You know something is wrong the moment you wake up and the other side of the bed is empty. The sheets are cold where Levi should be. Levi is many things—early riser, clean freak, insomniac, workaholic—but he’s not usually gone before you wake unless he has somewhere important to be, and today is not a day he has anywhere important to be.

You lie there for a moment, listening, and you hear the faint sound of running water and something being set down a little too carefully, a little too slowly, almost as if the person doesn’t want to wake you.

You find him in the kitchen. He’s standing at the counter wiping it down with one of the cloths he insists on using for specific surfaces only, moving slower than usual, shoulders slightly hunched, hair messier than normal like he didn’t bother fixing it properly. When he coughs quietly into his elbow and keeps cleaning like nothing happened, the worry inside you finally has an answer.

“You’re sick,” you say.

He doesn’t turn around. “I’m fine.”

You lean against the doorway and watch him wipe the same section of counter again. He’s absolutely not fine. “You’re cleaning at seven in the morning,” you say. “You’re either stressed, possessed, or sick.”

“The apartment was dirty.”

You look around at the apartment, which is spotless, because Levi lives here. “No, it wasn’t.”

He reaches for the spray bottle again and pauses for half a second like the motion took more effort than it should have. That’s when you walk over and grab his wrist before he can pretend again. His skin is hot. Not warm—hot. You press your hand to his forehead and he immediately tries to pull away.

“Stop,” he says.

“You have a fever,” you say.

“I said I’m fine.”

“You’re burning up.”

“It’s just a cold.”

“You’re not cleaning the apartment with a fever.” He tries to reach for the cloth again and you take it out of his hand, toss it onto the counter, and turn off the sink. “Bed.”

“I’m not dying.”

“You look like you are.”

He glares at you, but the usual harshness isn’t there, only a dullness you could guess is the fever making his eyes unfocused. For a second, you see the absence of his usual iron control. It’s not something you see often.

“Bed,” you repeat, softer this time, putting your hand on his back and gently steering him back toward bed.

He grumbles under his breath the entire way, something about wasted time and how the apartment still needed to be cleaned, but he doesn’t really fight you, and that’s how you know he feels worse than he’s pretending. You get him back into bed, push him down by the shoulder when he tries to sit up again, and start the routine—water, thermometer, medicine, extra pillow, then fewer blankets when he complains he’s too warm, opening the window just a little so the air moves.

He looks miserable, hair falling into his eyes, expression annoyed and exhausted and feverish all at once. You feel that strange mix of affection and worry, because Levi is always so composed and capable and controlled that seeing him like this makes you feel like you’re out of your zone caring for him.

A little while later, you bring him soup. He looks at it like you’ve insulted him just by bringing it to him.

“I’m not hungry,” he says.

“You need to eat,” you reply.

“I don’t want it.”

“You have a fever and you haven’t eaten since last evening. You’re eating the soup.” He turns his head slightly away from the bowl, intending to win this battle. You sigh and sit on the edge of the bed. “Just a few bites,” you say. “Then I’ll leave you alone.” He doesn’t move. You hesitate for a second, then say, softer, “Do it for me.”

That makes him pause. He doesn’t look at you, but his shoulders shift slightly and after a moment he reaches for the bowl, takes a few reluctant spoonfuls, then hands it back like he’s completed a physically taxing task.

“That’s enough,” he mutters. It isn’t, but it’s something, and you don’t push your luck. He takes the medicine without arguing after that, which is how you really know he feels awful.

Not long after, the fever starts to drag him down into sleep. You’re sitting beside him with a book when he stirs slightly and reaches out without opening his eyes, grabbing the sleeve of your shirt. You start to stand to take the empty bowl back to the kitchen, but his grip tightens slightly.

“Stay,” he murmurs, voice rough and half-asleep.

You freeze. Levi doesn’t ask for things like that. Levi orders, or insists, or says nothing at all—but he doesn’t ask. You sit back down slowly. 

“I’m here,” you whisper.

He relaxes almost immediately, hand still loosely gripping your sleeve. After a few minutes he starts to breathe a little slower, the tension leaving his shoulders as he sinks fully into sleep. 

You sit there for a long time, not reading anymore, just watching him, brushing his hair back from his forehead occasionally, adjusting the blanket when he shifts, listening to the sound of traffic outside the apartment and the softness of his breathing.

You think about how many times you’ve seen him exhausted, injured, furious, distant—but almost never like this, almost never soft and unguarded and trusting enough to fall asleep while holding onto you like you’re the one thing he doesn’t want to lose. Your heart aches a little with how much you love him.

Later, when he wakes, the fever has broken a little and his eyes are clearer, though he still looks tired and pale and rumpled from sleep. You’re sitting beside him with your laptop, working on your own personal things quietly, and when he opens his eyes and sees you still there, something in his expression shifts. It’s subtle, but you see it.

“You stayed,” he says.

“Of course I stayed,” you reply, like there was never another option.

He watches you for a moment, then reaches out and catches your wrist lightly, thumb brushing once across your skin. “Thanks,” he says.

You blink. “For what?”

He heistates, like he doesn’t know how to explain it, then says, “For taking care of me.”

You squeeze his hand gently. “Always,” you say.

He doesn’t respond to that, but he doesn’t let go of your wrist either. After a moment, he moves slightly closer on the bed, eyes already drifting shut again, still holding onto you like he plans to make sure you’re there when he wakes up again. You realize you don’t mind at all, not even a little, because if Levi ever lets himself need someone, you want it to be you.

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You’d be lying if you said these were new feelings for you. Feeling like the world was judging your appearance, judging your body, stemmed from your early years of being scrutinized by your peers. And while a lot of time had passed and you’d grown from that little girl into a grown woman, into a capable soldier respected by her comrades and a friend cherished by others, some insecurities—no matter how insignificant they seemed in the grand scheme of things—had a tendency to sneak up on you at the most inconvenient times, even when nothing gave you a reason to feel like it. All you’d done up until that point was mingle with the other guests, and somewhere along those lines, you’d become hyper aware of every pair of eyes that so much as glanced your way.

You hated it. You hated how something so small could make you feel this way.

Standing next to Armin as he talked to some guy, you observed as people conversed with one another, discussing everything from the weather to the overcooked lobster, laughing and having a good time. That’s what you should have been doing, you tried to tell yourself. You had come to this business party to relax and unwind, to drink a little too much wine, have a dance with Armin and possibly end the night in his arms, tangled in the sheets. However, instead you were awkwardly fiddling with the glass of wine you’d been nursing for the last hour, attempting not to focus on the way your dress now felt too uncomfortable, too tight, too itchy, too everything.

“Hey, are you okay?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin at the sound of Armin’s voice right next to your ear. Eyes wide and your heart pounding against your ribcage, you turned your head to look at him, suddenly acutely aware of the fact that sometime during your internal battle against old insecurities you thought you’d long since gotten over, the man had disappeared and Armin’s arm had made its way around your waist, pulling you closer to him and enveloping you in his warmth. He was a steady presence beside you, an anchor in the vast ocean that was your mind.

Armin smiled, soft and apologetic. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

The way he looked at you—so full of love and admiration—made you feel bashful. You nervously wiped your hand on your dress, your other one grasping the wine glass a fraction tighter. It amazed you that even after being together for so long, the Arlert man had the ability to make swarms of butterflies erupt in your stomach with a single gaze.

“It’s okay,” you told him, returning his smile with one of your own and admiring the way his eyes—blue like the ocean he’d spent years dreaming of seeing—seemed to sparkle in the light.

For a moment, you forgot all about what had been plaguing your mind for the majority of the time spent at the party. However, the temporary reprieve didn’t last long. You could see two women walk past in your peripheral vision, both saying a quick hello as they moved away. Then, like a switch that flipped, you found yourself right back in those trenches, your eyes lingering on the ladies, on the way they looked absolutely radiant in their attire. They appeared confident, self-assured, everything you were not feeling.

This sucks, you thought to yourself, downing the last of your wine and praying that the liquid would make you feel better. You weren’t even jealous of anyone there, and you supposed that was the one plus side to it. If you were feeling awkward, insecure and jealous over people who did nothing wrong? You’d feel like the lowest piece of crap on earth.

The feeling of Armin’s arm tightening around you fractionally pulled you back to reality. His face was twisted in concern, clearly worried about your sudden change in demeanour. You’d been so eager to be here, and now you seemed…lost, uncertain, and something dangerously close to upset.

“Talk to me, lovey,” Armin began, his voice soft and soothing. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

Pretty. Despite it being a compliment, the word hit you like a ton of bricks. You definitely did not feel pretty in that moment, but you swallowed back a retort that rested on the tip of your tongue. “I’m fine. Just tired, is all.”

You knew that Armin could see right through your lie. Sometimes you swore he knew you better than you knew yourself, and while it usually was a good thing, there were times when you hated it, like now. You didn’t want to ruin his night with your own nonsense. This was one of the only times he got to just be, and you wanted to make sure he could enjoy himself.

He carefully pulled away from you, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over your shoulders. While you didn’t say it out loud, you were grateful for the extra layer. It helped you feel less exposed, and you released a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

Armin tilted his head slightly, staring at you with the same intensity he used when studying different maps, trying to decode the true extent of your feelings. “Just tired?”

The way he said it spoke volumes. He knew you were lying. However, you nodded. “Just tired.” You adjusted his jacket on your shoulders. “I think I’m just going to call it a night.”

A beat of silence passed. “Let’s say goodbye to the others, then.”

No. That’s exactly what you’d hoped to avoid; spoiling his evening.

“Min, no. You don’t—”

“I know I don’t have to,” he cut you off, knowing exactly what you were about to say. “I want to. Besides, we both have an early morning anyway. I think calling it a night is probably for the best.”

You wanted to argue. You wanted to insist that he should stay, that you could go back to your room on your own, that he should have fun, but Armin could be quite persistent once he had his mind set on something. So instead, you simply nodded, trying to shove the guilt you felt away.

He took your hand in his own, leading you towards your friends with the intent of saying good night. On the way there, you put your glass down on a nearby table, keeping your eyes on the floor as you walked and cringing a little whenever you felt a pair of eyes on you. Then, when you reached your friends and exchanged greetings, you tried not to feel even worse when they voiced their disappointment at your departure, ensuring that you both would naturally see them all the following morning, before you finally gathered your things where you left them and made your way out of the party.

Why? you thought to yourself bitterly. Why did all of this have to happen tonight of all nights?

All you got in reply was silence, and the pressing guilt that you’d ruined your boyfriend’s evening.

Great. Just great.

“Do you need help with your dress?”

The door to the room you and Armin shared at the Inn shut behind you with a faint, resounding click, your partner being the one who’d closed it whilst you made your way to sit on the bed and remove your eels. Glancing up at him, your fingers working at the strap of your last heel, you found him already looking at you, his gaze thoughtful and pondering.

It was clear he still was not convinced that you were “just tired”, as you had claimed and reiterated multiple times on the way back. Armin knew you better than that, and what you usually found to be sweet and endearing just made your already dampened mood worse. You just wanted to bury these feelings, stomp them down until you forgot about them again, and it was clear that Armin was not going to let it go.

“No,” you finally answered, your words coming across a little colder than you’d intended for it to be, “I got it.”

“Are you sure?” He wiped his hands on his trousers, stepping away from the door and a little closer to you. “I don’t mind helping.” He chuckled, shy and adorable. If you weren’t in a downtrodden mood, you’d tease him for it. “I’d love to, actually.”

You subconsciously wrapped your arms around yourself. God, you felt gross, and you didn’t even really know why. Nothing went wrong at the party, everyone was nice, you started off having a good time…and then it’s like a flip switched, and you became hyper aware of everything about your appearance. It was stupid. Why couldn’t you just get over it?

“No, it’s okay.”

Armin’s eyebrows furrowed together, calculating every micro expression you made. “Honey—”

“Armin, I said I got it,” you snapped, and you instantly regretted it when you saw him tense at the tone of your voice. Your eyes immediately softened and darted to the floor below, your shoulders slumping, and despite trying to ignore it, tears pricked the back of your eyelids. “I’m sorry, ’Min. I didn’t mean to…” Didn’t mean to snap. Didn’t mean to ruin your evening with my stupid insecurities. There were so many things that could fill in the blank.

The feeling of the bed dipping with the weight of another person made you look up again. Instead of finding anger painted across his features, you saw understanding, and you felt silly for expecting anything less. Armin rarely got mad at you, and this was no exception.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” he asked in a soft whisper, his hand reaching up to cup your cheek and wiping something away with his thumb—a tear, you realized after a moment. “Talk to me.”

You exhaled shakily, leaning into Armin’s touch almost imperceptibly. “It’s stupid.”

The Arlert man shook his head. “It’s not stupid if it makes you upset,” he retorted, repeating something he’d told you many times before. “Tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”

You almost laughed at that. Not because it was funny, but the fact he’d said that exact thing two times in one night and each time, your brain refused to accept the subtle compliment, even if your heart yearned to, and you hated it.

“Pretty,” you started slowly, the word tasting bitter in your mouth. “I don’t feel that way.” You fiddled with your fingers, suddenly feeling awkward. “I feel ugly.”

Realization dawned on Armin. He was no stranger to the feelings you’d forgotten about, made aware of it through what you’d shared with him, but hearing you sound so broken, seeing you look so upset over something that he firmly believed was not true…it made him sad. You were so beautiful to him. He wished that you could see yourself through his eyes.

Suddenly, an idea hit him like a freight train. He had a plan; one that could either go perfectly, or one that would make you upset with him. It was a fifty-fifty chance, and he was willing to test those odds.

“That’s bullshit,” he said after a few beats of silence.

You frowned. “What—”

“You’re beautiful, honey,” he told you with absolute certainty, grasping your face in both of his hands now. “I know just saying that won’t do much, but you are.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead. “You’re breathtaking…” A kiss to your cheek. “…gorgeous…” A kiss to your other cheek. “…pretty…” A kiss to your jaw. “…divine…” A kiss to your nose. “…stunning, mesmerizing, ethereal—”

You found yourself laughing a little, both at the way his kisses tickled and the fact that he knew so many different words for pretty. While those feelings from earlier didn’t disappear, you did feel a little better, and you were amazed at how easily Armin could get your mood to improve, without even pressing you to tell him exactly what triggered such feelings. You truly were lucky that you got to call him yours.

“Wow.” You giggled when he kissed a ticklish spot right below your jaw. “Sooner or later you’re gonna run out of synonyms for ‘beautiful’.”

Armin smiled at the sound of your laughter. “Then I’ll make up my own words for it.” He pulled back to look at you fully, his eyes burning with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “You’re so beautiful, and I won’t let you believe otherwise. Not on my watch.”

“Armin…” You had no idea what you wanted to say. However, even if you knew what you wanted to say, any words would fall short because your boyfriend leaned in, his lips a hair’s breadth away, just barely grazing against yours.

“You’re beautiful,” he reiterated, your breaths intermingling. His hands slipped from your face and down your body to rest on your waist. He pulled you closer to him, the space between you shrinking to almost nothing. His touch was tentative, careful, giving you time to pull away if you wanted to. You didn’t. “You’re beautiful.”

He didn’t waste any more time. He closed the remaining distance, capturing your lips for a soft, sweet, tender kiss, one that stole your breath and had your heart leaping in your chest. It started slow, almost experimental, so similar to the first kiss you’d shared years ago. He’d been so shy, so nervous, his face flushed a deep red, and you remember finding it adorable.

However, as you both got more comfortable in your relationship, Armin started to reveal a side to him you’d never seen before—a more confident side, one that mostly came out to play when the two of you got “down and dirty”. The same side that was definitely making itself known in that moment.

With careful, steady precision, Armin’s hands moved to your back, his fingers finding the zipper of the dress that made you look ravishing to him. As he slowly began working the zipper down, he pulled back slightly, resting his forehead against yours, breathless and panting.

“God, I don’t think you know what seeing you in this dress did to me,” he said huskily, his voice an octave lower than usual. “It took all my willpower to not just keep you here when I saw you in it for the first time.”

When the zipper was down, the dress hung loosely on your frame, and he wasted no time in pushing it down, letting it pool at your waist until you helped him take it off completely. You were nearly fully exposed now, only clad in your bra and underwear, and Armin’s eyes dragged over your form hungrily, the ocean blues nearly consumed by his pupils.

“I have to admit, though,” he began, making quick work of unclasping your bra, fumbling with it for a moment before ultimately succeeding, “seeing you out of the dress is even better.”

You were barely thinking straight anymore. Your skin was on fire, arousal pooling deep in your belly. You barely registered that you hadn’t even tried to stop him once when he removed your clothes, your insecurities seeming to have melted away. You were grateful for that. You’d hate to ruin what you knew was going to be the time of your life because of something you deemed stupid.

Without warning, Armin pushed you to lay back on the bed, a faint smirk tugging at his lips at the surprised gasp that left your mouth. He gave you a second to adjust yourself to get comfortable on the mattress, scooting up so that your head could rest comfortably against the pillows—your comfort would always be his top priority—before moving to crawl on top of you. He was sure not to rest all of his weight on you, planting his hands on the pillows beside your head, trapping you in a cage you did not want to escape.

Then, he made his move.

It wasn’t quick. It was clear he was in no rush that night. His lips found yours for another tender peck, one that betrayed the need that pumped through his veins, before moving to your cheek, down to your jaw where his teeth faintly grazed against the soft skin, to your neck where he placed a string of hot, sloppy, open-mouthed kisses against the spots that he knew would draw those pretty sounds from you, those sounds that were like music to his ears.

Armin upped the ante, the kiss he pressed against your collarbone morphing into him sucking at the spot, making you gasp and slightly arch your back in his hold. “Armin,” you whispered, breathless.

He hummed. “Hmm?” His lips trailed up your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive flesh, and he chuckled softly when he heard a whine spew from your mouth.

You felt like you were on fire. The last remnants of your conscious thought flew out the window, and all you could think about was Armin. About how he was making you feel, about how his teasing was slowly driving you crazy but in the best way, about how you wanted him to move faster…Armin was the only thing on your mind.

“You have no idea how gorgeous you are, lovey,” he whispered into your ear, his breath fanning against your skin sending shivers down your spine.

Armin’s voice was soft, soothing, and infuriatingly calm. How could he be so calm when you were practically falling apart, ready to drop to your knees and do whatever he wanted if it meant he would just fuck you already? How could he move so slow, his hands gliding down your body like he had all the time in the world, when you were practically oozing impatience, about to explode from how worked up you were?

However, when Armin pulled back from your neck, you looked at him, and one glance at your partner had your breath hitching, the words—“please hurry up”—dying on your tongue. His eyes, blue like the skies on a clear day, dragged over your body like he was looking at the most beautiful piece of art in the world, and to him, you were. That gorgeous painting you both had seen in Marley that cost more than life itself paled in comparison to you in Armin’s eyes. You were perfect to him, and nothing could compare to you.

“Armin, please,” you pleaded softly.

He merely smiled, a faux innocent one that could fool anyone into believing that this sweet man was incapable of anything as filthy as this. “Don’t worry, honey. I’ll take care of you.” He kissed the tip of your nose, and in an unexpected move, one of his hands teasingly brushed against your clothed cunt for barely a second, causing a whine to tear from your throat at the small but delicious amount of friction. “My beautiful girl, all worked up for me.”

“Armin—”

“Shh,” he gently shushed you, using the same hand that had grazed your covered core to cup your cheek for a moment, the tender gesture a stark contrast to how you were feeling. “I have to admire my girl first.”

That’s when Armin finally moved. He repeated that same pattern from earlier—kissing your lips, your cheek, going down your jaw and to your neck—before finally doing something more. With unhurried, deliberate movements, he trailed lower, kissing, sucking, kissing again, making sure not to miss even an inch of skin, until his face was right by your left breast, his breath hot and heavy as his eyes flickered up to look a your face for a split second, ensuring that you were okay with what he was doing.

“Is this still okay?” he inquired, eyebrows raised in question.

You nearly laughed at that, breathless and worked up beyond belief. “Is that a serious question?”

He chuckled. “Just checking in.” With the reassurance that he hadn’t crossed a line you perhaps wouldn’t want crossed after your inner turmoil that night, he resumed his task, latching his mouth around your nipple.

A broken gasp escaped your chest, white hot pleasure shooting through your body. You instinctively arched against him, your hands flying to his shoulders and gripping onto them for dear life as his tongue flicked around the sensitive bud. One of his hands came up to fondle at your other breast, further adding to the pleasure you were already experiencing.

He worked at a pace he knew you loved. He’d spent countless nights listening every sound you made, studying every reaction to his touch, memorizing what you liked and what made you fall apart for him.

However, it wasn’t enough. You wanted—no, you needed—more.

“Armin.” You said his name like a prayer, your tone perfectly conveying what you wanted. “Please.”

Armin could have chosen to tease you. He could have been smug, said “please what?”, made you beg for it. He’d done it before. But not that night. He chose to be sweet that night.

With one last swirl of his tongue, Armin’s mouth lifted from your boob with a pop, looking at you for a few moments before lowering his head again, kissing down your body at a leisure pace. He made sure not to miss an inch of skin, loving on every part of your body as he descended down to where you needed him most, and you had to admit that it made your heart do a little pitter patter against you ribcage. He was being extra sweet, and you loved it.

“Beautiful,” he whispered when he kissed the skin right above your navel. “Gorgeous,” he muttered when he moved to your hip bone. “Stunning.” He was at the spot right above your underwear. “Absolutely divine.” His kisses moved further south, teeth gently nipping at the soft skin on your inner thigh. “So fucking beautiful.”

You were a wreck. His words of praise were doing things to you, making you desperate and needy. Your fingers tangled in his hair, lost in the sensations, and when Armin tugged your underwear down, you eagerly lifted your hips, anticipation building in you at the prospect of what’s to come.

“Goddamn.” A noise that was a mix between a gasp and a groan fell from Armin’s lips. In a slow, calculated move, he dragged a finger through your folds, his digit instantly drenched in your arousal. “So wet already, huh?”

With slow, deliberate movements, Armin licked his finger clean, groaning at the taste of you. The restraint finally snapping, Armin practically dove in head first, his hands gripping your thighs and keeping them apart before adjusting himself between your legs to be more comfortable. Glancing up at you one last time to ensure that you were okay and seeing no hesitation, he made his first move.

The first flick of his tongue against your clit made you jolt. White-hot desire washed over you like a wave, and the noise you let out would make anyone that heard it blush the deepest shade of red. Then he did it again, and again, and again…

In almost no time at all, you were a moaning, breathless mess. Your fingers tightened in Armin’s hair, his blonde locks your only anchor in an ocean of pleasure, an anchor that grew weaker as the seconds ticked by and your partner showed everything his mouth could do. He sucked your clit, precise and just how he knew you liked it. He was making you feel so good. So, so good.

“Armin,” you moaned loudly, bucking your hips up against his face. Armin only hummed in response, the vibration sending a small shock through your body. “Fuck, oh my god…shit!”

You raised your head to peer down at him for a moment, and the sight that you saw knocked the remaining air you had from your lungs. There he was, eating you out like a man offered a banquet after weeks of starvation and you were his meal, the hair that wasn’t between your fingers sticking to his forehead as sweat trickled down, but he didn’t seem to care. His only thought was you, his only mission making you feel good.

In a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it move, Armin’s mouth shifted from your clit, replaced by his thumb applying gentle pressure and rubbing small, tight circles against the sensitive bundle of nerves. His tongue delved into the welcoming heat of your cunt, moaning at the taste of you. You infiltrated all of his senses. All he could smell was the scent of your arousal mixed with the perfume he’d bought for you. All he could feel was your soft skin, the way you ground against his dace as you chased that high that he could tell was approaching. All he could taste was your deliciously addictive juices. All he could see when he glanced up was the way your head lolled from side to side, your mouth formed into an “o” shape, your face twisted with that beautiful expression only he ever got to see. And all he could hear was the sweet, melodic sounds you made that told him he was doing a good job.

Fuck, you were everything to Armin. You were like a drug he never wanted to quit.

The feeling of your approaching release came at record speed. A fire burned low in your abdomen, the coil winding tighter and tighter and threatening to snap at any moment. You were incredibly close, and some far-off part of your mind marvelled at how he’d managed to get you like that so quickly.

“Oh shit,” you moaned, lightly pulling at his hair and successfully eliciting a groan from him. “’Min, I’m—I’m so close—I—”

That only spurred him on. His tongue curled into you with more precision, his thumb rubbing tighter circles against your clit, focused entirely on getting you over that edge. And get you there, he did.

With one, two, three more circles against your clit, the floodgates opened. Your orgasm washed over you like a tidal wave, and you came undone with a shout of his name, your hips bucking against his face repeatedly, your legs shaking, your eyes screwed shut. Pure, unadulterated bliss coursed through you, further amplified by Armin helping you through it, his tongue lazily moving in and out of you as you rode out your orgasm.

When you shifted your hips away from him, Armin took that as his cue to let up. He pressed two kisses to each of your inner thighs, slow and tender, before kissing his way up your body in a similar fashion as earlier when he’d kissed his way down, worshipping you like you were a goddess; and to him, you were.

Reaching the top, Armin hovered over you, leaning in to capture your lips with his for a sweet kiss, one that spoke more than words ever could. It was one of love, of admiration, of silent promises to always remind you of how beautiful you were. It was perfect.

Armin was the first to pull away. He leaned back slightly, the corners of his mouth quirked up into a soft smile. “I love you,” he whispered quietly, his cheeks dusted with that familiar pink you’d grown accustomed to when he got shy.

You returned his smile with one of your own, your hand coming up to gently cup his cheek. You thanked your lucky stars that you’d found someone as perfect as Armin to love and care for, that someone as amazing as him loved and cared for you the same way. Someone that would be there for you, even on days like that, and he’d be there to reassure you when you needed it.

“I love you too.”

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“Where the fuck are they?” you sighed, rifling through your backpack in search of the pouch of pencils you swore was buried at the bottom. A bent notebook spiral scratched the back of your hand, but you ignored it, shoving it to the side and faintly scribbling down a mental note to fix it later.

Your Master of Puppets vinyl echoed faintly in the background, the remaining chords of Orion gradually fading into nothing. The afternoon glow streamed through your cracked bedroom windows, the scent of crisp autumn leaves and the set of carved pumpkins on your porch below filling the air. Down the street, a group of kids gossiped about something you couldn’t catch on their walk home from school for the weekend, their high-pitched squeals and giggles piercing the quiet of your suburban neighborhood. Somewhere outside of your peripheral, your best friend dug through his own pack, likely searching for the textbook he “certainly” tossed in before heading to your place. Given his history, you’d anticipated such, already planning to use yours before he’d even arrived.

You’d met Eddie back in freshman year of university, when you were a timid little creature scared to venture out into the world. Terrified to travel beyond the four brick walls of high school & the sanctity of your childhood home. Your biology professor paired you up for a project during your disease & immunology curriculum, and the two of you became well-acquainted over discussions of the genetic and environmental factors contributing to Alzheimer’s. Over time, he wore away at you, encouraging you to come out of your shell, and someone who was only meant to be your project partner became your best friend. Hours spent in the campus library buried in medical textbooks turned into short, unrelated conversations before going your separate ways. Post-project talks led to grabbing a late dinner so neither of you went home hungry. Casual hangouts became habitual.What started as an invite to a show became a mandatory two-ticket purchase. Horror movie marathons became a nearly weekly occurrence, and before you knew it, you’d joined his DND campaign. Now, you two were entering senior year, and your chats evolved from weekend plans into post-graduation plans. After many discussions on the matter, you both agreed to stay local, move in together with a few roommates once you saved up enough, and remain the best of friends.

There was just one little problem.

It started the moment you first laid eyes on him. He’d arrived late to Biology 101 on the first day, those wild locks billowing behind him as he skipped through the doors of the lecture hall. Nearly every head turned at the shrill of the door hinges, watching to see what straggler showed up late on day one. He took a seat at the end of your row, rings catching the zippers as he fumbled through his bag. Your professor didn’t even pause long enough for the echo of Eddie’s grand entrance to dissipate, refusing to waste even one precious second as she continued her intro lecture. Only when you tuned back in to her monotonous ramblings did you realize your breath had caught in your throat. Eddie was gorgeous—chocolate curls that bounced with every shake of his head, irises as rich as your morning coffee, Metallica t-shirt peeking out from between the flaps of his denim jacket—an ideal distraction for your eyes to feast on. Two weeks later, you were paired up for your project, and the rest was history. Your feelings for him grew stronger with every moment you spent together, though you accepted long ago that it would never be anything but an unrequited crush. Eddie’s friendship meant the world to you, and having him in your life in any capacity was better than not having him around at all.

“What’s all this?”

Amongst the chaos of digging through your clutter and wondering where in your room you’d left your own textbook, you hadn’t realized that the rustling of canvas behind you had stopped. He’d quit rummaging through his things, captivated by something far more interesting than your upcoming calc exam. His voice sounded distant, tucked into the far corner that your best-kept secret called home.

You didn’t need to look to know what he was referencing.

The wooden stand at your bedside sat draped with a decorative navy cloth, its frayed corners grazing your carpet. A shimmering gold table runner laid across it, fringes swaying lightly in the breeze and textured glitter catching the light. Books scented of aged parchment sat stacked along the back, white taper candles propped tall and proud in matching gold stands. Several translucent bottles and mini mason jars lined the edges, each one filled with a variety of aromatics, and three bundles of dried flowers rested in a corner next to chunks of rose quartz, citrine, carnelian, and blue lace agate.

You’d had your setup for years, and after one too many close calls with judgmental family, you learned to cover it before company arrived. It’d practically become second nature—wake up, throw your old, tattered quilt over top, and hope no one looked too close. The universe had to be playing some sick joke on you for today of all days to be when the most critical step in your routine slipped your mind.

“Oh, that’s my, umm…altar,” you muttered, fingertips finally grazing the plastic zipper of your pencil pouch. With a shaky grasp, you pulled it from your bag as you turned to him, clapping your hands together once to get his attention. “You ready to get started?”

Eddie remained fixated on the display before him, every ounce of focus locked on the array of colors and scents arranged before him. “Altar?”

“Yeah.” You gnawed the inside of your bottom lip, letting the words tumble off your tongue before you could stop them. “I’m a witch.”

So much for best-kept secret.

He reached for the nearest bottle, a small opalescent vessel filled with what, to him, appeared to be tea leaves. He rolled it between his fingers, mesmerized as he watched the contents move freely within its confines. An oil spill of colors reflected on the pearlescent surface, different shades of green and orange swimming among purples, blues, and pinks. Holding it at eye-level, he glanced at you over his shoulder with a teasing glint in his eye. “Like magic and potions and shit?”

Eddie was a goof—the class clown, the funny guy, always on standby with a quick retort or a witty comeback to break the tension. Anyone who spent more than two minutes around him knew that, and being friends with him for as long as you had, you were no stranger to such remarks. Yet somehow, you hadn’t expected something so light-hearted. Maybe it was a trauma response from all the backlash you’d received in the past—the accusations of devil worship and sacrifice at the height of the satanic panic, notes slipped into your locker scrawled with threats you didn’t dare repeat, and kids who pointed at you in the hallways screaming “witch!” like you were in Salem, Massachusetts in 1692. But the way Eddie spoke about it—like he had nothing to fear—eased the tension residing deep in your shoulders.

A sliver of a smile tugged at your lips as you reached blindly behind you and grabbed your backpack, sarcasm dripping like honey off every syllable. “Sure. Like magic and potions and shit.”

“How come you’ve never told me about it before?” Placing the bottle back where it belonged, he plucked one of the candles from its stand, a curious touch gliding over the solidified drops of previously melted wax clinging to the sides. He clutched his chest in feigned hurt, head lolling back as he gasped dramatically. “How could you keep such a secret from someone you call your best friend?”

You pulled your notes out next, careful to avoid the loose spiral that betrayed you earlier. “Well, it’s not exactly the most…socially acceptable, is it?”

His scoff barely missed a beat, sweet laughter sprinkled throughout. “And you think I care about what’s socially acceptable.”

You sighed, your shrug nonchalant. “I don’t know. I just…” Your words trailed off as you let your backpack fall to your feet. With a gentle underhand, you tossed your study supplies onto your bed, the pencil pouch sliding across the notebook’s glossy surface before coming to rest next to Eddie’s bag. “People haven’t always been the most…kind…about it.”

He glanced back at you again, his thoughts settling into the crease between his furrowed brows and the quirk in his lip. What have people said to you? What have they done? That’s bullshit. I’m so sorry. What the hell is wrong with people? Can’t let anyone just practice their shit in peace. But after noticing the discomfort in your gaze–a plea for him to keep his inquiries to himself–he swallowed his frustrations. That topic, and the discussion you knew he’d want to have, could come later.

“So what do you do with all of this?”

Despite Eddie’s inquisitive nature, his curiosity still caught you off guard. It wasn’t like you hadn’t been asked about it before. Hell, you’d probably been asked more times 

than you could count—except this was different. It was innocent, intrigued, laced with a refreshing sense of wonder. And it set your heart on fire.

“I have a few deities I practice with.” Your desk chair creaked under you as you leaned back, arms folded over your chest and one ankle crossed over the other as you watched him admire your private sanctum, the most personal piece of you, like a work of art. “Mostly, I use it to empower myself or put protection spells over the people I love.”

Eddie twirled the candle around once more, kneeling next to your altar as he balanced it back in its holder. He reached for one of the bundles next, cradling the dried flowers in his palm with the care such a fragile thing deserved. “Empower yourself?”

“Oh, don’t act so surprised,” you quipped. “I’m a little shy, a little awkward. How many times did you try to talk to me before I finally started participating in conversations?”

His gaze fell back to you for just a moment, a twinkle of knowing and mischief in his eyes, bottom lip between his teeth like he was biting back laughter. “A lot.”

“Exactly. And it’s senior year now. I want to be more…confident.” You paused, watching as he inhaled the scent of dried roses. “Go after the things I want, you know?”

The things you want. The people you want. Go after him if your bravery allowed such a feat.

“Badass.” Rising back to his feet, he placed the flowers back in their corner, turning on his heels in the direction of his bag. Given the context clues, you figured the conversation was over, the relief pulling a hushed sigh from deep in your lungs. And just when you thought you were in the clear, Eddie had one more question.

“You gonna put a spell on me?”

It was supposed to be a joke. You knew that. A silly, sarcastic comment that you would both snicker at and move past. Maybe you’d retaliate by mocking how “funny” he was, but nothing more. But you couldn’t hide the crimson fire creeping across your cheeks or the lump lodged in your throat. Couldn’t hide your heart thrumming so fast you thought it might burst from your chest or the goosebumps pricking your skin.

All of your hard work led to this very moment. Years of yearning, of kneeling at that altar, of begging the gods to give you the confidence to put yourself out there for once. Prayer after prayer, spell after spell, hours of self-reflection and shadow work and consulting your cards, hoping you’d find the answer somewhere between the cards written plain as day in black and white.

This was it. Your chance to be brave, to be bold, to put all of your efforts to the ultimate test. To maybe, just maybe, get what—and who—you wanted.

You met his espresso eyes with a soft smile, lashes fluttering as you giggled under your breath. “And what if I did? How would you feel about that?”

Silence hung between you, a thick cloud of smoke hell-bent on making sure you choked. Every second that ticked by spiked your blood pressure, anxiety dotting like pin-pricks across your skin. Neither of you broke eye contact, waiting with bated breath for him to say something, anything. Do anything, even if it was just laugh in your face. Any answer was better than the uncertainty weighing down on you.

Your thoughts were racing, working overtime to plot how you would play it off as a bad joke & try to move forward. Maybe you’d taunt him about using a spell to make him remember his textbooks, or show up to lectures on time, or—

“Honestly?”

Those two seconds of stillness pressed with an elephant’s weight on your chest. “I wouldn’t mind.”

The floorboards groaned under his footsteps, his movements slow and steady, like you were a timid deer he didn’t want to scare away. The need deep within you ached to move, to run your hands through his hair and pull him into the deep kiss you’d fantasized about. Despite your desire, your body kept you in place, muscles frozen and eyes never straying from his for even a moment. He left barely a breath between your bodies, yet the warmth radiating off him was searing, as if he were closer to you now than during one of his tight bear hugs. The close proximity felt safe, familiar, right where you were meant to be all along. His hand hovered at your periphery, reaching for you as if it were instinct. Yet he remained restrained, giving you the chance to say no, to step away and forget anything ever happened.

Hell would freeze over before you ever denied yourself this.

Throughout your friendship, there’d always been an unspoken tension. Glances that lingered for half a second too long, featherlight strokes you played off as an accident, a subtle twitch in Eddie’s eye when you mentioned a male classmate who asked for your number or wanted to take you out. Every time, you played it off as wishful thinking on your part. He was just the protective best friend whose love language was touch. Turns out it wasn’t just wishful.

Your knees locked hard, fast, bracing you before you had the chance to collapse. The only words you could muster came out breathy, cracked, your composure quickly dwindling despite your best efforts. “Are you sure about that?”

He brushed a few stray hairs from your face, taking his sweet time tucking them behind your ear and savoring the softness of your skin as he caressed your helix. His rings were cool against your skin, both quelling and further igniting the heat slowly consuming every inch of you. “What kind of spell are we talking?”

Your tongue darted out to wet your parched lips, the air encapsulating you spiking ten degrees in a matter of seconds. Your eyes flickered to places they shouldn’t, drinking in the sight of his Adam’s apple bobbing when he swallowed too hard and the tips of his ears turning baby pink. Deft fingers trailed down your jaw, coming to rest under your chin, tilting it ever so slightly to encourage you to look at him and searching your gaze for permission to do what you’d dreamt about more nights than you could count. He rested his forehead against yours, his lashes fluttering closed. The record faded into the background, and before he closed the distance, you whispered against his lips.

“Would you like to find out?”

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You could see it in his eyes - even though he never intended to show it to you. The exhaustion. The stress. It was a lot lately and you knew it. Blade could be a relentless employer - that much was clear. Josh enjoyed to work for him nevertheless; tinker on new stuff all day. It was his thing. But sometimes things got a little much - even for Scud. And yesterday had been such a day. He came home very late, didn't even eat dinner and rather went straight to bed; sleeping like a log until half past ten.

Good thing it was Sunday, you thought; happy that your boyfriend could use this day to rest up properly.

Now, Joshua sat on the sofa in front of the TV - relaxing and just chilling out like you told him to. You on the other hand had just finished the laundry and now were pondering on how you could help him relax even further and relief some stress. He was still tense - you could tell.

Your partner's blue eyes flickered up to meet yours for a lingering moment as he noticed your presence. "Hiya, buttercup. You done with the laundry already?" You gave him a nod, "Yep, all done." and didn't waste any time to put your plan into action. "You joinin' me now?" Josh asked as he watched you move closer. "Kinda," you answered; reached for a pillow and threw it on the floor between Scud's manspread legs. He looked up at you; sceptical, confused, watching. An eyebrow of his was slightly arched.

Biting your lip in thought, you watched Scud from the hallway; laundry basket still in hand and hearing the voices from the television. A woman. Probably on the news. That's what it sounded like. She was reporting about some different things. You didn't pay her much attention - until the word 'trend' dropped. That was when you became alert. You didn't care that Josh switched channels and was now watching his comfort show - The Powerpuff Girls, because the light bulb in your head went off. That single word was all the 'inspiration' you had needed.

Smiling to yourself, you put the laundry basket away and made your way to the small but cosy living room - on a mission now...

You proceeded; tying your hair up into a ponytail - and kneeling down on the pillow between his legs. Your boyfriend's eyebrow arched higher as he watched you get comfortable for a moment. Then he shook his head; grinning. "Really, buttercup? You pullin' that silly trend on me? You know I know whatcha doin'. I sent you that reel, remember?" You nodded with a little smirk and adjusted the ponytail. But you didn't get as far as saying another word, since Scud leapfrogged you; adjusting his position on the sofa slightly as well. "A'right, c'mere. Turn around. I'm givin' you that massage. After all, you did the laundry all alone today 'cause of my tired ass."

Your smirk widened as you shook your head. Gotcha. "Nope." Now he was confused. "Nope?" "Nope. Don't want no massage. I want to flip the script. Give you what you deserve after working so hard and long yesterday," you explained. The palm of your hands came to rest on his thighs; rubbing softly and slowly up and down over the clothed skin.

Joshua blinked, then his slight confusion morphed into a boyish smirk. "That so, babygirl? You gonna play the uno reverse card 'n give Scud a bj?" "If you let me... Gladly." His smirk even widened; feeling himself twitch to life in anticipation at your words. He lifted a hand and gently cupped your cheek. "I could never say no to that sweet mouth and the temptin' stuff it can do," Josh said then; giving you his consent and shifted his hips a bit once more to get more comfortable - which included splaying his arms and hands over the backrest of the sofa as well. "Go 'head, buttercup. I letcha lick the lollipop."

Your brows furrowed in short confusion before you snorted out a giggle. "Did you really just quoted lyrics from 'Candyshop'?" Scud gave you a little shrug of his shoulders and a crooked grin in return. You shook your head; still smiling. "You're such a goofball," you stated and let your hands work on getting his sweatpants at least a little out of the way. "That's one reason why you love me," Joshua countered self-confident while lifting his bottom off of the piece of furniture to help you along.

Once his sweatpants hung low on his thighs - just enough to give you some space, you looked back up into your boyfriend's face with a smile. "True," you confirmed and redirected your focus downwards again. The only piece of fabric separating you from Josh's manliness was the pair of rather tightly cut boxer shorts - with Bugs Bunny on them. You bit your lip in order to suppress a giggle. Here you were, on your knees, hair tied up and ready to indulge into something straight up dirty - and a lot of Bugs Bunnies were staring back at you.

Shaking off that funny, ridiculous thought, you reached for the waistband of said boxers, "Sexy underwear, babe." but couldn't bite back a tease. Scud smirked once more and gave you a playful wink; being his goofy self as he helped you shimmy the piece of clothing over his hips as well to join his sweatpants.

Your eyes fell instantly on the prize - the desirable treasure between his legs. A small smile tugged at the corner of your mouth as you found him to be halfway ready for you. "Already excited, baby?" Joshua chuckled, "Caught in the act, Ma'am." and lifted his hands in surrender. "I mean... How could I not? The hottest chick in town - who I am lucky 'nough to call my girlfriend, is about to give me head. Of course gets the lil' Scudster all excited 'bout that." You couldn't suppress the giggle which demanded to slip past your lips, and shook your head. "Fair enough, Josh," you said, "Thanks for the compliment." and finally lowered your head to start peppering the tender skin of his thighs with kisses - all the way from where the waistbands of his boxers and sweatpants sat, up to the junctions where his legs met his pelvis - making sure to avoid his steadily hardening manhood, though.

You felt your boyfriend's muscles tense and even slightly twitch underneath your touch. You smirked against his skin. "You like that, baby?" Josh huffed out a breathless laugh. "'Course I do. Love when you tease me, buttercup. Makes it even more exciting." Smiling satisfied with your work so far, you continued to love on his skin; worshipping every square inch. His twitching even increased when you nipped and kissed the inside of his thighs; legs spreading instinctively wider for you to give you better access. You knew he loved when you did that. Especially since the skin there was way more sensitive the closer you got to his hot, throbbing center.

Once you were done worshipping this body part, you moved on to his stomach and pubic area, where soft, yet scarred skin met coarse, dark hair; leading in a trimmed line from his navel to the base of his length. Tongue darting out to lick and caress the skin, you tasted his musky scent; actions spurred on by the airy gasp which left your boyfriend's lips. "Damn... You really give me some good lovin' today, eh?" You nodded; eyes flickering up to meet his hazy blues clouded by lust. "Told you, babe. I'm giving you what you deserve. Nothing less. Gonna take my time and make this real good for you," you stated; peppering his scars with kisses. Josh chuckled softly; watching you. "Imma make sure I'm givin' this back to you, buttercup. Gonna dive head first between those pretty legs tonight."

Scud hissed. His fingers twitched against the fabric of the sofa, head lolling back again as the feeling of your warm, wet mouth on him unleashed the pleasure deep inside his body. Your eyes lifted to look up at him - watching his Adam's apple bob in his throat. What a delicious, sexy view. Smiling in satisfaction at your boyfriend's visible enjoyment, you continued your good work.

"Are you?" You said in a teasing voice; breath fanning over his steadily hardening length. Your boyfriend gasped again; muscles twitching - and your answer to his reaction was stucking out your tongue to give him a slow, teasing lick from base to tip. "Fuck yeah," Josh vocalised his pleasure; head rolling back into his neck - laying on the backrest of the sofa.

"That the answer to my question or just a reaction?" Scud lifted his head again to look at you. His blue irises were literally drowning in desire now. "Both. Definitively both." You giggled and pressed small kisses to the tip; feeling his pulsating arousal twitch under your caresses. "Like that, baby?" "Think you can feel I do, buttercup, shit." You smiled and took things a step further - the pleasure a notch higher as you closed your lips around him - just the tip, though; suckling leisurely.

A delicious, sexy view - that's what Scud thought a few minutes later as well. You had steadily built the pleasure for him; teasing and taking your time. Now, though, you were bobbing your head in a steady rhythm; trying to swallow him whole from time to time. The man's eyes were stuck on you; watching with his mouth agape and a hand in your tied back hair - guiding you.

Josh was as hard as a rock; ready to burst and snap any moment. He felt his balls twitch as he felt your hot breath fan over his straining arousal again. "'M close. Think I might not be able to hold back longer," he warned you in a slightly hoarse voice. You just smiled up at him. "That's okay, baby. I don't want you to hold back. Just cum...," you said; palms giving his muscly thighs a soft almost reassuring squeeze before your tongue traced his length from base to tip - causing a breathy moan to escape your boyfriend again. "...you deserve it," you added borderline seductively and returned to your previous occupation. Namely sucking him off.

"Fuck," Joshua cursed loudly behind gritted teeth as he felt your lips reach almost his base, before he gently but quickly helped you pull you off his dick so that you could properly breathe again. You needed the little break to get fresh air back into your lungs and Josh needed it, too. He had to get a grip again and control his pleasure; not wanting to come just yet. So now you were both panting and slightly out of breath - but with a smirk on your faces. You enjoyed this definitely equally.

He also took a moment to just take everything in. The way your hands digged deliciously in the flesh of his thighs. Your slightly disheveled state. There was saliva and arousal everywhere. On his dick - obviously. Your lips and chin. His stomach. Hell, probably even on the sofa as well. Needless to say: The more you gave him, the messier it got.

Josh's hands gripped the fabric of the sofa even tighter; trying to just hold on to something as he got driven closer and closer to the edge by your wet, hot mouth. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," cursed Scud quietly under his breath, before he got quiet - jaw dropped in a silent moan. All that could be heard was the TV in the background and the obscene wet noises of your mouth around his swollen shaft. It was downright filthy.

To make things even better for Josh - knowing that he was very close now, you lifted one palm from his thigh to let it wander between his legs as well; carefully cupping his balls. One, slow caress of your thumb over the sensitive, delicate skin there in combination with a moan you allowed to slip your lips with your mouth full of him in order to show him how much you were enjoying this as well, was enough to tip him over the edge; knowing how much he loved to feel and hear it when you enjoyed giving him pleasure. You felt your boyfriend's hand in your hair again - and that was the official sign.

"Gonna cum, s-shit," he stuttered out and tapped your head; trying to gently pry you off of him. You didn't let him, though. You knew he wanted to be a 'gentleman' and not just come down your throat without asking and making sure it's okay - and you absolutely appreciated this. You loved him for being so consensual and thoughtful, but today... Today you'd give him the full experience.

All inclusive.

Instead of letting him go, you took him an inch deeper - and that marked the end of his 'restraint'. His hand slackened in your hair, and with a cute little whimper, you felt him explode on your tongue. The muscle underneath your hand twitched. You gently guided Josh through his high and made sure to clean him up before taking your mouth off his softening manhood - not wanting to overstimulate him.

Scud was taking deep breaths above you; trying to come back down to earth. "Holy cow, buttercup... That was smokin' hot." You smiled up at him; giggling and massaging his thighs gently again. "Yeah? You liked it? Good." The man scoffed. "Liked it? Hell, I think that was the best fuckin' blowjob you ever gave me," he stated - drop-dead serious, while his soft fingers caressed your cheek and tucked a strand which had escaped your ponytail back behind your ear. "Thanks for that. Didn't know how much I needed it."

Your smile brightened; hands working on his Bugs Bunny boxers to get them back into place. "You feel relaxed now, baby?" "Hell to the yeah." His sweatpants followed. "And now get up here. Let me kiss ya."