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DARK KNIGHT
I.
Princess Mikasa stands still, her expression a mask of calm as Queen Caven’s voice slices through the council chamber.
“You must understand, dear princess. It has been a year since your wedding, and still, the kingdom awaits an heir—a son, mind you. Do you understand the peril this poses to our bloodline?”
If her words didn’t so often drip with malice, Mikasa might have believed them genuine. But there is no mistaking the queen’s delight in parading her perceived failures before the court. Seated in the king’s chair while the old man lies bedridden and fading, Queen Caven wields her authority like a snake, rejoicing in her position.
Mikasa feels absolutely tired of this. The scrutiny, the whispered doubts, the veiled accusations—all weigh upon her like a leaden cloak. The queen, swollen with power, circles with advisors like vultures, eager to wield whatever scraps of influence she has against her. Yet Princess Mikasa knows there is nothing to do against it. So, she remains silent, a lioness watching a pack of hyenas. The firstborn of the king, the only woman heir in the kingdom’s history, and yet they seek her ruin. A farcical tragedy indeed.
“It is troubling, indeed,” Duran, one of the queen’s sycophants, chimes in with a sickly smile. “The people whisper. They fear for the future of the crown, and well, some even question if the princess is capable of... you see... producing an heir.”
Oh, such a remark makes Mikasa squirm. It isn’t anything she hasn’t heard before—a familiar story, really. She blinks regardless, barely able to hide her astonishment. Questioning a princess’s fertility—especially that of the Crown Princess—is one of the vilest insults, and she cannot quite fathom how a council member could propose something so openly offensive.
“Pardon me, my lord,” she says, her voice steady despite the fire rising in her chest. “Are you suggesting that I am barren?”
“No, my princess,” Duran replies. “I merely repeat what is spoken between the small folk. Important words for the crown, you understand.”
“Sure.”
She sinks back into her chair, casting a cold gaze over the array of advisors who once swore to uphold her claim. Traitors, every last one of them. They are quick to turn the moment they sense weakness. Mikasa almost laughs at their cowardice and their pathetic fear of a woman ruling over them. Feckless knaves, useless swine, all of them!
Her eyes find Queen Caven, sitting smugly, nurturing their discontent like a wolf fattening her cubs, all for her own son to usurp her birthright. But, from the other side, the voice of another sycophantic advisor gains her attention.
“You must understand, princess,” Ross Reid says. “Without a child, your position as heir is in grave jeopardy. Especially as a woman.” His voice drips with condescension. “Surely, our princess would not wish to see the kingdom fall into chaos, would she?”
Forcing herself to breathe, the princess meets the man’s gaze, her voice calm despite the fury that simmers beneath the surface. “We are trying,” she says. “My husband and I are making every effort, and in due course, we shall produce an heir to the crown. There is no need for alarm. And the queen herself, as a woman, might well understand that such matters cannot be rushed.”
The queen’s laugh, sweet as poisoned honey, fills the hall, echoing off the stone walls.
“Of course, my dear, I understand. Yes, indeed, I do.” Her piercing blue eyes lock onto Mikasa. “But, considering that your dear father and I conceived your brother two months after our wedding, I had thought that fertility flows in your veins as well.”
Of course, Caven wouldn’t understand—and even if she did, she’d never show it. Mikasa resists the urge to roll her eyes at such soulless cruelty. When her father remarried after her mother’s death, she’d been fine with the idea of having a stepmother. Now, though, she can’t stand it.
“Princess,” Duran speaks again, his tone attempting to be condescending, though he underestimates Mikasa’s wits. She sees through him; he is merely a pawn in Queen Caven’s game. “People want to see stability, and a child from your womb will provide that. If not, they shall ask for someone who can fulfil that role... like your half-brother.”
The mere mention of her half-brother stirs a wave of nausea deep within Mikasa. How can they so blithely entertain the notion of him usurping her claim when the king has steadfastly declared her the rightful successor to the throne? The queen’s advisers wait, each eyeing her, hoping she will falter. They crave it—her fall from grace. Her failure will cement Queen Caven’s grip on the court, and they will all feast like scavengers on the spoils.
Yet Mikasa is nothing if not stubborn, a trait that has marked her since her youth. Others label her proud, cunning, and a true embodiment of the golden dragon upon the Ackerman House crest. She refuses to allow these vultures to feast upon her remains, nor will she permit her stepmother, that avaricious woman who yearns to see her blood upon the throne, to rob her of what is rightfully hers. No. She will never permit it.
I shall be dead rather than leave the throne to Caven’s blood, she thinks.
“My half-brother is but five years old and cannot produce heirs,” she points out. “The king has proclaimed me, his sole daughter from his first marriage to the late Queen Kuchel, the rightful heir. If you refuse to defend my claim, then I shall take up that mantle myself, unless my father deems it necessary to alter both his mind and the line of succession.”
She regards them all with her steely grey eyes, her frown deepening as if she might transform into a dragon, ready to unleash fire upon them until they are consumed. “I shall produce an heir, as I have stated. My husband and I are making every effort.” A smile, laced with irony, graces her lips as she cradles her belly. “Or perhaps I already am with child; who can say? My monthlies have been irregular of late.”
For a fleeting moment, she relishes the discomfort that flickers across the men’s faces at such an intimate revelation; they ought to grow accustomed to it, she muses.
“So cease your questioning and wait in silence for a child to spring from my blood.”
The silence that envelops the chamber feels palpable as Mikasa’s words hang like a blade above their heads. The queen’s expression darkens, though she maintains her composed facade, betraying nothing but a flicker of irritation. “Such bold claims for one so... inexperienced,” Queen Caven replies, her smile now a thin veneer. “The court shall not simply take your word for it. You must provide proof of your resolve.”
“I shall be with child soon, my queen; mark my words. This court will not have to wait long to witness the strength of House Ackerman.”
Her declaration hangs in the air, a bold promise that leaves the council in stunned silence. Queen Caven’s eyes narrow. “Then I trust you will not leave us waiting long, dear princess. I can hardly contain my eagerness to hold my grandson in my arms. After all, he shall be my grandson in some fashion. Your dear father binds us together.”
“Indeed,” Mikasa says. “I will ensure that my resolve bears fruit, and the crown shall have its heir. Now, if you would pardon me, my lords, and my queen, I cannot linger here any longer. I wish you all a good day.”
Thus does the crown princess rise from her seat at the council, and after offering a slight bow to the queen, she departs. There is but one place she must go, and she has to reach it swiftly; after all, she has already pledged to offer something she is uncertain she can provide, at least not without the aid of her husband.
II.
Outside the council chamber, Mikasa hastens her steps, almost breaking into a run. Her destination is the library, the only place in all the palace where her husband might be. These insults and these accusations must end, and her husband is the only one with the power to silence them. It is time to put a stop to it and compel him to fulfil his duty. However, given their differences, the task will be difficult.
As Mikasa storms up the stairs, her mind is fixed on how she might finally persuade her husband to give her a child. It isn’t until she stumbles on one of the high steps that she becomes aware of her surroundings, alarmed by the sudden risk of falling. But, as always, her waist is seized the moment she begins to tip backward, her small frame pressed against a solid chest covered in armour, making her seem so small in comparison that she shudders.
“Princess,” a knight in black armour murmurs near her ear, “be careful—you might fall.”
“Sorry,” she replies, a flush of embarrassment washing over her. “I’m rather distracted today.”
The knight inclines his head, a subtle nod that sends a shiver of anticipation down her spine. He releases her, yet his presence lingers like the warm trace of a hand that has just brushed against her skin, his footsteps echoing like a heartbeat in the quiet air.
Ah, her dark knight, her steadfast shadow, a sentinel sworn to guard her heart as fiercely as he defends her from the world’s indignities.
Mikasa cannot recall exactly how long he has been with her, but she remembers him always being there, rescuing her from every indignity she faces while bearing the weight of the heiress’ crown. With his quiet presence, he ensures he is always by her side, protecting her, guarding her, and caring for her, clad in armour as dark as night and as gleaming as obsidian.
Words are a rarity for him, especially when it comes to uttering her name, yet his loyalty speaks louder than any proclamation. The visor of his helmet hides most of his face, but the tantalising flash of olive skin and the shimmer of his green eyes betray his concealed beauty, igniting a playful fire within her soul.
In her daydreams, Mikasa often wonders what this man looks like beneath his armour. She imagines how his skin glistens, beaded with sweat, and, more dangerously, she frequently contemplates the sensation of his hand against her bare skin—naked, exposed, and free for him to behold. She wonders if his touch is as hard as the steel he uses and if the heat of his body is greater compared to the cold metal.
However... ah, those are thoughts she dares not entertain for long. They are notions destined to remain unanswered. She is the Crown Princess, the future queen, while he is merely a knight at her service. She is married to a man of her station, and her dark knight is only dutifully fulfilling his role. Her fantasies are dreams that can never take flight, not ever.
“I need to speak with my husband,” she says as they stand in front of the library doors. “You may take your leave for today.”
Once again in silence, her knight inclines his head in solemn acknowledgement and steps back, honouring her request.
Inside the library, the moment Mikasa gazes at her husband, ever ensconced amid mountains of books and scrolls, she approaches him with determination. “I must speak with you. Now.”
Her husband looks up, bright surprise illuminating his cerulean eyes. “Of course. What troubles you?” he asks, setting aside his spectacles while deftly brushing a wayward strand of blond hair from his face.
“I need a child,” she states bluntly.
Another flicker of surprise crosses his features before he responds. “Ah, it is that matter once more.”
“Yes, it is that matter once more,” she echoes, her voice firm.
“It was the council meeting this morning, was it not? Did they say something?”
Mikasa crosses her arms defiantly and settles into the chair opposite him.
“Indeed, Armin. They told me many things, as they always do.” Frustration spills forth. “First, it was on even days, then on odd days. Now it is every single damn day, ceaselessly reminding me of the fragility of my claim!”
Her voice rises, a crescendo that reverberates through the library. Had any primary librarians been present, they would swiftly chastise her for this breach of decorum regardless of her royal stature. Yet fortune smiles upon her; the guardians of silence are absent, and she feels no compunction in expressing her ire.
“They cannot strip you of your rightful place upon the throne merely out of their covetous desires, Mikasa,” Armin reassures her with his calm voice. “The entire realm knows your father favours you over your younger brother.”
“But I am still a woman,” she counters. “A woman not destined to reign, yet I shall do so regardless.” A long, distraught sigh escapes her lips. “Do you not see it, Armin? My claim to the throne is weak; my impending reign is weak. Our marriage, too, stands on shaky ground, all because we are without a son!”
Mikasa exhales heavily, casting her head back in exasperation, her eyes seeking solace in the vaulted ceiling above. “Do you not see it?” she implores once more, her voice rising in urgency.
“You are stronger than you realise,” Armin says. “Your worth is not measured by the presence of a son but by the strength of your spirit and the courage you’ve shown in every challenge you’ve faced. Your father sees it, and that’s precisely why he prefers you to don the crown.”
She shakes her head, frustration bubbling within her. “But they do not see it that way. The council, the court—they whisper behind my back. They plot and scheme, waiting for any sign of weakness to exploit.” Her hands clench into fists, knuckles white with the intensity of her emotions. “I cannot afford to be seen as vulnerable, Armin. I cannot allow them to think I am unfit to lead. But it will not cease until I bear a child. Do you understand that?”
Armin’s gaze falls, fingers absently twisting through his hair, a gesture of unease. “Yes, I do understand,” he says. “But, ah… I thought we had reached the conclusion that I cannot give you children, Mikasa.”
That is the crux of the matter.
Armin Arlert is her husband in name only; their marriage is forged not in love but in the fires of political ambition. She has known this truth from the moment they stood before the gods and the courtiers, their hands clasped in a union devoid of passion. They are allies, bound by duty rather than desire, friends rather than companions. Whispers in the castle speak of a princess with a heart as cold and unyielding as steel, claiming she is difficult to love. But the truth is Armin has never cast his gaze upon her as he does upon his squires, the knights sworn to his service, or even the stable boy—Jean, she remembers his name.
Does she blame him? No, not truly. In the early days of their marriage, Mikasa felt the sharp sting of insecurity, wondering why she could not ignite in her husband the fire of desire that other women seemed to spark with ease. But that weight of doubt does not linger forever. With each passing month, she embraces the truth: neither she nor Armin is to blame. The gods have simply shaped him differently. There is no flame to kindle between them because that fire has never existed. It is in his nature, and she has learnt to accept it—no, more than that—she respects it.
Why would they wed such a man to a princess whose bloodline demands heirs? Surely it was the queen’s doing—a shrewd move to bind her to a union no one can easily unravel. Perhaps she knows the truth of Armin’s heart but cares little. It is a sordid play, a political scheme made in the shadows. And though it leaves Mikasa trapped in a bond that cannot fulfil its most basic duty, she understands that undoing it is impossible.
“Yes, I know,” she says, her shoulders hunching. “But I need this, Armin. You understand it will not end until I bear a child.”
He shakes his head, a gesture of resignation. “I know, I know,” he murmurs, lapsing into a contemplative silence, as if wrestling with a thought that refuses to be tamed.
“There must be a way. A way that won’t make you retch.”
At the mention, a smile creeps upon the blond’s lips. “For gods’ sake, don’t remind me of that. I’m still mortified.”
She allows herself a laugh, the sound a fleeting joy amid their troubles. “It is difficult for a girl to forget the moment she was made to feel undesired.”
Armin shakes his head, his cheeks flushing with a warmth that betrays his embarrassment. “Gods, I’m sorry. I am terribly sorry, all right? You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, Mikasa, but, well, you know how I am.”
She nods silently, crossing her arms before her.
The moment she knew that her marriage to Armin was destined for failure didn’t happen during their so-called “courtship,” when his attention was more on the Ackerman soldiers than upon her, adorned in a dress fit for a grown woman. Nor did it dawn upon her at the betrothal banquet, when he had left her side to be with his stable boy, mere moments after their dance.
In truth, Mikasa realised their union was doomed from their wedding night, a night that had never truly come to pass.
Following the traditions, she had slipped into bed, waiting for a husband who never came. When she sought him, she found him in the parlour, drinking aimlessly, lost in his own thoughts. On a whim, she undressed before him, believing that perhaps she could sway him to come to bed. But her boldness only rendered him speechless, and in his nervousness, he ended up throwing up the entirety of the wedding feast at her feet. That scene had turned her night into tears while he reassured her it was not her fault, but his, and his strange masculinity that he couldn’t stir up. And so it was; for a year, he never could.
“The children only need my last name, right?” Armin says suddenly, closing the heavy book that had consumed his attention.
Mikasa turns to him, intrigued. “Well, yes. At least until one of them is king after me.”
Their marriage contract stipulates that their children will bear the name Arlert, but the firstborn, her heir, will ascend to the throne under the name Ackerman, a measure taken to preserve the legacy of her family.
“Then I believe I have a solution.” A smile spreads across her husband’s face as if he has just unearthed the greatest secret of the realm.
“Please, enlighten me,” she urges, her curiosity piqued.
“It’s simple. As I mentioned, you merely need me to recognise any children of yours as mine, and that is no trouble for me.”
“Armin...”
“Sleep with another man, Mikasa.”
She blinks, bewildered. “Pardon?”
Armin’s smile broadens, a mischievous glint sparking in his blue eyes. “I’m telling you that you should have sex with someone else. And I know just the man who could fulfil that role.”
III.
“You’re mad,” Mikasa murmurs as she finds herself back in her chambers. “You are truly mad.”
“Why?” Armin asks.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Her voice trembles, laced with desperation. “What man would fuck a crown princess and then let his child carry another man’s last name?”
“Well, the man I’m about to introduce you to, that’s for sure.”
Mikasa shakes her head, a mix of disbelief and frustration tightening her chest. “You’re mad,” she mutters under her breath. “You really think it’s that simple?”
He only repeats, softer this time, “Yes, I do, little wife.” Armin’s tone drips with mockery, and she reminds herself that this is one of his peculiar traits: his penchant for irreverent jesting.
“Did you even speak to him beforehand?” She sinks onto the parlour couch, her hands clasped nervously in her lap. “This is…”
“I told him to come over so we could discuss it. Don’t fret. I’ve long suspected this man has feelings for you. I’m certain he’ll want to bed you when he gets the chance.”
Heat creeps into her cheeks at his words. But before she can voice her discomfort, a sudden knock, knock, knock echoes through the chamber, startling her so fiercely that she nearly jumps from her seat.
Gods above, what has she gotten herself into?
“Oh, that’s our saviour,” Armin says, rising from the couch, his head tilted with a confident expression that almost makes her believe in his scheme.
Mikasa fixes on an insignificant dot on the floor as she listens to her husband’s entire charade with whoever has arrived. A wave of anxiety washes over her—she has never imagined sharing her bed with anyone other than her husband. Yet there she is, following whatever plan Armin has devised.
As the door creaks open, her heart races, and she braces herself for the encounter that could change everything.
“Well, my friend, do you wish for my wife to explain the situation to you alone?” Armin says, and Mikasa flinches, unprepared to find herself alone with an unfamiliar man.
She springs to her feet, dread coursing through her veins, only to be met not by an unknown man but by a vision that steals her breath away. Oh, gods, she thinks, gazing upon her dark knight, resplendent in the deepest obsidian armour she has ever beheld, a silhouette of strength against the dim light.
Eren—she knows his name; of course, she knows it. Ser Eren Jaeger, a lowborn man, protector of the Crown Princess, chosen by the princess herself. He has stood by her side for quite some time, even before her marriage. Mikasa had selected him as her sworn protector the moment she witnessed his triumph in a jousting match. Back then, her admiration had been simple, but now, with the clarity of adulthood and a deeper understanding of her emotions, she can confidently say that she was drawn to him from the very first glance.
He captivates her with his brilliant smile, his striking green eyes, and a posture so upright that he seems to tower over her, as if he were a giant. She understands it is unthinkable for a princess to take her guard as a lover. He is honourable, wearing his mantle as the Crown Princess’ guardian with pride, relishing the significance of his role.
Asking him to fulfil her needs feels profoundly wrong.
“Armin,” she begins, her voice trembling, but he silences her with a gesture.
“Enough,” he commands, his tone brooking no argument. “Speak with her, my friend. I shall take my leave.”
“Armin!” She cries, desperation clawing at her throat, but the door clicks shut behind him, sealing her within the confines of the room, alone now with her thoughts and the loyal figure standing before her.
She blinks, a flutter of unease rippling through her. The rapid thump of her heart echoes in her ears, and warmth spreads across her cheeks, glowing like embers in a crackling winter fireplace. This is absurd—utterly absurd. Armin has truly outdone himself with this spectacle.
“My princess,” comes the stern voice of her knight in black. “Did you call for me?”
Mikasa swallows hard, her throat tight. “I did,” she manages, shaking her head. “My husband, actually. I… uh… We need your help... I mean, I need your help.”
“I understand,” he replies, his posture unyielding and composed beneath the weight of his armour. “How may I help you, my princess?”
Oh, heavens above. Mikasa begins to wonder if Armin has intentionally left the knight in the dark, leading him here under false pretences. The nervousness that had initially gripped her morphs into a tight knot of anxiety.
But she is a princess—no, the Crown Princess. This won’t be the first time she has to address uncomfortable matters. In fact, this is hardly anything. She is merely asking a man to share her bed, to fill her with his seed once, twice, or even three times, and pray it is enough. Surely, it isn’t unheard of for an heir to the crown to make such requests. After all, previous princes have had their share of lovers, for heaven’s sake. Yet Mikasa can’t help but acknowledge that while those encounters had been driven by desire, this one is rooted in duty.
Good grief.
“My princess?” her dark knight prompts once more, and Mikasa shakes her head, gathering the composure she is meant to project.
“I need a child, Ser,” she states bluntly. “My husband is unable to provide one, so I’m compelled to explore other options. I, um…” Her voice wavers for a moment, but she clears her throat, summoning her strength. “I wish for you to father a child with me.”
A heavy silence envelops the chamber after her declaration, the stillness reverberating off the walls.
“I can see why Armin deems you a fitting choice,” she presses on, her fingers twisting nervously in her lap, seeking solace in their motion. “You are my protector, and your loyalty has never faltered. He must believe there is no one better suited to safeguard me in this… endeavour.”
Mikasa senses the intensity of his gaze behind the dark visor of his helmet, the depth of his surprise mirrored in those striking green eyes that hold a world of emotion within them. She dares not meet his stare; such an act feels unthinkable when speaking to a man of such honour. Yet here she stands, heart racing, compelled by a longing that defies convention.
“I know this is unexpected,” she continues. “But I am desperate for a child, and—”
“So you would have me as your whore?” he interrupts, his voice laced with an undercurrent of menace. The rawness of his words strikes her like a frigid wind, stealing the breath from her lungs. Naturally, he would think of this as a calamity to his chivalry; surely, in this moment of humiliation, he feels no shame in hurling insults her way.
“N-no, Eren,” she stammers, his name slipping from her lips like honey—sweet yet tinged with folly. “I know it sounds like that, but—”
“I would like to,” he interrupts again. “Armin just spoke of it, and I confess I believed him to be jesting. But if you truly desire it, princess, I will answer your call. I will share your bed and bring you the satisfaction you seek. It would be my honour.”
“I...” She blinks, completely petrified. “You… would?”
Eren takes his helmet, revealing his sun kissed skin and the beauty that Mikasa knows he jealously hides. “Yes, princess. I would.” His voice is a low murmur. “I’ve waited long enough to offer myself to you, to be more than just your shield. If you wish, I will gladly give you a child.”
The heat in her cheeks flares, not from embarrassment but from the overwhelming possibility of what lies ahead. Her mind races with the implications—his touch, the warmth of his body beside hers, the intimacy that has been nothing more than a fantasy until now. Mikasa feels her resolve wavering, the barrier between them crumbling with each breath she takes. Gods above. Suddenly, they are no longer just a princess and knight, but man and woman, still clothed but slowly stripping off the thousands of layers they have wrapped around each other.
“May I ask what fuels this enthusiasm?” she asks, her breath coming in heavy bursts.
Eren smiles—a smile Mikasa has never encountered before, one that steals her breath away even more if that is even possible. “Do you know why I perform my duties so quietly, or why have I never voiced a complaint and kept my distance?” he asks, his voice thick. “It’s because I want you, Princess. I want you so fiercely that if I speak or draw too near, I fear I might lose control.”
“You want me?” She echoes, her voice barely more than a breath, as if saying it aloud might make it too real, too dangerous.
“Yes,” he replies, his voice thick with yearning. “Every day I stand by your side, and every day it becomes harder to resist the pull between us. The closer I get, the more I want to forget the world outside and simply be with you. But I have to hold back. You are the Crown Princess; I’m just a knight. If being clandestinely in your bed is the only way to fulfil my wishes, then so be it.”
As his words hang in the air, Mikasa feels a shift within herself, a blooming courage that nudges her toward a choice. The thought of crossing that boundary—of surrendering to the intimacy they have danced around for too long—sends waves of anticipation rippling through her.
“I must confess that I want you too,” she says, rising from the couch. The vulnerability of her admission lays bare the hidden desires she has buried beneath the weight of duty and decorum. “I confess that I want to have you, Ser. I want to have you like a man.”
The air between them thickens, and Eren’s expression shifts, revealing a blend of surprise and desire that makes her heart flutter. His gaze roams over her, as if drinking in the sight of her—the princess who has always felt like an untouchable dream, now standing before him, resolute and yearning.
“Then let me show you.”
With each word, she sees the walls he has built around his heart begin to crack. His breath quickens, and for the first time, she sees the hunger in his eyes—the raw, primal desire that mirrors her own. It is intoxicating, a heady mix of fear and exhilaration that pushes her closer, closing the space between them until there is nothing left but the electric charge of their connection.
Eren reaches out, his fingers brushing against her arm, sending a rush of warmth coursing through her. “Tonight.”
“Tonight,” she echoes. “I’ll be waiting.”
“Is that an order, Princess?” he asks, his tone intended to be mocking, yet it carries an undercurrent of need.
Mikasa chuckles, a thrill of power coursing through her as she contemplates whether to wield it. “Yes, my dark knight. It’s an order.”
IV.
Night envelopes the palace, bringing with it a blanket of warmth and tranquillity. Mikasa has dinner with her husband in the solar, the laughter between them momentarily dulling the weight of the evening’s impending changes. After supper, they retreat to their bedroom, where she begins her nightly rituals. An unmistakable shift lingers in the air, electric with the promise of what was to come once the door rings, and her husband slips away to grant her privacy.
“I didn’t know you were friends with him,” she says.
“We train together,” Armin replies, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Though I can tell he thinks I’m lacking with a sword. You know, with both kinds of swords.”
Mikasa laughs at the implication. It’s true that she remains a maiden, but Armin has a penchant for innuendos, and after their many candid discussions, she no longer finds his humour surprising. Relief washes over her as they manage to get along, even when the circumstances are anything but simple.
“Will it hurt?” she asks, brushing her long black hair with careful strokes.
“Honestly? A lot.” He chuckles as she rolls her eyes. “It’s a jest, yet, worry not, Eren will take care of you. I’m certain of that. He’s not just a man of honour—he adores you.”
“How much does he adore me?”
Armin clicks his tongue, a teasing glint in his eyes. “My dear, that’s something you should ask him.”
As the doorbell rings once more, just as it did that morning, Mikasa jolts in her seat, her fingers gripping the ivory hairbrush tightly.
“Ah, that’s my cue, sweetling,” the blonde says, stepping closer to plant a quick kiss upon her cheek. “Be a good girl, alright?”
A wave of embarrassment washes over her. “Go away, husband,” she says, remaining seated at the vanity, her gaze fixed on her reflection.
“Yes, I know. Jean is waiting for me,” he replies. In the next breath, his presence slips away from the bedroom like mist dissolving in the morning sun.
Left in solitude, Mikasa remains at the dressing table, her gaze fixed on the mirror. The silence stretches around her, heavy and thick, as she ponders the things that may happen soon. But then a voice flows into the room, smooth as velvet.
“May I?”
As she turns, she finds Eren standing there in his heavy armour, his helmet tucked under one arm. He seems weary, the dark circles beneath his eyes revealing the toll of a long watch. For a fleeting moment, guilt creeps into her heart for interrupting his much-needed rest. Yet, as he strides into the bedroom with unyielding resolve, his eyes ablaze with a sensual intensity that strips her of pretence, Mikasa’s resolve solidifies.
This is not merely a night of potential gains or advantageous outcomes; it is a spark, an awakening that ignites a fire within her she has never experienced before. The yearning coursing through her is undeniable—she longs to embrace her femininity fully, to revel in the sensations of being a woman, and this man before her is the vessel of that desire. In that moment, she knows, without a doubt, that he is the one she craves to share this awakening with.
“Thank you for coming, Ser,” she says. “Truly, thank you so much.”
He offers a smile. “I promised I would, and trust me, I am more than eager to keep my word.”
Mikasa closes the distance between them, her heart quickening as her gaze traces the contours of his sturdy metal frame. One hand finds its way to his weary shoulder, a gentle touch that seems to bridge the chasm of uncertainty between them.
“I’m not quite sure how to begin,” she confesses, her brow furrowing slightly. “Should I kiss you or hug you first?”
“It doesn’t need to be so calculated.” His eyes sharpen, darkening with intensity. “You called it ‘Endeavour’ this morning, but I promise you, princess, it is anything but.”
“No?”
“No. In fact, you can indulge as much as you desire. I told you—I will give you whatever you want.”
Mikasa bites her lip, her gaze gliding along the strong line of his jaw before descending to the sculpted outline of his lips. A yearning ignites within her; she craves the feel of those lips against hers. Yet, a pang of hesitation grips her heart—she fears her inexperience might rush them, that she might frighten him away. So she tries to steady herself, her breath coming in a leisurely wave after three exhalations.
“Can I help you take off your armour?” Her lips part slightly, as if to reveal the sweetness of her intent, and such a picture seems to make him grin.
“Now that’s a fine beginning, princess,” he says.
With a flicker of courage igniting her spirit, Mikasa steps closer, fingers brushing against the cold metal of his armour. It is as dark as the midnight sky, as deep as obsidian itself. No one in the palace wears armour like his; in fact, no one else wears black at all. Silver, gold, bronze, and white can be found in the courtyards, but the blackest of all belongs to him—his dark knight. Why he makes such a bold choice remains a mystery to her, but she feels less inclined to ask about it. There are far more pressing questions on her mind, and she needs answers for them.
“I have some questions,” she begins, gently unfastening his shoulder pads.
“There’s no history of illness in my family, nor any abnormalities. As for bastards... well, I don’t have any,” Eren interrupts suddenly. “But I’m confident I can get you pregnant soon enough, princess.”
She sighs, feeling the weight of his boldness. “You can call me Mikasa here. There’s no need for formalities, especially not when we’re about to...
“Make love?”
“Yes, make love,” she repeats, pausing her fingers over his breastplate as she meets his gaze.
The corners of his mouth curl into a knowing smile. “Alright, Mikasa.” His thick fingers intertwine with hers, guiding her as they remove the last pieces of his armour. “That was your question?”
She hums, shaking her head. “Not really. It was something far more stupid.”
“I honestly don’t think anything you do or say is stupid,” he murmurs, finally shrugging off the last piece of metal that shields his upper body. There, in the dim light, Mikasa fully takes in his torso—broad and powerful, even without the black armour.
A fleeting thought crosses her mind: he could press her into the mattress and steal the breath from her lips with his weight. And instead of fear, the idea sparks something fierce, something dark and undeniable that makes her want to pull him by the neck, to feel Eren above her, pressing down with all his strength.
But she forces herself to be patient. She has to hold back to savour the tension, lest she regret rushing this moment too soon.
“Armin told me he knew you’d accept.” She can’t bring herself to call that blond man her husband at that moment. Indeed, she pressures herself to forget that she has a husband. “May I ask why he was so certain?”
Eren makes a thoughtful sound as his hands trail down his body, starting to loosen the armour at his hips. Mikasa holds her breath, torn between helping him or simply watching. She chooses the latter, her fingers itching to reach out and touch him.
“I suppose it’s because I’ve never been very discreet,” he says at last. “It’s pretty common knowledge how I feel about you, so I guess it wasn’t hard for him to guess.”
“Is it that obvious?” She asks, blinking. “I... I didn’t know.”
He clicks his tongue. “Well, at least I managed to hide it from you. Saved myself a bit of embarrassment.”
Piece by piece, Eren removes his cleats, belts, and kneepads until, with a final clatter, the last piece of armour falls to the floor. Now he stands before her in nothing but his linen shirt and pants, his gaze intent as he steps closer, both of them tilting near the edge of the bed.
“But I have no shame now, princess,” he murmurs, his eyes holding hers. “If you want me, even if only to use me, I don’t mind. I just want to touch you. Gods, I’ve always wanted to.” He moves nearer until they are almost chest-to-chest, and the air between them thickens. “Since I was first assigned as your sworn knight, I believed you to be the most beautiful creature alive. I even worshipped you, my princess goddess.”
"Oh,” she whispers, but his hand reaches up, fingers tracing the soft lines of her cheek. The simple brush of his touch sends a tremor through her, a wave so powerful she closes her eyes and leans into his hand, nuzzling like a little kitten in need of affection.
“You chose me, didn’t you, Mikasa?” He murmurs, bending close. “Of all the knights, all the candidates—you chose me.”
She nods, feeling vulnerable under his touch. “You weren’t just the best at training; you were the best,” she purrs. “And I thought you were beautiful too—very beautiful.”
“Really?” His voice holds a touch of hope, as though he needs to hear it again to believe it.
“Yes, Ser—”
“Eren,” he interrupts, “I want you to say my name, Eren.”
She gulps, staring at him intently as she feels herself begin to melt. It’s rare for a princess to call a knight she doesn’t know by name. But the way he asks—she wants to, she really wants to... “I even found myself thinking of you sometimes,” she says, his name on the tip of her tongue, ready to blurt out. “At first, I thought it was just because my marriage lacks intimacy. But it’s more than that. I genuinely want you, Eren. I do.”
In the haze of the moment, in the flicker of a single heartbeat, Mikasa hears a deep growl from his throat. She can’t tell if he steps forward or leaps in a surge of impulse; all she knows is that her dark knight’s strong hands encircle her waist, pulling her close. Their lips meet in a fierce, hungry kiss, his breath mingling with hers as he deepens it, insistently parting her lips to claim her with his tongue, tasting the warmth and sweetness that await him there.
Mikasa melts into him, surrendering as his grip on her waist tightens, drawing her closer, their bodies pressed as though they have longed for this union for a lifetime. Her hands find his shoulders, fingers digging in as his kiss grows more fervent, leaving no part of her untouched by his heat. She feels his heartbeat echo against hers, a steady thrum that sends shivers down her spine.
Then, in the heat of their feverish kiss, she feels his teeth bite her bottom lip, tugging with just enough force to draw a low moan from her throat, her breath catching in response. The sound stirs something primal in him, and she feels a subtle tremor course through his body, a raw reaction that makes his grip on her tighten, his desire unmistakable and unrestrained.
But the moment doesn’t last long. His dark instincts quickly dissolve as the taste of blood mingles with the flavour of their tongues, and he pulls away abruptly. His green eyes widen, reflecting a sense of having committed a grave transgression.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, gently taking her shoulders in his hands. “I’m sorry I got carried away. I…”
“It’s alright,” she reassures him. “It’s alright, Eren.”
For a moment, he seems unconvinced, so Mikasa takes the lead once more. She jumps up slightly, wrapping her arms around his neck and urging him to lie down. She savours him, just as he had savoured her, but with a gentler touch. She pulls him toward the edge of the bed, and as he brushes against her legs, she playfully pretends to fall flat onto the mattress.
“Start, Eren,” she says, gazing up at him from her position. “Please start. Just come in.”
From her vantage point, she watches as he swallows thickly and bites his lip, leaning over her and crawling across her body, one knee nestled between her legs.
“Should I spread my legs? This is how you do it, right?” Her hands slide down to grasp her gown, but just as she tries to lift it, he stops her.
“This is foolish; you don’t have to just open your legs for me.” His voice grows thick, dangerous. “But I’ve told you, nothing you do is foolish. Let me show you.”
“What?” She asks, feeling short of breath.
“How I will fuck you,” he says, and the word alone makes her blush. He had first told her he was going to make love to her, but now, when he declares he will fuck her, her anticipation grows proportionately to her desire. Gods, she wants him; she really wants him.
It feels as though her need reaches him telepathically, for his kisses return to grace her lips. He begins slowly, just as he surely envisioned at the outset. He kisses her cheekbones, then her lips, before trailing down to her neck, each kiss tender and deliberate. They cling to her skin like a gentle suction, promising marks that will linger long after.
“Eren.” She breathes, feeling the heat rise within her. “What are you doing?”
“I’m kissing you.” He sinks into the curve of her neck where he sucks, nibbles, and scrapes with his teeth. “I’m preparing you,” he adds, turning to brush his lips against the tip of her nose. “You have to be wet for me; pretty much wet.”
“Oh, I see,” she murmurs, remembering some things that she has heard from her nanny on what was supposed to be her wedding night. “But what if I’m already wet?” She dares to ask, feeling the stickiness between her legs.
“That’s something I must witness for myself.”
“Then see it; open my legs.”
His laughter fills the space, a melodious sound that wraps around her like a warm embrace. “Ah, you’re rather eager, aren’t you? It seems you wish to hasten this moment. I can’t help but ponder whether it’s merely to be done with it or if you truly hunger for me.”
“I want you, Eren,” she says, her lips curving into a sultry pout. “I want you now, and you’re taking far too long.”
He chuckles once more. “Yes, I understand your desires quite clearly.”
And there, his kisses boldly venture beyond her neck, past her collarbones. His mouth glides over the fine fabric of her nightgown, sucking gently at her nipples from above. The warmth of his mouth leaves a trail of saliva, rendering the fabric transparent, revealing her hard, erect nipples, tantalised by his tongue. In that moment, Mikasa finds herself torn between what she enjoys more: the way his tongue circles her breasts or the sensation of the fabric teasing her sensitive skin. Regardless of which it is, the combination heightens her arousal, and beads of sweat begin to form on her brow, and her body becomes more sensorial, more alive.
“Let me get this off for you, alright?” Eren asks, and she nods eagerly, shifting to let him remove her dress at last.
However, he doesn’t act quickly. He seems to relish the moment, teasing her as he slowly lifts the fabric, his fingers scraping against her legs in a tantalising glide that makes Mikasa close her eyes in anticipation.
“You’re teasing me,” she protests, feeling the dress inching up almost to her sex, yet he holds it in place. “Eren?”
He smiles innocently. “I’m just taking my time.” Mischief dances in his eyes, but it only makes Mikasa growl in frustration, so he hastens, as if remembering that he is bound to head her commands.
Finally, Eren lifts her nightgown, the soft fabric sliding over her skin before he tosses it aside onto the bed. He pauses again, and Mikasa teeters on the edge of impatience, her heart racing in anticipation. But when she looks at him, something unexpected unfolds within him—something she hadn’t quite anticipated.
He stops not to prolong his playful game of slowness but because he appears utterly captivated, as if he has discovered the most exquisite treasure in the world. And that treasure is her naked body, glowing with a vibrant flush, a growing ecstasy curling like delicate wisps of smoke through her.
The sheer adoration in his gaze leaves her feeling momentarily bashful, a rush of warmth flooding her cheeks. “Am I to your liking?” she asks, propping herself up on her elbow, her eyes locking onto his with a mixture of vulnerability and confidence.
Eren opens his mouth to respond, yet the words seem to elude him. Instead, his hand glides down her stomach, the touch feather-light and electric, caressing her skin with a slow, deliberate exploration. His fingers travel lower, brushing against the beautiful curls of her Venus mound, sending shivers of anticipation coursing through her body.
Mikasa gasps softly at the sensation, her breath hitching as his dark knight’s fingers linger at her most intimate place, teasing and awakening every nerve ending. She watches his expression shift, a blend of wonder and hunger dancing in his eyes. Eren leans closer, his breath warm against her skin, and she rejoices in the way he drinks in her form, as if he is memorising every curve, every contour of her body.
Never had she felt such devotion—not even when people bowed to her under the weight of her position. But here he is, this man, his green eyes making her feel like a goddess at a pagan altar, revered and cherished, loved so completely, so profusely.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he finally breathes, his voice barely above a whisper. “You are the most beautiful and enchanting little thing I have ever seen, princess.”
The title slips from his lips like the sweetest melody, and Mikasa makes no move to stop him. In truth, she relished in the way he says it, the reverence in his voice, as if it’s the most sacred word he knows. And perhaps it is; perhaps it is the most sacred vow he has ever known. After all, he is bound to her by oaths, by words and actions woven tightly together. It’s only a matter of time before this bond takes on a more tangible form, until the sacrament that unites them becomes flesh—tender, delicious, irresistible.
As if eager to bring this union fully into reality, Eren leans over her, his lips following the path his fingers traced through her soft, dark curls. His mouth moves closer, leaving a trail of wet kisses, and soon he reaches the tender, inviting flesh between her legs, gently parting them to admire her fully.
“You’re beautiful everywhere, princess,” he murmurs. “So pink, and so... wet. Gods.”
“I told you so,” Mikasa manages, her voice barely steady as she holds her breath under his touch.
He laughs softly but doesn’t respond. Instead, balancing on his elbows, he reaches back, curling his fingers along her seams. Slowly, he parts her soaked, pink cunt, and a low moan slips from his lips, filled with pure, breathless excitement.
“I need to kiss your pretty cunt,” he says in a low tone, and not wasting a moment, he sinks between the folds of her cunt, his mouth pressing into her with exquisite devotion.
Eren holds her firmly, pinning her down while keeping her open, and then he dives in without hesitation. She inhales sharply, biting her lip. Holy God—his mouth covers every inch of her, warm and all-encompassing. He teases her, grazing the delicate lips of her cunt, giving her time to adjust to the sensation. The gentle tickling makes it nearly impossible for her to stay still. Then, just as her anticipation peaks, he brings his mouth straight to her clit.
She takes a breath. Her dark knight knows exactly what he’s doing, each tiny movement sending her already aroused body higher to the sky, ready to take off and explode.
“Eren, Eren,” she whimpers. She can’t move, can’t move at all, but oh God, she wants to rise up, grind her cunt in Eren’s, and feel more of his face, his cheekbones, his nose, his breath.
And she does so.
Mikasa summons monumental strength to lift her body, feeling utterly weak against his touch. Yet she manages it despite his firm grip. Her lower half rises, defying her protector’s hold, and Eren’s mouth becomes erratic, transforming his kisses into something stronger, more intense, more primal. He no longer kisses her as if she were delicate rose petals; instead, he sucks her, devouring her entirely. The muffled sounds of his indulgence fill the air, and she can’t help but feel utterly undone.
Gods, gods, gods, gods.
She doesn’t realise she’s whispering until she notices how his green eyes darken, and his mouth tightens with desire. She fights with every ounce of strength against the impending release of something, desperate to hold on just a moment longer. Eren is relentless, turning their encounter into a battle of mind over matter. She feels her clit encased in stone, sensations ricocheting inside her, trapped and unable to be unleashed, leaving her teetering on the edge of frantic need. Her fingernails dig into the mattress beneath her as her thighs tremble beneath Eren’s steady hands. But the most exasperating sensation is the growing fire in her stomach, igniting in the small of her back and radiating to her navel.
“Eren… I, I…” Her breath catches in her throat, escaping as an audible gasp. This moment prompts Eren to pull away for an instant, concern flashing in his eyes as he searches her face for a sign of her reaction.
“You want to come, don’t you?” He asks, only to pause his teasing and deliver a teasing lick to her hard clit. “Come, princess, come for me.”
“I, I, I...” she stutters, her whole body trembling slightly. Her nipples are so hard they ache, the pink tips sensitive to every sensation.
Eren gets creative, swirling and moving, kneading the insides of her thighs while his thumbs trace the delicate crease of her buttocks beneath her cunt. It’s overwhelming… She can hardly hold on.
Just like that, the fire in her stomach ignites like a pyre, burning hot enough to explode. She screams, screams, screams, her legs trembling as Eren continues to lick her up and down. The pleasure is so intense that she forces herself to cover her mouth, muffling her cries into her own hand, shaking and convulsing as Eren works his magic, holding her open with his strong, calloused hands, weathered from wielding his swords.
Amidst her ecstasy, an involuntary reaction takes hold, and her legs tighten around his head. He gasps but doesn’t resist; instead, he continues to kiss her as she chokes him. It isn’t until he releases a guttural moan into her cunt that Mikasa realises, opening her legs to free him from her grip.
“Oh, gods. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” she breathes, lost in the haze of pulsations still coursing through her body.
Eren gasps loudly, coughing, and Mikasa suddenly realises that she might have knocked the air out of him completely with the force of her grip. She sits up immediately.
“Eren?” she calls out, but the first sound she hears in response is his laughter, bright and full of life.
He looks at her, his eyes regaining the glow she knows so well. “That would have been a beautiful way to die,” he says, clearly amused.
“I wasn’t trying…”
“I know.” He chuckles, rising on his feet. “But let’s not linger on that, shall we? Even if you came that hard, my mouth alone can’t get you pregnant.”
Oh, he has a point.
Mikasa nods quietly, stepping back as Eren slips off his shirt. Reaching the edge of the bed, her legs no longer dangling, she gasps sharply when he suddenly pulls off his pants, letting them fall from his strong, well-defined legs. It’s a breathtaking sight. His muscles are sculpted in all the right places, thick and chiselled, especially in his calves and thighs—gods, those thighs could easily be two of her own. Surely, they come from countless hours of training and riding, muscles capable of holding her beneath him with ease. Even with all the decorum expected of a well-bred princess, she can hardly contain her anticipation for the moment when that becomes a reality.
Yet her anticipation shifts to anxiety as she catches sight of cock. It stands proudly, and Mikasa blinks, struggling to regain her focus through the haze of her recent pleasure. A shiver runs through her at the sight of his cock, so thick and hard that she can’t help but wonder how much it will hurt when he enters inside her. Surely, it will sting a lot.
She’s so captivated by the golden hue and glimmer of his tip that she doesn’t realise when Eren lays her back and positions himself on top of her. Soon, her grey eyes lock onto his green ones, and she notices them darken again with the promise of pleasure. Eren leans over her, pressing his forehead against hers, the tip of his cock grazing her flat stomach, leaving the tears of the beginning of his pleasure—a pleasure that he will show her when he comes in and paints her with his colours.
“You said you wanted a baby,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Yes,” Mikasa replies, shifting slightly beneath him, trying to find the right angle to welcome him. But it’s futile; she can’t muster the strength she had just moments ago, and his grip on her is unyielding.
“You said you had fantasies about me,” he continues, unfazed by her restless movements.
“Yes.” She swallows hard, a wave of emotion rising within her.
“Tell me, Mikasa, did I fuck you in those fantasies?” He finally shifts, his cock swinging tantalisingly close, teasing her wetness. “Did I fuck you so hard you couldn’t walk?”
Mikasa stifles a moan, feeling overwhelmed by the intensity of his words. She craves him inside her, but her dark knight insists on taking things slow. If she wants to experience pleasure and eventually bear a child, she knows she must answer his questions as he did with her moments ago.
“Yes, yes, Eren,” she whimpers. “You fucked me; you loved me.”
“And I will always love you,” he says, his voice breaking with desperation. “I will always love you, my love, my life, my only princess. Gods… I nearly died the day the king announced your marriage. I almost hanged myself from a beam.”
Then, as if the confession is too raw to bear, he buries his face in the crook of her neck, pressing himself against her, hiding from his own words. Mikasa strokes his head, her slender fingers tangling in his lustrous brown hair, her touch tender yet possessive.
“It’s alright,” she murmurs, her voice soft as a coo. “I had to do that, but I’m here now, see? Right here, between your arms.”
Eren nods slowly, emerging from his hiding place against her, his breath warm as he nuzzles her face. “Yes, I know,” he whispers, voice thick with longing. “And I’ll be your first, won’t I?”
“Yes, you will,” she breathes, feeling Eren’s chest press down against her, the weight of him anchoring her in a way she never knew she craved. The pressure sinks her into the mattress, every inch of her body alive with sensation as her breath catches, quickening with every heartbeat.
Eren’s hands explore her, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate paths over her curves, igniting a warmth that spreads through her with every touch. His gaze locks onto hers, intense and unwavering, as though he’s memorising her. She feels a blush creeping up her neck, her pulse racing as his eyes seem to strip away her every layer, exposing her in ways she’s never allowed anyone to see.
His lips find her throat, pressing gentle, lingering kisses that send shivers cascading down her spine. She arches into him instinctively, her breath escaping in soft gasps. The weight of him, steady and unyielding, grounds her, yet it’s the passion in his touch that unravels her completely.
“Do you feel that?” he whispers, his voice a low murmur against her skin. “I’m here with you—all of me, only for you.”
“Yes, I feel you.” Her fingers trailing along the strong lines of his back, pulling him closer still. The heat between them intensifies, each moment drawing them deeper into each other, as though they’re the only two souls in the world.
His hand cradles her cheek, tilting her face up so she’s looking directly into his eyes. He brushes his thumb along her lips, his touch both tender and electric, and she parts her lips, letting him in, savouring the salty of his skin. Then she feels it—an exquisite tension building between her legs, an enticing tease that makes her heart race. His cockhead hovers just at her entrance, brushing her folds with the slightest pressure, a promise hovering in the space between them. She’s never felt so alive, every sense heightened, every feeling magnified, as though this connection has unlocked a part of her that has always been waiting for him.
“Don’t hold back—breathe with me,” he whispers, his voice soft yet firm, a steady anchor in the moment.
And so he presses into her slowly, inch by inch, filling her with an exquisite intensity that seems to radiate from deep within her. Her body adjusts around him, softening and yielding as he breaks through her maidenhood with a deliberate patience that leaves her trembling. The sensation is more than she expected—part ache, part pleasure, and wholly overwhelming as he claims a part of her that’s always been untouched.
She feels each inch as he sinks his cock further, his warmth stretching her, expanding her awareness of him. She can’t help but marvel at the closeness, the depth, and her breaths mingling with him as he settles fully inside her. Every part of her feels acutely alive, her senses heightened as he holds himself there, letting her adjust to the fullness, the sensation of him completely within her.
This is a place no one has ever reached, a privilege meant for her husband; he never sought it, though. So here he is, the one entrusted to guard her purity, now claiming it in her matrimonial bed. The thought alone ignites a rush of heat that blooms from her core, heightening her arousal, her own wetness betraying her desire as her body surrenders to him completely. Her breath quickens, and she feels her pulse throbbing in time with the tension building between them.
Eren shifts slightly, his hands steadying her, his gaze never leaving hers, as if asking silent permission to go deeper. She gives it without words, her body arching toward him, welcoming him in even further. The friction, the fullness, the sense of being wholly joined—it’s unlike anything she’s ever imagined, a pleasure that’s as much emotional as it is physical, leaving her breathless, trembling, utterly surrendered to the intimacy they’re creating together.
“Mikasa,” he says, his voice a gentle command, urging her to meet his gaze. She struggles to do it, not out of shame but because the sensation between her legs is overwhelming—a throbbing heat that prickles and stings as he stretches her, filling her in a way that feels both intense and unfamiliar. She’s caught between pleasure and discomfort, her body opening to him in ways she’s never known.
“Mikasa,” he murmurs again, “I told you to breathe.”
She takes a shuddering breath, grounding herself as he holds steady, letting her body adjust.
And as her breath steadies and each inhale and exhale becomes more audible in the quiet room, he draws back slowly, his movements deliberate and measured. Then, with a careful thrust forward, he fills her again. All she can hear is the sound of their bodies meeting, the loud, breathless moans slipping from her lips and the wet sound of her cunt sucking him in.
“Fuck,” he says, “fuck, fuck, fuck.” His words come out desperate and shaky, a mix of disbelief and something else—something raw, as though the weight of what’s happening is almost too much for him. Perhaps it is—perhaps it’s the tightness of her body around him—too much for him to bear in one go, tempting him to finish too quickly.
But Eren isn’t weak. Eren is a trained warrior who’s weathered countless battles and endured sieges that would break lesser men. He can’t allow himself to be overwhelmed so easily, not by this, not by her. So he holds back, thrusting in and out with difficulty but effectively imprinting his cock inside her, a carved place that will serve as a path for his seed.
“Oh, Eren,” she sighs, her eyes brimming with tears that spill over from the intensity of the sensations coursing through her.
“My sweet princess,” he tells her, reaching down to tilt her chin up so she has no choice but to meet his gaze. “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve longed to seek out courtesans while standing guard outside your door? How many times have I held myself back from barging into your room, thinking your husband was doing this to you?”
He shifts against her hips, a subtle movement that neither pulls her closer nor pushes her away. It’s a brief, deliberate move that creates the much-needed friction. He’s buried deep within her, so deep that she can feel his balls against her wet folds. He holds them together tightly, a gentle rise and fall that echoes the soothing rhythm of ocean waves. The sensation is overwhelming—a blend of pleasure and urgency that sends shivers down her spine.
Mikasa feels herself getting lost in it, the world outside fading away as she surrenders to the connection, to the fire building between them. She lets him push her knees up to her chest, opening her so completely to him that she’s sure there will be no place in her that is secret to him when this is over. He has already seen everything of her, and in that, she finds comfort because, deep down, perhaps it was meant to be this way. The person in charge of her security, knowing everything about her, including her pearly face in bed.
Oh Gods, oh Gods, oh Gods. He felt better than anything had ever felt. From this angle, he feels so much bigger, and it must show on her face because he laughs at her.
“Maybe I should have just walked in,” he says, his voice dripping with arrogance as he looms over her, feeling larger and bigger from this angle. “I should have taken charge and fulfilled your needs if that foolish husband of yours wasn’t going to bother with your most basic desires.”
Mikasa understands that the insult to Armin slips out in the heat of the moment, and she knows he doesn’t truly mean it. Yet something about his harsh words stirs excitement within her. She feels a thrill at the sight of this man of honour wielding such a filthy tongue, and it only makes her crave more, urging him to keep uttering those forbidden words.
And he does. As his unrestrained desire rises, his body thrusts against her. His breath is hot as he whispers, “If I had done that, perhaps you would already be pregnant, already full of a fourth or fifth child of mine.”
She flushes all the way to her ears to this, her sole answer. He is fucking her with so much abandon that she should fear for her safety. But she doesn’t. In fact, Mikasa screams with excitement when a sharp jerk knocks the air from her lungs—a high-pitched scream that can surely be heard down the hallway. But it doesn’t matter. After all, she wants them to know that a baby is being put inside her, that the long-awaited heir will be in her womb, and that her screams are the pleasure of the act that entails.
“Eren, Eren, I...” she sighs, forcing her eyes open so she can look at him.
“What, my princess?”
“I want to come,” she says pitifully. “I want, I want... ah.”
And she comes because she can’t resist it; the inner muscles of her cunt clench so tightly from the enormity of his size that it’s something she can’t even try to prevent. It’s a tidal wave, making her cry out louder than she ever has before.
“Oh, gods,” she screams. “Gods, it’s so good.”
She is broken, wasted, and completely undone. But Eren doesn’t let up, his movements steady and relentless. He moves forward as she scratches at his arm, her nails digging into his skin in a desperate attempt to ground herself. Her breath comes in shallow, frantic pants, desperation replacing pleasure.
He pushes deeper, his pace unyielding, as if he’s determined to draw out every last moment of this. There’s a quiet intensity in his gaze, an unwavering focus as he navigates the fine line between his need for release and his desire to prolong this moment, to give her everything he can, to leave no part of her untouched by the mess he is making.
“Do you want my cum inside you, princess?” he groans, a macabre sound that shivers her. “Do you want me to come inside you and fuck a baby in your womb?”
“Please,” she cries, “that’s what I want. Please, please, your baby—no one else, just yours!”
It seems that her desperate pleas are what finally break him. With a harsh exhale of air and a primal growl, he begins to release. His hips slam against her abused cunt as he fills her completely with his cum—the seed that will secure her throne and close mouths. And then he collapses, shuddering with one last push, his body falling heavily on top of her. His forehead comes dangerously close to hers, but they don’t touch. Eren holds back, remembering to protect his princess, even in the heat of his frenzy, an amazing awareness of her even when he is letting go, pushing them both to their limits.
Mikasa revels in his moans of pleasure, the way he convulses above her, the heat that she knows has to be his seed. The torrent of his cum is enough to make her cry out again, and he murmurs a wild, panting oath in response. Then her dark knight kisses her—desperate, hungry, satisfied. And the enchantment is complete, the honour fulfilled. She lies open, vulnerable, like a delicate flower. He is stained with the unctuous blood of her maidenhood, the proof of their union staining him in a way that binds them forever.
When he finally withdraws, a soft noise of discomfort escapes her lips, her muscles contracting, burning. She suddenly becomes acutely aware of just how sore she is, every nerve ending tingling with a mix of sensitivity and ache. It’s a sensation that almost brings a smile to her lips, a reminder of the intensity they just shared, but she’s too exhausted to fully embrace it.
He gently closes her legs and turns her onto her side, allowing her to lie comfortably. She thinks they won’t get any closer, but she’s surprised when he presses his chest against her back, wrapping his arms around her in a protective embrace.
“Close your legs; don’t let it spill out, princess,” he says to her in the same tone of voice he always uses.
Mikasa can’t help but chuckle. “Is my dark knight so tired that he can’t fuck me again?” she asks, her voice laced with fatigue yet tinged with a teasing edge.
He laughs with her, pulling her closer, the grip tightening around her. “I’ve often wondered where that name came from. But I suppose there’s no great mystery to it, is there? It’s all about the armour, isn’t it?”
“And that air of mystery I always thought surrounded you,” she sighs, her breath mingling with the warmth between them.
Eren gently nuzzles the top of her head with the tip of his nose, settling his chin atop hers. When he speaks, Mikasa feels the low vibrations of his voice reverberate through her. “What do you think of me now?”
She pauses, as if weighing her response, but in truth, the lingering haze of pleasure still envelops her senses. “I think we should do this more often, my dark knight,” she replies, a sly smile playing on her lips. “After all, there’s little chance I’ve become pregnant now, wouldn’t you agree?”
She gasps in surprise as he turns her around, his gaze piercing down at her, almost offended by her words. “You are going to get pregnant, Mikasa,” he declares, a frown on his brow. “But you’re right; we’ll have to do this more often. Do you think your husband will object?”
A giggle escapes her lips as she reaches up to caress his face, and with that movement, the pressure she had been exerting on her legs dissipates. Soon she feels the warmth of his seed spilling from her inside to the sheets beneath them.
“Armin was the first to suggest this. He’d be mad to complain now,” she replies, a playful glint in her eye. But soon her face twitches. “Eren, gods, I didn’t ask you.”
“What, dear?”
“I never asked if you were alright with the children. You know... they’ll just be mine and Armin’s,” she says, a knot tightening in her chest. “They won’t be able to call you father.”
Eren gently takes her chin in his hand, guiding her eyes to meet his. "My position could never allow me to be with someone like you and have children with someone like you—the future queen," he says, his voice soft but firm. "So don’t worry. As long as you let me train and protect them, I'll be more than content."
Mikasa swallows thickly, uncertainty still lingering in her mind. “Sure?” she asks, her voice small and fragile.
“Yes, princess. I’m more than sure.” He smiles, the warmth in his eyes unwavering. “Now,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against her ear, “will you allow this humble servant one more chance to fuck his queen before he retires for tomorrow’s watch? Just to make sure, of course.”
She smiles, slipping her hand around his neck to pull him close, her lips meeting his in a tender kiss. “Of course, my dark knight.”
V.
Morning light warms Mikasa’s face, gently coaxing her awake. But as her eyes flutter open, a figure steps in, casting a shadow over her. Her husband stands there, grinning with a glint of mischief, an apple in hand.
“So? How was the night?” he asks, taking a slow bite, amusement dancing in his gaze.
Mikasa blinks, disoriented, as memories from last night flood her mind, raw and vivid. She feels the cling of sweat on her skin and, feeling her nakedness, pulls the sheets up—not that it matters. Armin’s eyes hold no jealousy, only quiet amusement.
Her gaze roams over him, noticing he’s in a similarly spent state, though he’s managed to stay clothed, just barely. “You look like you’ve been thoroughly fucked,” she points out, sitting up. “Rough night?”
“Not quite as much as yours, I venture. I just thought I’d try and match your post-fuck glow. Jean did an excellent job, wouldn’t you say?”
She rolls her eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at her lips as she adjusts the sheets around her. “He must have.”
He laughs as he places the apple on the nightstand and settles down on the mattress beside her. “So?” he asks, a hint of curiosity gleaming in his eyes. “How was it?”
Mikasa hesitates, feeling an unexpected shyness, but then lets it go. “Well, I certainly wasn’t expecting to know about... all those feelings. I was kind of blind to them, I guess.”
“I know, love. You didn’t see his feelings, and he was too scared to show them. It just took a little push from someone wiser. And now, look at us—we all benefit. The knight gets his princess, the princess gets his child, and I get my... knight.” He grins, eyes dancing with mischief. “Everyone’s happy.”
She can’t help but laugh, leaning into Armin, comforted by the warmth of his presence.
“Well, I owe you my thanks,” she says, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder. “For being exactly who you are.”
Armin chuckles, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her close. “If that’s all it takes to keep my princess content, I’ll happily oblige. Just promise me you’ll keep enjoying yourself.”
“I think I can manage that.”
The quiet stretches on, and Mikasa’s thoughts drift to Eren. Where is he now? Is he on guard, standing vigilant outside her door? Or perhaps resting somewhere in the barracks? She’s always had feelings for her dark knight, but tonight has deepened them into something sharper, an ache edged with longing.
She’s just about to voice her thoughts when Armin speaks first. “I just hope your blood is stronger than his, and the child turns out like you,” he says. “It would be quite the scandal if our child had those green eyes of your sworn shield, wouldn’t it?”
Mikasa’s eyes fly open. Damn. She hadn’t even thought about that.