heart? For being human?

Eren didn’t worship.

His father spent every day healing sick people. Drafting and creating remedies to ease the mind and soul, concocting spirits to quench the ill. His father documented everything, watched the good die young and the evil live forever. Witnessed the good die with nothing, the devils survive with pride. His father healed who he could, and solemnly packed up his things and alerted the family when it was too late. His father was no god.

Eren didn’t worship.

His friend lived in poverty. Starved for mere bread and water. Had pennies to his name. His friend was kind. Yet adults paid his family no heed, gave him no help. His friend became weak. His friend stopped praying. You can’t eat prayers. The two of them watched the town council eat meals prepped for the gods. But they can.

Eren didn’t worship.

Eren watched countless people die. People he knew, people he didn’t. People his father tried to help, people he didn’t. Eren watched people starve, watched them succumb to illness, watched them fall to their own greed, or to their own demise. Eren didn’t understand who was chosen to live or die, who was allowed to eat and who wasn’t.

Eren didn’t worship.

He remembered learning about their ancestry. The sins they’ve committed, the atrocities from which they’d long since moved on. He remembered hearing folks blaming the history for their status, for their hunger. He remembered listening to the woes and prayers of the hungry, of the poor. Who is but more deserving of love than those who have nothing?

Eren didn’t worship.

He watched their hymns go answered. Watched their songs go ignored. He didn’t believe. His father didn’t believe. He hoped an afterlife existed for their souls peace, but he doubted its existence. He hoped for one who heard their cries, their stomachs be full in another world, but he couldn’t bring himself to believe.

He had a heart before he had a mind. He had seen suffering before he’d seen joy. He never saw God walking the streets. He never saw God healing the sick.

Eren didn’t worship.

Yet now he found himself on his knees, hands clasped for a woman he hardly knows. A woman who remembered, a woman who heard, a woman who was kind.

Yet he found who would save him. Yet he prayed to her to save him. He’d found a goddess who walked among them. He’d found a saving grace.

--------

Eren attended church every Sunday afterwards. Sat in the back and paid exclusive attention to the woman who stood by the side of the altar. He watched her carefully, imprinted each movement into his memory. He noted her confidence. He noted her humility. He noted the softness in her tone as she spoke, the honor in her throat as she breathed.

His prayers were simple, for the goddess she was. May she be impressed. May she be inspired. May she be taken by a simple man with little to offer. May she be happy. May she be healthy. May she be proud.

He approached her last every time, once the pews had cleared and the only people left were them and the Reverend. He spoke about the service, about her role. He asked about her life, her interests, her dreams.

Eren was taken with the way her eyes lit like constellations, the way her smile extended with each conversation, the way she didn't shy away from his presence, the way she inquired about him as he did her.

--------

Today, they were alone at the altar. The pews had emptied out. The Reverend had a house call, an ill person. The Goddess stayed behind, with him.

The natural light was beginning to wane. Their shadows flickered with the candles still lit from the service. She smiled as he approached her, the pleasant expected end to her day.

Today she asked. A question that had been burning into her mind since after the first service he'd stayed to chat. A question built by bricks of intuition and feelings burning deep in her chest. A question scarred by the flames of emotions she felt boiling inside when she was with him.

They had been in conversation. She changed the subject. "Do you believe in fate, Eren?"

His head tilted, the confusion read clearly in his expression. "What?" She didn't blame him, of course. She'd just changed the subject with no relation, no explanation.

Despite all their conversations, not many were about Eren's beliefs and convictions. She knew awfully little about his senses and his thoughts. "Do you believe in soulmates? In fate?" But she'd been burning to know. "That we were destined to meet?"

Candle after candle, wax melted into an answer. "No, we are not soulmates," he answered simply. A slow response that holstered into her heart--Did it stop beating? Perhaps, momentarily. The burning turned twisted and sour, allowing early scars to form.

Yet he took a step forward, used his hands to block her in at her sides. Her back to the altar. He arched his neck, so he was looking directly into her eyes. His face only centimeters apart.

"This--" He gestured between their chests with a thumb and a pointer, left the pointer to rest on her sternum. He could feel the rise and fall of her chest with each stunted breath. "--is not divine intervention." He leaned closer. "And this is most certainly not chance."

She leaned against the altar, and his other hand rose to her thigh. A gentle gesture, a cool hand barely touching hot skin. The corner of his mouth twitched into a smile.

"I prayed for this." Each word was intentional, direct. And his attention split between her eyes and lips. The breath stilled in her chest, the air stagnant in her lungs as she slowed to process. "I willed this."

His hand rose to the apex of her thigh. The bright red blush easily took over her pale cheeks, her lips agape as she desperately inhaled. "Eren," she gasped, her voice almost unrecognizable.

His face remained serious, his tone steady. Both hands fell to her thighs, and he slowly bent down to his knees. His hands wrapped around the circumference of her extremities, grasping at the flesh and raising the fabric.

Eren looked up at her from his knees, kept his hold on her legs. "I knit the red threads myself until they spelled out your name."

She whined, uncharacteristic and primal and deep. An unsettling itch resided deep in her pelvis, pulsating with each heavy heart beat under his intense, undivided attention.

Her legs tingled under his touch. Goosebumps formed. Nerves fired and fizzled, sent shivers up her spine and back down to culminate at the apex of her pelvis, right above the most sensitive, seldom explored bud of her body.

Hot blood pulsed through her arteries, warmed her skin and muscles until her bones were burning, until her skin was flushed and pink all over. She felt hotter with each passing second, with each subsequent blink and breath under his adoration.

Mikasa couldn’t bear the intensity anymore, put her hand over his eyes and pushed his head slightly lower. Eren closed his eyes, felt blessed by an angel, prompted by a queen, as her unspoken approval washed over him, felt a smile overtake his face.

One hand fluttered down her leg, grasped at her ankle underneath her dark skirt fabric. He looked up at her anyway, stared at the palm of her hand and saw her flushed embarrassment through cracks of her fingers.

“May I?” the pads of his fingers played at the thin skin of her ankle. She covered her mouth with her free hand, loosely hid the gasp and closed her eyes at the touch. The shiver ran up her spine like a sprint, and her whole body reacted.

“E-Eren,” she whined quietly. She shuddered again.

“Mikasa,” he returned, with a gentle stroke on her skin, rose his hand to brace her calf. “Please, my love, allow me to worship you.”

She squealed and swooned, found herself leaning heavily into the altar table. She nodded frantically, forgetting her hand covered his sight and he desperately needed her verbal command. But he watched through the cracks between her fingers, felt each shiver as his hand slid farther up her calf under the skirt fabric.

Goosebumps followed his trail. His second hand followed the first, glided down her thigh to her calf and slipped under her skirt.

He raised the fabric, slipped his head underneath. His hands caressed the inside of her thighs, his thumbs pressing lightly in circles into the flesh. Mikasa whined softly, gasped untouched as she glanced down and saw the bump of his head under fabric.

Her vision tunneled, focused solely on the feeling of his hands on her. The hot blood pulsed between her legs, right where she could feel Eren’s warm breath against spots she couldn’t name.

She whined at the sound of Eren’s muffled mumbling, felt each word and between breath press against the sponge of her thighs. “Oh, my Goddess who art before me…”

Her heart raced. Her vessels dilated. She felt her chest heaving for desperate breaths as his lips touched to her upper thigh, pressed lingering kisses between every chant.

Her hips bucked sharply at the foreign feeling of lips at her crotch. His tongue lapped out, tentatively at first, as he listened to the myriad of sounds falling from an angel’s lips. He developed into an intoxicating rhythm, where one of her hands clawed at his arm under the fabric and the other covered her mouth.

Mikasa’s face was bright red, flushed with a needy embarrassment unlike anything she’d ever experienced. Her body felt hot. Warm blood pulsed to her fingers and toes, travelled back to her spine with millions of firing nerves that numbed her brain in waves. Beads of sweat formed along her hairline. She couldn’t form words, only incoherent noises and moans that were indecipherable by the gods who overlooked.

Each formidable lick and taunting kiss and teasing love bite to the sensitive skin summed to an acute overwhelming sensation that caused hers legs to tremble and her vision to blur. Her hands collapsed behind her, kept her supported on the altar while Eren buried deeper between her shaking legs.

He was searching for something. Untouched. Holy.

“Oh, m-my—E-Eren!” Her legs cinched together, collapsed in on his head and inadvertently pulled him closer.

Eren mumbled something in response, she knew he did. She couldn’t hear him over the roaring in her ears—no, she could feel each movement of his mouth against the licked-raw nerves, feel it culminate in hardened hearing, blurred vision, shivers down her spine.

The feeling was building, unbearable. She felt weak, occupied, trying to inch away but his hands kept her in position. Her legs cinched tighter, the pressure was building against his head. He smiled wide, biting softly into her thigh to give her a false sense of relief before continuing to lick her senseless.

The acute sensation overwhelming. She was overstimulated. Eren replaced his lips with two fingers, rubbed and touched at her wet clit as he stood upright and pressed his nose on her neck, just under her ear.

He spoke to her calmly, not that she could really process what he was saying, as he coaxed her to climax. Pressed soft kisses and breaths that were cooler than her skin to her neck until she was shaking and shivering and tugging him closer and calling his name.

Her hand swiped down, swatted his hand away as she panted heavily. Her chest was heaving to catch her breath. Eren fixated on her, his eyes scanning over her red face. His smirk was genuine. She was an angel. Sweaty with a halo, breathing life into the world. Yet he gave her heaven. He gave her euphoria.

He left his hand on her inner thigh, still wet from sweat and pleasure. Her skirt fanned over his hand’s position while the other clasped around her neck. Eren leaned forward, until his bulging crotch was pushed into her wet thighs and she hissed pleasantly from the pressure.

Eren kept his nose pressed to her neck, smiling. The relief washed over her as the normalcy set back in, mixed with tinges of sorrow and regret. Sorrow because it was over—she wanted more, so much more. The pleasurable heat and tingling up her spine was more addictive than God. Regret because she wanted more, so, so much more. She shouldn’t want more.

Greed was the sin in her father’s sermons. Greed and pride were all consuming, filled you with unending desire and unfulfilling need. She’s felt it all now, all the greedy pleasure in the world at the cause of a lover. How will it ever be enough?

“I can make you feel God again,” Eren murmured against her skin, littered with light kisses, reminiscent of those that lingered on her thighs and clit. His hand rose to her clit again, something newly familiar that he already loved, tickled the skin gently. She shivered, held a momentary breath. “Or at least call out his name.”

Mikasa shivered and whimpered. The desire was devolving into need—a haughty desperate need. The devil was calling her name. She was answering.

“Oh, Eren,” she moaned breathlessly, wrapped her arms around his neck and tugged him ever so closer.

Eren kissed up her jaw, stopped above her lips. “Oh, my love, I’m no God,” he cooed with another lingering kiss to her cheek. “But with one word, I will help you feel heaven.”

She bent her head back, bared her neck with a light moan as she considered his words carefully. He kissed along her neck, let one hand fall along her spine and pressed into her lower back. He nipped lightly at the skin, relished in her light moans.

Her hands clasped on his cheeks, forced him to stare into her eyes, clouded with an intensity and a fog he’s never seen. Her eyes scanned his face, looked deeper than his eyes—his soul. “You say ‘my love,’ do you mean it?”

She was searching for something. Remarkable. Real.

He nodded repeatedly despite her grip. “Yes,” he answered simply, “You saved me.” His voice was quiet, like if he spoke too loud, someone would hear, and it wouldn’t be real. “I love you, Mikasa. I love you with every bit of consciousness I was born with.”

Her next question was rapid, still searching. “Do you believe in God?” She forgot her place on the altar, the blasphemy between her legs as her pulse heightened, as she felt the hot waves of blood pool between her thighs.

“I believe in angels.” He paused, maintaining eye contact. “I believe in a Goddess.” He started to lean forward, but pulled back, like he was denying the magnetic and supernatural forces between their mouths. He whispered the rest, like it were reserved for only her ears, “I believe in you.”

She glanced into his eyes briefly, found what she was searching for, then pulled him in. Let his lips collide against hers. She was hesitant, unsure and unsuspecting, and she let him hold her neck tighter as he kissed her deeper.

One hand slid from her back to her thigh, slowly felt every vertebra to the bump of her bum to the flesh of her thigh. He squeezed her thigh and she hummed into his mouth. She felt his fingers near her crotch, the excitement and adrenaline reared in her gut at the notion of repeating events prior.

He removed his hand from her neck but kept his mouth to hers, repeatedly kissing her lips as he multitasked: one hand tickling up her thigh, the other unbuttoning his pants.

Eren’s fingers found her vagina, slipped into the opening and released a sudden gasp at the unexpected move. He felt around, gently slid two fingers in and out and poked around at her warm insides as she tightened her hold on his cheeks and kept their lips interlocked.

He shuffled his trousers lower until his cock was freed from the confines, moaned into her mouth at the friction. He kept his fingers inside of her, exploring her soft insides as his tongue slipped into her mouth, kissing and fingering her simultaneously, relentlessly.

Mikasa moaned into his mouth as the pleasure started building, her legs spread and already reliving the muscle tremble in her thighs as his fingers picked up pace. The blood was pounding through her veins, pulsating through her arteries, roaring in her ears.

She whined as he removed his fingers and brought them to her thighs, tugged her even closer until his hard cock was touching her wet cunt. He used one hand to slick it in her fluid, moaning into her neck as the motion triggered waves of pleasure through his body.

Mikasa was already panting from the fingering, already pink and flushed with eyes struggling to focus on the man she’d been dreaming of. “Pl-Please, Eren,” she begged, desperate to relive the pleasure, desperate for him.

“I will never deny my Goddess,” he responded, followed with a long kiss as he pressed his cock between her labia. He pushed deeper, breathed in each gasp she released as his hard cock filled the gap inside.

His hands slipped to her hips as the shaft disappeared inside. He held her tightly, breathing shallowly as the contraction of her walls around him overwhelmed his nerves, stimulated every nerve ending and set fire to his spine.

Eren needed a minute, to process the firing and catch his breath. He leaned his forehead against her clavicle, breathed heavily and moaned when she shifted her hips. Initially she shifted for comfort, to adjust to the pressing weight inside, but the sensation was too pleasurable to ignore as it sent up her spine and her brainstem reacted by reflexively shifting her hips again, wiggling against him.

The altar table shifted unstable, the candle holders shuddered as she rubbed her hips against his. Eren stood in awe at her bold maneuvers, closed his eyes and let her continue to unknowingly pleasure herself on him.

“Eren… Move,” she whined, clawing into his arms, giving into the greed and desire for more, developing beyond a simple want—morphing into a need for more. A lifeline.

But who was Eren to deny a Goddess’ demands?

He shifted back slightly, then pushed inwards. The drag of his cock evoking a light moan from them both, a hymn more harmonious than that during service.

He rocked his hips, dug his fingers into her hipbones as he sped up, thrusted harder and deeper with each movement. Mikasa’s mouth was agape, sharp breaths pushed out from her lungs with each shove of his cock inside.

Eren’s eyes squeezed shut, but the image of her was imprinted beyond his eyes, embedded into his memory. The visual, combined with the instantaneous rush of fiery pleasure from each drag was sending him to his edge, and he was fighting, fighting, fighting to stay together when he was coming undone.

His mind was blank, nothing more than the undeniable, innate need to keep shoving in and out of the woman he loved, to please her beyond himself. But her pleasure wasn’t enough, he needed more from her, needed her to beg and pant for relief. His finger crept back to her naval, slid down to her clit—she gasped loudly, inhaled sharply.

He played with her clit as he thrusted in and out, watched as her eyes clouded over and slipped closed, watched her mouth part open and heard loud ahh’s and moans slip out. Wanting. Needy.

Her blood was boiling more with each thrust, pulsating harder against the walls of her vessels like they must burst with each flick of his finger. Bundles of nerves fired simultaneously, spread to the rest of her body rapidly like a wildfire in dry brush, like a flash of lightning in a wet storm.

Eren’s movements were sloppier, becoming messier and more deluded with each incoming motion. His arms were stinging from where her nails dug in, but he couldn’t feel it yet—too fixed on where their bodies joined in blissful union, on where his base was starting to achingly throb and risked release into her warm and inviting body.

Their mouths rejoiced and rejoined in a last kiss as their bodies trembled in unison, spines shivered with bolts of pleasure never felt so intensely until now.

The acute stimulation was overwhelming. The onset was rapid and severe. A tsunami wave of overstimulation goosebumped and sweated into her skin. She wanted to call out for him to halt and yet keep going, but her voice was shot with endless rasps and moans as the unholy feeling erupted within her soul.

This—was familiar. This rapid buildup, this immense emotion turmoiling within, this indecipherable and indescribable and indiscernible pleasure beyond the word of God. She’d felt it before—only moments ago. It was familiar. It was all she wanted.

Her toes curled, his fingers clenched into his skin. She kissed him hard, pulled him closer until there was no space between their bodies. Her mind wasn’t blank this time—no, it was reeling. With millions of thoughts felt for merely microseconds before the next one began, about their fleeting time together, about his ability to make her feel so, about the happiness felt from climax and the budding desire to feel it again after despite it not even being over. About the unrelenting, unforgettable, unregretable event that she would inevitably think back on, look forward to the next one. A joyous union between two bare souls, two craving bodies.

She couldn’t hear his moans over the deathly fuzz in her ears. She couldn’t see with how her eyes cinched shut. She wrapped her shaking thighs around his hips and collapsed him closer. She climaxed, shaky and wet and moaning, pulling him tighter and pushing him away. She called to him, like he were far away and couldn’t hear her, like she were summoning him infinitely closer.

And Eren caved—he came, embedded deep inside her. Filling her with his seed and collapsing into her body.

He kissed her intently, with every fiber of his being and every emotion swelling in his heart. “I love you,” he whispered between intentional kisses, her face collected in his hands, “I will worship you forever.” She whined, high-pitched and heady and nigh.

“I believe you,” she returned softly, voice hoarse and used and fulfilled. Satiated, in a way she never knew. Satisfied, because she’d found what she’d been searching for. To know he exists—with utmost certainty. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“You will have me forever.” He smiled gently, kissed her softly. Addicted to the taste of her skin, salty with a halo of sweat. They stayed in place, unmoving like time was frozen, like if they hadn’t moved, they’d stay together forever, preserved in pleasurable, everlasting peace. “Lest we forget.”

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