Archive of Our Own

He was born with monster blood, like all Jaeger men before him. A hungry kind of monster called Alpha, that perhaps wasn't truly a monster. At least that was what his brother said the day Eren presented, strangely pleased to assuage the soreness of what a fresh-off-puberty boy couldn’t comprehend. He remembers biting his tongue first, shoving clammy hands into his pockets, lowering his voice before confessing out loud what had troubled his brain ever since he’d learned what he was made of. So, that means omegas are real too?

Zeke laughed, scribbling something down on his work notepad. You are an alpha, Eren, aren’t you? If alphas exist, omegas do, too. They were made to submit to us. His tone was even, thick with the firmness of his conviction. You’re not a true alpha until you’ve been with one.

Back then, he was too young to know he wouldn't get what was promised to him. So much has changed ever since that time, and during weekdays, he’s been good at doing the job of blending in as if there was nothing wrong with his constitution, different sorts of drugs making the habits required by the lifestyle he maintains now easier to accommodate. Nighttime, however, brought back the shame of what he’s grown into— barely twenty-two years old, celebrating nights machinated for anything but the greater good.

“Can you at least pretend you’re a bit glad?” Historia presses a whisper to his ear. Despite their engagement tonight, he doesn’t know how to fake smiles or love her in the way he should. Somewhere along the years, this arrangement proved to be unsatisfying. They used to have the kind of friendship carved by the knowledge that getting tied up in marriage would mold whatever exchange they had down the road. 

But no matter how nice her company could be or how much Eren liked to fuck her, as any man would; with her it always felt like he had to hold back something fundamental of who he truly was so she could accept whichever little of him he gave to her. In this, a necessity in him went unmet, unseen, uncared for.

His dad used to always linger back in Rod Reiss's office after the others had left social functions, discussing matters Eren wasn’t invited to take any part in. Historia never knew how to hide her fear when the yells fell from the other side of the wall. He used to wonder if she saw the same in his eyes, fear and solitude, but they never had much to talk to each other about. He wasn’t interested in dolls and dresses, and she wasn’t interested in video games or pulp cartoons. 

It could have changed one night, when she pulled on his hand and guided him back to her room. “Since you and I will have to get married anyway…” She was wearing a ridiculous sparkling pink dress and an excited voice that was too shrill to be hers. “Fuck… okay,” he said, wearing the same dark blue suit his father made him wear to all of those events. They were 16 and she didn't look into his eyes while he was touching her. Shortly after that, he presented as an alpha. 

Historia’s only a rich, beta girl.“I’m sorry, Historia,” he says, lips curving in distaste of always apologizing. 

“You don't seem very comfortable. Is there something I can do for you?”

The sharp sound of his laugh startles her as he switches her off his lap onto the chair so he can get up. “I don't like when you try that on me,” he says. She looks like she’s high. She always is lately. Taking pills so that being pleasant comes naturally to who she is. “Just need to smoke.”

He goes out onto the balcony and ends up going for the cigarette card in his pants pocket instead of the cigar in his jacket. There are no stars in the sky tonight, darkness’s prevalence bores down on him like an unsavory joke. That, or they were too far into the city. Either way, he’s never been one to care about these things. There’s a group of people smoking on the opposite corner, but he doesn’t search for the comradery of the act. 

Lately, his alpha nature seems to be protesting with rasping cries at the back of his throat. Less prone to sit quietly by human inability to show need for relief, lives so put together they deem it offensive to bleed, to share the same thoughts that abused his head at night. His father made his fortune on it, the kind of doctor who knew how to sell the answers humans desperately sought, providing medicines to serve crescent needs for numbness until he carved Jaeger's own niche. More profitable than the need for numbness was the need to keep a hold of something growing beneath the skins of animals that cannot be animals.

But Grisha Jaeger is dead. Eren took care of the lavish funeral himself, complete with a reception afterward and barrels of oaky wine, and what’s left of his empire is what he manages now. He’d never gotten to meet his mother— having nobody left whom he would like to make proud makes these same patterns easier to swallow.

“What are you doing alone here?”

Eren curses under his breath, throwing his head back and wishing the pounding was a stroke. His brother’s always on time, always seeming to keep track of him.

“Not enjoying your engagement party?”

“Reiss’ parties aren't much what I like to spend my time doing.”

They’re at the heart of the city, in a venue of tall ceilings and hanging lights and long corridors with famous paintings on the walls and locks on the doors. The type of place in which only people in the same inner circle hold sympathy for the same brand of richness could have engaging parties. People in black suits with gleaming silver pins at the pockets of their jackets, a handful of last names, and distinguished handshakes. A blend of bodies in shared rooms talking about how nice it is to have control of the world.

Zeke chuckles. “They’re about to become your family in what? 3 months?”

“Two,” Eren replies.

“At least she’s beautiful and you have always liked each other.”

Eren cuts him off with a laugh, washing the sound of it with what’s left of liquor in his hand, the smoky taste stopping at his throat. “Now you believe in fairy tales too?”

“I get what you’re feeling though.” Zeke leans against the glass railing as he lights up his own cigarette. “It’s tough having been born an alpha without really getting the chance to be one.”

“You think I’d be happier in my marriage if I fucked an omega?” Eren says, but he was supposed to use irony in his tone, not the rawness of something else. Only by saying the word, he’s unable not to imagine the syrupy feeling, to picture the scene— his body sweaty, finally meeting the intended purpose of breeding an omega into submission. When he speaks again, his voice has gone coarse. “Nice advice on how to start things off.”

Zeke simply shrugs. “To be honest, yeah.”

“No wonder your life is so sad,” Eren says. But, maybe because he’s decided this is nothing but something said on the verge of drunkenness, thoughts of could-have-been so unreachable they sometimes made sense in the face of desperation for life to be different, he cannot help but ask. “How would I even find an omega to fuck?”

“There’s a lot Grisha has kept from you.” 

Eren throws his hands in defeat and flicks out his cigarette because how could he expect something other from his brother than the same old insults to their dad, being the product of his worst mistakes? 

“Have a good life, Zeke.”

“I’m not gonna do the same that our father did, Eren. If you’re gonna be stuck in a marriage he chose for you, you might at least have a taste of what you were denied. Men like you and I weren't cut for the same shit others were. It’s my duty as your older brother to show you that,” he says, moving his body in front of him to stop Eren from going back inside, the movement making his glasses hang low at the bridge of his nose, revealing a flash of something dark in his eyes. “I’ve got something planned for you. A wedding gift, brother and brother quality time, whatever you wanna call it.”

“Coming from you, I don’t even wanna know what it is.” By saying it, Eren makes himself aware of a stab of envy. None of them are special or anything remarkable, as their father liked to remind them, two godless boys. But something in Zeke makes him not care. Grisha used to say he was lost to wanton ways, that it couldn’t be his fault one of his sons had attached unbridled shame to the good Jaeger name.

“Ever since you took over the family business, you’re looking more and more like Grisha.” Zeke places a hand on his shoulder, giving him his sadistic grin before Eren can say he’s terribly wrong. “Of course, without the fun parts our daddy didn't tell you about.”

They seemed nothing alike, he and his brother, not even the configuration of their muscles, except for the remnants of whatever sort of creature lurked beneath both their bones. He finishes his cigarette with all the calm of someone who would leave the place and go into the night and do whatever he wanted to do, not the type of man to shy away from wrongness and sin in all the ways Eren has been. “You think about it, little brother, and gimme a call.”

Their jet lands in a private area. The strip of concrete on the ground leads to a large, glass-shielded site protected by security guards around the entire perimeter. Zeke has two credentials at hand as they walk through the gate. A smiling lady welcomes them at the other side, handing them a folder with a few papers to sign, disclosing activities and the required silence about them to which they must consent.

Eren’s struck by a fresh, terrible rush of adrenaline. Reading the place’s name at the head of the document, it says OmegaWorld . 

“What the fuck, Zeke?” 

Eren has heard of the existence of these secret parks. Places selling the sickest fantasies to selected alphas who disguise themselves as ordinary men in the real world. He’d never been the type of boy who would wander earth trying to find them— a significant part of him might have even scribed what he heard to another tale invented by the same breed of deranged men to control one another. As alphas fill the highest positions in society, omegas are extremely valuable, fathomless things. Out of all the classes, the rarest one. So highly sought after by what they represent that only a bare number of them remains.

“Shy now, little brother?” Zeke, the ever vulgar-humored creep, jokes, his self-pride ringing in his voice. 

The park looks like a small, lawless city. Bars and houses and neon signs advertising different kinds of nights for different kinds of tastes. It doesn’t take long for him to notice how most alphas favor fucking omegas from behind, some order dictated by roles of bodies in that. Crazed alphas perform all kinds of depravity on the little things in dark corners. Desperate girls, pliant boys— far-gone by pleasure, not terrified to beg for what they want even if it was dangerously bad for them. In an ordinary world, he would be disgusted at all of it, glancing at a section of the folder that reads like a restaurant menu, depicting in detail what’s possible to be done here. The only thing alphas cannot do is to mark one of them as their mate.

Yet, Eren takes a look around at the dirty streets and some of the greater horrors are what he finds out about his own body, the meaning behind the purpose for which he was created. Perhaps, that’s even what has guided him here, trailing after his lost nature that remained nature while he was anything but. His nostrils flare with the thickness of sex smell, of omega smell, and it’s almost like he can feel his body getting larger, more powerful in ways. There isn’t much to justify how he’s turned on. For all his life, he’s been familiar with the concept of doing what had to be done and now, his blood is making the choice.

“Don't pretend you wouldn't be doing that,” Zeke says, nodding towards an omega being defiled by a lamppost. Her dress rides up to showcase the wanton nature of the act, whining for the alpha not to stop thrusting his cock into her as his wet mouth explores the back of her neck, his hands collaring her throat.

“Does she even want that?”

“As an alpha, this isn't the kind of question you should be asking,” Zeke barely does him the favor of replying, walking a few steps ahead. “C’mon.”

For the first time, Eren’s scared of what Zeke has to be involved in, the ease with which his brother passes by the things they see in their way. “Where?”

“Stop being so full of shit, Eren,” he says, turning around to look back into his eyes. “Just admit to yourself you’re just as fucked up as I am.”

“I don’t think just being fucked up is the case here. Who are you even in touch with to get allowed here?” Eren couldn’t imagine a place like this being run by anything other than the worst of the worst, men he’s being forced to become alike by exposition to all these sins.

“Not trying to deny anything,” he says with an amused chuckle, in a rush, climbing the stairs up to a gate that stands out from the rest of the buildings on the street. “I’m sure the blonde girl is nice, but this…” As the door slides open, he displays his credentials to security and is invited inside. In something humiliating like a trance, Eren does the same. “This will blow you away and you fucking know it.”

Inside, a living room much too similar to rooms of functional family houses welcomes them. Anywhere else, Eren wouldn't be able to tell the place is essentially a whorehouse for the creature-like type of men. “How many times have you been—”

“— Pieck,” Zeke cuts him off, calling a girl’s name as she walks into the room, an edge of animal growl in his voice. She’s small, has black hair and a slim body, the smile of someone who’s gone through nights of dealing with this many times before. When she doesn’t waste time getting close enough that he can smell her, Eren understands why his brother might come all this length for girls like her. “Wasn't expecting to find you in the living room.”

“You came sooner this time.” She accepts him eagerly as he pulls her into a hug by the back of her neck and doesn't seem to care about his vulgar, suggestive tongue. “I'm helping run the place now.”

“Really, sweetheart? That’s impressive.” He buries his nose into her neck and it’s weird to witness his brother bowing to instinct, murmuring words of praise against her hair. “Anyway, I brought my little brother like I said I would.”

“Hi, handsome,” the omega says as Zeke spins her around, her voice affected and breathy. On his way here, he noticed how the simple smell of him called out the attention of taken and untaken omegas from the streets, some of them turning away from the alpha handling their bodies to fix their eyes upon him. Just like the way this omega’s eyes travel down the expanse of his body now, stopping first at his mouth and then his hands, to stop next at the crotch of his pants. “Never been here, have you?”

Revulsion roils in his stomach, mixed with the lightness he feels in his spine. Eren doesn't even want to be mistaken by the type of alpha who frequents places like this. Doesn't want to be anything similar to men who knew about the existence of these vile clubs, working to keep them secreted from the world, free of judgment for their vileness. “No.” 

His brother’s arms around her waist don’t keep her from beaming at him. “Don't worry. I know exactly what you need.”

“You don’t,” he spits out.

Zeke lets out an annoyed sound. “Don’t be fucking stupid, Eren. The best omegas in this park are in this house.”

“Trust me,” the omega coos. “You're not the first one scared of what you might find out about yourself here, but it’ll be worth it. I promise.”

“You don't even know me,” his reply is harsh, but she’s carefully detangling herself from Zeke, pulling on his hand, and guiding him downstairs into a long hallway. She wouldn't be able to do that if it wasn't a conscious choice of his body to allow, for reasons he can only explain as a need to prove how much she’s wrong about what he's capable of.

“You're right,” she says, something chemical slurred in her words. “Let's say maybe I'm fond of your brother, and just because of that I would enjoy having you as a regular as well.” 

They’re in what must be a separate unit in the basement if he was in the right frame of mind to guess. His head is dizzy at all the omega scent drizzling off the corners of the house. Her pheromones make it worse, how unused to it he is. “You say that to every man that shows up here?”

Her hands fly up to his chest, running them up and down his shirt. Then, she decides on other ways to convince him, if not by the use of words, leaning on her tiptoes to whisper close to his ear. “You're a hard man to convince, but I'm sure Mikasa will change your mind.”

He would have turned away, left the place. Convinced them to give his phone back and booked a private jet out of this sick park right away. He would. But he wouldn't have been able to run away from what changes inside him as he smells the sweet scent of omega arousal wafting from behind the closed door of one of the rooms. He pushes it open himself, or not himself, but the alpha in him having his blood overcome by lust, more powerful than any no-use, moral guilt. The temptation ravishing him didn't live in his conscience, but somewhere lower, his entrails, somewhere his abandoned, true self remained alive, begging to rip through flesh, shift into something else entirely. He's only completely sure about the significance when he sees himself crossing the door, finding a girl standing by the window, her lips parted, breathing hard.

“She’s in need, it’s only natural for an alpha to help her out,” Pieck says by the door frame behind him. “You’re not the only one desiring things here. How much would she hurt if nobody touched her? Does it make it better to think that our existence means we need someone just like you?”

He jerks his head around to look back at Pieck, baring his teeth as anger rises to the back of his neck. Anger about what she’s saying, anger that she has to remind him of these things when something bad in his body possesses control, pumping desire into his veins. His look means command to her, and she turns around to leave. When his gaze is drawn back to the girl, she’s hugging herself with her arms, her cheeks flushed the prettiest pink, strands of her long hair gluing the side of her pale neck and collarbone by sweat. “Hi,” she says.

Eren chooses not to close the door behind him. The girl looks like a mixture of innocence and desire on the verge of a dream. Wearing a loose blue dress that covers only part of her thighs from him, all creased and hanging off her right shoulder. He still manages to see the forms of her body through how sheer it is, sweat making it cling to the sweetest portions of her skin. His mouth waters as if he’s an unfed, savage beast, her scent like remediless intoxication, much more intense than the meek sample he got on the streets. “You're Mikasa.”

Bathed in the slow golden light that filters in through her window, he knows she’s dripping wet. And she has the most perfect rosy lips and high cheekbones. Black hair, bottomless silver eyes, and no ability to cover up the way she’s aching. The type of girl he had never seen in the real world, surely a combination of the wild fantasies he would have buried deeper than his bones, afraid of how violently uncontrollable he would become if he let himself touch one. 

“Yes,” she replies, stepping closer to him. “You’re an alpha,” she whispers, not because someone can hear them, but because it seems like all she can do after recognizing what she wants is in the palm of his hands. 

It was strange to have someone recognize this in him, especially in a voice so sweet and in a type of room designed for sex. His voice grows rough as he replies to both her and himself. “Yeah, I am.” 

It's a torturous, heady moment in which he realizes something about the nature in him wouldn't let him hold back. But maybe saying it's only nature would be conceding himself much credit. The alpha in him growls at the sight of such a lovely omega, mindless to anything but the necessity to be filled up. Yet, a familiar bit of the human has an immense sense of enjoyment to have a girl as beautiful as her moving so close after a simple look at him. 

A fresh wave of her pheromones overflows his head, and he can no longer ignore how hard he is. Her eyes seem drawn to it, watching him with parted lips, just enough for him to see when her tongue darts out to wet them, how there's no sign of embarrassment on her face.

When he takes a step back, she seems afraid he will walk out, but it’s a decision of a recently awakened instinct in his body to finally close the door instead of leaving her room. She’s nothing but a small thing, but she isn't scared. Moving further near him until her hands grab the collar of his shirt, looking up into his eyes from beneath her lashes. 

“Do you like me?”

Eren catches her wrists in his hands, forcing her off of him, disturbed that she would even think she has to ask such a question to a man, this unwelcome reminder that she’s a slave to the fever of heat. But her moist dress leaves exposed the perfect, round curves of her breasts, especially better at how her lips are parted and she watches him, shaking her head because she cannot accept his refusal when she’s in this state of violent need. 

“I’m hurting, please. You can make it stop,” she pleads— ripe to make the darkest desires of his body come true, but she believes she has to keep begging for his cock. Women from the real world do not do that, they’re taught not to debase themselves into instinct if so to feel cared for by the hands of a man. But it’s just something about the undeniable, sweet scent of her slick that reminds him that she’s like not one of them. 

Despite his abominable nature, his worst sin is that once he touches his hand to the sweaty curve of her neck, he wants her to swear unending devotion to his dick. Seeing how naturally it would come to her, just like the ancestral command in their bodies that requires him to fuck her so they can be whole together – made worse as she presses her body against him once again and uses her mellow voice.

 “I really need you.”

Mikasa’s eyes are welling up with tears and her silken hair is draped over one side of her shoulder, revealing the scent glands located just beneath the surface of her flushed skin, the only thing forbidden to him. “I don't understand. Pieck said no alpha would ever refuse this.”

He grazes his fingers along the column of her neck, and as he squeezes the sides of her throat, she moans. The soft, heady sound lets him know how everything he does will end up pleasing her, soothing the ache for an alpha. Eren hisses through his teeth, hand moving upward to hold her jaw between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her gaze to meet his own. “How many alphas have you said this to?”

“You're the first one, I’m having my first heat,” she’s quick to let him know and that’s her mistake, the way she pours it out, biting down on her lip as the smell of her slick bends him into gut-deep baser urges. Or maybe it can be her saving word, the last straw for her to get what she wants. Eren didn’t even think there was any answer that could drip off her plump lips that wouldn’t lure him to her, anything that could lessen the magnitude of how perfect for him she is. “That's why it hurts so bad.”

“Don't fucking say that.” Eren thinks of warning her about the danger of being in a cage and tempting a hungry animal unless she wants to end up fouled by something irrevocable, hideous and devilish. “You don't know what you're talking about.” 

Yet, she moves further into him, pressing wet-mouthed kisses to the side of his neck. Wet and slow, so sure of what she wants, that she needs it to be him. Eren’s not a good enough man to keep himself from cupping the heavy mounds of her breasts into his hands, letting his little omega place her hand on top of his, guiding him to touch her underneath the pale blue fabric of her dress. He meets bare skin, unbelievably soft, her nipples bristling as he circles them with his thumb. 

“I just want you to touch me a little so this can go away,” she says with a tease of liquid heat in her voice. Her eyes drop to where he’s tenting his pants. She sucks in her lips, her back arching deliberately into more of whatever kind of touch pleases him. “I-I want you to like me 'cause I really like you.” 

“I do. You're so pretty. Fuck—” Eren pulls her dress down to expose her full breasts to him. “With tits like these, it’s for the better that you're locked up in here.” He doesn’t control what’s on his tongue, her creamy skin makes his cock throb in desire to mark himself deep inside her, mouth watering for a taste. 

Her eyes flash with raw need, an omega knowing exactly the kind of thoughts are going through her alpha’s head. Eren’s half afraid she’ll drop to her knees, but her eyes flick to back to him, waiting for the word, his command. Desperate to please the strong alpha who’s going insane to tear her apart and give her what she needs in equal measure, hands seizing her by the root of her hair as he leaves all-tongue kisses beneath her ear. 

“Were you expecting someone before me?”

“I don't know. I just need—” 

Her eyelashes are wet as they fan over her cheeks, so overcome by desire that each syrupy sound she lets out is accompanied by begging . T oo drunk in heat not to let the primal need for pleasure guide the way she drags the wet heat of her cunt up and down his thigh. “Please?” 

“Mikasa,” he groans, as her sweaty hand slips underneath his shirt, running her nails across his abdomen, wearing nothing but lust in the delirious haze of her eyes. In a slip of his incoherent brain, he moves his body against hers until his thigh is pressing between her legs, spreading her open into the closest wall. He avoids her bed, what falling into it would lead him to. 

But his desperate omega doesn’t seem to mind soaking his clothes with her slick, not stopping him when his mouth trails down her neck, using his teeth to map out her throat and burying his nose into the junction of her neck and shoulder. She moans words he tries not to let himself take in as she rubs herself against him. Instead, he sucks her nipples into his mouth because she’s so pretty, so evidently fertile.

“Why do you deny who you are? There's no shame in it,” her words are heat-damp and breathy as she threads her hands through his hair, using love to pull him to feast on her breasts.

“My name is Eren,” he says, trying to use gentle hands to cup her cheeks, as his mouth goes up to her neck. “But you don't have to know that, do you?”

She shakes her head.Things like that don’t matter if they’re animals. He takes her jaw between his fingers and kisses her. She moans into his mouth when he moves his tongue inside, throwing her head back as if her pretty head will never be capable of wanting anything else. Eren draws his hands down to cup her wet heat through the thin material of her creased dress, indented with the outline of her folds. He kneads the ache in circles, the palm of his hand far too big for her small body. 

“Strip,” he says, the word sounding breathy into her mouth. Better yet, his light-headed mess of an omega girl loves to be ordered around as he drinks up the cute way she struggles to pull her arms free of the straps. When she lets the material fall onto the floor at her feet, Eren runs his hand through his sweaty hair, contemplating the sight: the pretty dip of her waist, her pale stomach begging to be round, her swollen, dew cunt and the tiny slit she makes a case of spreading apart to show him, the reddened flesh around her clit rubbed raw in a failed attempt to calm her heat herself.

He lets Mikasa pull him to her bed with her, sitting by the edge and waiting for him to decide what to do with her and her ways of showing what she wants. As he stands in front of her, she traces a line over his belt with her fingers, nuzzling into his palm as she looks up at him with something so close to devotion in her eyes.

“Have you tried to use your fingers already, sweetheart?” Eren only realizes how low he’s gone when he hears his own words, feels the weight of them catching beneath the layer of sweat over his skin.

“Yes,” she says, nodding rapidly, fingers curling around the hem of his shirt, hiding her face in his thigh. “I-I have, but it doesn’t work very well. I still feel so empty.” 

“Of course you do. Do you think this perfect pussy you have is ready to take my knot?” He grazes his fingers up her thighs and slides one of them along the seam of her. “Show me how you were touching yourself before.”

Looking up at him, all the doubts she might have just fade away, replaced by wet obedience. She has a cute pout on her lips, saying things she has no clue will affect the chemistry of his body in incorrigible ways. “I like to rub myself on my pillows.”

Eren almost growls. No way she’s this much of a needy girl, so neglected she would rub her perfect cunt over anything for relief. “Show me.”

Sweat runs down her spine like droplets of the sweetest honey as she works herself on top of her fluffy pillows. She builds a mount of them, humping the soft silk and letting out the most desperate sounds. He sits by the edge of her bed, watching closely, unable to afford the thought of losing even the smallest movements of her plump hips in little circles. 

She only takes her eyes off of him when they’re rolling to the back of her head as ecstasy overtakes her in waves.

No matter how good she may feel, she cries out for him, broken whimpers to let him know how empty she is. He caresses her chin with a thumb, soothing but cruel, fixing her eyes back on him as orgasm breaks over her. He thinks she should take it as the cue, how irresistible and defenseless she is while rubbing herself to completion for an alpha to see. Her cunt all swollen and sticky, the smell so overwhelming that his teeth ache. 

His hand moves down to stroke his erection over his pants, restraining himself not to climb up on her bed with her. But this omega is perfect, and maybe that’s exactly what sends her over the edge, his hungering eyes on her. That and the way he praises her, the coarse sound of his voice mingling with her little mewls, telling her that her cunt is so pretty clenching around nothing, that she has the type of cunt men kill for, that she's not going to ache for long because he has to fuck her, teaching her the dangers of just showing how good she can be. How she cannot hide she loves to exhibit herself to him, to show how pretty, how desperate she is. She comes repeating a combination of his name and alpha.

“Such an insatiable little thing,” he rasps, helping her ride out her high as he kneads the meat of her ass. She’s spread out for him to play with, her face smushed into the sheets. “Seems like you don’t need me after all,” he teases but she catches his wrist, pulling him to her, pleading no, no, no. 

“I need you. I need you so much, Eren,” she cries out, grazing her lips over his palm. “It’s just different when you’re looking at me like this.”

“I could snap at any moment, but you know that,” he says, tracing the luscious contour of her lips with his thumb. “You like it when I see how good you are?” 

Mikasa looks away when she nods. And at first, Eren touches her slowly, not wanting her to break. He can barely believe her skin is real skin, not that of a made-up doll devoid of a mind or desire of their own, designed inch by inch so men could use them as escape, a taste of the heaven they would never find. Glancing at her eyes, he searches for more of her undemanding devotion, catching her hand in his and bringing it to his cock. 

“Is that what you need, baby?”

She nods with vehemence. “More than anything.” 

Only two weeks separate him from a marriage to a girl who, no matter how rich, will ever have it in her blood to beg for him to fill her up, knot and seed. It’s then that he curses all the things that have made him so withdrawn, not coming to her sooner, not knowing better than to look out for her existence. Maybe if there was some teenage fire left in him, he would’ve already figured out by now a way to get Mikasa out of this place, take her out into the world so he wouldn’t have to feel bad about fucking her, would even be allowed to mark the delicate skin of her neck. 

But there’s no shame as his cock twitches in her hand as he teaches her how to stroke him up and down. “Do you know what this means?”

“T-that you wanna be inside me,” her words are sweet, the kind of sweet that confirms she knows he’s the predator here.

“And you’re such a good little omega that you would let me do anything.” Back where he comes from, they have names for girls like that, girls that would let men do anything. But here, she's a sacred thing, a holiness he went his whole life without. "Gonna be so deep inside you, baby. Show you what this perfect body was made for.” Eren’s overcome by fever, the edge of his rut starting to sprawl into his gut. “Fuck, I bet you let me fuck you here too,” he whispers, a thumb drawing circles over the tight hole of her ass. 

“I would,” she moans, arching herself into him. Eren crawls closer to her on her bed, pulling on her hair to tip her head to the side. He presses a kiss over her lips and leaning down to trace the flat of his tongue across the pale skin above her mating gland. Then he brushes his lips down the line of her spine. 

By the point he starts kissing her between her ass cheeks, she’s all mess. He flips her over onto her back to kiss her cunt. Her protests come out in broken sounds, lost to the rolls of her hips against his face when he places an open-mouthed kiss over her dripping folds. She’s all soft and has the sweetest taste, candy-like and addicting. 

“Eren, no. I need you to feel pleasure—”

“Did I say you could choose, omega? If you really wanna be good for me you should know that this is how you can please me, with your cunt,” he rasps, spreading her out with two of his fingers and running his tongue over her entrance. “Can’t believe I get to break you in.”

The way he laps from her is similar to what he knows about animals, overcome by the need to take something from her that can bring reason to him. He fucks her with his tongue and when orgasm is about to take over her she ends up promising things he pretends not to hear, like that she wants him in so many ways, all of them ending with his seed inside her, that he can even put a baby in her if that’s what he wants, that she won’t mind. Instead, he keeps fucking her with his tongue, adding a finger and then two, her wetness tasting more like drug as she comes over and over again. 

When he leans back on his knees, he still can taste the debauchery of her position on his tongue— her pale, sweaty neck calling out to him, her saliva-coated breasts, his fingers inside her cunt— and the way being fucked out looks on her face.

Eren steals her lips in another kiss. “How old are you?”

“Eighteen,” she says with so much innocence like she isn't capable of seeing any problem in the world. He moves away from her to get off her bed, his breath coming hard. “Why are you looking at me like that, Eren?”

He wants to tell her it’s not right, but he catches a glimpse of something worse, his perfect omega all teary-eyed, crawling over to him when he doesn’t respond. Whatever his decency consists of, it doesn’t stop him from letting her reach out, pulling his shirt down his arms, undoing his belt and working his zipper down, kneeling in front of him by the edge of her mattress. Since he presented, most girls he’s taken to bed couldn’t take his full length. Now, as he watches Mikasa with his size in hand, he knows every little inch of her body was crafted just for it. And the reality of it thunders through her addled brain, almost as if even in her delirium she could discern him, her hands soothing and warm as they climb up his thighs.

“Eren, whatever is bothering you, I want to make you feel better,” she says, massaging his balls. His hands lace in her hair before a thought gets to his brain and she’s really fucking good, using her lips to smear precum over his tip. “I don't want you to be feeling bad, whatever it is. I want you to feel good. You’re so handsome, so big.”

She laps up his cock like she has gone to fucking school for that, but he knows it’s something else, living deep inside her when she looks up into his eyes for proof she’s good at pleasing her alpha, at making his most prohibited dreams come true with her soft lips wrapped around him. Doing what instinct in her body guides her to, a wet kiss first, none of those practiced moves. And she knows she doesn't have to reign in the pleasure she gets by being on her knees for him, already moaning deliberately, a pool of slick soaking up her sheets underneath where her cunt is.

She sucks the head first, but his blood’s attuned to her, doesn't miss how her eyes glimmer at the challenge of taking all the size of him in her hot mouth, almost as if she could sense that in his head, he’s thinking of how pretty she would look choking on him. His little omega offers him a sweet smile, and then his cock is hitting the back of her throat, no limit to what her body can morph into when it comes to giving pleasure to her alpha. “Good job, baby,” he shouldn’t say it, but with her tongue wet around his dick, he’s all devil. “Fuck.”

Some type of guilt weighs down at the back of his spine, but he knows he has no chance to fight what overtakes him by feeding his cock in and out of her mouth. She’s so perfect for him that she likes it best when he fucks her throat and when he doesn't control himself. Mouth stuffed with him, eyes shining with the joy of turning him into a monster. He spills his cum down her throat with a growl, exactly what she’s been asking for. 

However, he holds in what he wants to tell her. It’s not right to tell such a young omega how much he needs to be inside her when she has no other choice, her body choosing for her when she’s in this nest of nefarious monsters and delirious desire. Tell her that her mouth feels so good, that she should get used to tasting his cum, to having it in her body, that after that he would like to try all the ways he could brand her up.

“Eren,” she gasps out when he pulls out of her mouth and tucks himself back into his pants. Fresh tears start welling up in her eyes. A smear of cum dribbles down her chin. He knows he’s beyond defense. “Please, don’t leave me,” she says behind him as his fingers close around the doorknob. 

The ruts he’s had before were timely occurrences, seasonal switches his body underwent given his nature. Back in the real world, he’d always had options to call, so it wasn’t necessary to make a habit of spending them alone and dealing with himself. Yet, none of them felt as good as they should, having to learn how to hold most of himself in no matter how bad at it he was. Violent need to breed tended to be too much for the simple body of moon-eyed girls who only said they were good at handling one of his kind until it came to the real thing.

Different from now, from the way Mikasa fed the sickness lying dormant underneath his skin with her sweet scent. It’s fruitless as it is laughable to be spending it alone at a fucking park designed to allow all kinds of profane dreams that would never come true otherwise. Even here, Eren has options other than just her, sure of other doors to omegas’ rooms he’d find open. And was it enough? Was it as good of an excuse? One that could one day qualify him as guiltless, able to justify himself and say it was simply his rut, animalistic and uncontrollable, leaving him no choice but to do the undoable?

He fucks his hand thinking of her, what it meant for such a delicate girl that was born an omega to go into heat. It disturbs him how close he already is, thinking of how she didn’t have to be told to wrap her lips around his cock, her sole focus on whatever he wanted, the shade of pink of her tongue and how warm her mouth is, how wet. The creamy skin of her bare shoulder and how it curves into her neck. He thinks of her breasts, her eagerness for him to see all of her, her small, rosy nipples, needing the attention of his mouth and teeth, almost as if she knew nothing could compare to her. The way she kept rubbing her cunt against her pillows, so innocent in pursuit of pleasure, not knowing other ways she could find it yet, the tremble of her thighs betraying how sensitive she was, how desperate she was to be bred. How she would need to hold tight to his back, the sinful pain of her nails clawing into his flesh as he slipped inside her, how she probably wouldn’t even ask for time to adjust even though he knew he would give it to her. She would keep asking for him to fuck her, again and again.

Cleaning cum off of his stomach, Eren wonders why the owners aren’t concerned about out-of-control alphas claiming the prized omegas served to them. In his experience, he’s learned better than to trust people promising things too good to be true. But soon he realizes that the type of men frequenting these places are here for the moment, the pleasure, the knowledge they can do anything and then go back to live their normal, family lives and attend their honorable jobs, remaining unbothered, unpunished. For the weak ones who lose sight of who they’re here, he’s sure that there’s e an unfathomable price. Or maybe it was the derangement that came with smelling omega slick for the first time, enough to make the susceptible ones lose their lives. 

Zeke has gotten him the good sort of credential and he doesn't find judgment when he displays it to the security at the door to her. Guards do their jobs as if they weren’t handing precious things to damaged men, as if what’s performed here can be forgiven, something about the dirtiness of any act not meaning a real crime. 

When he steps inside the living room everything is blur, is fever. He wouldn’t have noticed Pieck and his brother if it wasn’t for the moans she lets out. They seem to be waiting for her shift to end or something, but wasting no time as his hands go up her thighs beneath her flowery dress. The only acknowledgment he’s able to register is the small smile on her lips, aware that there’s no need to show him the way this time. 

He goes downstairs but he doesn't knock. He drops his forehead onto her door to allow himself a whiff of her scent at first, urging the monster to start with small doses before having it unleashed. As he enters her heat room, Eren finds her lying like the letter c, his wet little thing, nesting in her pillows and the shirt he’s left behind. He’s hard, leaking, and, not all consciously, his hand moves to unzip his pants.

Rut-drunk, he bends over her bed to splay his hand over the small of her back. “Mikasa.” 

She rolls into his touch before blinking her eyes open, her forehead glinting with sweat. “Eren?”

Her gaze widens slowly as his looming image in front of her starts to gain form. Blinking several times as if trying to ponder if Eren’s only a dream, because maybe in her omega dreams, she chooses him to do what her omega body craves. She’s not soiled by the real world, doesn’t veil her adoration as her gaze trails down his chest, down his disheveled shirt.

“You came back? I thought you were disgusted by me,” she says, sitting up. 

The room’s not big, but everything in it seems to have been designed to house lechery. Wooden furniture and creamy walls and warm lights, a fancyish bathtub at the far corner in plain vision from the bed sitting in the middle of the room. No distractions, just the omega he has to desecrate, her pale skin illuminated by the dim light of her bedside table, the ridges around her nipples exposed through the dainty silk of her nightgown.

“Disgusted?” he asks, testing the joke on his tongue and how absurd it sounds, drawing his thumb over her sweaty shoulder blades. More than just the fact that she’s made for this, he’s half-sure he’s only been brought up to have a taste of what a sweet cunt like hers could do to a man. And running his tongue along his teeth, Eren feels sharpness. 

“Do you know what I’d have done if somebody else was here with you, Mikasa?” He slips the straps of her nightgown down her arms and her skin burns up under his touch. “Don't want anyone else to find what I have found. Not yet, at least.”

He traces his tongue down her throat, sucks a wet bruise onto the soft swells of her breasts. All he knows is that next, her body is beneath him, buried into the mattress, his teeth anywhere but at her gland. Even through the haze of his rut, he hears the warning ringing in his ear, reminding him that he can’t t etch his name around her neck or leave marks of teeth on the skin of a girl who would forget him in the fog of her next heat. 

But desire makes her an obscene thing, mumbling something under her breath, calling him her alpha while her hand slips to palm his cock. “I-I don't want anyone else.” 

It’s not completely right what she says, because while he’s here, lots of other men wait to be shown the way to her heat room. He’s merely the first. Still, he takes her lips in a kiss, hungry and almost bruising, because if he doesn't fuck her, somebody else— somebody worse will. Men who will want to hurt her, with liquor in their breaths and greedy hands, not careful enough to know if she’ll break. 

“Ever since you left it's been worse,” she confesses into his mouth, throwing her arms around his neck. “I kept thinking about what you did to me, what I wanna let you do.”

“Give me your cunt, then,” he commands, kissing a path down her body. Acceptance douses him as a half-choked moan drips off her lips. Acceptance that he cannot take back what he did, what he's doing. Not when she hikes her dress up for him, so ready and unafraid, until he’s spreading her legs apart, met with her glistening dark curls. 

“God, omega, you’ll be so good to fuck.”

“Wanna be the best for you,” she says, as he licks from her. “But please don’t just tease, Eren.” She’s such a desperate little thing, tastes like candy and thinks she can get her way without letting him have his fill. Her fingers are tangled in his hair and she doesn’t have to be told to say she was made to take his knot, that it feels so good, the way he touches her, thatit’s his cum that she wants, his pleasure, the pleasure he’ll have putting his cock inside her. He fucks her with his tongue, but he knows what waits for him, that he cannot say no to what he’s been unconsciously dreaming about for all his life. 

Her hands follow him when he sits back on his knees, working fast to unbuckle his belt for him. The sound of metal clicking sends a shiver through her body underneath him. But suddenly, she’s stricken by a dark truth, filled with clarity as she tangles her fingers at the waistband of his pants and his underwear, taking care of him because his mind can only register the desire to take her apart, claim and breed her. 

“Are you sure you’ve never been with anyone, baby?” he teases with a chuckle. Two of his fingers slide along the slit of her cunt and he coats his cock with her slick. She watches it entranced, in innocent awe at the mechanics of what she pleads for, hands always reaching for a touch, to help him out, this need inbred in her, always thinking of pleasing him, even when he’s about to take her virginity from her. 

“You’re so desperate to be fucked.”

“I haven’t, Eren. I swear,” she says, shaking her head as she uses a thumb to play with the head of his cock. He can smell it on her, her innocence mixed up with need, waiting for him to fuck her so full of him that no other alpha would bear his scent stained into her sweet flesh. “It’s just that I want you so much.”

After a life of being denied everything, he cannot deny himself the nectar of her lips one more time as he tests how her entrance feels against the weight of his cock, her tongue darting out to sweep along his lower lip. 

“I can see that.” 

He pulls away to watch precum dripping over her entrance, the way she trembles as the tip drags over her clit. When he slides inside her, she lets out the first moan that changes him as a man, hands trying to reach for him, touch the alpha that is saving her from the pain of unbearable heat. But he pins her hands above her head, pressing a blind kiss to the corner of her mouth. 

“You’ll behave now, omega. Need you to be a good girl if you want my knot,” he rasps, realizing he’s lost coherence when his own sounds make their way to his ears, grunting as if he was anything but a man. “Fuck. You have the best cunt in the world, Mikasa. I knew you would be so good, you’re so small, so needy.”

He’s never been with anyone so tight. There are a lot of things he wants to do to her, dirty things he’s sure she’ll allow, fuck her from behind because it seems like an order of what they are, but it’s hard to want it now, seeing how pretty her face is while she welcomes his cock inside her. 

“Alpha, oh god,” she gasps out. It’s hard for her to catch her breath when she’s being speared by cock for the first time, as he carves his own space for him where nothing else has ever been. He tries to go inch by inch, but loses control the first time she clenches around him. Wanting to show him she was made for this, to ruin men, to fuck their minds up. So small as the stretch of his shoulders casts a shadow over her body but making sure to tell him she doesn’t need time to adjust as her nails dig into his back.

“You’re perfect, do you know that?” he grunts into her mouth because she’s so wet, when he breaks the resistance of her body, ecstasy washes over her. He’s still for a moment, cradling her face into his palm, soothing, praising her as she comes. Her eyes are closed shut, and she’s mumbling how good it feels to finally have him buried to the hilt into her cunt, hips slowly starting to grind against him, completely lost to orgasm. 

He groans at the sight of her folds, open and needy, freshly deflowered. The obscene scene that it is, his size compared to her little cunt, her necessity for him not to stop, having a big man and too delirious in heat to at least take caution of what it means. Eren sinks his teeth into her shoulder, suppressing an animal groan and fucking her deep, because that’s what he’s been denied all along. 

Over the years, he seemed to have lost interest in this type of sex. Nobody understood that it wasn’t cruelty of him, the ruthless shape of his lust. But Mikasa’s all tongue and desire when she searches for his lips to kiss as he presses her legs to her stomach, desperate for more and to prove to him her body was programmed to allow things nobody else would allow. 

He draws his hips back to thrust into her again, testing a brutal pace that has her moaning the most syrup-sweet sounds he’s ever heard every time he hits her cervix. It’s like he’s suffocating in need for her, for this, to never stop, only able to feel the fever and her, her damming warm and soft walls, only conscious of her smell, how the bed beneath them is now a pool of slick.

 He catches her pretty face in his hands when her tears are leaking out, although he’s only able to watch her beauty as she’s fucked so hard. And there’s something wild in this, utterly animalistic. How words are unnecessary for him to understand all of her lifelong desires. She only ever needs this, his cock buried inside her, the all-consuming way he can take care of her. She's a shaking dripping mess, turning him into abeast ripping into the tight body of his prey. If held to a mirror, he wouldn’t recognize himself. 

“That’s what you deserve for being so perfect,” he grunts, on the cliffside of something wider than what he knows. “Fuck. Gonna fucking give you what need, omega.” He feels his cock begin to swell, pressing against the walls of her cunt. The building stretch is blunt, bizarre even, her tiny entrance abused open as he expands. 

But she’s so blinded by the intensity of the serial ecstasy he coaxes out of her that another shiver rips through her beneath him, and she cries out saying yes as the ecstasy of breeding her breaks over him. He knots her, letting out a string of curses, locking his seed into her, like he was molded to only stay inside her cunt. For a while, neither of them can move. It's an uncertain span of time, like a manic touch of heaven for someone who’s only known hell. 

Her body, sweaty and over-touched, sticks to the sheets when he falls back into the mattress. Eren kisses her to restrain himself, slower now, one arm slung across Mikasa’s waist. When he pulls away, he watches her as if she is learning how to breathe again. He cannot stand the silence, how it makes him realize what he’s done. 

But then she confesses, unprompted and sweet. “I always knew a day would come when I would have to… when I would want someone to do this to me, but—” she pauses, smiling softly. “When I saw you at the door, I just couldn’t believe how handsome you were.”

It’s strange to be with someone so sincere like this, with no games attached, only the animal lust to be satisfied by someone who can take care of all of her needs. He tries not to access a part of his brain, the one that reminds him that the only reason he’s with her now is because they're in this park. That all she has is a life of giving herself to men like him, saying these sweet words, letting them taste her devotion. And all he has is a life of pretending, a wife who cannot understand or serve his nature so well.

“Do you like living here?” he says it so low he might not even say it at all, maybe because he wants to hear her voice, some assurance that he’s not beyond salvation.

“I mean, it’s not bad, I’m safe here. But…” she trails off. “I guess my life will be different from now on...”

“Have you always lived here?”

She nods her head. “My mom got pregnant by an alpha,” she tells him, looking vaguely at the sheets instead of his eyes. “He wasn’t supposed to bite her but he did, and he disappeared after that. Mama got so sad that a few years later she died.”

“I’m sorry, Mikasa,” he says, wanting to tell her he knows how it feels, but he runs his thumb in circles over her hips instead, shifting on the bed so he holds her to his chest. “Things like that shouldn’t happen to someone like you.”

“It’s okay now.” She shakes her head, laying it over his chest, just above where his heart beats. “I don’t even remember her face anymore, but I remember her saying that my father wouldn’t just disappear like that.” She looks up at him, suddenly alarmed, swallowing before changing the subject. “How about you? I bet you’re someone important out there.”

He twists a lock of her hair in his fingers, traces the contour of her bruised lips with his eyes. “Not really.”

“C’mon? You gotta be important to someone at least.”

“No,” he replies. “Not really.”

She considers his answer for a moment. It’s not that he wants to hide the truth from her, but he can see hope blossoming in her eyes. And it wasn't a lie, honestly. He’ll never have someone looking at him like this, clinging to every word he says like they’re actually precious to her. “Can we do it again tomorrow or do you have to leave?” Her words are whispered with a tinge of shyness and something that, if it weren’t for the hopelessness of what they're doing, he would judge as feverish love. 

Love was another lie to sell, but not for an omega like her, who would be satisfied with what he truly has to give her, accepting him as her alpha, her love. He could swear love to this girl in a way he knew he’d never be able to swear to anything else.

“I won’t be leaving for another two weeks, sweetheart.” He lays a kiss on her forehead. “But don’t worry, you won’t have to wait until tomorrow for me to be inside you again.” 

She smiles, and he cannot see her smiling anymore without wanting to kiss her as the smell of need fills the air they breathe. So he kisses her, hungry now, all teeth by the end. He breaks away from her gasping, a desperate hand tangled in her hair. 

“Will you let another alpha touch you like this?” 

She traces his bottom lip with her thumb, her own lips caught between her teeth. Even despite what he can see he means to her, there’s something about who she is none of them can change. “Eren, I—”

As an act of mercy, of love, he says. “You can fucking lie, Mikasa.”

“Wish it could be only with you, Eren,” she murmurs, intertwining their fingers. “I’m not lying.” Her devotion is a trick of her heat, he reminds himself, an illusion. Mikasa mumbles something against his chest he doesn't hear. He’s still hard, he’s still in rut. Then, she guides his hand to her cunt. “Alpha, I still need you here.”

Once he starts, it doesn’t take long for him to understand how the abyss works, something about how easily he crowds her and how desperate she is for the power of an alpha. The key to her heat room dangles off his necklace as sweat runs down his chest, air coming in and out of his body in harsh breaths. In a way, it almost feels like all of those sick desires that had crept over him don’t make him a sick man like he’d been previously told. His omega’s on her knees, creamy breasts pressed to the mattress as fresh cum dribbles from both her tiny, sweet holes, thighs still quivering from the way he just fucked her. 

“Alpha, I need you.” Mikasa reaches between her legs to slick cum over her clit, toying with herself to bewitch him into never stopping. 

“Fuck, look what you do to me,” he enters her again with a groan, chasing away any soreness with wet, open-mouthed kisses on the back of her neck and catching her hand to guide her fingers to her mouth. Occasionally, he’s granted a glimpse of coherence, often happening when his omega is beneath the shadow of his body, perfect but defenseless, reminding him he should be careful. But she’s tight, warm and soft, the only one who knows and adores the true him, how beyond any possible salvation he is. 

One of his hands kneads at her stomach as she sucks her fingers clean, obedient, coating them with fresh beads of her saliva. “Love my cum this much, little omega? Can you imagine how much of it you have inside of you now?”

He doesn’t know how many days have gone by since he’s been in rut. He lost his way when he was overcome by the urgency for a high he could only find in her omega body. If she notices the way she’s turning him into something monstrous, her only reaction to it is devotion. And it’s hard to hold it back when he finds approval for his worst behavior from the only person for whom he’s ever felt something. 

He ends up making the type of promise by her ear that has her weeping, a surge of orgasmic high breaking over her as he holds her into the bed, as he fucks her dumb on his cock. And Mikasa is so beautiful naked and submissive, such a generous cunt in such a sweet girl. Even more beautiful as the base of him gets thicker, stretching her swollen folds apart just for him, always ready to be knotted full, for him to spill his seed inside her.

“Alpha, you’re so big,” she cries out, locked in place as his teeth sink into her shoulder, sweat making her body stick to his body as his cock pumps more cum inside her, taking care of her the way she needs him to, fulfilling her purpose in the world.

After that, exhaustion overrides any untamed instinct. Even so, his arms drift to cage her body to him, letting her intoxicating smell lull all of his whetted senses into sleep. He wakes up a couple of hours later, finding she has shifted her position in her sleep. Her back’s pressed to his chest now, her hips absentmindedly rolling against him in small movements of desire, desperate to still have her alpha’s cock deep inside her, even when her body’s weary.

Eren shifts his hips slowly and a soft moan falls from her lips. He does it again. This time savoring the feel of sliding inside, feeding his cock into her cunt, how she swallows him to the base. The lewd wet sounds, her walls getting tighter as he moves his hand to her breasts, all of her given like an offering to him. 

"Like that, omega?" he whispers, in awe, into the curve of her neck. "Can’t fucking go without my cock even when you're sleeping, baby?"

He presses his lips to her spine. It makes no sense to live by the rules of a society that cannot understand what they need. Rules aren’t necessary between Mikasa and him when both of them know the role he’s meant to fulfill inside her body, sent into rut so he can take care of her the right way. Kissing a path down the length of her neck, he sucks a bruise into the flushed skin. She moans once more and he fucks her slowly. 

Her ‘yes’ is a sleepy sound, calling out for her alpha as his cock slips in and out of her cunt. The taste of her skin is ever more maddening over where her mating gland sat. With a low, rumbling growl, he pulls his mouth away from temptation, kissing higher on her neck. He knows what can happen to people who cave to their baser desires.

Eren cannot afford to close his eyes now and miss the way her blind trust looks on her relaxed body, all the perfect curves glinting with sweat, the purple and pink and reddish marks of him. He cups the heavy weight of her breasts into his hands, longing for the feeling of them full, leaking with milk to feed their babies, longing to just wrap his lips around her soft, pink nipples and suck and she would let him. He needs to make sure it takes. She has perfect tits and a perfect, fertile body, so he’s long stopped caring what it made of him, to never stop fucking her in this man-made sanctuary that brought her to his life. 

With a hand on her stomach, just above her womb, he can feel himself when he fucks inside her. She’s coming around him already, body pliant and surrendered in his hands, because he knows best, knows what she needs. He’s her alpha, the one who would always know how to give what she doesn't know how to ask for when her brain is all mudge and need to be fucked. He soothes her after orgasm with a kiss by the base of her neck and spills his seed inside her, breeding her full as she falls back asleep, completely now. Sated and happy.

Historia’s dressed in white in a golden-embellished little chapel tucked away in one of her father's rural properties. When Eren takes her hand he thinks that all of it would be sweet if up until two nights ago, he hadn’t spent all the nights for two entire weeks buried in someone else’s body, stained with sin to his bones. 

Maybe someone else in his place would’ve appreciated taking her hand, promising a love that, in his case, has never been born. For him, real love, or the closest thing to the inebriation brought by it, exists far away from this place. 

Sometimes he wonders if he would’ve fallen in love with her if they could’ve been just Eren and Historia only once at least, just until he’s reminded he’s different in his body, has been since they met. And as much as she likes to insist she’s different too, she’s not the same. Reiss’ empire is a religious one, owning multiple chains of churches scattered around different countries. But her father was pleased to send his praised daughter off to the care of an alpha when he realized what it meant, money warping even the things that were supposed to be sacred. Even here, Eren thinks now, his nature’s another part of the deal. Every day of his life is a constant exercise of denying the truth of his blood, like a tame beast in the display. 

Professing his vows is done fast, only a sentence or two of loose words, dying in the air before they reach Historia’s uninterested ears. As Historia professes her own vows, he thinks the same he’s been thinking for the last forty-eight hours— Mikasa in that park, whether he will ever be able to see her again, and what might happen while he’s away. 

Temptation haunts his brain, reminding he has no guarantees. Mikasa’s next heat wouldn’t happen for at least a few months, the period of time in which her brain swirls in need to be bred. He’d like to be there when it hits again, unable to afford the thought of her experiencing such need if it’s another person touching her skin. He’s been living in constant delusion, it’s all he can do to be sane. While he sells lies, she’s there, begging for another alpha, men lining up to get a taste of her.

The chapel smells of late spring, of flowers and forest. But all the decoration flowers are beige— it brings out the blue in Historia’s eyes. He notices that because her friend, Ymir, compliments it at the table afterward, sitting on the opposite side of her. And maybe in another life, if his brother hadn’t shown him to that goddamn park, he would have been willing to deem the type of matrimonial love Historia has to give him enough. The same love he can see being twisted into resentment and anger every time he’s not all there.

Eren smokes a cigarette, watching a group of people laughing at a phone screen by the pool across the yard. Historia’s the one holding the phone up, showing something supposedly funny to her friends that she hasn't shown to him. They’re at his country house having some friends over for a barbecue, and Eren’s just taken a break from grilling to smoke. Most of the friends are hers. Armin and Annie had shown up for him, but they had to leave early.

He’s only vaguely able to make out what’s being talked about when he hears his name as part of their conversation. “You might want to invite Eren next time, Hisu. I’m sure he’d like the entertainment there,” one of her friends says, but Historia doesn't look in his direction, shaking her head in a dismissive way. 

He exhales the smoke and takes another drag. His phone buzzes inside his pocket.It’s a text from Reiss, asking how come he won't be showing up at the fucking office on Monday morning, saying that Hizuru won’t close the fucking deal if he’s not there, so he puts his phone back into his pocket. At the reminder, a thrill rolls down his spine. Tomorrow he won’t go to work, he won't even be coming home for dinner and he doesn’t plan on making it back so soon.

For the sake of the perfect balance of things, he’s started to see that maybe those parks are needed. It doesn’t mean he likes that his Mikasa’s there, because rotting in the city again makes it hard not to wonder what she would be doing if she could have a life out of that place. If he could take her out of there, steal her away and change her life, the money in his bank account would finally start making sense for how much he would be spending on her. It’s mainly selfish still, but no other genuine desires had sprouted in his heart in quite some time. He’d like to see her every day and through all of her heats, share the same bed all night, and be fucking there every time she needed him to take care of her. But as it is, all he can do is use his money on that forsaken park. 

The administration allowed him to carry a scrap of one of Mikasa’s dresses with him the day he left. He brings the shred of fabric to his nose. It's all vanilla and jasmine combined with sweat and her omega slick. Something not to forget who he really is. Then, it’s fucking hard not to picture her, Mikasa throwing her back against his shoulder, telling him all about the way he fucks her in her dreams. Anticipation builds in his stomach. He snatches his phone back and opens his messages with Zeke. All set for tomorrow, right? he sends.

Zeke’s reply comes right away. Yeah. Wouldn't want to disappoint you, would I?

It’s about time for her to have her heat again and all he has are lust-fogged plans. It shouldn't turn him on so fucking much now that he’s with a leveled head, how she does believe she must serve him as nothing more than a lowly omega. He takes another look in Historia’s direction, her sunlight-shaded hair bounces behind her back as she throws her head to laugh, and he tries to search for the ghost of a feeling. Not for her, of course, because he’s long accepted that there isn't any, but proof that the once-human part of him is alive. Proof that seeing another woman whose body he’s well familiar with still sends blood rushing through his veins. 

He cannot find it, all he thinks about are gray eyes and Mikasa's sheer determination to please him, her inbred talent, her sweet voice and way of tilting her head and responding to him like she had waited for it her whole life, to have him ordering his way to get her on her knees for him.

Mikasa when she’s already fucked out but is crying for more, saying things anyone else outside the walls of that park would find absurd, like how much she needs him to cum inside her and give her his knot and breed her, to leave a mark of him so deep anyone would know who she belonged to, saying she would never be able to breathe again if he didn't own her. 

Eren goes back to grilling again. There’s a variety of cuts of meat and not real meat waiting to be prepared. Instead, he holds his hand close to the fire until he smells burnt flesh. He only realizes he doesn't move away from the oven-like heat when Historia yells from behind him. “What the fuck is your problem?” 

“Got distracted, sorry,” he apologizes, dipping the angry red of his hand under the water faucet beside the grill.

“You should go back to that park and fuck all the omega pets you want and leave me alone,” she yells, shrill and loud, and all her friends are looking at them, some of them consternated enough to move and leave. Her swimming suit is soaked up in water that spills from her and forms a pool on the wooden deck at his feet. “We’d both be happier that way.”

“Maybe I should,” he says.

By Monday morning when he’s packing, he gets a call.

He doesn’t recognize the voice or discern much of what the person on the other line says. After the mention of Mikasa’s name, he stops listening, the words morphing into a smudge of sound. When the call is finished, he takes several seconds of deep breath and contemplation, trying to string coherence together. 

He vaguely remembers some of it, the words ‘meet,’ ‘six thirty,’ ’company,’ and ‘underground.’ His jet takes off by 10am and he was planning on getting there early, unable to stay in his house a minute longer. The argument, if it could be called that, with Historia a few hours back butchered the silent agreement he liked to think they had. He glances over at his watch and it’s 5:47. 

At first, there’s a tremble in his bones and his brain feels frozen, just like he’s entered a void in which he cannot produce rational thought, his chest overtaken by a sore condition similar to suffocation. For a grave second, he considers closing his eyes, letting it take over, just surrendering to the blackness that might be cosmic punishment. But even as he’s closing his eyes, he sees Mikasa in front of him. Picturing her face wrenches him back to a concerning fact, how it’s the first time he hears her name said outside the park, and worse— by someone of unknown identity, who knows enough to be calling on the day he’s about to see her. 

Eren zips up his suitcase, goes downstairs to the kitchen, and fills a glass with water. He takes the first sip and drains the rest out into the sink, unable to stomach the dull, nauseating liquid. He throws his suitcase in the trunk of his car, goes back inside, and heads into his office to type in the code to his safe. In the safe, there’s a gun. He goes back to the garage and throws his gun onto the car seat beside him and starts to drive.

The drive goes by fast and soundless. He pulls off into the underground parking lot of the family company six minutes before the established time. His heart pounds against his ribcage, his head’s filled with all kinds of thoughts and terrible scenarios. The worst is the possibility of finding his blameless Mikasa at each meter he drives by, worried for her welfare. He almost breathes in relief when he walks out of the car and finds only a man in a shadowy corner of the empty lot. 

“You’re on time,” the man says, walking further near him. “Alone?”

Eren nods. “Why'd you call me here?”

“Let’s cut straight to the point then. I know about your involvement in certain things.” He punctuates his statement by handing him a piece of paper with a list. In this list, there’s a bunch of names and one of them is his. Besides his name, there’s a field specifying the exact day and time he got in and out of OmegaWorld, the exact hours in which the security conceded him access to the house Mikasa lives in. “My silence depends on how much you’re willing to collaborate.”

Eren’s eyes skim over the document. Most of the other people listed went to a ridiculous myriad of houses during their stay, but he only went to one. He was always at the same place for almost two weeks, fucking her relentlessly— and how could he not when he was lucky enough to find a precious, priceless gem, the best omega of them at first shot? Eren doesn’t say a word, not knowing why he was handed such sensible information, why it mattered when he could almost taste on his lips already how it felt to have her again.

“So?” The man taps his feet against the cement floor. “What would your wife think of that?”

Eren laughs. Suddenly, it falls into frame, what the shithead thinks he’ll get from him. “Try that then,” he says, turning his back and heading back towards his car. “Don’t think she’ll be surprised. 

“What about the omega?” the man says. Eren comes to a stop but doesn’t turn around, the word making his hackles rise at the extension of his spine. “Do you care for that?” Immense satisfaction fills his tone, and Eren can sense him taking steps toward him. “As you can see I have high connections inside the park. What’s her name again?” he says as Eren finally turns around. “Oh yeah, Mikasa. The Japanese girl.”

A rumble of fury boils in the pit of Eren’s stomach, and he’s flying into the man within the same second, grabbing him by the collar of his ironed suit and pressing him against the nearest car. 

“Don’t fucking say her name.”

“Hit a nerve, huh?” he says, with a pleased smirk on his lips. “What if your precious little omega were transferred to another park?” He clicks his tongue. “No, that wouldn't do it, right? Fucking sick that you are, you'd obviously still figure out how to find her.” 

Eren refuses to believe this is one man’s work. No, the place, the call, the day, it all seems like a setup or worse. Eren’s hand squeezes around the man’s throat until a vein on the side of his neck pops out. “Who do you work for?”

“You know what? With tits like that and her face, I’ve heard she’s been a hit. Lots of men are interested in buying her,” he says. Eren’s hold slackens and the man regains some semblance of posture. “Then what would you do, Jaeger? If I made sure she was sold, mated off to another creepy alpha? I’ve heard the older ones love her. Bet they’d hide her away very well.”

Eren’s confused as his hands squeeze around the cool skin of his neck. If not blinded by rage, he probably would’ve asked how. He’s been intent on learning all he had to know, following every clue into how that place came to be and who was behind it. All he’s gathered so far was scattered information, knowing alphas had to go through steps to get accepted as associates and Zeke was putting in his word for him in that regard. Still, there’s nothing about acquiring the right to possess an omega, to buy one, take her out of that place where her value was unfathomable.

“What are you gonna do? Kill me? Then what?” The man’s voice comes out muffled by choking sounds, still possessing an extraordinary clarity of mind even though his skin starts to turn purple, almost giving off the impression he expected things to go this way. “Murder conviction wouldn’t look good for business, would it?” 

“Shut the fuck up,” he says, his vision blurry as his own warm breath burns into his lungs. It’s not that he doesn’t care about that because, hopefully, he does, but not to this point. Not to the point where he can tolerate some dirty man who says these things about her to exist in this world. One of his hands drops from the man’s neck, going for the gun at his waist. “You know what’s your mistake here?” he asks, holding the gun to the underside of the man’s jaw. “You misunderstood my order of priorities.”

The man tries to hold his hand against his chest to no success. There’s something neitherof them can control that has decided the outcome of this very situation, just in time as realization finally strikes the man’s features, a pleading tone coming at last.

 For a second Eren feels good, like he’s finding again that creature he met when he touched Mikasa’s flushed skin for the first time. It all happens at the thought of her, for her. Eren pulls the trigger to the gun, right into the tender skin of the man's jaw. His skull is blown to bits onto the car window.

He goes to the washroom and washes the blood off of his fingers and his face, rubs toilet paper over the sleeve of his shirt to get rid of the stains. The best he can do is turn crimson into faint brown. At the private jet terminal, however, as he sips on white wine and waits until ten o’clock hits, nobody bothers to ask him about that.

Perhaps, across the gate, they’d be different to each other. He’d kiss her wildly under the moonlight after a nice dinner date, let innocent butterflies dance in her belly first, and only after that he’d get to know what it felt like to knot her full of his seed, again and again to make sure it could take. Truth, however, like the world, is spineless. He can never get a chance to savor the slowness in which their love would’ve grown if his love for her wasn’t doomed to stay within the walls of her heat room.

It was easy to forget what a hint of omega scent could do when it seeped through the pulse of an alpha that remained for too long in a cage— or outside of it, in the most logical sense. But there’s no initial feeling of disturbance at this point, of being grossed out at one’s nature. Maybe it’s just Eren that’s different now, not playing at fitting into what some men call decency anymore. 

The house she lives in is situated in what would be the outskirts of the place, disguised as the kind of paradise where sinful things don’t dwell. Using his own credit card, he contracts car service at the gate. The drive takes under ten minutes, they say, but in the backseat, he rolls the sleeve of his shirt up, eyes fixed on the ceiling. The dead man's words come back to his mind now that he’s here, completely guided by instinct alone. He’s even changed into clean clothes, sprayed cologne over his shirt hoping that there’s no metallic smell left beneath his fingernails. 

He’s tried to erase what happened, not because he’s unsettled by what he’s done— it’s what’s been said that scares him now, having no way of knowing what he’ll find.

In a way, it seems justified. Something feels off, different from the first time he set foot in the place. Almost like there’s a wicked, ironic power watching his misconduct, looming over his shoulder to make his welcome into something sour. 

“Sorry, sir. She’s seeing someone already,” a lady, who’s previously introduced herself as Nanaba, says at the front door. He knows she’s an omega but she does a better job of suppressing the instinct innate to her. “Would you like to take a look at some other available options?”

“I don’t think you understood,” he replies, ignoring whatever sort of sickness her question implies. “I’m here for Mikasa. Exclusively.”

“I understand,” she says, making sure to nod her head, while her empathy rings practiced and dull. “But we can’t guarantee your omega of choice will be free of company here.”

“Right.” Eren lets out a restrained laugh, but he would’ve given her his most convincing smile if they were in the outside world, would’ve used the voice of a steady man. “I know she’ll want to see me.”

“Maybe you can try coming back later?”

In what seems like muscle memory or something he’s used to resorting to, he takes a step further to tower over her, a rough hand tightening around her shoulder in an ill-tempered threat. When he entered Mikasa’s body, it felt like meeting the monster in him eye to eye, finally letting it blur together with who he’d been before. Ever since then, viciousness has started coming naturally to him. “I’m going downstairs,” he says slowly, an edge of something heinous contorting his voice. “I don’t think you wanna find out what I’ve done to be here.”

Her first reaction to his violence is acceptance, her shoulders dropping to make herself smaller, gaze falling to the buttons of his shirt. “You won’t be able to do that, sir. We have security—”

“Eren?” 

He hears her voice— small, angelic, and sweet, melting into a sigh. Suddenly, his mind’s working by itself to supply his imagination with her face, her taste. Eren’s only unsure if he can trust himself with what he thinks he’s heard after so many months of being played on loop by a brain attached to a deprived body. But when he stumbles away from the woman, all he's been dreaming of is right in the same room, across from him, her face marred by terror for what he’s doing. “I thought I’d heard your voice.”

“Mikasa,” he must growl, her name or something he shouldn’t be saying in open rooms. She’s wearing dark colors, a black male shirt barely buttoned. When his eyes meet her gaze, her mouth falls open, fingers fluttering to the junction of her neck and shoulder. Blinking once, twice, expectation dawning over the softness of her features, just like nothing had changed. Except that she isn’t alone now. There’s a man behind her, touching her, sweat gleaming at the stretch of his naked shoulders as he stares Eren down.

“Who’s this man, Mikasa?” His fingers curl around her waist as if he was protecting a prized fuck doll, and even from across the ample space of the living room, he can smell her on him, honeyed omega scent blanketing even his alpha smell. And a keeling shame visibly bleeds into the gray of her eyes— he knows exactly what they were doing. She knows he knows. Her hair’s damp, the light playing tricks on him when it catches over her skin, where she’s devoid of a mark. 

Mikasa cannot reply, her lips trembling as if she could sense Eren’s disapproval crawling up her spine. The man’s hand slides, clasping tightly around her wrist in a display of control. “I asked who this man is.”

She tilts her face up at the man, in a way Eren yearns for her to look at him. “Jean, I think it’s better if you leave now.”

Jean, Eren thinks, supplying his own anger. Jean’s careful of her, pretending to be the noble man he isn’t, bringing her back flush against his chest. “No way I’m leaving you with him.”

“Please?”

Jean glances down into her eyes, brows drawing together. “Mikasa, we were—”

Watching him touch her does something to his body, like a vein sliced open, unable to contain what bleeds out. Not a cool enough man to get used to sharing her with whoever comes to her door if he has to see the proof. Especially recognizing the nature of Jean’s gaze, the sense of pride, unadulterated desire to own her. When he realizes he’s glaring right into Jean's eyes, he’s already stepped over, hand around her other wrist.

“Fuck off,” he warns, using force to rip her from his grip until she’s tucked within his hold, his arms weaved around her ribcage. Perhaps, the only reason why he finds little resistance is by how eagerly Mikasa comes to his chest, her scent shifting into something warm and home-like. “Don’t fucking get near her again.”

A slow shiver travels down her backbone and dissolves into him, sensing underlying fight, the dangers for an unmated small omega. She rolls her body back into him, squirming in his hold until an arm is free, her hands traveling up to caress his face. 

“Eren, please,” she says, soothing him with both her voice and the scent of her skin. He would say she was being cautious if he didn’t know her enough. But Mikasa knew that she’d never have to take caution from him. “Let’s go downstairs.”

Between two alphas, it seems like the only thing she can do is beg for him to see the reason in what she’s saying. So he ignores the pulse of violence in his viscera the best way he can, hands firm on her as he pushes her past Jean and down the stairs, fast to find the door to her room. Hurriedly, she reaches to turn the doorknob, legs visibly shaken by the brutal adrenaline, but Eren grabs her hips and flips her around, shoving her into the door. 

“Jean?” he hisses through his teeth, palms slamming down on either side of her head, locking her in the space between his body and the nearest wall. He doesn't have to run his fingers up her thighs to know arousal is dripping out of her. He’s able to smell the ripe inebriation of her essence, not bothering to lock the door. 

Some part of him almost wants it, to rip her praised Jean apart, still smelling him all over her room. Just like he’s done hours back, just like he’s not afraid to do anymore, shed blood and show it to her, the ways she’s sent him into a path where there’s only irrevocable need for her.

“I’ve spent most of the time you were away with him,” she confesses, gray eyes flicking away. “I don’t know why but he always comes to see me.” 

Fury boils at the pit of his stomach, for the most part for living a life of lies while she entertains another man’s derangement. Letting the same hands take pleasure from her sweet body over and over, but there’s also her denseness on why he keeps choosing her. He’s sure no one would ever love and want her like him but he has thought of it, the way men must crave the scent of her slick now. The taste of her cunt, maybe having turned others insane as well.

 “I’m sorry,” she says, desperation and shame raw in the gray of her eyes. She keeps repeating the word as she presses kisses across his chest, fingers curling around his shirt as her tears leave a trail of wetness onto the fabric. “I’ve missed you so much, I almost couldn't stand it.”

"Missed me, yeah?" he says, thick alpha tone rolling from his vocal cords. “Thought you were busy being fucked.” He could be cruel, say she had a single job, to be his hole to fill whenever he came to her, keep herself always available to him as his omega whore. 

"I wish there was a way of…” she trails off and shakes her head, dismissing her own line of thought, her hands threading into his hair and examining how it has grown longer since he left. “Eren, I’ve wanted you. Only you. Why did it take so long for you to come back? I thought you didn't want me anymore.”

The way she tilts her chin up to him, tongue darting out to moist her lips, is a game of torture. Mikasa presenting to him all the ways she’s grown into a woman while he was away, versed in how to lure red-blooded males out of their rage. He doesn’t know what it does to him, but it’s all her, his Mikasa not afraid to present the truth of her body to him. 

He doesn’t allow himself her lips just yet, watching her delicate fingers fly to the buttons of her shirt, undoing one by one in wicked slowness. He’s had enough of it. Of all things trying to impose that his love’s not valid because it comes with desire, too consuming to be slow.

 “What about your wife?” she drawls, letting her shirt fall down her shoulders, offering him the vision of her beautifully full breasts, her rosy nipples hardened into delectable peaks. He knows her heat is near, he can feel it on the temperature of her body. “Is she a betterfuck than me?”

All her curves are still perfect, but she’s paler, like she hasn’t had any time to spend in the sun. Thinner, slightly so, the dip of her waist more accentuated, the jut of her hipbone making her seem fragile under his handle.“I know you’re married now, Eren,” she says, reaching for his hand as if searching for a ring that’s not there. A bond that means nothing to him compared to what her wanton omega call does to his blood, brushing her soft fingers over the back of his hand and guiding it to her cunt. “Has she ever taken your knot?”

"Mikasa,” he snarls, hoisting her up by her thighs against the wall and pressing his fingers to the seam of her entrance to feel how she clenches around nothing. His fingers start to open her up, moving inside her to show that no matter how many men came to her, it was he who introduced her into what pleasure was, who taught her what she liked. And maybe she had wanted it, had asked for it when it was somebody else touching her. He lets out a breath, knowing he’s absolutely right when her scent loses that trace of shame, her spite for where he’s been melting away in her eyes.

He went through many torturous nights of wanting her, so many broken bottles on his kitchen floor, broken bottles against walls of hotel rooms, the bite of cold mornings waking up in his car and realizing he’d blacked out yet again. Nights in which he had sex with his wife and couldn’t find the utter warmth and devotion only Mikasa knew how to give to him. Even touching her now, in the room where he met her, freshly fucked by some other alpha, has him hard, throbbing, beyond the bitter dam of rage open by seeing strangers’ hands on her. 

“Is it for him that you’re this wet?” 

“For you, Eren,” she says, breathless, like his name’s a godly word. And Eren unfastens his belt thinking he should be above someone who needs to own her in every sense, not just the right to enter her body and do whatever he wants. “It’s always for you, even when I’m with someone else.”

“Alpha, Mikasa,” he grits out, sliding his boxers down just enough to pull his cock free from it. “You’ll call me alpha since you don’t seem to know who you belong to.”

She lets out a half-choked whimper, the sound weak and abused, pressing her lips to his mouth. “I know, I know. I belong to you.” He laces his fingers into her hair and angles her neck to him instead, denying the kiss. The tips of his incisors drag along the surface of her silken skin, and, with a maddening effort, he shifts his mouth higher on her neck, finding a path of fading marks he wasn’t the one who left across her skin.

 “But I think… I think you should punish me, Eren.”

“Yeah?” he hisses, forehead dropping to hers while he tries not to lose himself by the feel of the warm walls of her cunt when he slides into her. “Fuck, omega, you’re so tight.” She’s so soft to touch, clenching around him as her legs tremble while she readjusts to his size, murmuring how there were nights she couldn't sleep thinking about the way he filled her up.

Watching the pink folds of her cunt open up to receive him without any prudence, he fucks his cock into her, finding again that place inside her that belonged to him. He’s already close, thinking of filling her with come, because it has to be him, the one to make her a woman in this sense too. “What if he had bit you, huh? He, or anyone you fucked.”

“I wouldn’t let them,” she mumbles, her scent getting intertwined with his, as if she’s been chemically changing by him fucking her. 

“Yeah? What would you do to stop them, baby?” he asks and she doesn’t seem to know the answer to that. What overtakes him is a brutal consequence of how she’s the only one who can accept him after what he’s done to be womb-deep inside her, moving his body into her until she’s sobbing for his knot. “Have no idea what you’ve done to me but I can’t fucking leave you ever again.” 

“Oh god, you’re so deep, Eren, feel so good inside me,” she moans, rubbing her little body against him, utterly desperate. her walls getting tighter around him. But he slows the pacing of his thrusts, not letting her come just yet, knowing he could promise her the world, she deserves it for having a cunt that’s heaven. 

“Plese, Eren—”

He takes her lips in a kiss that is all clumsiness, first her tongue licking the inside of his mouth and then just the two of them, panting on each other’s lips while he stays still, warm inside her. “Wanna know why I came back?” He starts moving inside her again, carefully deep, brushing black strands of her hair off her face. “Kept dreaming about your cunt, no one knows how to take my knot the way you do,” he half-grunts to her ear, pulling back to thrust into her again. She breaks apart into his hands by anything he does to her, like the way he wants her is the center of all of her fantasies. “And no, she’s not better, doesn’t let me fuck her the way you do. You know how much of a slut you are? You’re such a good fucking slut, omega, so good for me.”

“F-for you, Eren,” she murmurs, body falling onto his chest in acceptance of the urgency his brutal love demands against her omega body. “No other knot feels as good as your knot.”

“Fuck, how can you be so perfect, so good?” His hand finds her belly, where it was hollow before he found her that day, when she was nothing but a lost girl in need of cock. And how could he not dream when the type of devotion she offered to him was so natural, so unbidden? He stumbles back to her bed, positioning her on his lap. She’s almost weightless, a small thing when he brings her onto him. 

Or maybe he’s possessed by an untamable force, hungry by how from this angle she moans more keenly, how good it feels, words that wouldn’t make sense if he didn’t know his perfect omega girl better than anyone. That when she’s breathing hard and getting fucked hard, she’s love-filled, hips gyrating to search for more. He’s fucking her fast, grunting by her ear. “Is that what you need, my seed? Have you missed it too? This time I want you to throw that fucking pill they give you away. I’ll breed you, make you swollen right here.”

This is a dream he’s had countless times when he was away from her, waking up hard, sometimes stained in ropes of white cum. But it’s even more maddening to want it when he’s feeling her cunt being molded by him. “Do you think that alpha would put his hands on you if you were swollen with my kid?”

 She’s sobbing now, a pleasure so undeniable he doesn’t know if they’ll ever come back to what they were. “I bet he would want to, though. There’s no one else as good to fuck as you, Mikasa. But I’d fucking rip every little bit of him. You’re mine.” 

He knows he’s crossed some sort of line when she doesn’t stop coming around his cock. When he sees the red bruises of his hands across her hips and thighs. The utter image of ownership. He loses control when he’s knot deep inside her, his teeth dragging back to her throbbing mating gland and everything else fades away. It doesn’t matter now, where they are or even what would happen to him if he never left. 

“Eren, you know you can do anything to me,” she moans, a syrupy, clipped sound, arching her back to reveal her neck to him. He brushes her hair away from her clammy skin, demonized into a truth he can no longer hide from the world.

When his jaw sets into her, the feeling goes down to his bone. It travels the depths of his body, the knowledge that loving and owning her could melt into a sole thing, ritualistic and irrevocable. So intense he can feel the pulse in her womb where he ends within her. And with her, he’s not a monster, no. He pulls his teeth out of her flesh and looking over at Mikasa he knows— head thrown back, her satiation falling from her abused, rosy lips, the way her hand flutters to her stomach. Together they’re something beautiful, something natural. He fills her with his cum, lapping up the blood where soft skin has broken, finally sure that her cunt is the only one that his seed will drip from.