#pbk.corruption

It’s late at night, and everyone is drunk except for her.

Well, so she thinks, anyway, judging by the raucous laughter coming from the campsite, its dim lantern-lights flickering outside her window. The scouts had finally gotten their hands on a stash of wine, and were currently basking in the collective glory of their success, punch-drunk and rapidly cycling through emotions. Mikasa has never really been one for partying, so she’d snuck away from the group, winding up back at the cabin, alone. No one had noticed that she’d left.

She sits at the head of her bed, folding forward to drop her forehead to her knees. Fuck, she’s more hopeless than she thought, going slack-jawed and shaky-handed at the way Eren’s eyes glowed green under the moonlight. It’s pathetic, the hold he has over her, how utterly reduced she is at the thought of him. It really is.

“Hey.” Eren ducks his head to stand in the doorway, leaning against the wooden frame. “You left early.”

“I’m just a little tired,” she says, and bends down to unwork the lattice of her shoelaces, shucking off her boots onto the floor.

“Mikasa.” He takes his seat next to her on the bed, the mattress underneath her sagging at his sudden weight. “I can tell you’re thinking about something. Probably getting yourself all freaked out over it, too.” He sighs, crossing one foot over his knee in a figure four. “Just tell me what the problem is before I have to go and find out for myself.”

“It’s nothing you have to concern yourself with,” she says, but he shoots her that razor-sharp look that says listen to me if you know what’s good for you, and she acquiesces. “Fine. Would you… would you mind if I asked you a question?” It’s a stupid one, one she already knows the answer to, even if it isn’t the one she wants, but she’s asking anyway, just to hear it from him.

His brows knit. “Hopefully nothing weird, but yeah, I guess so.”

“What do you think about me?”

Three heartbeats pass before he speaks, ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum. “Let me ask you instead. What am I to you?” Eren says, and she feels the bed drop out from under her.

What isn’t he to her, would be an easier question to answer, and thousands of responses spring into Mikasa’s mind: brother, friend, rival, nuisance, crush, leader, her reason for being. Maybe in another life, her lover. None of these are quite right, she realizes, letting the words melt under her tongue, tasting bitter and incomplete in her mouth. “You’re family,” she says, finally, without meeting Eren’s gaze, and as she speaks the word she’s painfully, painfully aware of its insufficiency.

“Family?” He inches closer to her, so their knees are brushing, and the touch feels warm and electric against the coolness of the sheets. “Is that your final answer?”

“What else would we be?” Mikasa breathes, her head spinning a little at the heat of Eren’s skin against her own.

“You’re a smart girl, Mikasa.” Eren runs his fingers along her leg, light and deliberate as he digs his nails into the muscle of her thigh. “I don’t know of many people who jerk themselves off every night thinking about their family.” He laughs, humorlessly, and his smile is empty, self-indulgent. Like he already knows he’s got her pinned down exactly where he wants her. “Do you?”

“I— you have it all wrong,” Mikasa says, and she hears her pulse pounding hot and loud in her ears. “It wasn’t like that.”

“No?” Eren tightens his grip on her thigh, leaning in so that his lips brush the sensitive patch of skin behind her ear. “You think I couldn’t hear you fucking your fingers to the thought of me? You think I couldn’t hear you moaning my name? The walls in the barracks weren’t that thick, you know.” He licks a wet stripe down her neck, long and languid, and chuckles at the way her leg twitches under his hands. “Oh, but obviously I have it all wrong, hmm? I guess it wasn’t like that after all. Why don’t you tell me,” he says, “why don’t you explain to me what it was like, then.”

An achy heat spreads across Mikasa’s face. She knows exactly what it was like: how she used to lie awake on the rickety cot of their barrack, stuffing two fingers inside of her and wishing they were Eren’s, wishing for his hands against her hips, for his tongue to lap up the slick dripping down her thighs. Under the shroud of darkness, praying that none of the other Scouts would slip out from the heavy weight of their sleep, she came alone, wrist in her mouth to stifle her screams. When she pulled it away, panting, the outline of her teeth was carved into her skin, red and raw and tender to the touch.

“I wanted you,” she says, and closes her eyes so she doesn’t have to look at him, his smug I-told-you-so expression and the slightness of his smile.

“Open your eyes,” Eren says, and when she does his face is inches away from hers, his eyes dark and narrowed. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.” He brings his hand up to cup the side of her face, and his palm scrapes rough against her skin. “So you wanted me then. And now?”

He’s teasing her now, she’s aware of this; she’s also aware of the buzzing, too-light feeling pooling in her stomach and crawling up the back of her throat. He’s insatiable in this way, always has been, since they were kids. Unsatisfied with anything until it’s concrete, tangible, indisputable: I want you, I want you, I want you.

“I still do,” she whispers, and Eren’s mouth is on hers, warm and soft, gentle at first and then pushing in closer, deeper. He curves his hand around her jaw, thumb swiping back and forth over her skin. It feels out of place, the gentleness of his touch, the sweetness of his lips, against the coarseness of his hands, the way they bite angrily into her thigh.

“Do you like it when I touch you like this?” he says, and glides his hand further up her leg.  Mikasa moans in response, so he snakes his hands under the hem of her shirt, skims his fingers over the lace of her bra. When he rolls her nipple between his fingers, squeezing her breast with his other hand, she cries out, heat throbbing at the apex of her thighs.

She needs him closer. The layers of clothing in between them are suddenly tight and itchy against her skin, and she raises her arms over her head, yanking at the collar of her shirt. “Take it off,” she says, “all of it. Please.”

“Goddamn,” Eren laughs, and he catches her wrists in one hand, pulling off her shirt with the other. He tosses it to the side, where it puddles on the hardwood floor. “You’re so eager for me already.” Mikasa’s exposed now, and the cold night air bites at her skin, Eren’s eyes roaming over her body. She crosses her arms over her chest, too-aware of her nakedness, vulnerable in front of him like something on display.

“What are you doing?” Eren’s eyebrows are drawn together, his jaw set, and he wrenches Mikasa’s arms down. “Don’t ever hide from me like that again, Mikasa.”

“I just… wanna be good for you,” she mumbles, and his grip clenches tighter around her forearms.

“You are,” he says. “You’re so, so good for me.” He flattens his tongue against her solar plexus, licking down the valley in between her breasts. “So beautiful. Can I show you?”

“Okay,” she says, and he closes his mouth around her nipple, flicking his tongue over it in a way that makes something deep, deep inside of her stir. “Eren.” Mikasa throws her head back, threading her hand through the mess of his hair. “Eren, I want… I need more.”

He releases her breast, mouth wet and glistening in the darkness, and glances up to meet her gaze. “What do you need, baby?”

“I want to see you.”

“Yeah?” He slips his shirt over his head, casting it aside to tangle with hers on the ground. “That all?”

No, it’s not all, not even close, because Eren’s beautiful, and he’s here with her and no one else. No one else gets to see him like this, gets to trace their hands across the muscles of his body, to feel the firmness underneath, the weight of his tongue in their mouth. No one else gets to be his and his alone.

“I want you to touch me,” she says.

“Hmm.” He presses his lips against her neck, nipping her pulse between his teeth. “Use your words, Mikasa. Where?” He toys with the belt buckle at her waist, fingers trailing across her stomach. “Here?”

“Please,” she says, and it comes out in a humiliating, high-pitched whine, but her skin is blazing where Eren’s meets it and her heartbeat is hammering faster, faster and she needs his hands on her. Everywhere, anywhere, as long as he’s touching her.

“You’re going to have to ask me nicer than that,” he says, and his movement slows to a stop.

“Please,” Mikasa says, again. She can’t stand it, can’t stand the buzz of energy with nowhere to release, the ache where the air fills in the gaps between their bodies. “Eren, please, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted this, how much I’ve fantasized about you, please, please, just touch me, I’m begging you. I’m begging you. I can’t take it anymore.”

“You’re such a good girl for me,” Eren says, and unbuttons the fly of her pants, pushing them past her hips, ankles, until the thin cotton of her underwear is the only thing that separates them. “Always doing exactly what I tell you to.” He swipes his finger over her clit in lazy circles, laughing at the way she lolls her head backwards, gasping. “Fuck,” he groans, loud and sharp in the night’s silence. “You’re so wet already, baby. Is this all for me?”

“For you,” she says, and wraps her hand around his bicep, the smooth muscles shifting as he rubs her clit. “You’re all I’ve ever wanted, Eren, I swear it. God, I wanted you so bad I– I  thought I would die sometimes.” He quickens the pace of his strokes, and she bucks her hips upwards, grinding against the pad of his finger. “Used to— touch myself thinking about you. Used to pretend it was you doing it.”

“Should’ve said something before,” Eren says, placing his other hand on her shoulder to shove her back against the headboard. “All you had to do was ask. Would’ve taken care of you.” He pulls off her underwear, slipping a finger inside of her, and Mikasa can’t breathe.

She can’t breathe, because the pain between her legs is finally dissipating, a static shock pulsing through her body instead. For all the nights she’s dreamed of him, having him on top of her, under her, inside her, she finally has him, and he’s strong and solid and so, so good.

“Fuck, I can feel you,” Eren whispers, voice tinged with equal parts amazement and astonishment. “So fucking tight. Fuck.” He thrusts another finger in, deeper this time, and Mikasa cries out at the sudden stretch. “Nobody’s ever been inside this pussy but me, huh?”

“You’re the only one that I want,” she says, rocking against his him. “Couldn’t ever be with anybody else.”

“Shit.” Eren scissors his fingers, and Mikasa reaches out and pulls him closer to her, nails carving red scrapes into the muscles of his back. “You’re so fucking pretty like this. God, you’re perfect.”

Perfect. Normally she’d object, brush off the label in favor of something more objective, holistic. The usage of the word has never truly resonated with her; she’s never seen the world so black-and-white. Everything good is underlined by the bad, she’s realized, everything bad harbors good within. And of all things, she’s certainly not one to ever be called perfect: her with her short temper, her fury, her blindness to anything else when she sees what she wants. But here, in the dark, Eren’s skin warm against hers, his fingers curling deep inside of her, something heavy clenching her lower stomach in vice grip, she finally understands. She feels cared for, wanted. She feels perfect.  

“Come for me, Mikasa,” Eren murmurs as her cries rise louder and louder. “Be a good girl and come on my fingers. I know you can.”

She can, and she does, a tremor tearing through her body as she jerks forward, spilling out over Eren’s fingers. She squeezes her eyes shut as she shudders, her limbs light, liquid, sinking through the bed, the ground, only held up by Eren’s palms underneath them, and by his voice whispering I know, baby, I know. It’s okay. You’re doing so well.

Before she can open her eyes again, Eren’s shifting away from her, and she hears the rattling of his belt buckle, fingers fumbling desperately in the dark.

“God, I need you,” he says. “You have no idea how sexy you are like that. Driving me fucking crazy, fuck.”

He kisses her, faster this time, tongue forcing past her lips and circling her own. He lets out a self-satisfied moan, a soft little hmm sound that reverberates down her throat. She softens, lets herself go limp in his arms, because he’s here, and he’s holding her, and the world is melting fuzzy and fluid around her as his hands run over her body. “Eren,” she says, and he presses down on her hips, her back flush against the mattress, and all at once he is inside of her.

It isn’t how she expected it would be, she thinks, and even her own thoughts are distorted, muffled and distant like they’re being broadcasted from someone else’s brain. Pain radiates from between her legs, the place that Eren’s claimed for himself, where they’re connected. It feels heavy and full and intrusive, something she has to mold herself around to accommodate, a sort of stretch that burns.

Eren makes a strangled noise, somewhere between a gasp and a groan, harsh and like it’s clawing its way up his throat. “Shh,” he says, and she realizes that she’s whimpering, writhing under his body. “Mikasa. Do you trust me?”

His face is twisted in a way she’s never seen before, flushed and raw, jaw clenched like he’s trying to stop himself from saying something. “I trust you,” she whispers.

“Good,” he says, and grabs her hips flush against his, skin to skin. “Just let me make you feel good, then. Just let me do that for you, okay?”

She nods, and then she’s crying out as Eren fucks into her, the force of his thrusts stabbing and sharp at first, but eventually subsiding into a dull pressure, a tingling feeling that effervesces throughout her whole body. Eren plants his wrists on either side of her head, caging her in, and the strands of hair falling loose from his ponytail brush across Mikasa’s face, bouncing as he ruts his hips against hers.

“Feels so fucking good,” Mikasa whines, and wraps her legs around Eren’s waist, digging her heels into the small of his back. “Used to dream about you fucking me. How good your cock would feel inside me,” she pants. “Woke up soaking wet with my pussy fucking throbbing, thinking about you. Fuck, Eren, I need you, please don’t stop.”

He groans and tosses his head back, grabbing her hand in his and pinning it onto the pillow. Beads of sweat drip down his face, his neck, and Mikasa runs her tongue along his jaw, licking up the salt that gathers there.  

“Get up,” Eren breathes, and pulls out without warning. The sudden emptiness is almost more painful than the intrusion, the dissatisfaction of being so, so close to what she wants and then having it taken away. twists a hand into Mikasa’s hair, wrenching her up so her back is to him now, his other hand hooking under the bones of her hips. The hand on the back of her head forces her down into the pillow, and she tastes the dry linen of her sheets, skin still buzzing hot and itchy at the lack of his touch.

He snaps his hips against hers, and his dick presses into her, so deep in this new position that she feels its weight in her stomach. Every time he draws back, slowly, and then rams into her again, that pressure builds, low and heavy in her gut. Being at his mercy like this, his balls smacking against her ass with every thrust, makes her feel light, untouchable, fucking ecstatic. Eren yanks hard around his fistful of her hair, scalp stinging, and pulls her head back so that her back is arched and his lips are at her ear.

“You’re such a good little slut for me,” he says, words broken by his breaths coming fast and ragged. “I want to hear you say it.”

“I’m a slut for you.”

When he winds his hand down her body to stroke up and down her clit, the pressure in her stomach only builds.    

“You’re close, baby, I can feel you,” Eren says, rubbing circles over her clit. “Let go, Mikasa, oh fuck, give it to me, baby, please.”

She isn’t sure what it is he wants her to give to him, but it doesn’t matter. She’ll give him anything he wants: her innocence, her life, her body. Anything he wants, he can have it, mark it, lay ownership to her however he pleases. So she gives him all of her, clenching around his cock as she comes, vision fading white at the edges and a slow, sticky lightness creeping through her limbs. She’s shaking, hands clutching at the mess of the sheets, face shoved into the pillow as Eren’s thighs slam into hers from behind. Somewhere in the back of her mind she recognizes Eren’s low moan, his voice calling say my name, say my fucking name, and she falls forward, spiraling, unable to form thoughts around Eren, Eren, Eren.

He comes shortly after, his movements growing frenzied and sloppy. He moans as he fucks hard into her, a pulsating heat blooming from the place where their bodies connect.

“Holy shit,” she says, head still reeling, legs still trembling hard against the bed. Eren exhales a long, shuddering breath as he pulls out, and she feels the warmth of him come leaking down her thighs. She should be disgusted at the vulgarity of it, but she relishes in the vulnerability of the exchange: that which was once inside of him now being inside of her.  

He laughs, taking her into his arms to flip her around onto her back, and kisses her, soft and cautious. Like he can’t quite believe that she’s his, that she’s here with him, that she isn’t going to shatter under his touch. “You’re so beautiful,” he says, and Mikasa smiles against his lips.

“I’m really happy,” she whispers. She doesn’t want to say it too loud, isn’t sure if speaking the feeling into existence will cause it to vanish as quickly as it arrived. “I never thought this would happen to us. That I would finally get to be yours.”