𓆩♱₊˙ もluvies ˙₊♱𓆪

most of my works contain smut (#freak) but ✧ = smut

♡? attack on titan

♱⠀⸺ armin arlert

time ✧

in your orbit ✧

celestial alignment ✧ (pt 2 to in your orbit)

♱⠀⸺ eren jaeger

halfway gone ✧

♱⠀⸺ hange zoe

♱⠀⸺ reiner braun

yearning ✧

touch starved ✧ (pt 2 to yearning)

crawl home ✧

♡? stranger things

♱⠀⸺ robin x nancy

That's when one of your fellow scouts came and told you Commander Erwin wanted to see you in his office, and you almost passed out from anxiety. A bunch of unwarranted and unrealistic scenarios presented themselves in your brain, like what if the Commander could read minds? Did he see you were distracted?

You wanted to throw up when you knocked on the door, and shook when his distinct voice told you to come in.

You pushed open the heavy wooden door, your palm damp with sweat against the handle. Commander Erwin sat at his desk, posture impeccable, his attention focused on a report. Without looking up, he gestured toward the chair across from him.

"Take a seat."

You complied, back straight and hands folded in your lap, trying to maintain composure despite your racing pulse. The Commander finished reading whatever document had captured his attention, signed the bottom with a practiced flourish, and finally lifted his gaze to meet yours.

"I appreciate your promptness," he said, his voice measured and even. His expression revealed nothing—the same calm, calculating look he wore during strategy meetings.

"Sir," you responded with a crisp nod, not trusting yourself to say more.

Commander Erwin folded his fingers and regarded you steadily. "I've received some concerns about efficiency within our ranks since returning from the expedition."

Your mouth went dry. This was it.

"Section Commander Hange's productivity has been compromised as of late," he continued, his tone factual rather than accusatory. "Captain Levi has brought this to my attention multiple times in the past week."

You remained silent, unsure if you were expected to respond. Despite that, a million thoughts ran in your head. Hange was distracted and it was because of you? And Captain Levi of all people was the the one to complain?

"I don't usually involve myself in matters outside direct military operations," Erwin said, "but when the functionality of our command structure is affected, it becomes my concern."

"I understand, Commander," you managed to say, your voice steadier than you expected.

Erwin's piercing blue eyes studied you carefully. "The Survey Corps operates under unique circumstances. Every soldier must prioritize the mission above all else, without exception."

You nodded stiffly, bracing for the reprimand.

"That said," he continued, "I've always maintained that a soldier's personal conduct is their own affair, provided it doesn't interfere with their duties or the chain of command."

A slight frown crossed his features—not of disapproval, but of consideration. "I trust my officers to exercise sound judgment in all matters. Section Commander Hange is a valuable asset to humanity's cause. As are you, in your position."

His emphasis on rank wasn't lost on you. A subtle reminder of the hierarchy that existed between you and Hange.

"Yes, sir," you replied.

Erwin reached into a drawer and extracted a stack of papers bound with twine. "These are the topographical surveys from our last expedition. Section Commander Hange has requested them three times today."

He placed the papers on the desk between you. "They're currently in the research facility, likely disrupting everyone else's work schedule with their impatience."

Was that the faintest hint of knowing in his voice? You couldn't be sure. His expression remained professionally neutral.

"I'd like you to deliver these immediately," he said, pushing the papers toward you. "And remind Section Commander Hange that their analysis report is due on my desk by tomorrow evening."

You stood, taking the papers with a salute. "Yes, Commander."

As you turned to leave, Erwin spoke again, his tone unchanged. "One moment."

You paused, facing him once more.

"The Survey Corps functions best when every member operates at optimal capacity," he said. "Whatever arrangements ensure that outcome are acceptable, provided they do not compromise our organizational structure or mission objectives."

His words were clinical, detached, yet you sensed the meaning behind them. This was Erwin's way—speaking in strategic terms while conveying something more.

"Understood, sir."

"Good," he said with a curt nod. "That will be all."

You saluted again and exited his office, the door clicking shut behind you. In the empty hallway, you exhaled slowly, clutching the papers to your chest.

Had the commander just given his tacit approval? Or merely established boundaries? With Erwin Smith, it was often difficult to tell. His words could be interpreted multiple ways—perhaps intentionally so. It was up to the Commander to be able to deny involvement if needed. And honestly, sometimes you felt too dumb to speak with him because of his big words and serious way of speaking.

What was clear, however, was that you hadn't been reassigned or separated from Hange's command. And now you had a legitimate reason to seek them out after a week apart.

The research facility wasn't far from headquarters—a converted storehouse with reinforced walls where Hange conducted their more questionable experiments. As you approached, the familiar sound of their enthusiastic voice carried through the air, punctuated by what sounded like something heavy being dragged across the floor.

You took a deep breath, straightened your uniform jacket, and knocked on the door, the stack of papers clutched tightly in your hands.

"Come in!" Hange's voice called out, bright and energetic.

You pushed open the door to find the research facility in its usual state of organized chaos. Books and papers were scattered across multiple tables, specimen jars lined the shelves, and various contraptions that you couldn't begin to identify occupied every available surface. The familiar scent of chemicals and parchment filled your nostrils.

"Ah, finally!" Hange exclaimed, looking up from where they were hunched over a microscope. Their hair was more disheveled than usual, falling loose from their ponytail, and their glasses sat slightly askew on their nose. But what caught your attention immediately was how they moved—no longer favoring their injured leg as heavily as they had been.

Moblit stood nearby, arms crossed and looking exasperated. "Section Commander, you've been asking about those surveys every hour. Perhaps if you'd waited patiently—"

"Patience is for people who aren't on the verge of a breakthrough!" Hange interrupted, practically bouncing on their feet as they spotted the papers in your hands. The sight made your heart skip—they seemed so much more like their usual animated self.

"The topographical surveys," you said, extending the bound papers toward them.

Hange's eyes lit up as they reached for the papers, their fingers briefly brushing against yours in the exchange. The contact was fleeting, but it sent a familiar warmth up your arm that you tried to suppress under Moblit's watchful gaze.

"Perfect timing!" Hange said, immediately untying the twine and spreading the papers across the nearest cleared surface. "Moblit, look at this—if we cross-reference these elevation markers with the titan movement patterns we documented..."

You found yourself watching them work, noting how their leg seemed to support their weight without the visible discomfort from the previous week. The way they moved with renewed energy, the familiar gesture of pushing their glasses up their nose when concentrating, the animated way they gestured while explaining their theories to Moblit—it all stirred something deep in your chest.

The memory of that night in the tent seemed to hang in the air between you, unspoken but present. Was Hange thinking about it, too? The way you touched each other, the way you spoke like it was the beginning of something new... were they as affected as you?

"This could change everything about how we approach formation strategies," Hange continued, tracing routes on the survey maps with their finger. "If titans are actually avoiding certain geological features..."

Moblit sighed, shooting you a look that seemed to say 'here we go again.' "Section Commander, you've been working for seven hours straight. Perhaps you should take a break?"

"Break?" Hange looked up, blinking owlishly. "But we're so close to—" Their gaze met yours across the table, and for a moment, the excited chatter died in their throat. Something shifted in their expression, becoming softer, more aware.

The silence stretched for a beat too long, and you became acutely conscious of Moblit's presence, of the way he was looking between you and Hange with growing suspicion.

"I should go," you said quickly, taking a step toward the door. "Let you get back to your work."

"Wait," Hange said, straightening up. They glanced at Moblit, then back at you. "Actually, Moblit, didn't you mention needing to check on the supply requisitions?"

Moblit's brow furrowed. "I can do that later, Section Commander. You shouldn't be alone when you're working with these chemical compounds—"

"I'll be fine," Hange insisted, waving a hand dismissively. "Besides, I might need someone to help me carry these reference books back to my office later." They gestured vaguely toward you, the request casual but loaded with implication.

You felt your pulse quicken. After a week of careful avoidance, of stolen glances across the mess hall and brief, professional exchanges in passing, the prospect of being alone with Hange again made your mouth go dry.

Moblit looked between you both again, his expression unreadable. Finally, he sighed and removed his apron. "Very well. But please don't stay too late, Section Commander. And don't attempt to move any heavy equipment while I'm gone."

"Of course not," Hange said, though their tone suggested they were barely listening.

You turned your head to watch Moblit as he left, opening the door and shutting it behind him.

That was all it took before Hange was on you.

“Fuck, I missed you,” Hange breathed, their voice rough with need as they crowded into your space, their hands immediately finding your waist, tugging you hard against them. Their body was warm, solid—so much more alive than you remembered, their heartbeat thundering against your chest as they pressed flush against you.

You gasped, startled by the suddenness of it, your hands instinctively flying up to brace against their shoulders. “Hange—wait, what if Moblit comes back? Or—or someone else—?”

Hange didn’t let you finish. Their mouth crashed into yours, hot and insistent, swallowing your protests with a desperate, messy kiss that left your head spinning. Their lips were soft but demanding, their tongue sliding against yours with a possessive urgency that made your knees tremble. You could feel how much they’d missed you—how starved they were for this—and it sent a sharp, dizzying thrill straight to your core.

“Moblit won’t be back for at least twenty minutes,” Hange murmured between feverish kisses, their fingers tightening possessively on your hips. “And I need you. Fuck, I’ve been thinking about you—about how you tasted, how you sounded when I had you—”

A whimper tore from your throat at their words, your face burning as your body reacted instantly, heat pooling low in your stomach. You wanted this—God, you’d been aching for it all week—but the fear of getting caught, of someone walking in and seeing you like this, made your pulse spike with nervous excitement.

Hange didn’t seem to care. They were already dragging you backward, their lips never leaving yours, until your back hit the nearest wall with a quiet thud. The impact knocked the breath from your lungs, but Hange didn’t give you time to recover—their hands sliding underneath your shirt to paw at your breasts.

“Hange—!” you gasped, your voice trembling as their palms skimmed over your skin, their touch searing.

“Shhh, I’ve got you,” they murmured, their voice low and honey-sweet despite the rough way they were handling you.

Then you heard the unmistakeable sound you were so nervous you'd hear.

Footsteps. Outside the door.

You froze, panic flooding your veins.

“Hange—someone’s coming—”

Hange groaned in frustration, their grip on you tightening for a second before they reluctantly pulled away. Their lips were kiss-swollen, their hair even messier than before, their glasses slightly askew. They looked ravished.

The door swung open without warning, the hinges creaking in the sudden silence.

"Four-eyes, Moblit says you've been—" Captain Levi stopped mid-sentence, his steel-gray eyes taking in the scene with the sharp assessment of someone who'd seen too much to be surprised by anything.

"Captain Levi!" Hange's voice pitched slightly higher than usual. "What brings you to—"

"You," Levi's gaze shifted to you, flat and unimpressed, "are supposed to be on perimeter duty. Third shift reported you missing twenty minutes ago."

Your stomach dropped. "Sir, I was delivering—"

"The surveys. I know." His attention moved back to Hange, who was now frantically shuffling papers on the table as if that would somehow restore order to the chaos. "And you've apparently been working for eight hours straight without food or water. Again."

Hange waved dismissively. "I'm fine, Levi. Just had a breakthrough with the formation data and—"

"You look like shit." Levi's voice was deadpan. He stepped further into the room, closing the door behind him with deliberate slowness. "When's the last time you bathed? Or slept in an actual bed instead of face-down on your research notes?"

"I slept... yesterday. Or was it the day before?" Hange's hand went to their hair self-consciously.

Levi's expression remained unchanged, but something in his posture suggested he was fighting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. His gaze flicked between you both once more, lingering on your still-flushed face and Hange's wrinkled shirt.

"Right." He crossed his arms. "You're going to eat something that isn't stale bread and whatever expired shit you keep in here. And you're going to sleep. Tonight. In your actual quarters."

"But the analysis report—"

"Will be shit if you write it while half-dead from exhaustion." Levi's tone brooked no argument. He looked at you again. "And you're going to report to your assigned post. Now."

"Yes, sir," you managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart raced as you hurried past him, catching Hange's usual expression in your peripheral vision. Behind you, you could already hear Levi beginning his lecture about proper nutrition and hygiene habits, his voice carrying its usual note of long-suffering irritation.

The hallway felt impossibly long as you made your way back to your duties, your heart still hammering against your ribs.

ꔛ

After the tense encounter with Captain Levi in the research facility, you had spent the rest of the evening on edge, your stomach twisting with a mix of embarrassment and lingering arousal. The memory of Hange’s hands on you, the way their lips had claimed yours with such desperate hunger—it had left you restless, unable to focus on anything else. The fear of being caught had only amplified the thrill of it, and now, hours later, you still felt the ghost of their touch on your skin.

You had retreated to your quarters as soon as your shift ended, desperate for the comfort of solitude. The warm water of the shower had done little to ease the tension coiled in your muscles, but it had at least washed away the day’s exhaustion, leaving your skin flushed and tingling. Now, dressed in soft cotton pajamas—a loose shirt and shorts that barely brushed your thighs—you sat on the edge of your bed, running a towel through your damp hair.

The barracks were quiet at this hour, most of the scouts already asleep or lost in their own private routines. The flickering candle on your nightstand cast long shadows across the room, the only sound the occasional creak of the old wooden building settling into the night.

And then—knock knock knock.

A rapid, almost giddy series of taps against your door.

You froze, the towel still tangled in your fingers.

Then it came again—knock knock knock—more insistent this time, accompanied by an impatient little shuffle of feet outside.

Hange Zoe.

Their face was pressed way too close to the door, their single visible eye magnified comically through the tiny lens, their grin wide enough that you could see the flash of their teeth even in the dim hallway torchlight. Their hair was even messier than usual, strands sticking out at odd angles like they’d been running their hands through it repeatedly. Their glasses were slightly askew, and—were they blushing?

Hange practically vibrated on the spot, their hands fidgeting at their sides, their weight shifting from foot to foot like they were barely containing their energy. They were still in their uniform, though their jacket was half-unbuttoned, the cuffs rolled up haphazardly, and their boots untied?

“Hi,” they breathed, their voice a little too loud for the quiet of the hallway, their grin widening impossibly further.

You bit your lip, glancing up and down the corridor to make sure no one else was around before stepping back to let them in. “Hange, what are you—?”

They didn’t let you finish.

The moment you shut the door behind them, Hange practically lunged at you, their hands immediately finding your waist as they backed you up against the wall with a soft thud. Their lips crashed into yours, messy and desperate, their breath hot against your skin as they kissed you like they’d been starving for it.

“Missed you—fuck—missed you so much,” Hange gasped between feverish kisses, their fingers digging into your hips like they were afraid you’d disappear. Their glasses bumped awkwardly against your nose, but they didn’t care, their mouth moving against yours with an almost frantic urgency.

You whimpered, your hands flying up to tangle in their wild brown hair, tugging slightly just to hear the way they groaned into your mouth. Their tongue swiped against your bottom lip, demanding entry, and you let them in with a shudder, melting against them as they deepened the kiss, their hands roaming over your body like they were trying to memorize every curve.

“You taste so good,” Hange mumbled against your lips, their voice rough with want. “Been thinking about this all damn week—about how you sound when you come, how your body shakes—”

A whimper tore from your throat, your face burning at their words, but Hange just grinned, nipping at your lower lip before diving back in, their kisses growing sloppier, hungrier. Their hands slipped under your shirt, warm palms skimming up your sides, thumbs brushing over the sensitive skin just beneath your breasts.

“Hange—” you gasped, arching into their touch, your heart hammering so hard you were sure they could feel it.

“Mmm, say it again,” they murmured, their lips trailing down to your jaw, then your neck, teeth scraping lightly over your pulse point. “Love the way you say my name—like I’m all you think about.”

You did think about them. All the time. And the way they were touching you now, kissing you like they couldn’t get enough, only made it worse—your head spun, your body aching with need.

Hange pulled back just enough to look at you, their eyes dark behind their glasses, their lips kiss-swollen and glistening. They were grinning, that same wild, excited grin they got when they were on the verge of a scientific breakthrough—except now, you were the discovery they couldn’t get enough of.

“You’re adorable when you’re all shy,” they teased, their thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “Bet you’d be even cuter if I—”

You didn’t let them finish. You yanked them back into another kiss, your fingers tightening in their hair, and Hange laughed against your mouth, delighted, before surrendering completely, their body pressing yours harder into the wall as their hands roamed lower, hungrier.

And you? You were theirs. Completely.

The frantic energy between you shifted as Hange backed you toward the bed, their hands never leaving your body. When your knees hit the edge, you tumbled backward with a soft gasp, and Hange followed eagerly, crawling over you with that same wild grin on their face.

"Your hair's all damp," they murmured, fingers threading through the still-wet strands. Their weight settled half on top of you, one leg slotted between yours, their glasses sliding down their nose as they gazed down at you with hungry eyes. "Were you in the shower thinking about me?"

You turned away, unable to deny it, which only made Hange's grin widen, a look of pure delight crossing their features. Before you could stammer out a response, their mouth was on yours again, softer this time but no less demanding. Their tongue traced the seam of your lips before slipping inside, exploring your mouth with enthusiastic curiosity.

Their hand wandered beneath your loose sleep shirt, fingers tracing patterns on your bare skin that made you shiver. You sighed into their mouth, one hand coming up to tangle in their wild hair while the other gripped their shoulder, anchoring yourself against the wave of sensation.

"Oh! I forgot to tell you—" you started, then whimpered when Hange's thumb brushed the underside of your breast, "Commander Erwin said—said your report is due tomorrow evening."

Hange froze for a heartbeat, pulling back just enough to look at you with narrowed eyes. "You're thinking about Erwin right now? While I'm touching you?" Their voice held a playful edge, but something possessive flashed in their gaze.

"No! I just remembered—"

"Hmm," they hummed skeptically, a teasing smile tugging at their lips. They dipped down to kiss you again, more deliberately this time, their tongue sliding against yours in a way that made your toes curl. When they pulled back, you were panting. "Should I be worried about you and our handsome commander?"

You rolled your eyes, trying to maintain some semblance of composure despite your racing heart. "Don't be ridiculous—"

Hange cut you off with another kiss, deeper this time, their hand sliding up to fully cup your breast through your shirt. You arched into their touch with a gasp, coherent thought rapidly deserting you.

"Because if Erwin thinks he can steal my favorite research assistant," they continued, voice dropping to a husky murmur as they pinched your nipple lightly, making you squirm beneath them, "I'll have to remind him that I have exclusive access to this particular specimen."

Their hands were everywhere at once—sliding under your sleep shirt, tugging at the waistband of your shorts, tangling in your damp hair. You arched into their touch, desperate for more, whimpering when they suddenly pulled back.

"Take these off," Hange commanded, tugging at your clothes with impatient hands. "I want to see all of you."

You complied eagerly, lifting your hips so they could slide your shorts down your legs, then raising your arms as they pulled your shirt over your head. The cool air of the room made your nipples harden, and Hange's eyes darkened behind their glasses as they took in the sight of you, completely bare beneath them.

"Beautiful," they murmured, their gaze roaming hungrily over your exposed body.

Their fingers trailed up your inner thigh, so close to where you needed them but not quite there. You squirmed, trying to guide their hand where you wanted it, but Hange just chuckled, clearly enjoying your desperation.

"Patience," they teased, their thumb brushing tantalizingly close to your center. "I'm conducting very important research here."

"Hange, please—" you gasped, your hips lifting involuntarily.

"Please what?" Their eyes glinted mischievously. "Tell me what you want. Be specific—you know how I love detailed observations."

Your face burned with embarrassment, but the ache between your legs overrode your shyness. "Touch me," you whispered. "Inside me."

Hange's grin widened, triumphant. "Good girl," they praised, the words sending a fresh wave of heat through you. "Now turn over for me. On your stomach."

You hesitated for just a moment before rolling onto your front, face half-buried in the pillow. Hange's hands immediately went to your hips, lifting them slightly.

"Arch your back," they instructed, their voice husky with desire. "Yes, just like that. Perfect."

You felt terribly exposed in this position, your ass raised, face down in the bedding, but the way Hange's breath hitched told you they were enjoying the view immensely. Their hands caressed the curve of your ass reverently, squeezing the soft flesh with appreciative murmurs.

"I've been thinking about this all week," they confessed, their voice rough with need. "About having you just like this—spread open for me, so I can see every perfect inch of you."

Their fingers trailed your ass, dipping lower to slide through your already-slick folds. You gasped at the contact, burying your face deeper into the pillow to muffle the sound.

"Oh," Hange breathed, sounding delighted. "You're so wet already. Is that all for me?"

You nodded frantically into the pillow, unable to form words as their fingers explored your sensitive flesh, gathering your arousal and spreading it with teasing strokes.

"I can't hear you," Hange said, their tone light but demanding. "Tell me who makes you this wet."

"You," you managed, voice muffled by the pillow. "Only you, Hange."

"That's right," they hummed, satisfied. "Not Erwin, not anyone else. Just me."

Without warning, they slipped a finger inside you, making you cry out at the sudden intrusion. Your walls clenched around them, hungry for more, and Hange groaned behind you.

"Fuck, you feel incredible," they breathed, slowly working their finger in and out of you. "So tight, so eager for me."

They added a second finger, stretching you deliciously, their other hand stroking soothingly down your spine as they began to establish a rhythm. The angle was different like this—deeper, more intense—and you couldn't help the broken moans that escaped you with each thrust of their fingers.

"I need to see better," Hange murmured, more to themselves than to you. You felt the bed shift as they repositioned, kneeling between your spread legs to get a closer view. "God, look at the way you take my fingers—the way your pretty little cunt just swallows them up."

Their clinical observation, delivered in that passionate, wonder-filled tone they usually reserved for titan research, should have embarrassed you. Instead, it sent a fresh flood of arousal coating their fingers, your body responding to being the focus of their fascination.

Hange grinned, curling their fingers to stroke that spot inside you that made your vision blur. "So responsive to stimuli. Let me try something..."

They withdrew their fingers slightly, only to add a third, the stretch making you gasp and clutch at the sheets. Hange paused, letting you adjust, their free hand rubbing soothing circles on your lower back.

"Too much?" they asked, a rare note of concern breaking through their scientific enthusiasm.

"No," you panted, pushing back against their hand. "More, please—"

Hange chuckled, the sound warm and pleased. "Greedy little thing, aren't you?" They resumed their movements, fucking you steadily with three fingers now, the obscene wet sounds filling the quiet room. "I love how desperate you get for me. How your body just opens up, like it was made to take me inside."

Your thighs began to quiver with the effort of maintaining your position, pleasure building relentlessly as Hange worked their fingers in and out of you. They seemed entranced by the sight, occasionally murmuring praise or filthy observations that made your face burn and your pussy clench around them.

"Look how wet you're getting," they marveled, their free hand sliding up to grasp your hip, holding you steady as their pace increased. "Dripping down your thighs—fuck, that's hot."

The combination of their words and the rhythmic pressure of their fingers against that perfect spot inside you had you racing toward the edge. Your back arched deeper, pressing your chest into the mattress as you rocked back against their hand, desperate for more.

"Hange," you whimpered, the familiar tension coiling tighter in your belly. "I'm close."

"I know," they said, voice tight with their own arousal. "I can feel it—the way you're squeezing my fingers, getting even wetter. Are you going to come for me? Let me see it happen, let me feel you fall apart."

You came with a strangled cry, your inner walls pulsing around their fingers, your whole body shaking as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you. Hange worked you through it, murmuring praise and encouragement as you rode out your orgasm on their hand.

"Beautiful," they breathed as your tremors subsided, slowly withdrawing their fingers. "Absolutely fucking beautiful."

You collapsed onto the bed, boneless and panting, only to feel Hange's weight shift behind you. You turned your head just in time to see them bring their glistening fingers to their mouth, sucking them clean with a groan of pure pleasure.

"Delicious," they declared, eyes locking with yours as their tongue swirled around their fingers. "Better than any experiment."

Despite your exhaustion, you felt a fresh pulse of desire at the sight. Hange noticed, their lips curving into a knowing smile as they released their fingers with an obscene pop.

"Don't think we're done yet," they warned, eyes gleaming. "I still need my turn, and you look like you've got plenty more to give me."

They flopped onto their back beside you, still fully clothed, though their shirt was rumpled and half-unbuttoned. They beckoned you with a crook of their finger, that familiar manic grin spreading across their face.

"Come here," they said, patting their thighs. "I want that pretty mouth of yours."

You pushed yourself up on shaky arms, crawling over to them with renewed purpose. Your fingers worked at the buttons of their shirt, revealing more of their lean, scarred torso with each one that came undone. Hange watched you with hooded eyes, their breath quickening as you pushed the fabric aside to expose their chest.

"These too," you murmured, tugging at their pants. Hange lifted their hips, allowing you to pull the garment down their legs, leaving them in just their underwear.

You traced the outline of their arousal through the thin fabric, delighting in their sharp intake of breath. "Can I?" you asked, fingers hooking under the waistband.

"Yes," Hange hissed, lifting their hips again. "God, yes."

You pulled the underwear down slowly, teasingly, until Hange was completely bare before you. Your mouth watered at the sight of them, slick and swollen with need.

"You're so wet," you whispered, echoing their earlier words as you settled between their spread legs.

"Your fault," they groaned, propping themselves up on their elbows to watch you. "Been thinking about your mouth on me all week—dreaming about it, practically."

You didn't make them wait any longer. Lowering your head, you dragged your tongue through their folds in one long, slow lick, moaning at the taste that flooded your mouth. Hange's head fell back with a strangled curse, their hips jerking up against your face.

"Fuck—yes—just like that," they gasped, one hand coming down to tangle in your still-damp hair.

You settled into a rhythm, alternating between broad strokes of your tongue and focused attention on the bundle of nerves that made Hange's thighs shake on either side of your head. Their fingers tightened in your hair, not quite painful but definitely controlling, guiding you where they needed you most.

"Right there," they directed, voice strained. "Harder—fuck—"

You obeyed eagerly, increasing the pressure of your tongue as you slid two fingers inside them, curling upward to stroke against their inner walls. Hange let out a broken moan, their grip on your hair tightening as their hips rocked against your face.

"Such a good girl," they praised breathlessly, the words sending a thrill through you. "So perfect."

Their praise spurred you on, making you redouble your efforts. You worked your fingers inside them, matching the rhythm of your tongue, determined to make them feel as good as they'd made you feel.

Hange's other hand joined the first in your hair, both now guiding your movements more forcefully, tugging you exactly where they wanted you. The slight sting of your scalp only heightened your arousal, making you press your thighs together as you pleasured them.

"Look at me," Hange commanded, voice rough. "Want to see your eyes while you fuck me with that pretty mouth."

You glanced up, meeting their intense gaze over the plane of their stomach. The sight of them—flushed and disheveled, glasses askew, watching you with such raw hunger—nearly undid you. You moaned against them, the vibration making their hips buck harder against your face.

"God, the way you look right now," they groaned, one hand loosening its grip to stroke your cheek almost tenderly. "My beautiful, filthy girl, face all wet with me—"

Their words dissolved into incoherent sounds as you sucked harder on their clit, curling your fingers more firmly inside them. You could feel them getting close—the way their inner walls clenched around your fingers, the increasing desperation in their movements.

"Don't stop," they gasped, fingers tightening painfully in your hair now, holding you firmly in place. "Fuck—I'm so close—don't you dare fucking stop—"

You had no intention of stopping. You worked your tongue over them relentlessly, your fingers fucking into them harder, faster, chasing their pleasure with single-minded determination. Hange's body went taut, their thighs clamping around your head, their back arching off the bed as they came with a hoarse cry of your name.

You gentled your movements but didn't stop, working them through the aftershocks, only pulling away when they tugged weakly at your hair in silent signal that it was too much.

"Holy shit," Hange breathed, collapsing back onto the bed, their chest heaving. "That was—fuck—get up here."

You crawled up their body, settling against their side. Hange immediately pulled you into a messy kiss, groaning at the taste of themselves on your lips and tongue. When they finally broke away, they were grinning again, that wild, excited expression that never failed to make your heart skip.

"You know," they mused, fingers tracing idle patterns on your bare hip, "I think I'm going to need more of these private research sessions. For science, of course."

You laughed, burying your face against their neck. "Of course. For science."

Hange's arms tightened around you, their voice dropping to something softer, more serious. "And just so we're clear—about Erwin, about anyone—you're mine. My assistant, my research partner, my—" They paused, seemingly searching for the right word.

"Yours," you supplied simply, pressing a kiss to their collarbone. "Just yours."

The tension you hadn't even realized was in their body melted away at your words. Their fingers threaded through your hair, gentler now, as they pulled you in for another kiss.

"I don't know," you teased, "that neon green and purple combo really makes the statistical analysis pop, don't you think?"

Armin groaned, running his fingers through his blonde hair. "It's physically painful to look at. I'm going to have to redo this entire section before submission."

"Always the perfectionist," you said, nudging his shoulder with yours.

"Someone has to be." He clicked through a few more slides, his knee occasionally brushing against yours under the desk. "Otherwise we'd be presenting with clip art and Comic Sans."

You reached for the mouse, your hand briefly covering his. "Let me show you mine."

Armin leaned back in his chair, watching you navigate through the shared folder. You could feel his eyes on you rather than the screen, that subtle attention he'd been giving you since the party. It made concentrating on the project increasingly difficult.

"Here," you said, opening a new file. "This is what I was working on last night."

Armin's casual expression shifted as he leaned forward, eyes widening slightly as he reviewed your slides. The casual criticism vanished as he scrolled through your work.

"(Y/N), this is..." he paused, scanning the detailed analysis you'd prepared. "This is really good. The way you've visualized the data is exactly what we needed."

You felt a flush of pride at his genuine appreciation. "Yeah? I spent way too long on it, honestly."

"It shows." He turned to face you, his expression softened. "You didn't have to go this in-depth."

"Well, you're not the only perfectionist around here."

The corner of his mouth twitched up into that half-smile you'd grown increasingly fond of. His eyes dropped briefly to your lips before meeting your gaze again.

"I think we deserve a break," he said quietly.

Without waiting for your response, he leaned in and kissed you softly, his hand coming up to rest against your cheek. Unlike the urgent, heated kisses you'd shared before, this one was gentle, appreciative—sweet in a way that made your heart flutter unexpectedly.

When he pulled back, his thumb traced your cheekbone lightly. "Sorry," he murmured, not looking sorry at all. "I've been wanting to do that since you walked in."

You laughed softly, shaking your head. "You don't have to say sorry anymore, Armin. Not for that."

His smile widened, and he leaned in again, this time catching your lips with more confidence. The kiss deepened slowly, his fingers tangling gently in your hair as he pulled you closer. You could feel the warmth of his breath, the way his lips curved against yours when you smiled into the kiss.

One of your hands found its way to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss further. His other hand slid down to your waist, thumb brushing against the exposed skin where your shirt had ridden up slightly. The touch sent a pleasant shiver down your spine, and you let out a quiet hum against his lips.

Armin pulled back just enough to look at you, his cheeks slightly flushed, eyes bright with affection—and something else, something warmer. "You're distracting," he murmured, his voice low.

"Me?" you teased, nipping lightly at his lower lip. "You're the one who started this."

He chuckled, the sound vibrating against your mouth as he kissed you again, slower this time, savoring it. His fingers traced idle patterns along your side, his touch feather-light but enough to make your breath hitch.

Just as you were about to shift closer, a loud bang rattled the door, followed by an exasperated shout.

"ARMIN!" Connie's, Armin's roommate and friend you had met a few times and who was always nice if not a little wild, voice carried through the wood, sharp and impatient. "I swear to god, if you don't get your ass out here and deal with the dishes, I'm throwing them all in your bed!"

Armin groaned, dropping his forehead against yours with a defeated sigh. "I told Sasha to clean them last night."

You bit back a laugh, watching as he reluctantly pulled away, his expression torn between irritation and lingering amusement.

"I'm not kidding, man!" Connie banged on the door again. "Sasha refuses to touch them, and I'm not doing it! You live here too!"

Armin exhaled sharply through his nose, casting you an apologetic glance. "I should probably... handle this before he actually follows through."

You grinned, giving his hand a quick squeeze. "Go. Save your bed from dishware."

Armin sighed dramatically but pushed back from the desk, giving you one last lingering glance before heading toward the door. "I'll be right back," he muttered, clearly annoyed at the interruption.

You turned back to the slides, clicking through them with half-hearted focus, but without Armin beside you, the work suddenly felt dull. The silence of the room—now free of his quiet murmurs and occasional frustrated sighs—made the minutes drag.

Bored.

After a few more lackluster attempts at editing, you finally gave up, pushing the chair back and stretching before wandering out of the room. The sound of running water led you to the kitchen, where Armin stood at the sink, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, scrubbing at a stubborn plate with a sponge. His hair was pushed messily behind his ears, slightly damp at the temples from the steam rising from the hot water.

He hadn’t noticed you yet, too busy muttering under his breath about "Sasha’s stupid cereal bowl crusted like cement." The sight was unfairly endearing—his brows furrowed in concentration, the way his forearms flexed slightly as he scrubbed, the way his lips pursed when he was annoyed but trying not to complain too loudly.

Leaning against the doorframe, you crossed your arms and just watched for a moment, a small smile tugging at your lips.

"You know," you finally said, making him jump slightly, "I didn’t take you for the domestic type."

Armin turned, blinking at you in surprise before his expression softened into something playful. "And yet here I am, saving our apartment from a dish-based apocalypse." He flicked soapy water in your direction, grinning when you yelped and dodged.

"You’re terrible," you laughed, stepping closer.

He smirked, rinsing off the last plate before setting it in the drying rack. "But you’re still here, so I must be doing something right."

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue, moving to stand beside him. Without thinking, you reached up and tucked a stray strand of hair back behind his ear, fingers lingering just a second too long.

Armin's cheeks flushed a soft pink as he dried his hands on a dish towel, hesitating for a moment before clearing his throat.

"Uh—so," he started, avoiding your eyes for a second before forcing himself to meet your gaze. "I was thinking... I have free tickets to the movies. Since I work there. And—well—I was wondering if you'd... maybe... want to go? Sometime?"

The words tumbled out in a rush, and he cringed slightly at how awkward it sounded.

"But—!" He held up a hand, suddenly looking panicked. "Not just because it's free. I mean, it is free, but that's not—that's not the point." He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly before trying again.

"What I'm trying to say is... I'd like to take you. On a date. If you want."

His fingers fidgeted with the edge of the towel, his expression caught somewhere between hopeful and terrified.

You grinned, stepping closer and nudging his shoulder with yours. "Armin Arlert," you said, voice teasing but warm, "are you asking me out on a proper date?"

He swallowed hard, then nodded, a shy smile finally breaking through. "Yeah. I am."

You pretended to think about it for a dramatic second, tapping your chin—just long enough to watch his shoulders tense in anticipation—before grinning.

"Obviously, yes."

The relief that washed over his face was instant, his whole posture relaxing as he let out a breathy laugh. "Really?"

You rolled your eyes, reaching out to tug lightly at his sleeve. "Yes, really. I'd love to go on a date with you."

His smile was brighter than you'd ever seen it, boyish and genuine. "Good. Great. I—uh—I'll figure out the details. Make it... nice."

You couldn't resist. Leaning in, you pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, pulling back before he could react.

"Looking forward to it."

Armin blinked, momentarily stunned, before his grin turned lopsided, a playful glint in his eye.

"Me too."

ꔛ

The theater’s neon lights flickered against the pavement as you spotted Armin waiting near the entrance, hands shoved awkwardly into his jean pockets. The second he saw you, he straightened up, eyes widening slightly before a warm, nervous smile took over.

"You—" He cleared his throat, stepping forward. "You look pretty... cute. I mean pretty and cute. Like. Both. At the same time."

You bit back a laugh, watching as his ears turned pink the second the words left his mouth. It was ridiculous—considering the things you’d done together, the way he’d whispered filthy praise against your skin just last week—yet here he was, stumbling over his words like this was his first-ever date.

God, he’s adorable.

"You clean up nice too," you teased, nodding at his slightly-too-big button-up and the way his hair was trying to be neatly styled but already falling out of place.

Armin exhaled sharply, like he’d been holding his breath, before hesitantly reaching for your hand. His fingers laced with yours, warm and slightly shaky, and when you squeezed, he squeezed back like he was afraid you’d disappear.

"You nervous?" you asked, bumping his shoulder as you walked toward the ticket line.

"No," he lied immediately, then groaned. "Okay, yes. But only because I—I don’t know. This feels different."

You knew exactly what he meant. Hooking up was one thing, but this? The deliberate choice of each other, the quiet intimacy of a date—it was terrifyingly sweet.

Armin led you past the concessions stand, waving casually at his coworker who shot him a knowing grin and a thumbs up. He'd insisted on paying for popcorn despite the fact that most of his perks came free with his job—"It's a proper date," he'd said firmly, handing over actual money when you tried to protest.

The theater was nearly empty for the late showing, just a couple of pairs scattered throughout the front rows. Armin guided you toward the back row, his fingers still intertwined with yours.

"I hope you like horror," he said, settling into the cushy seat beside you. "Jean and Eren said this one was supposed to be good."

What Armin wasn't telling you was the entire embarrassing conversation that had led to this choice.

"Dude, horror movie. No question," Jean had said, sprawled across Armin's couch while Eren nodded enthusiastically from the floor.

"I don't know..." Armin hesitated. "What if she doesn't like being scared?"

Eren rolled his eyes. "That's the point. She gets scared, you comfort her, she feels safe with you—boom, instant connection."

"We've already connected," Armin muttered, his cheeks warming. "Multiple times."

"Yeah, but this is different," Jean insisted, sitting up to look more serious. "This is you being the strong, protective one. Plus, dark theater, back row..." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Eren threw a pillow at Jean before turning to Armin. "Look, trust us. It's the perfect first date movie. You can protect her if it gets too scary."

As the lights dimmed and the previews began to play, Armin lifted the armrest between your seats, allowing you to slide closer. The warmth of your body against his side made him acutely aware of his heartbeat—too fast, too loud—as the movie title splashed across the screen in dripping red letters.

Twenty minutes in, it became abundantly clear that Jean and Eren's advice had been... flawed.

A jump-scare sent Armin practically out of his seat, his hand clutching yours so tightly it almost hurt. You bit back a laugh as he quickly tried to play it off, clearing his throat and settling back down. Another ten minutes passed before a second scare had him actually yelping—a small, startled sound that he immediately tried to cover with a cough.

"You good?" you whispered, leaning closer to his ear, amused by the way he'd tensed up.

"Totally fine," he whispered back unconvincingly, his eyes still fixed on the screen where a shadowy figure lurked behind the protagonist. When the inevitable jumpscare came, he flinched again, harder this time.

You couldn't help it—you laughed softly, squeezing his hand. "It's gonna be okay, Armin."

His face burned in the darkness, visible even in the dim light from the screen. "I don't usually watch this stuff."

"It's fine, really." You leaned your head on his shoulder, feeling him gradually relax against you. "It's cute, though, how scared you're getting."

Armin turned slightly, his breath warm against your temple. "Cute wasn't exactly what I was going for, but I'll take it."

The movie continued, a predictable parade of creaky doors and bloody apparitions, but you found yourself paying less attention to the plot and more to the way Armin's thumb absently stroked the back of your hand. How his breath would catch before each scare, how he'd release it slowly afterward, trying to play it cool.

Halfway through, during a particularly tense scene, you glanced up at him—his profile illuminated by the flickering blue light, his features etched in concentration despite his obvious discomfort. Without thinking, you pressed your lips to the edge of his jaw, just a light brush of contact.

Armin stilled, his attention immediately diverted from the screen to you. His eyes, wide and questioning, found yours in the darkness.

You smiled innocently, but when his gaze dropped to your lips, the air between you shifted. The movie faded to background noise as he leaned closer, hesitating just a breath away. His eyes met yours in question.

In answer, you closed the distance, your lips meeting his in a soft, testing kiss. He responded immediately, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, holding you there as the kiss deepened. The taste of buttered popcorn lingered on his tongue as it slipped past your lips, exploring with a gentleness that made your chest ache.

A particularly loud noise from the movie made him jump again, breaking the kiss with a startled gasp before he laughed softly against your mouth.

"Sorry," he murmured, his thumb stroking your cheek.

"Don't be," you whispered back, shifting to get a better angle.

This time when you kissed him, it was less cautious. Your hand slid up his arm, feeling the tension in his muscles as he pulled you closer, his fingers tangling in your hair. The armrest dug into your side but you hardly noticed, too lost in the way he kissed you—deepening from sweet to something hungrier, something that made heat pool in your stomach.

The protagonist's screams provided a bizarre soundtrack as Armin's hand moved from your cheek down to your neck, his thumb brushing the sensitive spot beneath your ear that he'd discovered weeks ago. You shivered, and he smiled against your lips, clearly pleased with himself.

"Thought you were scared," you teased quietly, nipping at his lower lip.

"Distracted now," he breathed, kissing down to the corner of your mouth, your jaw.

You glanced around quickly—the nearest couple was rows away, focused on the movie—before sliding your hand to his thigh, feeling him tense beneath your touch. His own hand moved to your waist, fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt to brush warm skin.

The kiss turned deeper, messier, as his tongue slid against yours. You could feel him getting bolder, his grip on your waist tightening as you shifted closer, your hand inching higher on his thigh. He made a soft sound in the back of his throat that sent a pulse of want straight through you.

His teeth grazed your lower lip, and you gasped quietly, feeling his smile against your mouth. This was a different Armin than the one who'd stumbled through asking you out—this was the Armin who knew exactly what you liked, who'd mapped your body with his hands and mouth, who'd made you come undone with just his fingers on multiple occasions.

"We should—" he started, pulling back slightly, his breath warm against your lips. "We should probably watch the movie."

"Yeah. I don't want your coworkers making fun of you," you whispered with a smile.

A woman on screen shrieked as something lunged at her, and Armin tensed again, his grip on you tightening reflexively. You laughed softly, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"Maybe we should have gone with a comedy," he admitted, his voice low with embarrassment. "Eren and Jean said horror would be—" He cut himself off, realizing he'd said too much.

You raised an eyebrow. "Oh? What exactly did they say?"

Armin's hand fell from your waist as he ran it through his hair, messing up the careful styling even further. "Something about, uh... you getting scared and me comforting you." His ears were burning again. "Which obviously backfired because I'm the one jumping at every shadow."

"I don't know," you whispered, leaning in to brush your lips against his ear. "I think I like comforting you just fine."

He shivered, his hand finding yours again in the darkness. For the remainder of the movie, you stayed close, your head on his shoulder, occasionally stealing kisses during the less intense scenes. Whenever a jumpscare hit, you'd squeeze his hand, feeling him relax against you as the moment passed.

By the time the credits rolled, Armin had practically forgotten his embarrassment, too content with your warmth against him, the smell of your shampoo as you rested against his shoulder. As the lights slowly brightened, he turned to look at you properly, taking in your slightly disheveled appearance—lips a little swollen from his kisses, hair mussed where his fingers had tangled in it.

He looked just as affected—cheeks flushed, blonde hair falling messily across his forehead, lips pink and just a touch raw. The sight made your heart flutter.

"So," he said, voice hoarse as he helped you gather your things, "on a scale of one to ten, how bad was my movie choice?"

You laughed, standing to stretch your legs. "Well, I didn't really see much of it, so I can't judge fairly."

His smile was slow, a little smug as he stood beside you. "Me neither."

You both lingered in the theater as others filed out, neither quite ready to end the night.

"We could..." Armin started, then stopped, suddenly looking shy again. "We could go back to my place? Connie and Sasha are out tonight, so..."

The implication hung between you, charged with possibility.

You reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his. "Let's go."

His smile was bright enough to rival the theater's exit signs as he pulled you gently toward the door, the forgotten horror movie already a distant memory.

ꔛ

The door to Armin's apartment swung open, his hand fumbling slightly with the key as he stepped aside to let you in. The familiar space greeted you—Sasha's mismatched throw pillows scattered across the couch, Connie's gaming setup in the corner, and the subtle scent of Armin's sandalwood candle that he always lit when studying late.

"They're definitely out?" you asked, slipping off your shoes by the door.

Armin nodded, his eyes never leaving yours as he set his keys on the counter. "Until late. Frat party, I guess."

There was a beat of silence—a moment of shared understanding—before you both moved at once. Armin's hands found your waist as he backed you toward his bedroom, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that made it clear he'd been restraining himself at the theater. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging lightly in the way you'd discovered made him groan.

He navigated the hallway without breaking the kiss, blindly pushing open his bedroom door. The familiar space—desk cluttered with textbooks and astronomy notes, walls adorned with star charts and anime posters he'd shyly explained on your first visit—welcomed you like an old friend.

Armin walked you backward until your legs hit the edge of his bed, his hands steady at your waist. He broke the kiss, looking down at you with eyes darkened by desire, a question in them that you answered by sitting down at the edge of the mattress.

Before he could make another move, you reached for the button of his jeans, watching his breath hitch as your fingers worked the metal through the hole. His hands moved to your shoulders, gentle but trembling slightly.

"You don't have to—" he started, his voice cracking embarrassingly in the middle.

You glanced up, meeting his eyes with a small smile. "I already told you, I want to."

The flush on his cheeks deepened, but he nodded, swallowing hard as you slowly lowered his zipper. His fingers twitched against your shoulders, anticipation building in the way he shifted his weight.

The contrast between drunk Armin and sober Armin had fascinated you from the start.

Drunk Armin was all impulse and confidence—hands everywhere, whispered confessions against your skin, boldly telling you exactly what he wanted with none of his usual hesitation. The first night at the party, he'd been liquid courage and hungry eyes, pulling you into Jean's room without a second thought.

Sober Armin was a slow burn—starting tentative and sweet, checking in with gentle touches and questioning looks, always making sure you were comfortable. But what made him so intoxicating was the transformation that happened when pleasure built—how his careful control would gradually unravel, revealing the intensity he usually kept hidden beneath his quiet exterior.

As you tugged his jeans down his thighs, you could see that transformation beginning. His fingers flexed against your shoulders, his breathing already uneven despite how little you'd done.

"Is this okay?" you asked, looking up at him through your lashes, your hands resting on his hips.

He nodded rapidly, then cleared his throat. "Yeah—yes, it's... it's more than okay."

You smiled, hooking your fingers into the waistband of his boxers, enjoying the way his abdominal muscles tensed in anticipation. Slowly, you pulled the fabric down, revealing him inch by inch until he sprang free, already hard and straining.

Armin's breath caught audibly, his hands moving from your shoulders to card gently through your hair. The touch was reverent, careful—so typically Armin at the start.

You wrapped your hand around him, feeling him pulse against your palm as you stroked slowly from base to tip. His eyes fell shut momentarily, lips parting on a shaky exhale.

"You're already so hard," you murmured, thumb circling the sensitive head.

"Been thinking about this all night," he admitted, voice strained but still controlled. "Since the theater."

You leaned forward, maintaining eye contact as you pressed a soft kiss to the tip, watching his pupils dilate at the contact. His fingers tightened slightly in your hair, not pushing, just holding on like he needed an anchor.

When you finally took him into your mouth, Armin's quiet gasp filled the room. You started slow, taking just the head between your lips, tongue swirling around the sensitive ridge before dipping into the slit. His thighs trembled beneath your hands, restraint evident in every tense muscle.

"That feels—" he broke off as you took him deeper, his voice cracking again. "So good, God."

You hollowed your cheeks, establishing a rhythm as you worked him with your mouth and hand together. Sweet, shy Armin was still present in the gentle way his fingers stroked your hair, in the soft, appreciative sounds he made with each movement of your tongue.

But as the minutes passed, you felt the shift.

His breathing grew heavier, his normally precise vocabulary reduced to fragments and your name. When you took him particularly deep, letting him hit the back of your throat, his hips jerked forward involuntarily causing you to gag slightly.

"Sorry, I'm sorry," he gasped immediately, trying to pull back.

You responded by gripping his hips, encouraging him to stay where he was, looking up to meet his gaze. The message was clear: It's okay. I can take it.

The careful restraint in his expression began to crack. His hand tightened in your hair, not painful but definitely more commanding than before, guiding your movements as you continued.

"You look so—" he swallowed hard, jaw clenching as you swirled your tongue around him. "So perfect like this."

This was where drunk and sober Armin began to converge—where pleasure stripped away his inhibitions, leaving raw need in their place. His hips started to move in shallow, careful thrusts that grew more confident when you moaned encouragingly around him.

"Is this okay?" he asked, voice rough with desire, his hand now firmly guiding your head. When you nodded, he exhaled sharply. "Good, because I—fuck—I need to—"

The proper, articulate Armin was gone now, replaced by a version of him that chased his pleasure with focused intensity. His fingers tangled more firmly in your hair, his thrusts growing more deliberate as he watched himself disappear between your lips.

"You're so good at this," he praised, the words tumbling out between ragged breaths. "So perfect with your mouth, taking me so well."

You hummed around him, sending vibrations through his length that made him curse—something rare from his usual vocabulary. His self-consciousness had evaporated, replaced by a man who knew exactly what he wanted and wasn't afraid to ask.

"Deeper," he urged, voice strained but commanding. "Please, just like—yes—just like that."

When you felt him start to throb against your tongue, his thighs tensing beneath your hands, you knew he was close. His careful rhythm faltered, growing erratic as his control slipped further.

"I'm going to—" he warned, trying to pull back slightly. "If you don't stop, I'll—"

You dug your fingers into his hips, taking him deeper instead, and the last thread of his restraint snapped. His head fell back, throat working around a groan that seemed torn from somewhere deep inside him as he pulsed against your tongue.

"Fuck," he gasped, the words falling from his lips as he came, his fingers clenching in your hair, his body shuddering with release.

You worked him through it, swallowing around him until he became too sensitive, his hands gently urging you back as he caught his breath. When you finally pulled away, looking up at him with a satisfied smile, his expression was dazed, cheeks flushed dark red.

Armin was still catching his breath, his chest rising and falling rapidly, when his gaze dropped to you—eyes dark with hunger, lips kiss-swollen, fingers twitching like he couldn’t decide whether to pull you closer or give you a second to recover.

Then, with a suddenness that made your pulse jump, he pushed you back onto the bed.

You let out a surprised laugh as you landed against his pillows, but the sound choked off when he climbed over you, his hands sliding possessively up your thighs. His glasses—already fogged from his heavy breathing—slipped slightly down his nose, and with an impatient noise, he yanked them off and tossed them onto the nightstand.

"Fuck these things," he muttered, before his attention snapped back to you, making you laugh momentarily before your breath hitched.

His fingers hooked into the hem of your skirt, pushing it up your hips in one smooth motion, exposing the damp fabric of your panties. He exhaled sharply at the sight, his thumbs immediately pressing against the soaked material, dragging slowly along the seam.

"Armin," you gasped, arching into the touch.

He smirked—actually smirked—before dipping his head to press a kiss to the inside of your thigh. His lips were warm, teasing, moving higher with agonizing slowness.

"You’re so wet," he murmured, fingertips ghosting over the damp fabric of your panties. "Just from sucking me off?"

You bit your lip, nodding, and his expression darkened with satisfaction.

"Then let me return the favor."

Armin’s fingers curled into the sides of your panties, dragging them down your legs with deliberate slowness, his knuckles brushing against your thighs in a way that made you shiver. The moment they were off, tossed carelessly onto the floor, his hands returned—spreading your thighs wider, thumbs pressing into the soft skin just beneath your hips, like he was memorizing the way you opened for him.

His breath was warm against your bare skin as he leaned in, pressing a kiss just above the apex of your thighs, teasing.

"You're so cute," he murmured, voice rough with want, lips brushing against your slick folds without giving you what you wanted. "The way you react every time."

You whined, hips lifting desperately toward his mouth, but he chuckled—chuckled, the bastard—and held you down with one firm hand on your stomach.

"I—fuck, Armin—" you gasped, fingers twisting in the sheets.

"Hm?" he hummed breath fanning over your overheated skin. Then, finally, his tongue dragged through your wetness in one slow, torturous stroke, and you nearly arched clean off the bed.

His grip on your hip tightened, pinning you in place as he repeated the motion, lapping at you like he was savoring the taste. The contrast was maddening—his usual careful precision in everything he did, now applied to unraveling you completely.

Armin's mouth was relentless—hot, wet, and hungry as he devoured you with the same focus he usually reserved for his astronomy charts. His tongue laved broad, slow strokes through your folds before zeroing in on your clit, circling it with just the right amount of pressure to make your thighs tremble.

"Fuck—yes, like that—" you gasped, fingers threading through his hair, tugging lightly as he worked you over with his lips and tongue.

He hummed against you in response, the vibrations sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your core. Then, without warning, his fingers joined—two of them pressing against your entrance before sliding inside in one smooth thrust.

"You like that?" he asked, pulling back just enough to watch your face as he curled his fingers just right, the heel of his palm grinding against your clit.

All you could manage was a desperate nod, your voice failing you as pleasure coiled tight in your stomach.

Armin’s lips curved into a smirk—smug bastard—before his mouth descended again, tongue flicking over your clit in quick, relentless circles as his fingers fucked into you with growing insistence.

"You sound so pretty," he muttered against you, the vibrations making you writhe. "Always." His movements were precise, almost scientific, as if he’d studied exactly how to make you fall apart.

"Armin—" you panted, your grip tightening in his hair as his fingers pumped in and out, his thumb brushing your clit in tandem. "Don’t stop—please—"

He didn’t. If anything, he doubled down—sucking your clit between his lips, fucking you with his fingers at a steady, maddening pace. His free hand gripped your thigh, holding you open for him as he worked you toward the edge with terrifying efficiency.

You could feel the coil tightening in your stomach, your breathing coming in ragged gasps as he pushed you closer and closer.

"Come for me," he murmured against your skin, his voice thick with arousal. "Let me feel it."

And just like that, you shattered—your orgasm crashing over you in waves, your body clenching around his fingers as he coaxed every last pulse of pleasure from you.

When you finally slumped back against the bed, boneless and breathless, Armin pulled back just enough to look up at you, lips glistening, eyes dark with satisfaction.

"Fuck," was all you could manage.

"Good?" he asked, like he didn’t already know.

You simply whined, lips curling into a grin at his pleased expression. Armin crawled up your body, his lips finding yours in a deep, hungry kiss that let you taste yourself on his tongue. You moaned into his mouth, hands sliding up his back, feeling the muscles shift beneath your palms as he settled between your thighs.

His fingers tangled in your hair, cradling your head as he kissed you thoroughly, unhurried now despite the way his arousal pressed insistently against your stomach. Each sweep of his tongue was deliberate, each gentle bite to your lower lip calculated to make you gasp.

He sat back just enough to pull his shirt over his head, revealing the lean, subtle muscle of his chest and stomach. Not bulky like some of his friends, but defined in a way that made your mouth water. You reached up, tracing a finger down the center of his chest, feeling him shiver under your touch.

"Let me grab something," he murmured, pressing one more quick kiss to your lips before leaning over to his nightstand.

He pulled open the drawer, retrieving a small box of condoms that still had the plastic wrap on it. You raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at your lips.

"Recent purchase?" you teased.

Armin's cheeks flushed, but he nodded, tearing open the box with slightly fumbling fingers. "Got them last week. After, uh—" he met your eyes, a small smile playing at his lips. "After I decided I never wanted to use Jean's condoms again. Completely ruined the mood knowing they were his."

You laughed, the sound turning into a soft gasp as he tore open a packet and rolled the condom onto his length with careful precision.

"Plus," he added, his voice dropping lower as he settled back between your legs, "I wanted to be prepared. For you."

His hands slid beneath your knees, gently pushing them back and open, exposing you completely to his gaze. The position left you feeling vulnerable, but the reverent way he looked at you—like you were a particularly fascinating celestial phenomenon he'd just discovered—made heat pool in your stomach.

Armin positioned himself at your entrance, the blunt head of his cock pressing against your slick folds without pushing in. He guidded his cock with his hand, coating himself in your wetness, watching your face as he teased you.

You whimpered, trying to shift your hips to take him in.

His hands tightened on your thighs, holding you in place as he continued the maddening tease. "What do you want?" he asked, his voice soft but steady.

You didn't answer immediately, distracted by the pleasure building again as he rubbed his dick against your sensitive clit.

"Tell me," he prompted, leaning down to kiss your neck. "I want to hear you say it."

You threw your arm over your face, suddenly embarrassed despite everything you'd already done together. "You know what I want."

"I do," he agreed, nipping lightly at your collarbone. "But I want to hear you ask for it."

Something about his tone—not demanding or smug, but genuinely wanting to hear your desire—made heat pool in your stomach. You peeked at him from beneath your arm, taking in his flushed cheeks, the way his lower lip was caught between his teeth, the eager anticipation in his eyes.

"Please," you whispered, the word barely audible.

His smile was gentle, encouraging. "Please what?" he asked, pressing a soft kiss to your jaw.

You swallowed, gathering your courage. "Please fuck me, Armin. I want you inside me."

The words sent a visible shudder through him, his breath catching as he lined himself up properly. "Like this?" he asked, pushing just the tip inside, watching your face carefully.

"Yes," you gasped, hands flying to his shoulders as he sank deeper, stretching you deliciously. "Just like that—god."

Armin's breath hitched as he pushed in deeper, his hands gripping your thighs with increasing pressure. You watched his face transform—the careful control giving way to raw sensation as he buried himself inside you completely, his hips finally flush against yours.

"Fuck," he breathed, eyes falling closed for a moment as he adjusted to the feeling. "You feel—you feel incredible."

He stayed like that for a heartbeat, fully seated inside you, his thumbs drawing small, soothing circles against your skin. Then he opened his eyes, meeting your gaze with an intensity that made your heart stutter.

"Tell me if it's too much," he murmured, pulling back slowly before pushing in again with careful precision.

You shook your head, digging your fingers into his shoulders. "It's perfect. You're perfect."

The praise sent a visible shiver through him, his rhythm faltering briefly before he found it again, setting a deliberate pace that had you arching beneath him. Each thrust was measured and deep, hitting exactly where you needed it.

Armin bent down, capturing your lips in a messy kiss as he continued to move within you. His hand slid from your thigh to your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple through the fabric of your top.

"Take this off," he murmured against your mouth. "Want to see all of you."

You nodded, and he helped you pull the shirt over your head, followed quickly by your bra. The moment you were bare beneath him, his eyes darkened with appreciation, his hands immediately moving to cup your breasts.

"Beautiful," he whispered, almost to himself, as he rolled a nipple between his fingers, watching your reaction with fascination.

The dual sensation of his cock inside you and his fingers on your sensitive nipples had you moaning, head thrown back against the pillows. Armin took advantage, his lips finding your exposed throat, sucking and nipping at the tender skin there.

His thrusts grew deeper, more insistent, each one drawing a soft gasp from your lips. You'd almost forgotten how perfectly he filled you—the past few weeks had been rushed encounters between classes, hurried orgasms from his fingers and tongue, but not this. Not since that first drunken night in Jean's room had you felt the delicious stretch of him inside you, and your body was reacquainting itself with the sensation.

"You feel so good," Armin breathed, his voice strained as his hips snapped forward with increasing force. "So fucking tight—god—"

His cursing sent a thrill through you—the contrast between the polite, studious Armin who explained Europa's atmospheric composition with such precision and the Armin currently fucking you into his mattress, hair falling messily across his forehead as sweat beaded on his brow.

"Harder," you urged, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him deeper.

Something flashed in his eyes—a momentary hesitation, then resolve. "You sure?"

"Yes—please—"

He didn't need to be told twice. His next thrust came with enough force to make the headboard hit the wall, drawing a surprised moan from your lips. His hands found yours, fingers interlacing as he pinned them beside your head, using the leverage to drive into you with newfound intensity.

"Like this?" he asked, voice rough, eyes dark with concentration as he watched your face for every reaction. "This what you need?"

"Yes—fuck—just like that," you gasped, arching beneath him.

A particularly deep thrust had you crying out, and Armin groaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck as his hips worked against yours.

"Missed this," he confessed against your skin, the words tumbling out between thrusts. "Thinking about fucking you again—couldn't focus on the project—kept remembering how you felt—"

You whimpered, the admission sending heat spiraling through your core. The idea of him daydreaming about this while working on those meticulous slides, wanting you while discussing celestial phenomena—it was both ridiculously endearing and intoxicating.

"Me too," you admitted, "got wet thinking about you in class, when you were sitting right next to me—"

Armin groaned, his hips stuttering before finding their rhythm again. "Yeah? While I was discussing Titan's atmosphere?" His voice was playful despite the strain, his lips curving against your neck.

"Especially then," you teased back, gasping as he hit a particularly sensitive spot. "Something about the way you talk about space—ah!—really does it for me."

He laughed, breathless and surprised, before pulling back enough to look at you. His expression shifted to something more serious, more vulnerable, as his pace slowed momentarily.

"I'm falling for you," he admitted quietly, the words hanging between you as his hips rolled in a slow, deliberate grind. "Not just this—though fuck, this is amazing—but all of it. You."

Your heart stuttered, warmth blooming in your chest that had nothing to do with the physical pleasure coursing through your veins.

Your heart swelled at his confession, but before you could respond, Armin's hips snapped forward with renewed vigor, stealing the words from your throat.

"But right now," he continued, voice dropping to a husky whisper as he picked up the pace, "right now I just want to make you come around my cock."

The filthy words from his usually proper mouth sent a shock of heat straight to your core. You watched, transfixed, as his lean muscles tensed with each thrust—the subtle definition of his abs contracting, the way his biceps flexed as he held himself above you. His golden hair, usually so neatly combed, now hung in sweaty strands around his flushed face, his blue eyes dark and unfocused with pleasure.

"Fuck," you moaned as he shifted, the angle changing just enough that the head of his cock dragged perfectly against your g-spot with every thrust.

"There it is," he murmured, a hint of smug satisfaction in his voice as he noted your reaction. "Found it."

He slammed into you harder, making the bed frame creak beneath you, each thrust precise despite the increasing desperation of his movements. The wet sounds of your bodies meeting filled the room, obscene and arousing.

"You're so fucking wet," Armin groaned, watching where your bodies connected. "Taking my dick so perfectly—shit—"

You whimpered at his words, clenching around him involuntarily, which made his eyes flutter closed for a brief moment.

Just as the tension was building, coiling tight in your lower belly, a sound from the apartment's entrance made you both freeze.

"Armin? You home?" Connie's voice carried down the hallway, followed by the distinct jingle of keys.

"Shit," Armin whispered, his eyes widening in panic. He glanced at the door—which, you realized with a jolt of adrenaline, neither of you had thought to lock.

Before you could process what was happening, Armin's hand clamped over your mouth, his body still buried deep inside yours.

"Yeah, I'm here!" he called back, voice remarkably steady despite the situation. "Just working on some stuff in my room. Don't—don't come in, I'm changing!"

His eyes met yours, a silent question in them—okay?—as he remained perfectly still, his cock pulsing inside you.

You nodded against his palm, heart racing with the thrill of nearly being caught. To your shock, instead of pulling out, Armin began to move again—slower now, more deliberate, his hips rolling in shallow thrusts that maintained the pressure against your sweet spot without making the bed creak.

"We brought pizza!" Sasha's voice called. "Extra pepperoni! You want some?"

Armin bit his lip, stifling a groan as you clenched around him again, the danger of the situation somehow heightening every sensation.

"Maybe—ah—maybe later!" he called back, his voice hitching slightly as you deliberately tightened around him. He shot you a warning look that only made heat pool lower in your belly.

"Suit yourself," Connie replied, his voice thankfully moving toward the living room. "We're gonna watch that new anime you were talking about. The one with the monsters."

Armin's hips stuttered at the mention, and you couldn't help but smile against his palm, imagining him trying to focus on serious conversation while balls-deep inside you.

"Go ahead!" Armin called, then lowered his voice to a whisper meant only for you. "If you make a sound, I'll stop."

The threat—not truly a threat given how desperately you both wanted this—made you shiver.

The moment he was satisfied his roommates were settled in the living room, Armin's hips snapped forward with renewed force, his hand pressing harder against your mouth. His eyes were wild, a mixture of arousal and danger as he leaned down to whisper in your ear.

"Gotta be quiet now," he breathed, his voice trembling slightly as he picked up the pace. "Can't let them hear how fucking wet your pussy is for me."

You whimpered against his hand, feeling yourself clench around him at the unexpected dirty talk. This was a side of Armin you'd glimpsed before—the way he'd whisper filthy praise against your ear when you sucked him off, how he'd gotten bolder with his words each time you hooked up—but never quite this raw, this uninhibited. His thrusts grew deeper, harder, the wet sounds of your bodies meeting seeming obscenely loud in the quiet room.

"Look at you," he continued, watching your breasts bounce with each powerful thrust. "Fuck, you're so perfect."

His free hand moved to cup one breast, thumb circling the hardened nipple before pinching it lightly, causing you to arch beneath him. Your muffled moan was captured by his hand, which pressed more firmly against your lips.

"Shh," he warned, but his eyes were dark with satisfaction at your reaction. "They'll hear you."

The position shifted slightly as he leaned more weight on the hand covering your mouth, his cock driving impossibly deeper. You could feel his heavy balls slap against your ass with each thrust, adding to the obscene symphony of skin against skin.

"You're dripping," he groaned quietly, glancing down at where your bodies joined. "Soaking the sheets, fuck—"

Despite his assertive words, Armin was falling apart above you—his composure cracking with each thrust. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his lower lip caught between his teeth as he tried to stifle his own sounds. A whimper escaped him when you deliberately clenched around his length, his eyes squeezing shut for a brief moment.

"Do that—do that again," he pleaded, voice breaking slightly as you obliged, squeezing your inner muscles around him. "God—feels so good—"

His rhythm faltered briefly before he found it again, driving into you with precision that belied his trembling thighs and stuttered breathing. The head of his cock hit that perfect spot deep inside you with each thrust, sending jolts of pleasure up your spine.

You tried to say his name, the sound muffled against his palm as your hands clutched at his back, nails digging into the smooth skin. Armin hissed at the sting but didn't slow down—if anything, the pain seemed to spur him on, his hips snapping forward with increased fervor.

"You like this?" he whispered, sweat-dampened hair falling into his eyes as he looked down at you. "Like me keeping you quiet while I fuck you? While my roommates are right outside?"

You nodded frantically, eyes wide as pressure built inside you, coiling tighter with each precise thrust.

"Such a—fuck—such a dirty girl," he continued, voice breaking on a particularly deep thrust. "Getting off on this—on me—ahh—holding you down and—and fucking you while—"

He couldn't even finish the sentence, too caught up in the sensation. His expression was a beautiful mess—flushed cheeks, parted lips, eyes glazed with pleasure. When you clenched around him again, he let out a whine that he immediately tried to muffle by burying his face in your neck.

"Close," he gasped against your skin, his rhythm growing erratic. "So close—need you to—need you to come with me—"

His hand slipped from your mouth just long enough to slide between your bodies, finding your clit with practiced ease. The sudden stimulation made you gasp, and his palm clamped back over your lips instantly.

"Quiet," he reminded you, but the command lacked authority as his own breath hitched. His fingers worked your clit in tight, fast circles as his cock continued to pound into you, the dual sensation rapidly pushing you toward the edge.

"Come on my cock," he urged, words turning desperate as his control slipped further. "Want to feel you—feel you squeeze me—God—squeeze me when you come—"

Your orgasm hit without warning, crashing over you in intense waves as your body clenched rhythmically around his length. Armin's hand barely muffled your cry as pleasure flooded every nerve, your back arching off the bed.

The feeling of your walls pulsing around him was too much. Armin's hips stuttered, his rhythm faltering completely as he buried himself deep inside you with one final thrust. His whole body tensed, a choked whimper escaping his lips as he came, his cock throbbing within you as he spilled into the condom.

For a long moment, he remained frozen above you, trembling with the force of his release. Then, slowly, he removed his hand from your mouth, replacing it with his lips in a gentle, almost apologetic kiss.

"Sorry," he whispered against your lips, still catching his breath. "Got a bit... carried away."

You smiled, reaching up to brush sweat-dampened hair from his forehead. "Don't apologize. That was... wow."

A flush that had nothing to do with exertion spread across his cheeks, the shy, sweet Armin returning now that the heat of the moment had passed. The transformation was as endearing as it was fascinating—how quickly he could shift from filthy-mouthed confidence back to soft-spoken tenderness.

"Yeah?" he asked, a hint of uncertainty in his voice despite what you'd just shared.

"Yeah," you confirmed, pulling him down for another kiss. "Definitely wow."

Armin carefully pulled out, both of you wincing slightly at the sensitivity. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead before climbing off the bed and padding to the bathroom. You heard water running briefly before he returned, condom disposed of and a warm washcloth in hand.

"Here," he offered softly, gently cleaning between your thighs with a tenderness that made your chest ache. When he was done, he tossed the cloth into his hamper and climbed back onto the bed, immediately pulling you against his chest.

His fingers combed through your tangled hair, pushing sweaty strands away from your face. "You okay?"

You nodded, nestling into his warmth. "Perfect."

Armin reached toward the nightstand, grabbing a half-empty water bottle and offering it to you. "Drink something."

You took a few grateful sips before passing it back, watching as he drank deeply, his Adam's apple bobbing with each swallow. The care in these small gestures was somehow more intimate than what you'd just shared.

After a comfortable silence, you traced a finger along his collarbone. "So..."

His eyes met yours, a hint of vulnerability in them. "So?"

"You said something. During." You bit your lip, suddenly shy despite everything. "About falling for me."

A blush immediately spread across his cheeks, but to his credit, he didn't look away. "I did."

"Did you mean it?"

Armin exhaled, his hand finding yours, fingers intertwining. "Yeah. I did. I am." His thumb stroked the back of your hand nervously. "Falling for you, that is."

Your heart fluttered in your chest as you smiled up at him. "Good. Because I'm falling for you too."

The relief that washed over his face was almost comical—like he'd been genuinely worried after everything you'd shared. His arms tightened around you, pulling you closer as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

"Does that mean... I mean, would you want to..." he trailed off, then took a deep breath, forcing himself to meet your eyes. "Will you be my girlfriend? Officially?"

You couldn't help but laugh—not at him, but at the endearing formality of it all, asking you to be his girlfriend while you were both naked and sweaty in his bed.

"Yes, Armin," you said, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. "I'll be your girlfriend. Officially."

His answering smile was brilliant, crinkling the corners of his eyes in a way that made your stomach flutter.

"Great," he said, voice soft but steady. "That's... really great."

A loud burst of laughter from the living room reminded you both that you weren't alone in the apartment. Armin glanced toward the door, then back at you.

"We should probably..."

"Join civilization?" you suggested, already reaching for your scattered clothes.

"Yeah," he chuckled, climbing off the bed and searching for his boxers. "Plus, there's pizza."

You both dressed quickly, stealing glances and sharing small smiles as you put yourselves back together. Armin ran his fingers through his hair, attempting to tame it back into something presentable while you straightened your clothes and checked for any visible marks he might have left.

When you finally emerged from his bedroom, Connie and Sasha were sprawled across the couch, an open pizza box on the coffee table between them and some colorful anime playing on the TV.

"Well, well, look who finally emerged," Connie said, giving you a knowing grin as he paused the show. "Thought you said you were changing, Armin."

Armin froze for a half-second, his ears turning bright red as he fumbled for words. "I was—I mean, we were just—"

"Uh-huh," Sasha smirked, grabbing another slice of pizza. "Changing."

Armin's shoulders straightened suddenly, his hand finding yours and lacing your fingers together. "Well, I have a girlfriend now, so..." he trailed off defensively, the statement hanging in the air like he wasn't quite sure where he was going with it.

Connie and Sasha were silent, amusement on their expressions at Armin's words.

"Yeah, I have a girlfriend now, so what does it matter if I change in front of her?" Armin challenged more confidently, chin lifting slightly despite the blush still coloring his cheeks.

Connie rolled his eyes dramatically, throwing a wadded-up napkin in Armin's direction. "Yeah, yeah, just rub it in our faces, why don't you? Some of us are still single and suffering."

But there was no real bite to his words, just good-natured teasing as he scooted over to make room on the couch.

Sasha couldn't seem to stop smiling, her eyes darting between you and Armin with barely contained delight. "About time," she said, pushing the pizza box toward you both.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Armin asked, guiding you to the spot Connie had cleared.

"Dude, you've been talking about her non-stop for weeks," Connie snorted. "Pretty sure Sasha and I could recite your astronomy project by heart at this point."

"That's not true," Armin protested weakly, but the way he avoided eye contact made it clear Connie wasn't exaggerating.

Sasha leaned forward, stage-whispering to you. "He's had a crush on you since like, the second week of class. It was painful to watch."

"Okay," Armin interrupted loudly, reaching for a slice of pizza. "Can we please just watch the show now?"

You couldn't help but laugh at his embarrassment, settling comfortably against his side as Connie hit play on the remote. The anime resumed—something about giant humanoid creatures that seemed equal parts fascinating and terrifying—but you found yourself more interested in watching the easy camaraderie between the three roommates.

Despite their teasing, it was obvious how much Connie and Sasha cared about Armin. The way Sasha would occasionally glance over with a soft, approving smile, or how Connie had immediately made space for both of you, accepting you into their little circle without question.

As the show continued, Armin's arm found its way around your shoulders, pulling you closer. You leaned into him, enjoying the warmth of his body and the comforting weight of his arm. His fingers traced absent patterns on your shoulder as he focused on the screen, occasionally leaning down to whisper explanations of characters or plot points you might have missed.

It felt natural. Easy. Like you'd always belonged here, nestled against Armin's side while his friends bickered good-naturedly over the last slice of pizza.

When Armin's phone buzzed with a text from Eren asking how the date went, he simply smiled, typing back a quick response before tucking his phone away and pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

"Good?" he asked quietly, and you knew he wasn't just asking about the anime or the pizza.