𝗳𝗮𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗳𝗶𝗴𝘂𝗿𝗲

After the Rumbling, Mikasa was a mess, she was unable to move, she forced herself to get out of bed only to see Eren’s tomb. Armin was living in a tiny apartment in Marley, the walls getting smaller with each of his thoughts. The nightmares were unbearable for both of them, blood, screams, death, death, death. They’d wake up sweaty and out of breath, wondering if the suffering or the guilt would ever go away. 

It wasn’t until Armin saw Mikasa once again that he understood what they were going through. They couldn’t be alone after all of that, they were isolating themselves. So he was the one who took action, taking Mikasa with him back to Marley, bought a house and started living together. One year after the Rumbling, they were married. 

Barely no one came to their wedding, in fact, they signed a paper and that was all. At least now they aren’t lonely anymore.

Mikasa knows Armin’s schedule by heart so she knows exactly when to get up from bed and pretend that she was sitting by the table reading the newspaper. She hears the key on the door exactly at 2:34 p.m and Armin’s voice lets her know that he arrived. 

“Hi,” he greets, leaving his coat by the door, he’s already untying the knot of his tie and walking to the bedroom. “I’ll start making lunch in a moment.”

“Sure,” Mikasa nods, closing the paper and starting to set the table. 

She’s used to eating late with Armin, she knows that even when he’s exhausted by work, he will cook them a warm meal. The blond finds some sort of peace while cooking, keeping his mind busy while he tries to ignore the bed is unmade and the groceries are not where they’re meant to be. He knows Mikasa is trying and he’s happy about that, so cooking after coming home from work is a way to calm his mind. About half an hour later, he has two plates ready after Mikasa sets the table neatly. They usually eat in silence, only the sound of the knife scraping the plates and the swallowing every time Armin drinks too much water all at once. Today, he’s the one to start a conversation. 

“I heard there’s an art exhibition opening,” he says between bites. 

“Really?” Mikasa blinks, without lifting her eyes from her plate. 

“Apparently the artist moved in here just a month ago,” Armin continues. “We could check it out, it opens tomorrow in the evening.”

“Mhm, we could,” Mikasa nods, it’s not like she’s doing anything else. 

Armin was told at work that this artist is very acclaimed in the South, selling her pieces for hundreds of euros and that even some of them are hung in some museums. Apparently, she moved in to Marley to search for some sort of peace and draw more. 

An hour before the exhibition opens, Mikasa is locked in the room she shares with Armin, trying to find what to wear. Nothing feels right, she knows that she’s making Armin (who’s already dressed and ready to go), and she wants to leave too, but why does she feel like everything she does is a drag? She has clothes to wear but nothing in her mind works for this evening, she doesn’t even remember the last time she wore something slightly formal. 

Armin knocks softly on the door, taking her out of her own thoughts. “Need help?” His voice is soft, always tender towards her. 

“Yes, please,” she answers without opening the door. Armin comes in carefully and sees all the dresses and skirts laying in bed. “Help me decide.”

He presses his lips together, really thinking about the right decisions. “I like the blue dress.”

Mikasa nods, it’s so easy to convince her. She’s already undressing to wear them, Armin turns his back towards the wall but Mikasa quickly calls for him. 

“Could you help me?” she mutters, gathering up her hair and showing Armin her bare back. 

“Yes, of course.” Armin walks towards her, pulling the zipper up slower than ever. He doesn’t even realize that his hand is resting on the curve of Mikasa’s back for leverage. Then she turns around to face him, her eyelashes are naturally long, but she applied some sort of mascara in them to make them extra long, same with the faint shimmer in her lips. 

“You look beautiful,” Armin breathes out, swallowing. He really doesn’t understand the weird effects Mikasa has on him. 

Mikasa answers with a huff, clearly not believing it. She slips into some black kitten heels and grabs a knitted sweater. “Let’s go, we’re gonna be late.”

She takes his hand without thinking about it, it’s rare that they display any form of physical affection to each other, so Armin takes the opportunity to lace his fingers tight with hers, not letting them go in all the walk. 

They end up arriving a little late, a few people are already inside quietly moving between the white walls. The artist must have given her short speech already as there’s no one standing at the front anymore.

Mikasa keeps her hand in Armin’s as they step inside. She feels a little out of place in the blue dress, the knitted sweater still draped over her shoulders even though the room is warm, Armin gives her fingers a gentle squeeze before they start paying attention to the paintings covering the room.

Some are landscapes, wide and open, rivers that look like the one behind their house, skies that feel too big. Others are portraits, faces half-turned away, eyes that seem to look through the viewer. But most of them… most of them are women. Naked women. Not posed in the distant way Mikasa has seen in old books. These feel close, with soft stomachs, the curve of a breast under an arm, hair falling over a shoulder, the vulnerability of someone who has let herself be seen completely. It’s beautiful, completely and utterly beautiful.

Mikasa slows down without meaning to, Armin stays close beside her, his own eyes wide as he takes them in. There’s something painful in how beautiful the paintings are, how carefully every shadow and line has been placed. It feels like the artist understands something about stillness and loneliness that most people don’t.

They move from canvas to canvas. Mikasa’s throat feels tight, she doesn’t know if it’s the art or the fact that she’s standing here, alive, holding Armin’s hand seven years after everything ended.

The painting is smaller than the others, hung a little lower as if it doesn’t want to be noticed at first. A woman, mouth open in a silent scream, body twisted with a kind of agony that looks both physical and mental. Her eyes are wet, her hands pressed against her own chest and her hair is a mess. There’s no blood but the painting is colored in deep reds and blues bleeding into each other. It hurts to look at, but Mikasa can’t stop looking at it.

Armin notices immediately, he turns to her, but she doesn’t look at him. Her eyes are locked on the screaming woman and for a moment it feels like the rest of the gallery disappears. Something in her chest cracks open without permission. She doesn’t even realize she’s crying until she feels the warmth of a tear sliding down her cheek, then another.

She doesn’t wipe them away.

Armin steps a little closer, still holding her hand, his voice barely above a whisper. “Mikasa…?”

She can’t answer yet. The painting has taken the words right out of her. All she can do is stand there, tears falling quietly, staring at a woman who looks like she understands exactly what it means to carry too much inside for far too long.

“Oh that’s new.” A third voice takes her out of her thoughts and tears, she quickly wipes them away, making sure that no mascara bleeds into her eyebags. 

“Excuse me?” Armin intervenes first. He was ready to be rude to whoever ruined the moment Mikasa was having with herself. 

“No one has ever cried seeing one of my works,” you say, stopping right next to her, now fully ignoring the blond man. “It makes me happy.”

“You drew this?” Mikasa says quickly, blinking fast as she points at the painting. 

“Yes, I’m the artist of all of these.” You pointed to the whole gallery with your hands, smiling sweetly. You introduce yourself after that because the couple seems too lost in you. “Nice to meet you both.”

You learn their names as they shake your hand. Neither of them can stop looking at you, the artist of what left them mesmerized might be even more beautiful than the piece itself. You’re wearing a flowy light orange dress that compliments your tan skin, as well as golden jewelry and some heels that leave you at eye level with Armin. Your smile is beautiful too, in fact, everything about you makes them want to know more and more.

“Your art is lovely, miss. It has left us in awe,” Armin compliments, bowing his head a little.

You smile at him, you’ve been waiting all evening for someone to actually talk to you instead of just staring. “Thank you, that means a lot. It’s nice when someone feels something.” Your eyes drift back to Mikasa. “Especially when it makes someone cry. That’s the highest compliment an artist can get, you know.”

Mikasa’s cheeks warm. She looks down at the floor for a moment, then back at the painting, still unable to fully look away from the screaming woman.

Armin clears his throat, clearly trying to keep the conversation going. He’s still holding Mikasa’s hand, but his attention is fully on you now. “I hope you don’t mind me asking… what inspired this one? It feels different from the others.”

“This one?” You step a little closer to the canvas, close enough that your shoulder almost brushes Mikasa’s. “She’s called ‘The Weight.’ I painted her after a really bad week. I kept thinking about how some feelings don’t have anywhere to go. They just sit in your chest and scream until your body has to show it somehow.” You glance at Mikasa again. “I didn’t expect anyone to understand her so quickly.”

Mikasa’s fingers tighten around Armin’s. She still doesn’t speak. 

Armin nods slowly, eyes wide. “It’s incredible. It feels alive.” He pauses, then adds, a little shy, “All of your work feels like that… they all feel like they’re breathing.”

You laugh quietly. “You really know how to compliment an artist, mister Arlert.”

Armin’s ears turn pink. “I… I’ve always liked art. I just never had much time for it, until recently.” He glances at Mikasa, then back at you. “Where do you get the inspiration for the more intimate pieces?”

You shrug one shoulder, the fabric of your orange dress shifting with the movement. “From people I’ve loved, from people I’ve watched. From myself, sometimes.” Your voice gets a little lower, a little more charged. “I think the body is the most honest thing we have. It doesn’t lie the way words do, it shows when someone is lonely or grieving.” You look between the two of them, eyes sparkling. “I paint what I see and somehow I never see enough.”

Mikasa lifts her head, her dark eyes shiny from the tears when she looks at you. She’s looking for words as beautiful as yours or as meaningful as Armin’s, but she can’t find them.

“…It’s beautiful. Especially that one.” She hates how shy she sounds. 

Your smile widens, taking the simple compliment as something precious. “Thank you, truly. I’m glad it found you.”

Armin watches the exchange, clearly a little mesmerized by how easily you speak, how open you are. He sees how special you’re making Mikasa feel, and even though he’s happy for her, he suddenly craves your attention again. 

He shifts his weight, still holding Mikasa’s hand. “You recently moved here, right?”

“Oh, yes!” You nod eagerly, getting a step closer to them. You can see now the wedding rings in each of their hands, a lovely couple, you think. “After finishing this exhibition, I wanted to go somewhere calm but inspiring. I moved in here to work on my new project, have you guys heard of the Rumbling?”

They both lose their breaths for a moment, hearts skipping a beat. You keep talking, clicking your tongue. 

“Silly me, of course you do. You’re from here, right? You look around my age, so you might remember some of it.” You continue, not realizing how you relived a long forgotten memory in their brains. 

“We were in the Rumbling,” Mikasa says quickly, body leaning towards you. Armin elbows her a little, but she continues talking. “We were the ones who stopped it.”

You gasp. “Really? That’s… wow, that’s insane. I wanted to get inspired by the events of the Rumbling for my new art project. In fact, I was looking to talk to some survivors of it.” You quickly dive in your small bag, pulling out a tiny card, with your full name and the address of your studio. “Now’s not the time to talk, but please, if you could stop by my studio some day, I would appreciate it so much.”

Armin can see the excitement in your eyes, how you can’t believe that you encountered two of the saviors of Marley. Your mind is racing with the possibilities, with all the stories they would tell you. Mikasa is the one that takes the card between her fingers, touching it tenderly.

“Of course, we will,” she says, without even discussing it with Armin. 

The idea of sitting down and talking to a strange lady about the most traumatic event in their lives felt weird. But you were no strange lady, right? You, Mikasa and Armin just held a very deep and interesting conversation, where you just became someone important in their boring lives. They just needed to get more of you, even if it was like that. 

After you said goodbye to them, Mikasa and Armin left the gallery with a strange feeling in their lower bellies. Armin was excited to know you better, to explore your mind and see you draw, he needed to know every thought in your brain that leads to make such gorgeous art. And Mikasa needed you as a whole, she found a sort of warmth in you that he never found in anyone else. With that painting, she felt understood by you.

Their house was cold when they arrived, Armin quickly closed all the windows while Mikasa got ready for bed, her long nightgown hiding every curve of her body and the braid she usually wears for bed neatly made, she’d taken off her makeup, now she was resting on her side of the bed, waiting for him to turn off the lights.

They’re usually quiet at these hours, but today Mikasa was the first to talk. 

“She was a very lovely woman,” she muttered once Armin was getting inside the bedsheets. He understood she was talking about you. 

“She was, very talented too,” Armin adds, covering himself until the chin. 

“And pretty.” Mikasa was thinking out loud now, but Armin hummed in agreement. 

“That too.”

They went to sleep after that conversation. 

Mikasa was the first to fall asleep, she usually is. Armin kept replaying the short conversation they just had, wondering if his wife is starting to feel attracted to the artist. He doesn’t like the idea of that, not because Mikasa is his wife, but because Armin also finds you incredibly endearing. The image of you smiling, explaining everything and so enthusiastic to hear more of them. It made him feel important. 

You’re surprised to see them so soon in your studio, it took them less than a day to come to you. You were sketching in a corner of your studio, a few canvas half painted and bottles of paints that needed to be closed but you couldn’t be bothered about it. When they knock on the door, you scream that the door is open to find the couple politely entering your place. 

“Oh, hi!” you say, quickly getting up and walking towards them, still holding the pencil between your fingers. Your eyes light up the second you recognize their faces. “I didn’t think you’d actually come!” You laugh, a little breathless, and wipe your hands on the side of your dress even though there’s barely any charcoal on them. “Come in, come in. Sorry about the mess.”

Armin closes the door behind them carefully. Mikasa stays half a step behind him, her eyes already moving across the room, taking in the half-finished canvases, the open bottles of paint, the scattered sketches on the floor. The studio smells like turpentine and burnt coffee.

You look between them, still smiling, still a little stunned. “I’m really happy you’re here, it was lovely talk to you yesterday. I kept thinking about both of you after you left.” You gesture toward the small table near the window. “Can I get you something? Water? Tea? I have some fruit too. Make yourselves comfortable.”

Armin glances at Mikasa before answering. “Tea would be nice. Thank you.”

Mikasa nods.

You move around the small kitchen corner, filling the kettle, pulling out two mismatched mugs, setting a plate with sliced apples and a few pieces of bread on the table. Your hands are a little restless, you’re trying not to show how excited you actually are. When you finally sit across from them, you lean forward, elbows on the table and eyes bright.

“Okay,” you say softly. “I know this might be a lot. And you can stop me whenever. But… I meant what I said yesterday. I want to understand how the Rumbling was.” Your voice gentles. “Only if you want to talk about it.”

Silence hangs for a moment, Armin looks down at his hands and Mikasa’s fingers are curled tightly in her lap.

“My memory is a bit blurred from that day. It was worse than anything we could have imagined, the Titans were huge and the people were screaming non stop.” He swallowed, looking for the right words. “Millions of people died. I think I died a little too there.”

You stay quiet, listening with your whole body and your eyes never leaving his face.

Mikasa’s gaze is fixed on the table, her jaw tight but her eyes telling you a full story without meaning to. 

Armin continues. “The person who started it… we knew him.”

That’s when Mikasa loses a breath, making you snap your eyes towards her. Her fingers curl at her sides, trying to put herself together.

“We grew up with him, he was our friend. He believed it was the only way to protect us, to end the cycle. But the cost…” His voice cracks just a little. “The cost was everything. And even after we stopped him, the world didn’t go back to what it was. It never could.”

You felt their pain in your chest, a single tear has left Mikasa’s eyes, and then another. You reach across the table without thinking. “I’m so sorry. I can’t even imagine that kind of loss. You both carried something impossible, and you’re still here. That alone is a lot.”

Mikasa’s lips part, but no sound comes out at first. Then, barely above a whisper, “You’re very kind.”

Armin nods, looking at you with pain in his eyes. “You really are. Most people don’t want to hear the whole version.”

You lean in a little more. “I don’t want the simple version. I want the truth, even if it’s ugly.” 

You notice how Mikasa keeps crying, without asking, you rise from your chair and step around the table, kneeling so you’re closer to her height. Your hands come up slowly, giving her time to pull away if she wants. When she doesn’t, you brush your thumbs gently under her eyes, catching her tears before they can fall further. 

“It’s okay,” you whisper. “You don’t have to hold it in here.”

Mikasa’s breath shudders as she leans into the contact for the briefest moment, eyes fluttering shut.

Armin watches every second of it, he hates himself for the thought that rises uninvited: if he had cried too, maybe your hands would have reached for him. He would have felt the intimate warmth against his own skin. Instead he sits frozen, tea untouched, watching his wife be comforted by the woman neither of them can seem to stop thinking about.

You stay there a moment longer, thumbs still resting lightly against Mikasa’s cheeks, voice soft enough that it belongs only to the three of you.

“Thank you for trusting me with this,” you say. “Both of you. I know it’s not easy.”

Mikasa opens her eyes again even if they’re still wet. “You’re different,” she whispers. “Most people look at us and only see what we did. Not what it cost.”

Armin’s voice is quieter when he speaks again. “She’s right. You make it feel less lonely just by listening to us.”

You smile at them both, your hands finally falling away from Mikasa’s face even though a part of you doesn’t want to stop touching her. 

“That’s all I ever want my art to do. Make people feel less alone in the things that hurt.” You glance between them. “I’m really glad it’s you two sitting here.”

They continue talking after that, now Mikasa feels a bit braver with you, telling you about him when they were younger, their story together, their families being friends… Everything. From the beginning until the last moment. Armin sits back silently, hating how you’re pitying Mikasa, your hands resting in hers, thumb rubbing her palm with a tenderness he can only imagine. 

He was there too! He suffered as much as her! He battled him until his own last breath, he cried and screamed after seeing his head louder than everyone. Armin’s heart craves for the same care you’re giving Mikasa. He craves for you all to himself, the idea of Mikasa gaining you before he can even try makes him sick in the stomach.

After almost two hours of talking and listening, you decide to say goodbye to them. You gently shake Armin’s hand and then you give Mikasa a hug. Maybe that’s the last drop for Armin, because on the way home, he can't help but bring it up. 

“You hugged her,” he mutters, kicking a tiny rock on the walk. 

“Yes.”

“You don’t like hugs,” he remembers, bringing back the amount of times she didn’t let him touch her, even if it was for simple comfort. 

“I like her hugs.”

Armin’s steps slow for half a second even if his eyes are only in the path.

“That’s new,” he says, trying to sound casual and failing. “You barely let me touch you most days.”

Mikasa glances at him sideways. “It’s different with her.”

“Different how?”

Her fingers curl around the edge of her sweater. “I don’t know. She doesn’t look at me like I’m broken.”

Armin hates the way those words settle under his skin. He hates even more that he understands them, because he felt it too, the way you listened, the softness in your eyes, the movement of your hands around Mikasa.

He kicks another rock harder than necessary. “You’re acting like she’s the only person who’s ever understood you.”

Mikasa stops walking. Armin takes two more steps before he realizes and turns back.

“I’m not replacing you,” she says. “You’re my husband. That doesn’t change because a stranger was kind to me.”

“Stranger,” Armin repeats, laughing, but there’s no humor in it. “You never hug anyone. And the way you looked at her the whole time, Mikasa, I’m not blind.”

She steps closer, eyes searching his face. “You’re jealous.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.” There’s no accusation in her tone. “Armin. Relax. You’re not losing your wife.”

The words should help. They don’t. Because the problem isn’t just about losing her. The problem is that he wants you too. He wants your attention the way Mikasa got it. He wants your hands on his face, your voice soft only for him, your eyes looking at him. And the thought of sharing that with Mikasa, of watching her get pieces of you while he sits on the side, makes his stomach twist.

Mikasa sees it. Of course she does. She’s always been able to read him. And she’s glad that she gained you, even if it was from pityness. She doesn’t want to share you either, she might be depressed but she’s not stupid. When you hugged her, for those seconds, she forgot how heavy everything feels, she wanted more of that only to herself.

Armin finally speaks again. “We shouldn’t go back.”

“But we will.”

Mikasa starts walking again. Armin falls into step beside her, close but not touching.

Oh, Armin should feel guilty. He really should. Lying to his own wife is bad, but the need of his stomach was worse. The need to see you was spreading like poison through his head. He had the image of you in his head, sitting in your studio with low lights, in a loose shirt, sketching him. Your curls falling and your soft skin glowing naturally, he wanted to feel the softness of your thighs, the curves of your tender skin wrapping around his. 

He should feel bad for visiting you without telling Mikasa, but then he sees you standing in front of a canvas, with a palette next to you, working on the background with pinks and blues. 

“Good evening.” He takes his hat as he enters, seeing you turn around and offer him a smile. 

“Ah, Armin! How have you been these days?” You set your brush down and lift your head to find only him after he closed the door. “I wasn’t expecting you. Come in, come in.”

Armin steps further inside, he leaves his hat and coat in the hanger, looking at you moving around the studio, closing the lids of some paints before sitting up on a table with your sketch book resting in your crossed legs. 

“I’ve been alright,” he answers in a breath.

You tilt your head, studying him for a second. “And Mikasa? Is she with you?”

He hesitates just long enough for it to show. “She’s busy this morning. Had some things to take care of at home. I… thought I’d stop by. Hope that’s okay.”

“Of course it’s okay.” You wipe your hands on a rag and gesture toward the table near the window. “I’m just working on backgrounds today, nothing too serious. I’m glad you came, actually. It’s quiet when I’m alone for too long.”

Armin stays up, walking step by step closer to you, watching the way your hand moves. “I’ve been thinking about you.”

You lift your eyebrows. “Oh really? Good stuff, I hope.”

“Yes, of course,” he says too quickly, getting a step closer. “I’ve been thinking about how much you know about me and how little I know about you.”

You glance up from the sketchbook. “Hm, that’s true. What would you like to know?”

He ends up resting his hip on the side of your table, playing with his fingers as he looks up at you. “Just normal things. Where are you from?”

You laugh quietly, not bothered about answering his questions. “I’m from the South. A lovely place near the coast with crystal clear water and hot weather most of the year.” Your voice softens with the memory. It’s been a while since you left your hometown, traveling around the world for inspiration, but sometimes you miss it. 

Armin is watching your mouth more than the sketchbook now. “It sounds beautiful. Peaceful.”

“It was. Until it wasn’t.” You shrug one shoulder, still sketching. “But that’s another story. What about you? You’ve been asking all the questions. Tell me something.”

He gets close enough now that you can smell the soap on his skin, close enough that his knee almost brushes yours.

“I keep thinking about the other day,” he says. “You were so good to us. I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”

You look down fully this time, pencil pausing. He’s closer than he should be. Closer than a married man usually gets to a woman he’s only met twice.

“Armin…”

He leans in a fraction more, eyes searching yours. “I… I wanted to see you. Without her. Just for a little while.”

You set the sketchbook down beside you on the table, reminding him the situation he’s in. “You have a wife.”

He takes another breath, eyeing your neck and your jaw, trying to ignore your pretty kissable lips. “I do. But we aren’t in love.”

That makes you frown in confusion and curiosity. “How so?”

“We didn’t marry because of love or passion,” he starts, his hand now coming up your arm, under the sleeve of your shirt. “So please, let me have you.”

Your mind is racing now, feeling Armin’s touch in your skin makes you giggle, but you suddenly want to know the full story of their marriage, how they ended up together if they really don’t love each other. The idea of marrying someone without loving them feels wild for you, even more coming from them. You’ve seen them together, holding hands and being side by side. You thought you found a lovely couple to mess with, and turns out they’re just as broken as you? 

“Speaking of the devil…” you mutter, pushing two fingers into Armin’s chest to make distance between you two, as Mikasa is entering the door. 

She sees the scene and for some reason, she’s not bothered about how Armin lied to her, but she hates seeing him so close to you. She went to visit you to have an opportunity to see you alone, only to see that her husband got the same idea. 

“Hi, Mikasa.” You smile towards her, folding your fingers in your lap. “Armin told me that you were busy today.”

“Did he?” Mikasa arches her eyebrow, so he not only lied to her, but to you too. Your precious you, being lied to in your face by her manipulative husband. She feels so bad for you. “Armin, you have to quit lying to strangers, you know it’s bad.”

The tone in Mikasa’s voice stuns you, her shy edge is suddenly replaced by some sort of possessive feeling that makes your belly tingle. She takes off her coat and scarf, leaving them next to Armin’s belongings. Her outfit reveals what she was coming for, a flowy black skirt with a matching lingerie-like top that showed just enough of her cleavage. Armin has never seen his wife dressed like that, you can see that he is as stunned as you are. 

Even you can’t bear the tension that’s going on between them, quickly shift a little in your seat and say: “You guys can leave, if you want. We can chat tomorrow.”

“No.” They agree to say at the same time, Armin’s hand grabbing your thigh all of a sudden while Mikasa walks towards you. 

“I don’t think neither of us wants to leave,” Armin says, tilting his head. Now you have them one on each side, Armin’s hand still tight in your thigh while Mikasa’s arm presses into your lower back. 

“What’s with you guys?” you question with a tiny nervous laugh. “Do you like me that much?”

Of course neither of them answer, you look between them as they both watch you like you are their whole new world. And you hate yourself for liking it, for finding it exciting. You like being the epicenter of whatever they have. The idea of sitting in the middle of a marriage this cracked open, this hungry, makes your thighs press

So you don’t push them away.

Instead you shift a little on the table, making room without really making room and your voice comes out softer. “Okay, then. But if you’re going to stay… I wanna know about this marriage of yours..”

“Why?” she asks, quiet.

“Because I’m curious.” You smile, small and honest. “And because you’re both looking at me in a very animalistic way. So if I’m going to be in the middle of this, I want to understand what I’m standing in.”

There’s a long pause. Then Armin lets out a slow breath and finally speaks, telling you their whole story. From the moment they decided to live together until now, you listen just like before, but this time your panties are only getting wetter. Two people bound by trauma, holding each other up while starving for something more. And somehow both of them ended up here, hands on you, eyes full of the same desperate want.

“And now?” you ask gently. “What is it like? Between you two.”

Armin’s jaw tightens. “We take care of each other. We cook. We sleep in the same bed. We talk when we need to. But it’s not…” He struggles for the word. “It’s not what people think marriage is.”

Mikasa’s voice is even softer. “We don’t really touch. Not the way married people do. We just exist next to each other. It’s enough most days.”

You frown a little, tilting your head. “What do you mean you don’t touch?”

Armin looks away for half a second. Mikasa’s cheeks color, but she doesn’t look away from you.

“We’ve never been intimate,” she says quietly. “Not in five years.”

Your eyes widen. Your mouth opens.

“Wait. What?” You stare at them both, genuinely shocked. “Not even once? You’re telling me you’ve shared a bed for years and you’ve never had sex?”

Armin’s ears are pink. Mikasa’s fingers curl against your back, but she nods.

“It never felt right,” she confirms. “We needed comfort more than we needed anything else. And after a while it just became the way things were.”

You let out a short, disbelieving breath “That’s… wow. No wonder you’re both looking at me like that.” Then you squint your eyes. “Do you guys even know what you like in bed?”

The question is announced and not premeditated, maybe starting to talk about sexual fantasies and desires isn’t the right thing, but why would you care?

“No… not really,” Mikasa says, pressing her lips together. 

Armin’s hand on your thigh flexes once. “We’ve never… explored anything,” he admits, voice low. “So I don’t think we know what we like.”

You hum, thoughtful, still sitting on the edge of the table with both of them so close. Your eyes move between their faces, catching every small shift.

“That’s interesting,” you say softly. “Most people at least have an idea. Even if they’ve never acted on it.” You tilt your head a little. “What about control? Do either of you ever think about that? About wanting it. Or giving it.”

The silence that follows is heavy.

Mikasa is the first to answer. “I think… I like the idea of control. Having it. After everything, after feeling like the world just happened to us for so long… the thought of being the one who decides something. Who holds it. It feels…” She searches for the word. “Safe. And good.”

Armin nods slowly, like he’s admitting it to himself at the same time. “I feel the same. Being the one someone listens to.” His eyes flick up to yours. “I’ve thought about it more than I should.”

You let that settle for a moment, your pulse is loud in your ears.

“So you both like control,” you repeat, to yourself. Then, casually, like you’re just thinking out loud, you add, “Have you ever wondered what it would be like to have that control over someone else? Not each other, but a third person.”

“Yes,” Armin says, almost immediately. No hesitation this time.

Mikasa’s answer comes right after, quieter but just as sure. “Yes.”

You look at them both, pulling back in your palms and smiling.

“Me? For example.”

They can’t believe your words, they can’t believe that the woman that occupied their minds of the last days is saying things like that. Their heads are spinning with excitement and uncertainty. 

“I would love an answer, guys…” you say at some point, the silence too unbearable for your fast mind, already imagining everything they could do to you. 

“Ah, yes,” Mikasa says first, nodding slightly.

You smile dangerously. “That’s good. C’mon.”

You slide off the edge of the table, landing lightly on your feet between them. Your hands find theirs without asking, fingers threading through Mikasa’s and then Armin’s. You start walking backward toward the bed you installed in a corner of your studio, guiding them around all the canvas.

“I’ve been looking for someone like you two,” you tell them. “For so long. I need you to take every single thing you’ve been holding back and put it on me. All the years of not touching each other the way you maybe wanted to. Use me for it. Please.”

Mikasa’s grip tightens. Armin’s breath stutters.

You reach the side of the bed and sit down first, without letting go of their hands, looking up at them. “I’m not fragile, I won’t break. And I don’t want either of you to hold back just because you’re scared of what it means. If you want control, take it. I’m offering you exactly what you want.”

“You really mean that?” Armin asks carefully.

“Every word.”

Mikasa is the one who moves first. She steps in, free hand coming up to cup the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheek. “Strip, then.”

“Mikasa–” Armin says, trying to sound shocked, like he’s not dying to see you naked as well. 

You obey her, how could you not? You start undressing while looking straight at them both, letting the clothes fall to the floor without hurry until you’re completely bare in front of them. You can feel their hungry gazes on you, going from your breasts until your pussy hidden by a trail of hair. 

“Spread for us, please.” You could hear in his tone how he’s still nervous, testing the waters and even a little terrified of himself. 

You climb onto the mattress, leaning back against the pillows and knees falling open exactly how he asked. The cool air hits you, making you clench, showing them how you are already wet.

“But I want to see you too,” you complain, pouting a little. “It’s not fair if I’m the only one naked.”

Mikasa glances at Armin, he nods once. They start undressing in front of you, slower than you did, they’re still getting used to being watched. Shirts first, then pants, everything coming off until they’re as bare as you are. Your eyes stay on them the whole time, taking in every detail.

When they’re done, Armin looks back at you and freezes. You’re already touching yourself. Two fingers circling your clit while you watch them.

Mikasa’s voice cuts through the room. “We didn’t allow you to do that.”

Your hand stills for a second, but you don’t pull it away completely. “I couldn’t help it. You two look too good.”

Armin steps closer to the edge of the bed. “Maybe we should punish you for it,” he suggests. “Don’t you think?”

Neither of them moves until you answer.

You nod, heart beating hard. “Yes. Punish me, I deserve it.”

Now it’s Mikasa the one climbing onto the bed right between your legs with one hand resting on your inner thigh to keep you open. The other comes down in a sharp slap right against your wet pussy. Pain flares first, then a rush of heat that makes you moan out loud, hips jerking.

“Fuck,” you breathe. “Again, p-please.”

She does it once more, a little harder, and the sting mixes with how turned on you already are until you’re dripping onto the sheets.

Armin moves in beside her. His fingers replace Mikasa’s hand, two of them sliding into you without warning, curling just right. You gasp and push down against them.

“She’s so wet,” he says in wonder, looking at Mikasa. “Look how easy she takes them.”

Mikasa watches for a few more strokes before she speaks again. “Stop teasing her. Fuck her already.”

Armin pulls his fingers out, already positioning himself between your legs. The head of his cock presses against you, before he can think of moving, Mikasa’s hands settle on his hips from beside, guiding him inside of you just how she wants it. She pushes him forward until he sinks into you in one smooth thrust, making you cry out at the sudden fullness, legs wrapping around him on instinct.

“Such a pretty sound,” Mikasa whispers to him, controlling the pace with firm pressure on his hips. “Let her feel every inch.” She looks down at you while she directs him. Mikasa keeps him moving, using her grip on his hips to set a steady, deep pace that has you moaning with every thrust.

“Harder,” you beg, fingers still working between her legs. “Please, M-Mika– Armin–”

Mikasa leans over you a little more, her beautiful tits falling close to your face while she keeps the pace messy, making you squirm and clench around Armin. The pressure builds low in your stomach every time Armin drives in.

You feel Armin’s breathing change, the way his thrusts get a little more desperate. He’s close too. You don’t want either of them looking anywhere else when it happens. You reach up with your free hand, fingers sliding into Mikasa’s hair and then Armin’s, and pull their faces together.

“Kiss,” you order, shaking from how good it feels. “Kiss while he comes inside me.”

How could they say no to you? The moment their mouths meet above you, Armin spills inside of you, painting your insides white and making you cum seconds after just from the filthy view of their tongues fighting with each other. 

“Fuck, that’s so hot,” you mutter, letting their hands go and falling boneless in your mattress. 

Armin slips out of you with a wet sound, and you thought you would feel empty but Mikasa’s fingers are sliding inside of you at that same moment. 

“Huh?” You lift your head, looking down at how she pushes her fingers inside of you and keeps them there. 

“We can let any of this go to waste,” she tells you, barely moving her fingers from inside of you. “In this way, you’ll never leave us.”

Oh, and how hard that makes you clench. 

One year later the gallery is packed.

It’s a different venue from the last one, this time you needed more space for the amount of pieces you could create after all the inspiration and help you had. People move between them in clusters, whispering, pointing and taking photos. Your name is printed in clean white letters on the main wall and under it the title of the exhibition: What We Chose to Keep.

You’re standing in the middle of the open space, microphone in hand, heart beating a little too fast even though you’ve practiced this speech more times than you can count. The soft fabric of your dress rests over the slight curve of your belly. It’s still early, just enough of a swell that the people who know you notice and the ones who don’t simply think you look soft and happy.

You clear your throat and smile.

“Thank you all for coming,” you begin. “It’s been a year since I moved here, and I never thought I’d be presenting another exhibition so soon. Until two people walked into my life and refused to leave.”

Armin and Mikasa stand a few steps away, close enough that you can see the pride on both their faces. Armin’s hand rests lightly at the small of Mikasa’s back as she watches you recite every word you memorized together.

“These works,” you continue, gesturing toward the canvases, “are my own form of love. My love language, you could say.” You take a slow breath. “My biggest inspiration for every single piece in this room is standing right there.” You glance toward them. “My partners. The people who taught me what it feels like to be chosen every day. They’re the reason these paintings exist. They’re the reason I do.”

A soft wave of applause moves through the crowd. Someone near the front smiles knowingly at the way your free hand rests over the gentle curve of your stomach without you even noticing.

You finish the speech with a quiet thank you and step back from the microphone. The gallery director starts talking about the open bar and the chance to meet the artist, but you’re already walking toward the two of them.

“Was that good?” you say, voice shaky and a little terrified.

“You were perfect,” Armin whispers, fingers sliding with yours.

Mikasa steps in on your other side, her palm settling carefully over the swell of your belly, she’s still getting used to how natural it feels. “We’re proud of you,” she says before kissing your cheek.

You lean into both of them for a second, letting the noise of the exhibition fade.

“Couldn’t have done it without you,” you answer. “Any of this.”

fem!tomoe who wants you to ask. She wants to hear how much you need her and how much you desire to have her, all she does is for you to crave her touch.

fem!tomoe who scratches your back with her long nails. You lay in her chest, nose buried in her neck while she runs her long fingers up and down your back. She even lifts your clothes so she can touch your back better, sometimes her nails going a little deeper and reaching the line of your ass, making you jump and giggle.

fem!tomoe who knows exactly how to make you squirm just by existing in the same space. She'll sit across from you while you're trying to focus on something, one leg crossed over the other, the slit of her robes falling open just enough that you can see the soft curve of her inner thigh.

fem!tomoe who "accidentally" brushes against you all day. Her full breasts press into your back when she reaches past you for something on a high shelf. Her stomach and hips nudge against yours when she squeezes by in a narrow hallway. She never apologizes and keeps walking like your panties aren't soaked.

fem!tomoe who takes her time undressing at night even when you're already in bed. She peels her robes off slowly, letting the fabric slide down her shoulders, over the heavy swell of her tits, catching for a second on her hard nipples before falling the rest of the way. She folds everything neatly while you watch.

fem!tomoe who loves making you ask. She'll straddle your lap fully clothed, soft tits pressed to your chest, lips brushing your ear. "Use your words," she whispers. "Tell me what you need." You don't care about sounding pathetic because even if it's bearable at first, now you can't stop picturing Tomoe making you cum hard with her tongue.

fem!tomoe who has a favorite sound, the sound of your voice begging. She'll do anything to pull it out of you. Your soft little 'please' that cadtch in your throat and the desperate way you say her name when you're so worked up you can't think straight. Every time she hears it her ears twitch and her tail curls tight with pure satisfaction.

fem!tomoe who keeps you right on the edge for hours. She lays you down on the futon and straddles your hips, her heavy tits hanging right above your face, bush brushing against your lower stomach every time she shifts. She grinds down slow and deliberate, letting you feel how wet she is through the thin fabric of your clothes, then stops the second your hips try to chase her. She leans down so one of her nipples brush your lips. "Beg for me properly and maybe I’ll let you taste."

fem!tomoe who loves teasing you above the panties. She'll slip two fingers between your legs while you’re trying to eat the lunch she made, rubbing slow circles over your clit through your underwear until you're panting against her chest. When you start whimpering she smiles and presses harder. "Let me hear how badly you want it." She doesn't let you cum until you're shaking and begging out loud, tears of frustration in your eyes.

fem!tomoe who makes you earn every touch with please. She'll sit you in her lap facing her, now you're the one completely naked as she guides your pussy against her clothed thigh. Every time you try to speed up she punish you with a hard spank in your ass, holding your hips still until you're begging again.

fem!tomoe who never fingers you, her nails are too long for that, but she makes sure to have the perfect strap that she'd shown you once, telling you that you will have to earn it before even seeing it again.