Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1678457.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Shingeki_no_Kyojin_|_Attack_on_Titan
  Relationship:
      Armin_Arlert/Annie_Leonhart
  Additional Tags:
      Coercion, Implied/Referenced_Torture, Self-Loathing, Manga_Spoilers,
      Completely_inaccurate_guessing_related_to_titan_shifters, Alternate
      Universe_-_Canon_Divergence, Annie's_POV, POV_Third_Person_Limited,
      unprotected_sex
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-05-23 Completed: 2014-05-27 Chapters: 2/2 Words: 22436
****** Like Poison From a Wound ******
by Mysecretfanmoments
Summary
     Annie wakes up from her crystal slumber. Armin tries to win her over
     to humanity's side.
Notes
     Warning: extremely brittle Annie, self-loathing, etc. Pretty much
     what you'd expect from someone waking up after betraying all her
     friends.
     Feedback always appreciated!
***** Compulsion *****
He was everything.
He wasn’t everything in the way teenagers were expected to be everything to one
another. It wasn’t love, not really, because love was a gateway to emotions
Annie couldn’t afford to have—but he was the one thing she allowed herself to
treasure, and therefore, he was everything.
She couldn’t bring herself to kill him.
It was easy to look down on the others, who mistook insignificant moments of
kindness for proof of her benevolence. They looked at her as if they knew what
lay beneath her prickly shell: a well of good waiting to be released at a later
date. They saw her as one of them, someone who would rise to the challenge when
the time came, but they were wrong.
She would not fight with them, after all.
Armin was different. He didn’t make assumptions, and he suffered no delusions
where she was concerned. Where others saw self-deprecating humor, he recognized
self-loathing. Where others saw harmless laziness, he recognized the signs of
depression. He took the time to see her, all of her, without dismissing the
ugly parts—but what he saw still seemed to please him. He still smiled when she
entered a room.
It was as if he saw something she didn’t, beneath it all. Like one day he’d
reveal it all to her in some great trick, and she would find out she’d been a
good person all along.
Maybe that was why she couldn’t kill him: she wanted to see him do just that.
When the fight within Sina turned sour, she knew she’d never get the chance to.
As the crystal formed around her torso, encasing her heart and lungs and
fanning outward to enclose her shoulders, her neck, she spared a thought for
him. She had betrayed him now, confirmed that she was responsible for countless
deaths, and now he would hate her.
It didn’t matter. It was her responsibility to crack open this world, to
penetrate its dark shell and draw out what agonized trace of humanity remained,
like poison from a wound—to stamp out all life within the walls.
Only once they were all dead—only then—would the world be rebuilt.
Not by her. She was infected with the same festering disease as everyone else,
for all that it took a different shape. The world would be rebuilt by others,
by people who didn’t exist yet, who weren’t tainted.
She didn’t think of those people when the crystal took shape around her,
though. She didn’t think of hope or the mission or her father’s lessons.
Instead, she thought of him.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
Annie lived in a realm of warm weightlessness, where there were no other people
and no responsibilities. Nothing hurt. She didn’t think, didn’t plan, didn’t
drift—her existence was void, until the crystal slumber began to come to its
end.
Waking from the crystal was like waking up on a winter morning, huddled warm
beneath blankets as the world outside shivered. Thoughts were fleeting, rising
to the surface of her mind only to sink back down before they could fully form.
 
It didn’t last long enough. The fog in her mind cleared, and she found herself
not waking but awake, bracing herself for hell. She was in a dank vault,
strapped to a bed. Her arms and legs were tied down with thick leather belts,
her fingernails cut to the quicks. A gag kept her from biting down on her
tongue.
A stranger was looking down at her, peering into her eyes.
“She’s awake,” he called, though Annie couldn’t see who he was talking to. She
craned her neck to see the rest of the room. There was nothing in here save a
nightstand and a few stools, illuminated by a large lantern hanging from a hook
set in the ceiling. There were no bars locking her in, just a heavy-looking
door that opened to reveal another stranger—a woman, this time.
“I’m going to take off your gag,” the woman said, approaching the bed, “If you
try to bite your tongue, I’ll be forced to put it back on more permanently.
Given the depth of this room, your transformation would only make the whole
place cave in on top of you.”
Annie laid her head back against the mattress—there was no pillow—and closed
her eyes. She didn’t want the gag taken off. It wouldn’t make any difference.
She wondered, vaguely, whether Bertholdt and Reiner were still alive. If she
was still in captivity, did that mean they were dead?
“I’ve been waiting for this a long time,” the woman said as she took off the
gag. “You really had us fooled, you know that?”
Her words were enough to make Annie open her eyes again, examining her. She
didn’t wear a uniform jacket, but perhaps her face was familiar after all. It
was—yes.
One of her former military police teammates. Clutch, or something.
She was older now, her face less rounded and her hair longer, tied behind her
head, but she still had a face that annoyed Annie. Most people had faces that
annoyed Annie, but Clutch’s was worse than most.
“Remember me?” Clutch asked as she finished with the gag. “We joined the
military police together. My name’s Hitch.”
Oh, Hitch—right. Close enough.
Annie said nothing.
“Let’s talk, hm? Let’s start small. Why were you trying to kidnap the Jaeger
boy?”
They still hadn’t figured that out? From Hitch’s face, Annie guessed she’d been
in the crystal for at least five years now—about as long as she’d intended,
though crystallization was no exact science. She’d expected things to be
decided by now, one way or another. Five years had seemed like an eternity to
Annie when she chose the approximate length of her sleep. It had seemed like a
logical decision at the time, but perhaps it was weakness—an attachment to the
people she knew—that caused her to choose such a short period to lie in
waiting.
“Won’t talk, hm? I can make you talk, you know. I’ve learned a lot since we
last saw each other.”
Annie’s guts twisted. She hated pain.
“You don’t look so brave now,” Hitch said, grinning.
“I’m bored,” Annie said. Her voice was rough with disuse, though not five
years’ worth. She wondered how long it would be before her body’s functions
would resume—before she’d need to eat and drink and empty her bladder. She
hoped it would take a while; thirst was a potent form of torture. “If you hurt
me, I’ll crystallize again.”
“She’s bluffing,” the man behind Hitch said. He was older, with glazed-over
eyes and a stupid-looking face.
“I’m not,” Annie said, striving for a careless tone. The truth was that she
couldn’t crystallize without her titan flesh around her, but it was a truth
she’d never speak—not if she valued her skin. “But I don’t want to crystallize
again, either.”
Hitch took the bait. “And why’s that?”
“I’m curious,” Annie stated. “If I’m asleep, I won’t know what’s going on. And
if I trigger it—well. You see how long that lasts. If I do it wrong it could
last even longer.”
The other woman’s lips thinned. She wanted to cut into Annie, Annie could
tell—but losing a valuable witness wouldn’t count in her favor, either.
“You fill me in on what’s happening,” Annie said. “Maybe I’ll tell you some of
what I know.”
Hitch glared, but there were no more threats of violence. She said she’d
consider it.
The gag was back in place shortly after, and Annie was left alone.
She hoped they believed her.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
They didn’t torture her.
That was to say, it wasn’t torture, even if it was humiliating. They had
designed some sort of jacket to keep her hands bound to her chest, and her legs
were fettered whenever they walked her around the room for exercise. When she
needed to use the bedpan, someone else loosened her pants and let her have one
hand free to wipe herself off. There were always two people in the room during
those times, as if they thought she could fight them with only one arm free. At
night—or what she guessed was night—they strapped her down to the bed the way
they had that first night. They left her in pitch darkness.
She told herself it wasn’t torture. It could be so much worse.
Hitch told her about some current events, while leaving out others. She said
the government had been overthrown, and that a woman named Historia was now
queen. Annie guessed that was Christa, though she said nothing. Hitch also said
the crazy leaders of the scouting legion were calling the shots, and Annie had
no idea whether that worked in her favor or not.
There was no mention of Eren, who was essential to Annie’s cause. No mention of
Armin, either, though he was not essential.
She reminded herself of that daily:
Armin Arlert was not essential.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
Annie didn’t know how many days it had been since she’d woken up. Her life was
a slow progression of inane questions, embarrassing bathroom breaks, and long
hours spent staring into darkness, and it was better if she didn’t keep count.
So she didn’t know how many days there were between her waking up and Armin
Arlert walking through the door of her cell, but she knew it had been five
years since she had last seen him, and those years had made a difference. The
lantern in his hands revealed that much. She watched as he hung it from the
hook on the ceiling.
The boy she knew was gone. He was a man now: taller, angular, shoulders thick
with muscle, the baby fat in his face gone. His hair was longer, too, tied in a
half ponytail behind his head. It was no longer an awkward mop of yellow.
Annie hated it. She hated the man who had taken Armin’s place.
“Long time no see,” he said, and his smile was the same: a little tentative, a
lot sweet. She knew it to be false.
“Apparently,” she tried to say. The gag didn’t allow for much enunciation.
“How are you feeling?”
She shrugged, though it was awkward lying down.
Armin approached the bed. “Would you like to sit up?”
She made an affirmative noise.
First he undid the gag, his hands careful, blue eyes intent. She looked away as
he undid the belt over her chest, then the one over her stomach. He released
her wrists from their restraints a moment later, and she sighed in relief. It
was the most freedom she’d had since waking up: her whole upper body free, and
only one other person in the room. She wondered how Armin had been allowed to
do away with security procedure; no one else undid her restraints alone.
A ploy, probably. Armin was fond of those.
She didn’t look at him as she sat up, stretching sore muscles. Like this, she
could get her whole back, and loosen her shoulders. It felt amazing.
“I know you can’t transform here,” Armin said, sitting down on one of the
stools. “I’ve told your guards. You should be more comfortable from here on
out.”
Her head snapped around. “How could you know a thing like that?”
“You’re not the only titan shifter in the world. We’ve learned a few things.”
She tried not to look too interested, though it was hard. Eren was their hope;
if he was still alive, if the coordinate was still known, they might all be
saved. “Eren?”
“He’s not the only titan shifter, either.”
Armin was watching her in that measuring way of his, though it looked strange
on his grown-up face. He was handsome, she thought, probably greatly admired by
younger recruits who didn’t remember him as being weak.
She had never thought him weak, not in the ways that mattered.
“You’re not going to tell me if he’s alive,” she said, letting annoyance slip
into her voice. She didn’t think she could play this version of Armin when he
held all the cards. Instead she tried to read the truth in his face, wondering
how Eren’s death would affect him. Would it break him? Was the man in front of
her broken?
There were scars, certainly. Most of them were across his hands and forearms,
visible where he’d rolled up his shirt sleeves. His face was mostly untouched.
She wondered if there were other scars beneath the straps of the 3D gear,
beneath the white military uniform he wore. Imagining his form beneath the
clothes sent an unexpected lance of heat through her.
Well. That was new.
“They say you’ll crystallize again if we hurt you,” Armin said, oblivious to
her embarrassment. “But this must be torture for you, too. So I wondered why
you would endure so much.”
He folded his hands before continuing.
“I don’t think you were telling the truth about crystallizing,” he said, making
her stomach roil with nerves. “But I won’t tell them that, because I don’t
think you’d crack under pressure. I do think you were telling the truth about
being curious. You want Eren, don’t you? You still do.”
“He’s important,” she agreed. The coordinate. The one with the power to control
the titans, and to find it. She didn’t mind admitting that they wanted him when
Armin knew already.
“Why? What is the coordinate? Why is he important?”
She pretended not to hear the question, and he sighed.
“I don’t suppose there’s anything else you want to tell me?”
He expected an apology, maybe, for killing all those people. She wasn’t sorry;
they were flies. She’d swatted them.
That was what she told herself, anyway.
She looked up at Armin, at his new body. He was no longer the boy she’d
treasured, no longer her everything. She’d been foolish to think he could
remain that way, probably, but it made her angry nonetheless, and it made her
lash out.
“You think you have the upper hand,” she said. Her voice was flat. “You think
that things are looking up because you have your queen, because you have Eren.
You’re wrong, Armin. There is no upper hand. Eren is our hope, not yours. One
day you’ll realize that.”
He looked at her intently. “How?”
Annie shook her head, knowing she’d failed to scare him. She hadn’t dented his
armor, not even a little. She wanted him broken and apologetic. She wanted him
as lost as she was, but he wasn’t. He had become the kind of person who stood
out—like Eren. The kind of person who kept going when you pushed them down.
“I’ll come see you again soon,” he said, when she refused to answer. “Maybe
you’ll tell me more then.”
She’d already told him more than she’d ever told Hitch, but that was no
mistake.
Whatever she might tell herself—however much she hated this new, more confident
version of Armin—she wanted him to keep coming back.
 
 
Her life got more comfortable after Armin’s visit. One of the guards brought a
pillow, and the leather restraints were replaced with one iron manacle that
hooked into the wall. With only one wrist restrained, Annie could move around
in bed at night and—best of all—work on regaining lost muscle. They brought
cold water for her to wash with, and eventually they even sent new clothes to
replace the crusty hoodie and uniform pants she’d been wearing since the fight
within Sina.
It helped her feel vaguely human—that and the fact that people no longer had to
watch her wipe her ass.
Armin visited every day, bringing books. Their conversations were always short
and fruitless, for all involved, and the books allowed Armin to prolong the
visit. He read to her about oceans and sand seas and mountains. Another ploy,
to make her remember him as he was: a bright-eyed trainee with a passion that
could set others alight. The problem was that she did remember him, and she
remembered he was smart, and dedicated to the cause.
She also remembered that he ought to be angry with her, and he wasn’t.
She couldn’t trust a boy—man—who didn’t get angry.
Despite the lack of progress, the readings didn’t stop, and Annie didn’t mind.
 She didn’t let his deepened voice work on her heart strings, didn’t imagine
that he was reading to her like a friend might read to a convalescent. She
refused to let him dredge up memories of the boy she had come close to loving,
and so she did all she could to distract herself from his words.
She became an expert at imagining his clothes off. She would start with the
front clasp across his chest, so she could worm her hand under one of the
shoulder straps and slide it off. She would run her hands over his chest,
feeling his warm skin through his shirt, and he would inhale sharply. She’d
slip off the other strap shortly after, and the back brace would fall to the
floor with a dull thud.
What are you doing? he might ask. Or maybe he wouldn’t—the man in front of her
couldn’t be a virgin, after all. He would gaze at her knowingly, not moving.
She would continue to undress him.
In her fantasies, he went along with it eventually. He was keen to manipulate,
and he’d use anything he had at his disposal, including his body.
She would unzip his uniform pants and release his erection from its
confines—he’d be hard already, even though he hadn’t meant for it to happen—and
she would stroke along his shaft like she knew what she was doing. Then she’d
grab his shoulders and press up against him, straddling him, so he hit her just
so—
“Annie?”
“Hm?”
“Are you listening?”
She’d told him flat-out that she wouldn’t listen the first time he’d come down
here with those stupid books. “Of course I’m not.”
His erection would be hard and warm against her, and she’d feel it through the
material of her pants—
“Why not?” he asked.
“I already know about the outside world,” she said in frustration. “Why would I
need you to tell me about it?”
His eyes widened, and for a moment Annie thought she glimpsed the real Armin.
“Tell me, then,” he said. The look on his face stole her breath. It made her
chest feel tight with longing for the boy he’d been, the one who hadn’t known
what she was.
She flopped back onto the bed with a rattle of chains, frustration running
through her. It was all an act, she reminded herself. Even if it made her heart
speed up. Even if it made her want to kiss him and tell him anything.
She was his enemy. It was a stroke of luck, really, that the pure boy she’d
known was gone.
“Have sex with me,” she said. “I’m bored. You’ve done it by now, right?”
He closed the book he was holding, tilting his head curiously. “What’s your
plan? Hold me hostage against the people outside? Tell them you’ll kill me if
they don’t let you out?”
She raised an eyebrow, wondering what he was talking about—until the meaning
sank in. He thought she was trying to trap him. It was almost enough to make
her laugh.
“No plan,” she said to the ceiling. At the very least, she’d made him stop
reading.
He made no response, just looked at her curiously, and she couldn’t bring
herself to ask a second time. He left soon after.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
“Are you ready?” Armin asked, standing next to her. She was blindfolded, and
her hands were tied in front of her, but her feet were free. A walk, he’d
promised her. Just down the hall.
She nodded.
There was a sound of a door opening, and a flood of comparatively fresh air.
She drank it in greedily.
They walked together, Armin’s hand on her shoulder so she wouldn’t walk into
anything. Now and then he turned her, or told her about an uneven section of
floor, but for the most part they walked in silence.
It made her longing for the outside world worse, if anything.
The underground complex was built in a square, and from brushing the walls
Annie knew the cells were set on the outside of the square. She wasn’t sure
whether the center of the square held stairs or an elevator shaft, but she
would make a run for it either way.
She knew where the exit was from Armin’s carefully modulated breathing. She
knew there were no guards on this floor, not right now; whatever Armin
influence had—and it seemed like he had a significant amount—he had used it to
give her privacy.
This was her chance.
When they’d made their way around the rectangular passage several times, she
made her move. She swung her bound hands up under Armin’s jaw, knocking him
away, then dashed in the other direction, reaching for her blindfold as she
ran.
The hallway was poorly lit, but it looked bright to her dark-adjusted eyes. She
headed for the exit, and it felt so good to run that she almost cried in
relief.
She didn’t cry, though. Instead, she burst through the door to the exit,
catching a glimpse of an elevator shaft before half a dozen guards blocked her
vision. They jumped on her, forcing her to the ground.
She ignored the pain, the pressure, how hard it was to breath. She bit into her
thumb hard, her mind clear with purpose, thinking of the shaft and how to fit
in it—but nothing happened.
This time, tears really did reach her eyes. Armin had planned this. It would
have been clear from the start if she hadn’t been so blindly optimistic, so
desperate to get out. Had it been a test? A cruel joke? If it was a test, she’d
failed.
The warmth and the tangle of bodies overwhelmed her at last, and she barely
struggled as her arms were wrenched. Her previous bindings were loosened, and
her hands were tied behind her back instead.
A lot more sensible than tying them in front. She should have known, damn it.
They marched her back to her room without the blindfold, done with the pretense
that it mattered what she saw, and she schooled her expression. Her eyes were
no longer threatening to spill over when she saw Armin rubbing his jaw outside
her cell. He looked almost apologetic when she bared her teeth at him.
She wasn’t angry at him, really. She was angry at herself, for being so easy to
manipulate. It was the crystal sleep, the inactivity, the lack of knowledge—it
was hard to reach her center here. They treated her like a caged animal, and so
she became one.
She would have to remember what she was, next time.
 
 
“I still don’t think you’re a bad person.”
Annie jerked up in bed, gasping. There was someone in her room, sitting beside
her bed in the pitch darkness.
“You’ve done bad things. But I know you had a reason.”
Annie held up her blanket, as if it could protect her. When had he snuck in?
Why was he sitting in the dark?
“I know you believe that reason,” Armin continued. Would he ever stop talking?
“But I’d like you to consider that you may have been lied to.”
“You think I haven’t considered that?”
“I think you think you’ve considered it.”
She lay back in bed. “No reason to lie.”
“You can’t say that without knowing their motivations, and you can’t know their
motivations. Not at this point in time. You’re a piece in their game.”
“And you want me to be a piece in yours?” she asked sardonically.
“I care about you. It’s more than you can say for them.”
Warmth bubbled in her stomach at his words. She ignored it, remembering her
father instead. What would he say, if he could see her now?
That she should have climbed that wall faster, probably.
Armin didn’t know who “they” was; he was guessing blindly, hoping something
would resonate. He couldn’t understand that the end of all human life was an
end none of them really wanted. It was the rebirth that was important, and they
wouldn’t be present for that.
“Have you learned where titans come from?” she asked, knowing it was a bad
idea. She was going to tell him things, even though her safekeeping relied on
her not telling him things; she would find herself missing a head if she ran
out of things to say.
“Humans. Yes.”
“Does it strike you as odd?”
“Not really. I mean, no odder than them suddenly appearing out of nowhere. In a
way it makes more sense, though science can’t explain it.”
“A disease, then?”
She heard him tap his fingers against something. “Diseases spread. They have
traceable routes of transmission.” His voice made it clear no routes of
transmission had been found.
“And they have incubation periods,” she said.
“You’re saying we’ll all be titans soon?”
“I’m saying we all have the potential to become titans. Only a select few of us
have the ability to shift back, and that’s a dying art.”
“It can be learned?”
“No.”
She really was telling him everything tonight.
“Annie…”
He sounded tired. It was the first time he’d sounded tired, and between the
darkness and the weight in his voice, she was tempted to tell him more. She was
tired, too; tired of doubting him, tired of not knowing what the future held.
Reiner had it in him to be brave, but she didn’t. She wanted to give up and
leave the worrying to others.
“I should let you get back to sleep,” Armin said. His statement was followed by
the scrape of chair legs, closer than Annie had expected, and she found herself
reaching for him. Her fingers encountered the soft, worn cotton of a shirt—not
the crisp white uniform one he usually wore. Had he come here straight from
bed?
He caught her wrist. It was in self-defense, but she couldn’t help the shiver
that went through her at his touch. “What is it, Annie?”
“What do you hope to accomplish?”
“To get outside the walls. You know that.”
“We can help,” she said, somewhat desperately. “Give us Eren. We can leave you
in peace.”
“Forever?”
“For a long time.”
He sighed heavily. “Even if that was possible… I don’t have that kind of
authority, Annie.”
Stop saying my name like that, she thought, hating the way he made it sound all
soft around the edges, like something precious or fragile. He knew she was
neither.
“We’d help him kill titans,” Annie said. “Outside the walls. We’re the only
ones who can keep him safe. You’d have years to—to live peacefully.”
Provided the ape titan didn’t visit.
“I have a different idea,” Armin said. “You help us. You fight with us against
the titans. You give up on your mission.”
“That’s not a possibility—”
“You think it’s not a possibility. You’ve been told—something. Some hopeless
version of the truth. That we’re all infected, maybe? It would make sense,
then, why you don’t feel much remorse for killing. What I can’t figure out is
whether you brought down the walls to kill people or to get Eren. If it was the
former, why stop there? Why not push through to Sina?”
Because we need you to distract them, she thought. We cull the titan herd until
it’s manageable. Then we take down the walls and bring the ape titan back with
us.
It seemed an impossibly large task while she was chained to the wall of a cell
deep beneath the ground. The darkness didn’t help; it made her feel like she
was already entombed, her days on the earth over. It scared her.
She reached for Armin with her free hand, catching the hand that held her
wrist. She didn’t twist, or dig in her nails, reaching instead for his pulse
point. His heart beat reassuringly against her fingertips, a little fast.
“There’s no future for any of us,” she said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want it this
way, either.”
She drew back from him, trying to retract both hands, but he didn’t let her.
“Annie, please. Your version of the future has no hope. I know you believe
there is none, but we’ll figure something else out. Please.”
He was holding both her hands now. She wished she could see his face, but she’d
have to make do with her imagination. She knew what expression he wore, even in
the dark: the hopeful one that tore her apart. It was strange to imagine it
transposed onto his older face.
“Grisha Jaeger went against the people from your village, didn’t he?” he said,
and she recognized a last-ditch attempt at convincing her when she heard one.
“He was a smart man—there’s no denying that. If he saw a flaw in the plan,
there’s a good chance there was one. You could help us, like he tried to.
Please, Annie.”
Her hands shook, even in his grip. “Help you?” she whispered. “I know you’ll
kill me, Armin.”
“Kill you? What are you talking about?”
“You could never trust me. Once my usefulness is void, I’m dead.”
His exhale was loud, surprised. “That’swhat you think? Annie, no—we want you on
our side. I’ll prove it to you, that your truth is wrong. And once you know
that, we can trust you completely. I can trust you completely.”
She’d killed. She’d killed so many. And if she changed her mind now, those
kills would count. They wouldn’t be hapless flies she’d swatted.
“Help us. Make up for what you did. I’ll get you your new truth, I promise.”
He gripped tight, just once, before letting go of her hands.
She was left alone once more, but not fully in the dark. Maybe.
She was so desperate for hope, she wanted to believe him. Believe in him.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
Annie was lying on her side in bed, staring at the pictures in one of the books
Armin had given her. The door opened, and she spared a glance for one of the
guards who brought her food. He scowled at her.
She turned back to the book, wondering if she ought to believe that mountains
could spew fire and smoke. She wanted to talk to Armin about it. The book
showed a mountain before and after one of these “eruptions”, and the after
picture had the top of it blown off. If they all did that, surely there would
be no mountains left by the time they—
Hands clamped down on her ankles, and another pair grabbed her free wrist
roughly. The book dropped, and she was turned onto her stomach, her arm twisted
behind her.
A knee came to rest in the small of her back, the bed dipping with additional
weight.
“I don’t think you can turn into that rock anymore,” a male voice whispered
into her neck. The guard who’d scowled.
Cold fear slicked her armpits, dried her throat.
You won’t crack under pressure, Armin had said, and he’d been right. She’d
lived and breathed pain during her training—but the thought of enduring it
lying down made her stomach twist sickly. Her father had always made sure she
was standing up.
“Tell us,” the woman holding her feet hissed. Hitch?
“Tell you what?” Annie asked, keeping her voice flat.
“Everything,” the man said, digging his knee in harder.
She let out a sigh and waited for worse. It came in the form of her arm being
twisted further out of its usual range, until she was sure something would pop
soon. Tears of pain gathered in her eyes.
“You think your champion will save you? He’s not here. He won’t be coming.”
Annie laughed at the title, at the thought that Armin was her champion. It was
a long laugh—the kind that tended to creep Reiner and Bertl out, seemingly
devoid of hope or sanity.
The hold on her arm loosened.
“You think he’s my champion?” she said at last. All her frustration poured out
of her, all the fear she’d felt, all the times she’d known she was being
manipulated. The times she’d hated herself for believing him—the way she hated
herself for still wanting to believe him. “You’re nothing compared to him. I’d
take your interrogation over his any day. Please tell your superiors you’re
taking over. I’ll look forward to our sessions.”
“He comes to visit you at night,” Hitch said, but there was hesitation in her
voice. Annie wondered at the suggestion that it had happened more than once,
but she didn’t question it. “He’s sweet on you. Going easy on you.”
“You think we’re screwing?” Annie asked. “I wish. Now there’s nice way to spend
an evening.”
“Shut up!” the man yelled. “It doesn’t matter. He’s not coming. What is your
purpose within the walls?”
He clenched her hair in his fist, pulling at it. Annie stopped herself from
flinching—it was important they thought she couldn’t feel pain, so the threat
of her bluff still stood—and wondered how many lies she could tell
convincingly.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
“You should have screamed,” Armin said, pacing. His face was set in a mask of
disgust, his sleeves rolled up. “Someone else would have heard. Would have come
running.”
He’d found her lying weakly in bed, some hair ripped out, one shoulder
dislocated, cuts across her arms and legs. They hadn’t healed; her titan
abilities seemed to be gone completely, but the fact that Armin didn’t comment
on it made her think it was expected. He attended to her wounds silently, his
jaw tight.
There was probably something in the food. That explained a lot, and if she had
the energy to hate him for it she might have.
She was so tired.
But Armin looked like he was waiting for a response, so she shrugged her unhurt
shoulder. He had set the other one, leaving a dull ache and full range of
motion.
“I’m sorry, Annie,” he said. He was laying it on a bit thick with the concern.
Had he sent the guards who’d hurt her, to break her down? To make her trust
him? “I thought I could trust the people here.”
She shrugged again. “They’re afraid to do much. Just in case I’m not bluffing.”
“And are you?”
“You think I am, don’t you?”
“That’s just my theory. I can’t be sure. Can you do it?”
Annie glared. She wouldn’t give him confirmation on anything, not when it might
mean more attempts at torture.
Armin looked surprised for a moment before he smoothed his expression. “You…
really don’t trust me, do you?”
She shook her head mutely.
“What if Eren promised? Or Mikasa?”
“They’re still alive?”
Armin nodded.
Her body felt shaky. For weeks she’d tried to manipulate the information out of
him, and now he was giving it up for free? Just like that?
“I wouldn’t trust them because they’d kill me the moment they saw me again.”
He huffed out a breath, before touching his hand to his lips thoughtfully.
“Probably true, although Eren hates Reiner and Bertholdt more than he hates
you.”
Annie’s guts clenched at the mention of her former companions. It must have
been hard for them, when the other trainees found out about them. Her disgust
for them—her disgust for all three of them—precluded any feelings of affection,
but she could empathize.
“Still want me to fight for your side?” Annie asked, thinking of Eren’s hatred.
It would be hard to fight alongside him, that was for sure. Armin regarded her
seriously.
“I do. It’s the one way to make them stop hating you.”
“And you?”
“Me what?”
“Will it make you stop hating me?”
He’ll tell you anything, Annie reminded herself, expecting him to deny hating
her, but his response surprised her.
“I’ll still hold you accountable,” he said. “You could have helped us, told
us—you could have decided we were worth telling. But I realize you were trying
to do good. You must have been; I can’t believe you hurt people just because
you felt like it. I can’t think that way forever, though. If I’m not
successful—if I can’t get you over to our side—you’ll be my enemy.”
There was a lump in Annie’s throat. She tried to think of the mission, but all
she could think of was being Armin’s enemy. She imagined walking up to the
executioner’s block, her eyes meeting his one last time. Seeing disgust.
Or would the scouting legion keep her here, for testing? Would he visit, then,
with cold eyes and tight lips?
She covered her face with her hands, drawing her legs up, pressing into the
wall behind her as if she might disappear entirely. This underground cell
wasn’t life. So what if she jeopardized the mission? Couldn’t she find her own
way to go about it? If everyone was doomed to transition eventually anyway,
couldn’t she wait until then? Why speed the process up with killing?
Grisha had placed his trust in humanity—in his son. Following in his footsteps
would mean she could never return to her father, to her home, but did she want
to? For so long the thought of seeing pride in her father’s eyes had kept her
going—a fantasy where he grinned and ruffled her hair when he saw her again,
his voice rough with affection—but now she wasn’t sure anymore.
Her father loved her, but maybe—maybe not for the right reasons.
“Annie?”
Of course, she couldn’t trust Armin either. He made it sound like they’d let
her fight for them, but when it came down to it they were likely to pump her
for information and kill her, or let her rot down here while they did tests on
her body.
She couldn’t trust anyone.
The bed dipped under Armin’s weight as he hopped up to sit next to her, making
Annie jump. This was the closest he’d ever come with her unrestrained.
“What are you doing?” she asked. If she wanted, she could jump him; she had a
fair chance of knocking him out if she used the manacle to strike his head. Was
he that confident in his new body? Or did he think her wounds would slow her?
He looked at her, and she noticed again how he’d grown. Seated next to one
another, backs to the wall, her eyes were only level with his chin.
“You’re considering it, aren’t you?” he asked.
“That’s what you want, right?”
“It is.”
Betray her people. Betray the cause.
She wasn’t a stranger to betrayal, though. Her father had made sure of that.
“What do I get out of it?”
He looked surprised. “What, besides out?”
“I can’t trust that. I don’t think you’ll let me out, and if you do, I foresee
a lot of harassment, and people trying to kill me, and people telling me to
feel guilty. So what’s in it for me, besides more pain?”
He sighed. “What do you want to be in it for you, Annie?”
“Have sex with me,” she said, her voice and her stare as flat as she could make
them. She wasn’t quite prepared for him to snort loudly and surge forward,
clutching his hands over his mouth as if she’d said something hilarious.
“Wait,” he said, after a long look at her face. He sat back slowly. “You were
serious? That time?”
She allowed a small smile, mortified as she was. “I’m not likely to experience
it, otherwise.”
His expression turned thoughtful. “And you think this is the only way?
Convincing me? You think you have to strike a bargain for it?”
She folded her arms. “Yes or no, Arlert.”
Suddenly—unexpectedly—he blushed. She stared in amazement. She’d forgotten he
could still be embarrassed, and the sight of it made her stomach twist almost
pleasantly.
“I, ah—well. I think you have the wrong idea.”
It was like a punch in the gut. She’d been expecting it, but at the same time
it hurt to hear, absurd as the request was.
“No,” he amended, seeing her face. “Not that. I mean—I think… ah. The kind of
sex you probably have in mind—I haven’t done that before. It’s not exactly
encouraged in the legion.”
He looked away, beet red.
Hope unfurled in her chest. It wasn’t a rejection of her terms, after all. The
idea that he wasn’t as experienced as she’d imagined didn’t matter, as long as
he was still willing to screw her. Why she should care so much about being with
him physically, she didn’t know. It had started as a distraction, imagining him
like that—but it had changed into something else. When she touched herself
thinking about him, she forgot that he resented her, forgot the real Armin.
It would be so nice, to have him forget with her. Maybe he could. He did a good
job of pretending to stand her, most days.
That was why it had to be him. He was the only one who could convince her—
Who was she kidding? It had to be him, period. It always had to be him, for
her.
“So is that a yes?” she asked. “Or a no?”
He buried his face in his hands. “I don’t know. Let me think about it.” His
face appeared a moment later, the blush already fading. “You really mean it,
though? That you’ll--?”
“I’m considering it,” she said. In truth, she’d more or less decided—but she
would get what she could out of the bargain.
He left soon after, still embarrassed in a way that reminded Annie of his
younger self. The fact that he’d never done it before was a disappointment—in
her fantasies he always took charge, maneuvering her under him, his lips and
hands bruising—but she’d be satisfied with anything. At heart, she wanted to be
close to someone. Once.
To be with him while he was still pretending to be within her reach.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
The next day, Armin didn’t visit. It wasn’t unusual for him to stay away for a
day at a time, but that day passed, and then another.
Two days in a row was rare. Someone else took off her bandages, and the skin
beneath them was healed.
She wondered how long it took full humans to heal. The same amount of time?
Longer?
Time passed slowly. She was considering sleep at the end of the second day when
Armin came to her in the pitch darkness, the way he had that night. He said
nothing, for a time, but she knew she had heard the door open—had seen the dim
hallway behind him.
It was him, and yet—she wanted to make sure. Armin could have picked a
lookalike. It wasn’t probable, but it was possible.
“Marco’s gear,” she said, trying not to let her voice tremble. “What was the
most obvious marking?”
He let out a breath. Maybe he’d expected to find her asleep. Maybe he wasn’t
Armin at all, and readying some excuse for not knowing.
“The long V,” he said. “On the left scabbard.”
Annie’s heart thudded painfully. It was him. He was here, in the dark, with
her.
“You took your time,” she said. Vaguely, she wondered if maybe he’d found
another person, so his first time like this wouldn’t be with her. Was there
someone in his life? She hadn’t even considered the possibility before.
He approached the bed, saying nothing. She drew up her legs, and the bed dipped
a moment later. Annie reached, and Armin reached back. Her breath caught.
A part of her wanted to backtrack, to tell him he didn’t have to. This was
coercion. It was wrong. It was one more sin on top of all the others.
His fingers slid along her wrist, up to her elbow. Her resolve weakened. He
moved closer, so she felt his warm breath across her collar. His fingers
reached the skin of her neck, where her pulse thudded.
Her resolve was gone.
I love you, Armin.
It was on the tip of her tongue, but if she loved him she wouldn’t make him do
this. She loved selfishly, and was it ever love, if it was selfish?
“Annie,” he whispered. He managed to make it sound like a greeting, a sigh. His
acting was top-notch; she gave him that.
She let out a shuddering sigh.
Armin’s head bumped hers. He shifted, and their mouths met.
Her first kiss.
It was hard to breathe with her chest so constricted, but it wasn’t hard to
move her mouth against his. Her hands came up to hold his face, her fingers
sliding into his soft hair. It was tied back the way it always was, bangs
covering his forehead, and a part of her bemoaned the lack of light. She wished
she could see him, enjoy him. She wished she could look forward to seeing his
face as he held her close, as he found his release—but perhaps this way he
could imagine someone else, and she couldn’t resent him for that.
His hand moved to cup the back of her neck, his mouth forceful. His tongue
drove into her mouth, causing heat to blossom in her chest. He wasn’t gentle,
the way she’d feared he would be. If he was gentle, the pretense would be too
obvious; she needed him to be rough.
His hands grasped the blanket, pulling it back so it was no longer between
them. She slid down onto the bed, and with her legs free she was able to place
them on either side of him, to wrap them around his hips and pull him into her.
There: his heat, his weight. She looped the chain around her wrist and rolled
them, using the chain as an anchor so they didn’t move past the edge of the
bed. She ended up on top, pressing down against him. Her fingers found the
buttons of his shirt, her mouth still on his.
Every moment she expected him to say no, to stop her, but there was no sign of
hesitation. His hands were hot on her thighs, and his lips met hers with
enthusiasm—she could feel him pushing up against her, holding the contact.
She sat up briefly, to open up his shirt when all the buttons were undone.
Armin let his head fall back against the pillow as she ran her fingers over his
chest, feeling the bumps and ridges of scars, the calluses where maneuver gear
had chafed for years.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Armin said, sounding almost clinical about
it. His erratic breathing was the only sign that he wasn’t a scientist
observing aberrant behavior. She laughed, just a little.
“Neither can I.”
He caught her wrist, the free one, holding it still against his chest. “We
can’t—you know. Risk anything.”
“What?” What did he mean? “You think I’ll tell?”
“Not you. Your body.”
For a moment Annie was confused—was he worried about leaving hickeys?—but then
she caught on. “Oh. Pregnancy.”
A rustle indicated a nod of his head against the pillow.
“You don’t have to worry about that, with me.”
“Oh?”
She sighed, wishing he’d conceal his interest better. This wasn’t the time to
explain about her overactive immune system, how hard it was for female shifters
to conceive. Close to impossible unless they were trying—and one transformation
would undo whatever life had formed.
“Trust me?” she said tentatively. That might not be good enough for him—he
might think she was trying to entrap him. “I don’t—I wouldn’t bring a child
into this world, not even if it meant my freedom. I promise.”
He pulled at the wrist he held, rolling so she was under him again. He brushed
the hair back from her face.
“Then trust me,” he said. “If you help us, you’ll have your freedom. I
promise.”
Her throat was tight.
“Do you believe me?”
No, she thought, but she didn’t say it. She touched his cheek. “Yes.”
His mouth came down on hers, and her hand fisted in his shirt’s starched
collar, holding him close. Tears stung her eyes, though she wasn’t sure what
caused them: the comfort of his weight on her, maybe, or the sincerity in his
voice as he promised her freedom.
She blinked them back. For one night, she was allowed to pretend he was hers.
She wouldn’t waste it.
His fingers tugged at the bottom of her shirt, causing her breath to catch.
Somehow, she hadn’t expected him to be quite so… eager for her. Not that she
was complaining.
She raised herself up so he could pull up the shirt, cold air ghosting over the
skin he exposed. Armin pushed her shirt up onto the chain, out of their way,
then bent down over her. His partially-clothed chest brushed against her
nipples, making her bite her lip. When his teeth grazed her jawline, she bit
down harder, a helpless noise forming in the back of her throat.
He kissed her neck lightly before latching on, sucking at the sensitive skin
there.
“Ah—” she breathed, her legs twitching in response. She wanted him there,
between her legs, where she pulsed with pleasure and longing. She needed him.
Her legs hooked around his hips, drawing him down against her, and she felt him
then: right where she needed him, his erection pressing against her. He rolled
his hips, and she gasped a breath.
She pulled at his open shirt, trying to get it off him. She wanted all of him
against all of her, inch by inch, to make up for the darkness.
The shirt was gone a moment later, and she ran her hands over his shoulders,
his back, arching up against his chest. When he noticed what she was doing, he
pinned her down roughly. One hand came up between them to palm her breast, his
hold firm, his hips still moving against her in sharp thrusts. Her mind went
hazy with desire. She wanted him to be driving into her already.
He seemed to share the sentiment, because a moment later he’d moved, and his
hands were clumsy on the drawstrings of her pants. It was hard for him because
their hips were still joined, but she wasn’t unlocking her legs from around
him. She bucked up against him, once, just to see if it would worsen the
shaking of his hands, and found that it did.
There was something very gratifying in that.
But then her pants were loose, and he was traveling downward, his mouth marking
a trail over her clavicles. His nails were short, cut to the quick, but she
felt them digging into her side nonetheless, his grip hard enough to bruise.
She bit back a moan when his other hand cupped her breast. He pressed into her,
and this time she really did moan. She heard his breath shudder in response.
“Armin, I—”
He was pulling at her waistband. She lifted her hips, losing track of her
thoughts. For once, Armin didn’t seem all that interested in what she had to
say.
Soon she was naked beneath him, but he wasn’t done with his exploration. His
lips traced the curve of her breast while his hand held her ass tightly, making
her want to buck up into him—but he held her captive against the mattress. He
descended further, and one of his hands came around to press between her legs,
all along her slit, reducing her to a gasping mess. Arousal had slickened her
folds, and she couldn’t bring herself to be embarrassed.
“Armin—”
His teeth grazed her hip. “Yes?”
“Why—how do you know—?” She couldn’t say it. How do you know what to do? How do
you know what feels so good? She didn’t think she could return the favor. Her
extensive knowledge of anatomy was limited to causing harm, not pleasure.
Overheard conversations and a brief but embarrassing lesson during training
could hardly make up the difference. He’d done this much before, she was pretty
sure.
He pressed a kiss just above her pubic bone, right where the hair started.
“Maybe I’ll tell you.” Another kiss, and his thumb moved to rub against her
clit, sending shockwaves through her body. “One day.”
Her legs quivered. He wasn’t trying to be coy, she thought, but the words
sounded teasing anyway. She imagined him looking up at her, blue eyes crinkled
at the sides, a smile playing about his lips.
I love you, she thought, and then his hand moved again to make room for his
mouth and it became hard to think anything at all. Her legs shook as his tongue
flattened out against her, licking upward to her clit. A whimper escaped her.
“Armin—”
He sucked. Her gasp of breath sounded like a sob. Each movement of his mouth
reduced her further, and she didn’t know how to tell him what she needed, that
this pleasure—mind-blowing as it was—was hollow for her. It made her ache with
longing; there was no satisfaction in it.
“Please—”
His finger slipped inside of her, and she gritted her teeth. He was doing it on
purpose. Each time she almost managed to say something, he undid her again. A
second finger joined the first, and she tensed around them, aching for the
sensation of being filled. Fingers weren’t going to be enough—she wanted him
closer than that.
Still, when he rutted his fingers into her, mouth still moving on her clit, she
couldn’t help gasping with pleasure. A familiar pressure was starting to build,
seeming centered along one side of her entrance. He didn’t always hit it, but
when he did—oh. She could feel his knuckles pressing against it, blanking her
thoughts.
Almost. She was close. She wanted to scream at him to stop it, to thrust into
her the way she wanted him to, but the thought of that mounting pressure kept
her quiet. Shudders passed through her.
“I’m—” she said, and gave up again. He didn’t increase his pace—just kept
going, and between his soft mouth and his curving fingers she came undone, that
pressure releasing in unbelievable waves of pleasure, spreading out through her
body until it was everywhere, until her muscles pulsed around his fingers.
It wasn’t enough.
“I want—” she gasped “—I want you. Please.”
“Are you su—”
Her hands were at his waist instantly, undoing the buttons of his uniform
pants. She got past them, slipping her fingers down to meet the hard length she
had felt earlier. A shudder went through Armin when she made contact, and she
heard the hitch of his breath.
Sudden worry flooded her, her fingers stilling on the silky skin of his
erection. “Is this—all right?”
You’re coercing him, you idiot. Of course it isn’t all right.
“Don’t stop,” he whispered, and maybe he was playacting but he didn’t sound
like he was and she wanted him, she wanted him so much—
He moved forward, just a little, and their foreheads bumped gently. His lips
caught hers once more.
She tasted herself on them. Her hand tightened around him, and he gasped into
her mouth.
Power sang through her as she realized the way his body jerked in response to
her touch. She caressed his length, moving her hand up and down experimentally.
His head dropped to rest on her shoulder, and she kicked at the remainder of
his clothing.
She loosened her grip, allowing him to crawl out of his pants. There was
wetness at the tip of his cock, which she hadn’t expected. Wasn’t that supposed
to happen after? She smeared it over the head anyway, hoping it was a good
sign.
From his groan, she thought it might be.
“You can back out,” she said, her voice hushed. She swallowed painfully. “If
you want—”
“I don’t want to back out.” His voice was ragged. There was something in it,
some emotion she couldn’t quite recognize, but she had no time to examine it
further. He hovered over her, placing a kiss on her eyebrow, then the corner of
her mouth. “Turn over.”
She let him draw her up onto her knees, turning so her back was to him. Her
breath was short. She’d seen a raunchy deck of playing cards, once, and she
recognized his intent immediately.
“Closer to the wall,” he whispered into her neck, sending shivers down her
spine. She moved forward, until she could hold her hands against the cool, flat
surface at the head of the bed. She didn’t reach for the wall, though; she
reached around for him, catching his hand.
His warm chest met her back. She dragged his palm over her skin, but he needed
no help: his hands found their own way from her hips to her chest, callused
fingers dragging over her body. One of his hands tightened on her breast; the
other rose to caress her neck, her jaw. She pressed back into him, feeling his
coarse pubic hair against her ass, his hard length brushing between her spread
legs.
She moved her head, trapping his thumb between her teeth and biting gently.
“Is this okay?” Armin asked.
She nodded wordlessly, knowing he’d feel the motion. He was holding her
tightly, arms wrapped around her torso, and she reveled in the feeling of being
so close to another human being—so close to him. He pressed a kiss to her neck.
Not for the first time, she wished she could tell what was false and what was
real. Was his desire real? Was his gentleness real?
Suddenly, she noticed the strange sensation in her back—the rapid tattoo of
Armin’s heart beating against her. He was nervous, she thought. Aroused, yes,
but nervous too.
She loosened his grip, turning to face him. His arms went slack as she took
control, as if he’d been conforming to a script so far.
Maybe he had been. “Did someone tell you… how? For this part?”
She reached for his cheek, wondering if she’d feel it warm with a blush. He
looked away, even though it was dark.
“A mix of sources,” he said. “It’s easier when I’m—not involved. I’ve done all
the rest before.”
“You could be the worst partner in the world for this and I’d still want it,
you know.” I’d still want you. “You don’t have to be nervous.”
“Since you don’t trust any of my promises, I think it’s important how well—”
She placed her fingers over his mouth. “You know, don’t you?”
“Know what?”
“How I feel.” She let her hand rest over his heart, fingers gentle. “About
you.”
He dropped his head. “I don’t understand why you would. I—never have.
Understood, I mean.”
Not I don’t, but I don’t understand. It made her wonder what his impression of
her was—as aloof as she’d tried to seem? Strong? Cold?
“You could be the worst partner in the world for this,” she said, again. “And
I’d—still want you.” Vulnerability ripped through her. She was done for, but
she’d known that already. Her willpower was gone, and her pride was hot on its
heels.
She surged up to meet his mouth, her hands holding his face. His lips were slow
to respond to her, and there was something fragile in the way he held her, how
his hands came to rest on her waist. She imagined it was guilt that slackened
his grip, for planning whatever he was planning. She didn’t care.
Annie pushed him down against the mattress, mimicking his motions
earlier—laving the skin under his ear with her tongue, trailing kisses, letting
her fingers dig into him. She threw her leg over his waist, straddling him, and
felt his erection pulse under her in response. So he hadn’t completely lost his
fire.
“Stop worrying,” she whispered. “Unless you want to stop?”
The sound he made in response was curiously muffled, and when she felt around
for the reason she found he’d thrown his arms over his face.
“I don’t want to stop,” he mumbled. “I should want to. But I don’t.”
She rolled her hips experimentally, letting her wetness coat him. He made a
strangled noise.
“Annie—promise.”
“Promise what?”
“I don’t know. Not to kill any more people. To give me a chance to prove—”
“I promise.”
“You do?”
“I do.”
His hand found her thigh, touching gently. She curled her fingers around his,
rocking back against him again. His groan filled the small cell.
“Can I?” she asked.
“Is this—how you want it?”
Was it? This was certainly one of the ways she wanted to do this, but if there
was just tonight, she wanted—she wanted his warmth all around her. She wanted
him to overwhelm all her senses.
She slid down to the mattress in answer, and he made space for her, seeming to
understand her intent. She drew him down to her, wrapping her legs around him
once more. He let out a shuddering sigh, his face hidden in the crook of her
neck.
“I wish I understood,” he said. “We’re just… flies to you, right? Isn’t that
what you said once?”
“Not you. Never you.”
She felt him shake his head. “And… not the others, anymore. If I join your
side.”
He pressed a kiss to the skin of her neck. “I won’t let you regret it.”
She wasn’t sure that was something he could control, but she didn’t say so,
opting to open her legs instead. There was still an ache inside of her, and she
didn’t want to take chances. If she waited too long, this opportunity might be
taken away from her.
Given his earlier nervousness, she reached down between them, guiding him to
her entrance. When he was lined up, she let go and angled her hips up to him.
Armin let out a shuddering sigh. She wanted to say something to reassure him,
but she wasn’t sure what. She’d never been good with words.
He pushed forward, and she gasped at the sudden sensation. It was different
from his fingers, more of an imposition. She pushed up, trying to take in more
of him, but he seemed to be having trouble breathing. Or rather—he wasn’t
moving at all.
“Armin—” she started, but he thrusted again, and this time he filled her up
completely. Whatever words she’d been forming turned to random sounds, and her
legs clenched around him tightly, keeping him there. Her hand fisted in his
hair.
He didn’t ask if she was okay, this time. When he began to move, she nearly
came apart again. There was pain mixed in with pleasure, and her whole body was
attuned to him. She wanted to live and die with his weight on her, his warmth
around her, his cock inside of her. His hips moved slowly, never fully
retracting—she wouldn’t let him. She kept him close.
“Annie,” he whispered. He rocked forward, his face pressing into her neck. She
met him, bucking into him with all her might. He muted his moan against her
throat.
The great, mounting movements became faster. They’d been so slow at
first—infuriatingly slow—and the change in pace made her groan with the added
mix of pain and pleasure. She wanted him ramming into her, but even this was
too much. She was coming apart too soon.
But there was no relief, not yet. Armin’s mouth moved against her neck,
sucking, his hips rocking. Annie’s back arched and a sobbing noise escaped her.
She wanted him so much. She wanted him more than just this once. She wanted the
gentle boy she remembered to be hers, to give him all she had, all that he
deserved. A bright new life beyond the walls.
She knew that gentle boy was gone, but her body didn’t. It was still filled
with the soft feelings that had weakened her in Sina. The soft feelings that
would always weaken her.
“Armin,” she whispered. She really was on the edge of crying. The grind of his
pubic bone against her, his arms tight around her, his hands in her hair,
pulling. “Please.”
How he knew what she wanted was beyond her, but the gasped words unlocked
something in him. The rolling waves became sharp thrusts, hard and unforgiving.
Her walls clenched around him, and she pushed up against him. She needed
more—more pain, more of his harsh, gasping breaths, more of him rubbing up
against her.
The pressure mounted, and she bit back a scream. The thrusts didn’t stop,
though they became erratic. She grabbed at him, desperate, and then she was
screaming his name, coming around him, falling apart and not caring. He was
everything. He was everything. He always had been.
She thought she felt him shudder into her, rocking forward brokenly, but the
high of her own release made it hard to tell. When his hips stilled, she
tightened her arms around him.
She would hold onto him for as long as she could.
“I didn’t pull out,” he said, sounding dazed. He was slumped over her, one hand
touching her face gently. “I was going to pull out.”
She laughed a little. He sounded so disappointed in his lack of self-control.
“I told you. I won’t get pregnant.”
“Even with your titan abilities suppressed?”
Her hand stilled on his back, where she’d been tracing patterns. “I didn’t
think of that,” she said. Then, hesitantly: “But it wouldn’t survive a
transformation.”
He groaned. “You have no idea how much I’m looking forward to you explaining
everything.” He moved his weight onto his elbow. “You are… going to tell us
everything, right?”
“As much as I can,” Annie said. It made her stomach twist to think of it, but
Armin had given her what she wanted. If she backed out now, he would have more
cause to hate her.
She remembered her earlier thoughts. She did want to give him everything,
still. Maybe he was older, and a manipulator besides. Maybe that gentle boy was
as distant from him as the sun—but this man was all that remained of him.
And there was something in the way he touched her. He’d been rough before, but
now his hands were gentle. His lips brushed kisses across her skin as he pulled
out and wiped them both off with something. He even held her for a while.
She wanted to savor his presence for as long as she could, but her body was
starting to feel heavy with sleep. Vaguely, she felt him sliding her underwear
back up her legs, then her pants. He kissed her to wake her a little, and
pulled her shirt back down over her head. When he was done, she cuddled in
close to his naked body.
He exhaled softly, brushing her hair back from her face. She was dreaming, she
thought. He’d held up his side of the bargain. He’d left already. This Armin
who stayed with her until she was asleep was a figment of her imagination,
dreamt up to quell the aching loneliness inside of her.
***** Release *****
Chapter Notes
     This update took a little longer than I meant it to, just like
     everything to do with this fic. I'm so glad to finally finished it! :
     ') It was supposed to be a 5k oneshot. HAHA. *glares at 20k behemoth
     two-shot*
     Thank you to everyone who kudo'd/commented/yelled incoherently at me
     in my tumblr ask box. Your encouragement means a lot to me.
     Seriously. It's the highlight of my day.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
The next day three people came to her room, carrying notebooks. Armin was one
of them, and she couldn’t meet his eyes after last night, even though she
wanted to. Shame had filled her once she’d woken up, souring the sweet
memories—what had she done? There was an ache between her legs reminding her
constantly of what she’d talked Armin into, and when the group entered she used
the feeling to steady herself, to draw her self-loathing up around her like
armor. Her insides went cold in preparation for her betrayal. She didn’t
recognize the man and woman who arrived alongside Armin, but it didn’t matter.
Mostly, they seemed to be there to witness the interrogation; Armin asked the
majority of the questions.
Annie talked. She talked until her throat was so dry even water couldn’t
provide relief. She told them about the village, the prophecies, the religion
beyond the wall. She helped them analyze Reiner and Bertl’s recent
movements—their likely goals. She held nothing back, not even out of self-
preservation. At the end of the day, she felt scraped raw, and no amount of
Armin’s encouraging looks could heal the ache she felt inside.
Between her actions five years ago and her words now, she had betrayed
everyone. Her world had crumbled. She had crumbled—but she would help Armin.
Help the boy she’d treasured.
When Armin visited the day after the interrogation, she nearly cried at the
sight of him. She couldn’t say any more. She’d told them everything. She’d even
told them she couldn’t crystallize.
She turned to face the wall, unable to look at him. The scrape of chair legs
told her he’d taken a seat next to the bed.
“I’d hoped you wouldn’t mention the crystallizing thing to anyone but me,” he
said. “But it helped you gain their trust. It just… makes protecting you a
little more difficult.”
“Mm.”
“Annie?”
She closed her eyes tightly. She’d done all he asked. Why was he here again? It
was cruel, to see him by lamplight and imagine the things they’d done together,
the things they would never do again. Couldn’t he see that?
“I have nothing more to tell you, Armin.” Her voice was hoarse, tired. She felt
like she could sleep for days. The ache between her legs from the day before
had been replaced by an ache in her throat, and all joy had slipped from her in
the wake of her shame. This was the aftermath of joy, and it hurt in a whole
new way.
“I didn’t think you did. That’s why I thought I’d talk, this time. But maybe…
maybe you’d rather be alone?”
What I want doesn’t matter, she thought, but she shrugged a shoulder. He
sighed.
“I thought I’d catch you up on what’s happening. I told Eren some of what you
told me. He’s… confused. But not murderous. Mikasa’s always going to hate you
for endangering Eren, but she’s too logical to let that get in the way of a
tactical advantage.”
She nodded. Her throat was tight. She couldn’t even feel relief at the fact
that he—apparently—meant to have her fight for humanity’s sake after all. Was
he going to list everyone? Tell her how much she was despised?
“As for me,” he said, and her whole body tightened. “I think you have the wrong
impression.”
“What’s that?”
He sighed. “I don’t hate you, Annie. I tried to, but it never worked. I felt
like I should, though. I know the amount of people who died to capture you
probably seems insignificant to you because people in the scouting legion die
anyway—”
“It doesn’t.”
“What?”
“It’s not insignificant to me.” Not anymore. It couldn’t be. Maybe it never had
been.
“I’m glad to hear that.” He paused, seeming to collect his thoughts again.
“It’s… not insignificant to me either. But knowing your reasoning helps. I
always knew you had a reason. You wanted to save everyone, right?”
She sat up, facing him, her legs hanging off the side of the bed. Looking at
him made a strange cocktail of emotions roil in her stomach. She remembered
those hands on her, those hips driving into her. She knew she hadn’t dreamt it,
even though it seemed impossible now. Wrong.
“I’m not a religious nut,” she said. “I don’t think dying equals saving.”
“But your prophecy states the people living in this world—”
“Will get another chance, yes. Will be reborn in the new world. Reborn means
just what it sounds like, though. We carry nothing with us. No memories. The
people who died are gone forever, no matter if we succeed in our mission.”
Armin inclined his head. “No matter if they succeed in their mission.”
She smiled sardonically. “They. You can correct my grammar all you like; it
won’t convince anyone on the outside.”
“They’re not the ones I’m trying to convince.”
“Yes, you are.”
He sighed. “Not the only ones I’m trying to convince.”
“I’m on your side, Armin. I’ll do whatever you need me to.”
“Humanity’s side?”
“Your side.”
His gaze turned considering. He stood up and started pacing, the fingers of his
right hand at his mouth in a contemplative posture. Should she be worried?
She couldn’t quite manage worry. Looking at him still made her feel flushed,
and he was wearing his maneuver gear again today.
More to unwrap—not that she ever would, now. It was wrong of her to think it.
“Marry me, then,” he said, shocking her out of her reverie. He stood in front
of her with his arms folded.
“What?”
“Marry me. Show everyone where your loyalty lies.”
Thoughts whirled through Annie’s head in a confusing mess. What did he think a
sham marriage would prove?
“That would only make them question your loyalty—not show mine.”
“Either way, it would make the people in charge feel like they have leverage.
They know there’s no controlling you in titan form.”
“And you’d want them to use you as leverage?”
“I trust you.”
Her heart clenched. “You’re supposed to find me my truth, not sit in the
capital waiting for me.”
“You’ll gain their trust, in time.”
She wanted to hit him, to smack him upside the head until he started making
sense again. How could anyone think her capable of emotions, knowing all she’d
done? He was deluding himself. No one would believe whatever little scheme he
had planned.
“It’s ludicrous,” she said shortly. She had no interest in tarnishing his
reputation any more than she already had. The irony of the situation wasn’t
lost on her; all her fantasies had been centered on him using himself to win
her to his side, but this she’d never dreamt.
It was nice that he really did mean for her to use her shifting powers for
humanity’s sake, but how could he possibly trust her?
“Yes or no, Leonhardt.”
Her eyes narrowed. They were her words, used against her. Looking into Armin’s
eyes didn’t help any; he seemed completely serious, his resolve plain in his
posture. An unwelcome flutter in her stomach made her flinch.
“I don’t understand—”
He moved forward, grabbing her chin roughly. Her breath caught as he brought
his mouth down over hers, taking advantage of her shock to kiss her. His taste
and the feel of his mouth against her made her whole body warm, but it didn’t
clear the confusion. What was he doing?
How could he think his plan would work, even if she agreed to it?
He drew back slightly, resting his forehead against hers. “I care about you,
Annie. When you were in the crystal, I… visited you. I thought that if you ever
got out in my lifetime we’d be able to figure things out. You’d help us—and you
have. I was right about you. Maybe what we have isn’t love, not yet, but we
could get there. I trust you. I care about you. Let me get to know you better.”
“You mean—a real marriage? A p-partnership?” Her guts clenched at the stutter.
She was cool, detached. She had to be. It was the one thing that couldn’t be
taken from her.
“Yes. For political reasons, but a marriage nonetheless.”
She drew back. “That’s not possible. Not for you. You’re a good person—”
He laughed humorlessly, placing his hands on either side of her. “You think
putting Historia on the throne was a fight with no bloodshed? You think I
haven’t killed people?”
Annie recoiled. No. That wasn’t who he was. Maybe, in an emergency—but he
wouldn’t talk about it in this detached way.
“I’ve done worse,” he said. He wasn’t letting her back out; he was staring her
down. “I’ve sacrificed others to further our cause. I’ve endangered innocents.
The only difference between you and me is the people we fought against, and
why.”
She pushed at his chest weakly, her heart hurting. Even if it was true, she
didn’t want to hear it. He’d been her hope, her treasure. The bright-eyed boy
with the big dreams.
“They deserved it,” she said. “Whatever they were doing, they—”
“Annie, please.”
Her hands caught on the straps of his gear. Her teeth gritted.
“We can do this right,” he said. “As right as we can. But you have to let go of
that image you have of me.”
“I don’t understand why you’d throw in your lot with me,” she said, looking
away.
“You’re not evil, Annie. You can help us. And… all the other stuff I said.”
He was drawing back, and suddenly she found that she didn’t want him to. Her
hands tightened on the straps of his gear, stopping him. She met his eyes, one
hand smoothing out against his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin under the
white fabric of his shirt. He could be hers, or close to it. She wasn’t naïve
enough to equate marriage with commitment, but marrying did say something.
It wasn’t what she wanted for him, but what she wanted for Armin Arlert was
already out of reach. A happy childhood. For his dreams to stay bright. For him
never to have to resort to violence or killing. If he thought she could help
him and his cause by marrying him, she would. She would burn up to make his
dreams come true.
“Okay,” she said. She reached up cautiously to brush aside his bangs, not sure
if the gesture was allowed. Tenderness was foreign to her, and Armin had
admitted that what they had wasn’t love—but he caught her hand and held it
there, smiling.
“You won’t regret it,” he said. “I won’t let you.”
Her life was one regret after another, but she nodded.
A team. A partnership. His trust was a gift she didn’t deserve, but she’d make
it count nonetheless.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
Annie stepped into the dull courtyard, her eyes threatening to close at the
bliss of fresh autumn air and natural light. Her legs trembled. There were two
dozen guards watching her take these steps, waiting for her to shift and attack
them, and she could hardly even walk.
“Are you okay?”
She looked at Armin beside her, the only one of the guards within her reach,
and nodded.
It was the first of many such exercises, over a number of days. Under strict
supervision, Annie wandered the small courtyard while people waited for her to
get her shifting powers back. Whatever had been in her food wasn’t being put in
anymore, and each evening when she did this there were more armaments on the
roofs around the courtyard: the same netting machines that caught her in the
forest. If she’d been trying to get out, she could have; she knew these lousy
defenses couldn’t hold her.
But she wasn’t, and so it wasn’t worth considering.
From the pleasant landscaping and the quality of the architecture, all white
pillars and gleaming stone, she knew she was in the capital. Not something that
would have happened under the previous reign, that was for sure—but Historia
had more guts at twenty than her predecessor ever did in his life.
Unfortunately, the slow return of her powers meant she was back to constant
restraints and even more constant supervision, though this time she was held
aboveground. Instead of Armin, she had a team of scientists asking her
questions and doing tests around the clock. Annie didn’t know whether he was
needed elsewhere or if he’d lost his visiting privileges when he’d made his
intentions to marry her known a week ago, but losing his company hurt more than
she expected. She even missed the uncomfortable knot of emotions she felt when
she saw him.
“Why are you marrying Armin Arlert?” one of her watchers asked, a week in when
small cuts on her body were beginning to heal in under two hours, signaling the
near return of her powers.
What was the best answer? Because I love him? It seemed wrong. Love was
tangential to proving her loyalty, at least in Armin’s view.
“Because he asked me to.”
The watcher’s eyebrows rose. “Is he important to your cause?”
Your cause, he’d said. They still wanted her to correct their grammar, and when
she failed to they rolled out a wash list of inane questions to test her
loyalty.
“He’s not important to the shifter cause. He’s important to me.”
“And what is your cause?”
“To save humanity.” Ironically, the tagline hadn’t changed; her father thought
he was saving humanity too.
“Why?”
“Because it’s his dream.”
“Whose?”
She sighed. Why were they all so tiresome? “Armin’s.”
 “So you’re a girl in love? That’s what you’re going with?”
“It’s not love,” Annie said. It was selfish, so it wasn’t love. She’d always
believed that. “It’s… dedication.”
“Dedication, hm?” He was watching her carefully. She nodded, and he asked no
more questions after that—for a while.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
The smell of decay was thick around Annie where she stood in the center of the
courtyard, leaves littering the ground around her. The paths hadn’t been swept
for days, and the rain from the previous week had created marshy pools on the
red-strewn lawns. Evening sunlight slanted across her face as she waited for
the command to shift, arms tight at her sides.
They hadn’t given her any tools for this, and she was fairly sure the oversight
was intentional. No clean, quick cut for her. She’d have to do it Eren’s way,
and she hated using her teeth.
Armin was in pride of place, near one of the doors back into the building with
his arms folded resolutely. He was unarmed; the man and woman on either side of
him were not. The threat was clear, though she wondered if they’d follow
through on it. Would they really kill a powerful asset just to punish her?
She didn’t plan on finding out.
There were more familiar faces in the crowd, but Annie didn’t seek them out.
She didn’t want to see which were present and which were not, any more than she
wanted to see hatred in their eyes and posture. It was easier to look at the
brown-haired commander standing a few meters in front of Armin, waiting.
The commander was looking up at the soldiers stationed on top of the buildings,
making gestures. A thumbs-up ended each interaction, and finally the commander
looked at Annie—and nodded.
Annie blew out a breath. She brought her hand up, thought of her purpose, and
bit down.
The lurch of transformation hit. For a moment, there was nausea and pain and
heat, but then her perception shifted. She was her titan self once more, and it
felt almost… good. In those first few seconds, she resented her chosen role as
a dog on a leash—but then she looked down at Armin standing between the two
guards below, and she forced her body to relax.  
The commander zipped up to her shoulder, causing her to slap a hand to the back
of her neck reflexively. There was a sudden eruption of sound as soldiers got
ready to attack—but the commander yelled for everyone to stand down. They did.
Next Annie was following orders, raising fingers, holding up one leg, the
other. Nodding yes or shaking her head no to questions. She could feel the
crowd relax as they watched, though none of the soldiers dropped their guard.
The real surprise came when the commander told her to step over the nearest
building and make her way to Sina.
She did as she was told, conscious of the commander’s weight on her shoulder.
She kept one hand firmly over her weak spot.
“I won’t cut you, Annie,” the commander told her. “But you’re free to keep your
hand there.”
For some reason, hearing the commander say her name made Annie lower the hand.
There was power in names, and the use of them. An unbidden memory of Armin
sighing hers made her steps jerky, and she wrestled the thought back down. She
could remember a time when it was difficult to think much at all in titan form;
that wasn’t a problem she had anymore.
She walked in the direction her passenger pointed until her steps led her to
Sina, and on command she climbed the wall, the way she couldn’t five years ago.
She stood at the top, looking out over humanity’s last corner of the world.
“Not going to run?” the commander asked. Annie shook her head. “Good. Didn’t
think so.”
 
===============================================================================
 
 
The day of the wedding, one of Annie’s guards brought in a powder blue dress
Annie knew didn’t belong to her. A note was attached to the hanger:
I want to believe in you, it said, and it was signed Historia.
It had to be from Christa, and Annie felt a small bud of warmth in her chest.
The dress was nicer than anything she had—or used to have—but not nearly nice
enough for anyone to suspect its royal origins. It was plain, with buttons all
down the front, and long enough to fall almost to her ankles. Annie was glad it
was plain; the court room was going to be full of people glaring her down.
She’d rather not have them resenting her for her past relationship with Christa
as well as all she’d done.
Her guards escorted her to the court building late that morning, and she
wondered whether they planned to bring her right back to her room afterwards. A
marriage in name only? Or would they trust Armin once a piece of paper was
signed? Security had slackened since she shifted, but there were still people
outside her door at all times, and they hadn’t let Armin in to see her—or he
hadn’t tried to visit. She wished she knew which it was. A strange, insecure
part of her expected to walk into the courtroom only to be told he wasn’t there
and they were going to put her underground again.
But when she walked into the room and saw the witnesses on either side—nervous-
looking people, angry-looking people, former friends with tentative hope on
their faces—she knew this was no hoax. Armin stood between the filled wooden
tribunes, in neat civilian clothing, at a small podium alongside an officiant.
She walked up to join him, trying to keep her face impassive. When he saw her,
he smiled cautiously.
Her heart twisted. It was the smile he’d always had for her.
She took her place at his side, facing him. When she glanced over his shoulder,
she saw Mikasa in the audience, the skin around her eyes tight. Annie had
expected her to look angry—murderous—but seeing her worried was worse.
I won’t hurt him, she thought at her one-time companion. She couldn’t say it;
she’d just have to prove it.
The words of the ceremony were short. To her surprise, there was a small
section about her past crimes being forgiven in light of her changed
allegiance. Armin didn’t look surprised—his idea, maybe, though she wondered
how people had agreed to it.
Annie was feeling shaky by the time it came to the ring exchange, but Armin’s
hands were steady as they slipped a metal band around her ring finger. Her eyes
widened when she felt the familiar weight of it. It was hers: her shifter ring,
dipped in some other coating to make it unrecognizable. If she twisted it, the
pinprick blade would emerge.
Her breathing was shallow. She met Armin’s eyes cautiously, and he smiled just
a little at her expression. Are you stupid? she wanted to ask him. What if
someone finds out? What if I’m not trustworthy?
But maybe it was for her own protection, in case their own people ambushed her
before she had a chance to shift. If that happened, all Armin’s hard work would
be for nothing. Annie convinced herself that was why he’d done it, because the
alternative made her worry for his sanity.
Eventually, it was done. The papers were signed. The words had been spoken.
Annie thought that was the end of it, but before she could walk away from the
podium Armin tipped her face up with his fingers. He kissed her softly, on the
mouth, and the crowd was quiet.
Not here, Annie wanted to say, but it was over before she could get her brain
in working order. She saw the way he glanced around the room after, and she
knew the kiss wasn’t for her.
It was for them.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
Armin’s hand was warm around hers as he led her back in the direction of the
complex where she’d been held. He didn’t bring her to the same complex, though.
Instead she found herself approaching former Military Police
headquarters—former because the order had been dissolved and taken over by the
scouting legion, a casualty of the takeover.
“It’s just until they trust you,” Armin explained, when she saw her looking at
the large building. “They want you somewhere surrounded by soldiers.”
She quailed at the thought of living inside of headquarters, but Armin stopped
at a house on the way. She watched in confusion as he unlocked the door and
held it open for her.
“Here?” she asked, stepping through.
“It’s watched,” he explained immediately, pointing up and around. “Used to
belong to a member of the Military Police, I think. The legion’s not done
distributing property, so for now it’s ours—the legion’s. Since I’ll be living
in the capital during your first mission, they decided it was mine for the time
being.”
He closed the door behind him, and she frowned. “It’s certain? They’re keeping
you here?”
“Yeah.” He touched the worried line between her brows. “So come back, okay?”
She shivered at the gentle tone, embarrassed by what it did to her. It was so
easy for him to warm her all the way up with a look or a touch, and she had no
idea how to make him happy. It wasn’t fair.
Armin stepped away, heading further into the house. “Make yourself comfortable.
Do you have anything you want to do in the eighteen hours we have together
before you go free humanity?”
As if they’d let her fight straight off the bat—but she knew he was joking, and
so she said nothing. She moved into the house, stepping through a different
doorway than Armin had, one that led to a comfortable living room scattered
with papers and books. She had a feeling Armin had been living here for the
past few days already.
Annie walked up to the first book she saw, picking it up to read the front: E.
L. Molenkamp – Political Theory. She brought it with her to the chair by the
front window, curling up with it in her lap. That was how Armin found her ten
minutes later, when he brought out a tray of food and tea. He smiled at the
sight.
“See anything interesting?”
“I’m not through the introduction yet. It’s confusing.”
He nodded. “Since the takeover, we’ve gotten so much new information we can
hardly get through it. It’s hard to piece everything together.”
She touched the notebook next to the chair. “You’re taking notes?”
“It’s what I’ll be doing, until you come back.”
“And after that?”
“I’m hoping they’ll let me back on the front lines.”
“Why?” Fighting wasn’t his specialty—it had been hard for him, in training. She
knew he’d gotten better, but seeing this house—all his books—she could easily
imagine him trawling through text instead of titans. It suited him, even if
he’d gained height and muscle mass.
“It’s where I’m most needed. For mission planning, more so than fighting, but
everyone fights. We still don’t have enough people.”
There was a feeling of satisfaction, knowing she’d pad the ranks for real this
time. How many soldiers was she worth, in titan form? Ten? Twenty? But she
wouldn’t be able to live up to her full potential until they trusted her. For
the first time, she felt impatience—an echo of Eren’s manic purpose. She wanted
to be out there, fighting. She could do more than most.
They ate together, talking quietly. Armin updated her on the situation more
than he ever had before, his eyes bright as he explained his discoveries so
far. To Annie’s ears it sounded like an impossibility—their world’s history,
the way it worked before the titans—but Armin believed it, and so she did too.
Warmth suffused her as she listened to him talk as if she was an ally, as if he
was still the boy he’d been. Maybe he was.
“Are you afraid I won’t come back?” she asked, when he paused to drink
something. He was quiet for a long time.
“Not in the way you mean,” he said at last. “I’m worried for your sake. Not all
soldiers agree with the decisions we’ve made here.”
“I’ll be careful.”
He smiled. “I know.”
She fought the urge to blush, looking down at the ring around her finger with
its new metal coating. It still didn’t seem real, that it meant something
different now. She glanced at Armin’s hand and felt the same sense of disbelief
at the sight of his ring. It was meant to connect him to her, but how could a
ring do that? How could anything?
Was this part of Armin’s plan for them? Eating together? Talking? Would there
be more nights like the one they spent together in her cell? She wished she
knew what he expected of her so she could live up to it, but she didn’t feel
like she could ask.
He followed her glance to his left hand, his fingers stretching as he examined
it.
“It means whatever you want it to,” he said. She remembered the ceremony, where
they’d promised to take care of each other and share what they each had—more of
a business agreement than a love match, to her ears. She wondered if words
about love had been left out intentionally.
She set the book in her lap aside and walked over to him. He looked up at her,
his hands loose around his cup, allowing her to take it from him and set it on
the coffee table. Then she looked down at him again, gathering her courage.
Just touch him. You’re married. He said it could mean what you wanted it to.
Her hand came down on his shoulder, imagining straps that weren’t there. Did he
feel naked without them? She used to.
Armin’s hand covered hers. He looked like he was about to say something, but he
swallowed his words when she set her knee down on the couch next to him, then
the other on the other side of him. She flattened her hands against his chest,
feeling the rapid thump-thump of his heart under her right palm as she lowered
herself. Then she waited.
His pupils dilated, and his breathing became shallow. Hers was, too.
“Can I be… close? Like this?”
He nodded, brushing her hair back behind her ear with a small smile. “Of
course.”
She fisted her hands in his shirt and hid her face in his neck, relieved. There
was still a part of her worried that she disgusted him, that his acceptance was
another act—but if he could look up at her and tuck her hair back with a smile,
maybe that wasn’t the case.
“Um, Annie—”
“Hm?”
“I’m not… immune, you know. To you.”
She sat up. “In what way?”
“I… think it’s better if we do this slowly. And it’s hard to think when
you’re…” He gestured at his lap helplessly.
For a moment she was confused, then she realized what he was saying: no sex,
for the time being. Her body objected to that idea. It didn’t know anything
beyond now and soon—but she did. This wasn’t the same as when he’d come to her
at night, in the dark. They were building something long term, maybe.
“Okay,” she said, sliding off and laying her legs over his lap. Then, just to
be sure: “You mean no sex, right?”
A jerky nod answered her question.
“But I can kiss you?”
He smiled. “Hmm… what about… one kiss for every one of my questions you
answer?”
“More questions?” He couldn’t possibly have more. She’d told them everything.
“Yes. I have a lot.”
If she was a lesser woman, she would have quailed. Instead she leveled him with
a flat stare.
He slid his finger along her jawline, tipped her chin up.
“What was your favorite story, growing up?”
Oh, she thought. Those kinds of questions.
 
 
The prophecy described the after-world as a place of beauty, harmony, kindness.
She’d given up on the after-world during those long nights in her cell, had
decided to live in this one, but even in her corrupt, festering world there was
happiness.
There was happiness in the questions Armin asked, the stories he drew out of
her—the stories he gave her in return, when she insisted—and there was
happiness in the wet warmth of his mouth against hers, the rough slide of his
fingers over her skin. It was torture, too, but it was the sweetest kind of
torture: an insistent longing, making her whole body feel flushed. Anticipation
thrummed through her each time he forgot to ask more questions, each time she
saw him come close to abandoning his resolution to take things slow, but they
always drew apart eventually, a regretful look on Armin’s face.
She found she could make him laugh easily, simply by being honest. It was
addicting; his laugh was just as good as his kisses. The night passed this way,
ending when they dropped off to sleep mid-conversation, and in the morning it
was time for Annie to leave.
When the soldiers came to pick her up, she was ready. She was determined to do
her job well, to pass whatever obstacles they laid out for her with flying
colors.
She had so much to come back to.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
Annie’s titan flesh steamed around her, power coursing through her as she
fought. This could hardly even be classed as an expedition—an experiment, at
most—but the titans didn’t know that. They blundered towards the columns of
scouting legion riders and their shifter vanguard heedlessly, unaware that
Annie was the main event here.
If she fell—if she was overpowered—it was likely she would die. There was no 3D
maneuver gear for a quick getaway. They didn’t trust her with it, and she
didn’t bother telling them that she could carry off a soldier and steal theirs
if she so chose. It occurred to her, not for the first time, that all actions
taken against her were only ever effective because she had already decided to
fight for them.
Perhaps Eren could stop her, though. His large, clumsy-looking titan ran behind
her, though he frequently lost sight of her when approaching titans distracted
him. It was just like Eren to go for the obvious threat, and there was
something relaxing in watching his fists slam through titans’ necks, his feet
trampling them underground like a sadistic child stepping on bugs.
Annie’s own movements conserved energy: a hardened fist breaking through a
titan’s spinal column, an easy grab for the neck, ripping into the weak spot.
She ran at a leisurely pace, and bit by bit the soldiers she protected seemed
to relax. It was her first shifter mission, and—if she was lucky—her final
test.
The soldiers each had a canister of white signal flares for if she betrayed
them. She wondered how many soldiers watched the sky anxiously for a white
flare, whether they were starting to drop their guard.
Trees cast in the orange and red of autumn beckoned in the distance. Not long
now until they found shelter within them, and then—something. Annie wasn’t
quite sure.
A black signal from one of the other groups sent Annie and Eren running in the
direction of the flare. The cause of it intercepted them before they could
reach the group it had come from, and for a moment Annie was scared it would be
Reiner or Bertholdt—but it was simply a dumb-looking aberrant that was ignoring
the riders. She glanced at Eren, and saw he’d increased his pace. Idiot. He
wasted so much energy. Hadn’t he been taught by now to fight like a proper
soldier, even in titan form?
But then, Eren’s strength was his ruthlessness, as much as she relied on cold
calculation. He could be trained to fight more effectively, but she wasn’t sure
he could ever be trained to hold back. She let him take down the aberrant, but
ran forward when that aberrant rolled and threw Eren. It jumped down on top of
him, seemingly headed for his weak spot, and before Annie had quite decided
what to do she was biting down on the back of the titan’s neck, taking a chunk
out of it.
She spluttered, steaming flesh falling from her lips. Gross. She never used
teeth. She should have dropped the titan, brought him down in some other
way—but the danger to Eren made her panic.
Eren’s titan got up and looked at her, at the way she rubbed an arm over her
tongue and spat one last time. His big, dumb head inclined just a bit, making
him look like an oversized toddler with a sixpack. She broke eye contact and
ran back to the center of the formation, trying to put the image from her mind.
How much could Eren even think while he was in his titan form? Everything he
did seemed intuitive—the way her actions had been when she first learned to
shift.
They reached the cover of trees, and when they were in the thick of the forest
with the titans held up at the edges, the commander signaled for Annie to shift
back. She did so, cautiously.
She’d expected some tacit approval from the troops, maybe, but what happened
next was way beyond that. The commander clambered over her disintegrating titan
flesh and threw an arm around Annie, grinning brightly.
“Did you see that?” the brown-haired lunatic shouted. “No losses! Our very own
titan vanguard. I could get used to this.”
“You’re getting ahead of yourself,” a man said, annoyed. “She may be waiting
for a better moment to betray us.”
“Don’t be that way. Imagine it—with the two of them, we might be able to get to
the basement without the supply route. This could move our end goal up months,
even years—”
“Hanji! There’s no way that will work.”
“He’s right,” Annie said, moving the commander’s arm off her. “There’s a good
chance the other shifters are waiting for you there. They know you want to get
into that basement; they may mean to ambush you there.”
“Could they have destroyed whatever’s in there?” the commander asked.
“I… maybe.” Annie imagined herself in Reiner and Bertl’s shoes. Even wanting to
bring on the new world, she didn’t think they could bring themselves to destroy
whatever was in that basement. Maybe it wasn’t their hope, but it was
someone’s, and her companions held hope in high regard. “I don’t think so.”
“Hm,” the annoyed-looking man said. “I guess we’ll see.”
Hanji seemed interested in continuing the conversation, but Eren was walking
over, his own titan flesh discarded behind him. Hers was gone already.
“Annie,” he said. It was the first time he’d talked directly to her, and once
again Annie noted the changes in him—and what hadn’t changed. Though he was
taller and stronger, with sharper features, his face held the same steady
determination as before. She could still remember the young boy looking up at
her from the tunnel, begging for her to deny the allegations. Was he relieved,
now that she was on his side?
Hanji and the other man walked off, leaving Annie alone. Eren walked up to
her—and the next moment she was reeling, clutching at the pain that blossomed
in her jaw. He’d punched her, hard, and no one was doing anything.
She lowered her hands and faced him again, waiting. She kept her expression
blank.
“That’s for—everything,” Eren said.
She nodded.
“You’ll be training with me. I don’t want to be thinking of all the people you
killed.”
She nodded again. “I understand.”
“Armin trusts you.”
This time, she didn’t nod—because what he said was Armin trusts you but what it
meant was I trust you and she wasn’t sure how to respond to that. He was the
coordinate: the shifters’ hope. She could trick him, use his trust to make the
prophecy come true, come home a hero. Reiner would be happy, and Bertl. They
deserved happiness; she realized that now.
But so did she, and it was not the promised after-world that could give it to
her.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
Soldiers no longer flinched when she walked by. They didn’t gnash their teeth
at her in the mess hall or talk loudly about her when they knew she was
listening. Her training sessions with Eren were well-attended—one of the few
forms of entertainment around basecamp—and on the next expedition, the
commander gave her a set of 3D maneuver gear to use.
The weight around her hips felt right; the pull of the straps felt right. When
she saw her reflection in the mirror, a soldier looked back at her.
There was satisfaction in earning her place—a real place—but the gold band
around her finger reminded her of Armin, still working hard in the capital,
still depending on her loyalty. She couldn’t help wondering if this was what
he’d had in mind all along: her, trusted among the soldiers and working for the
cause; him, doing his own thing far away.
He did send her letters, at least. Every week. Her heart lifted when she read
them, and his knowledge of what was going on on her end made it clear he was
tracking her progress. She wondered who wrote to him. Eren? Hanji? She didn’t.
Hanji had given her paper, but each time Annie sat down to write a letter her
mind went blank.
Armin’s letters were conversational. He wrote about his research, events in the
capital, what he’d done that day. He even included her, somehow, in his daily
life. Things like: I think you’d like this book and I could imagine you staring
so-and-so down—sentiments that showed he thought of her. But he never wrote
I’ll visit you or you can come back soon and there was certainly no talk of
feelings. Though she didn’t admit it to herself, she wanted an I miss youfrom
him, because it was the only thing she could think to write—and since she
couldn’t write it herself, all the letters she attempted read like mission
reports. She didn’t send them.
Training filled up her time, anyway, along with other activities. Somehow, she
had been put in charge of teaching a refresher course on hand-to-hand combat
because of her extensive knowledge on the subject. She was going to ask why
they needed to know hand-to-hand combat when she remembered Armin’s words about
the takeover:
Titans weren’t the only enemy. Perhaps that was still true.
She didn’t argue the assignment, and taught to the best of her abilities, even
as the late autumn chill and rain turned the training fields outside the
basecamp castle to slush on warm days and frozen mud on cold days. It was on
one of the cold, bright days more than a month past her arrival in basecamp
that she saw a familiar figure detach itself from the castle wall after one of
her lessons, once she was alone and preparing to leave.
She stopped short, the basket of training equipment coming to hang loosely in
her hands as her arms went slack. Why was he here? Why hadn’t he told her?
Sweat lay sticky on her skin, itchy beneath her uniform.
“That was impressive,” Armin said, when he was near enough to talk. His hair
was in a half ponytail, and he wore his standard uniform. Everything about him
was the same, and yet the sight of him took her breath away. Maybe it was the
fact that she’d staked so much on him and had so looked forward to being
reunited. She’d forgotten what it was like to have the real-life version of him
in front of her: terrifying. Because she wanted things from him, and maybe he
wasn’t willing to give them to her.
“What are you doing here?” she asked. Wind buffeted her back, trying to blow
her over. She held fast.
“They decided you were trustworthy.”
“You didn’t say you were coming.”
“I didn’t know for sure, and then when I did a letter would have gotten here at
the same time I did. Hello, by the way.”
She flushed. “Hi.”
He folded his arms. “You didn’t write.”
“I did.” When his eyebrows rose, she added: “I didn’t send.”
His expression was thoughtful for a moment, then he smiled. “Let’s go inside,”
he said. “I think food’s ready, and you must be hungry after your lesson. I
like watching you teach, by the way. You look like an angry general.”
“I’m not angry. That’s just the way my face looks.”
Surprise caught his features, and a moment later he stifled a laugh with his
hand, glancing at her. What was so funny? She wasn’t sure, but somehow his
amusement spread to her, and she found herself smiling, too. She hefted the
basket with renewed vigor, feeling very light.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
They ate with the other soldiers, and Annie was surprised that Armin sat with
her at the table. It was clear Mikasa and Eren wanted him to themselves, but he
refused to shut her out of the conversation even when she glared at him,
wishing he’d stop trying to involve her. In fact, she almost wished he’d sit
somewhere else; she didn’t need him to look up every few minutes to see if she
was okay, if she was listening, if she had something to say. It was clear he
was trying to be polite, and that kind of forced politeness annoyed her.
Just spend time with your friends, she wanted to say, but it would sound sour,
and if it wasn’t for his small, worried glances she would have enjoyed
listening to him. She didn’t need to feel involved—just having him here made
her feel warmer, despite the draftiness of the mess hall.
After dinner, Eren and Mikasa invited Armin to catch up some more elsewhere,
but Armin declined. He pleaded tiredness and sent them on their way—but when
Annie attempted to sidle away, respecting his wishes, he grabbed her hand.
“Annie,” he said. “Spend the evening with me?”
Her face flushed red. “I…”
“You have plans? Or you want to be alone?”
“Your friends…”
“…haven’t spent the last five years unconscious only to be thrown back into
battle the moment they come back. I think they can wait.”
Annie swallowed. So he wanted to make sure she was all right? She could live
with that, she supposed, so she gave a tight nod. He let go, relieved. She led
him to her room on the first floor, where many of the higher-ups had their
rooms, and he followed her in, closing the door behind him. His eyes went
immediately to the bars at the high window: the shutters were open, and the sky
outside was slowly turning orange.
“That’s just the old architecture,” Annie assured him, seeing the way his lips
tightened at the sight of the bars. “Everything here is old-fashioned. No
showers, either. Too bad the military police are gone, or I could have joined
them again and lived in luxury. So, um, welcome.”
“I was in here earlier,” he said, pointing at an unfamiliar set of saddlebags
by the bed. It made Annie’s whole body feel jittery when she saw it there. He
was staying with her? The bed was large for just one person—maybe this had been
the intention all along, for him to join her here. Suddenly she was aware of
the sweat that had dried on her body, and the fact that she hadn’t washed her
hair in over a week.
“You should have warned me you were coming,” she said, frowning at the moth-
eaten rug on the floor. She would have washed her hair, at least.
“Do you… not want me here?” There was vulnerability in his voice.
She glared. “Of course I want you here. I just haven’t—”
“Of course?” His grin made her stomach bottom out. He looked like he’d caught
her at something, and it made it impossible to say more.
“You tricked me into saying that,” she said. “On purpose.” She wasn’t sure if
she was awed or annoyed—he had sounded so sincere.
“I can’t help it,” he said. His hands came up to hold her face, tipping it up
to look at him. “I missed you.”
Warmth suffused her at his words, but she didn’t show it. She avoided his eyes,
keeping her eyebrows lowered. “What’s there to miss?”
“Lots of things.” He leaned in as if to kiss her, and she leaned back.
“I haven’t washed my hair,” she said quickly, before he could get the wrong
idea.
He glanced at it. “You want me to do it for you? Will that make you feel
better?”
“I’m not letting you wash me,” she said, her face flushing at the image of
Armin running a sponge over her naked body. She didn’t mind people seeing her
naked, usually, but it was different with Armin. She didn’t want clinical
detachment from him.
“Just your hair,” he said. “Let me, please? And we can catch up. I told you I
wanted to spend the evening together.”
He was doing it again, the intentionally-vulnerable thing—but she was helpless
to stop him, and soon Armin had brought a pail of lukewarm water to their room
while she fetched towels. What was she doing?
They sat down on opposite sides of the bucket, and with great coaxing Armin
convinced her to lean forward so the top of her head was in the lukewarm water.
His hands worked through her hair, wetting all of it, and she felt like dousing
her whole, flushed face in the stupid bucket. She was putty in his hands when
it came down to it.
“Up,” he said, and then came the soaping up, wet drips collecting on the towel
around her shoulders. He kneeled behind her, his fingertips working into her
scalp until she was nearly groaning with pleasure. How long had it been since
she’d been touched like this?
“You said we’d catch up,” she said, when she realized he’d been silent this
whole time.
“Mm. So I did.”
Her mouth was slack with relaxation, her shoulders loose. She couldn’t pursue
the matter further.
“Do you want me to—?” she asked, when he seemed ready to dunk her again.
“Not unless I stink.”
She smelled horse on him, alongside traildust and the musky scent of his own
sweat, but it was a comforting smell, making warmth curl in her lower abdomen:
comforting and compelling at the same time. “You don’t. I’ll repay the favor
some other time.”
“Oh? It’s a favor now? Rinse, by the way.”
She glared, though he couldn’t see it as she bent back over the bucket. “You
know this is nice.”
“I don’t always know with you, Annie. I don’t even know if you like being
touched.”
His fingers were firm against her skull, efficient even as they made tingles
run down Annie’s spine. “How could you doubt that?” she asked, thinking of
their night together in her cell.
“It’s… different, isn’t it? We always seem to go straight to sex. It’s
different from just touching.”
 “Did I miss something when I fell asleep before I left last month?” Annie
asked. “I don’t remember having sex that night—”
He laughed. “Because we stopped ourselves.”
Because you stopped us, Annie thought, but she understood what he meant. Each
attempt at cuddling had turned into something else: held breath, a hand at the
hem of a shirt, mouths seeking skin, the hard press of him against her. Images
and feelings from that night had featured heavily in her fantasies.
“I enjoy it whenever you touch me,” she said. He finished rinsing her hair, and
she rose up some so he could squeeze it out before toweling it dry. When she
met his eyes, she saw there was color in his cheeks. It seemed impossible that
she could do anything to him, draw out any emotion in him, and yet here he was,
looking at her like she was special.
“Brush?” he asked, a little thickly. She fetched it for him, and though she
protested—again—they ended up on the edge of the bed, Armin sitting behind her
as he worked the tangles out of her hair. She was lulled into a state of
relaxation once more, which ended abruptly when he drew aside her wet hair and
placed a kiss on the back of her neck.
She gasped, shivers running through her. “Armin?”
“Mm?”
Annie turned to face him, making him back up onto the bed. They both had all
their gear on, save the jackets, and for once she didn’t want to leisurely undo
all the belts, enjoying every minute—instead, she wanted them gone immediately.
Which wasn’t going to happen.
She undid the strap across his chest, watching his face carefully. He watched
her do it without protest, and so she worked loose the right belt, sliding it
off his shoulder slowly before doing the same to the other.
The back brace fell softly against the covers. Armin drew her in, and she put
her legs on either side of him so their bodies could press together unhindered.
His mouth caught hers, his hands coming up to cup her face. She bunched her
hands in his shirt as the kiss deepened.
“I missed you,” she said, when they came up for air.
“You should have written,” he said into her neck, making heat blossom between
her legs. “I was worried about you.”
“I told you I’d be careful.”
“Not that kind of worried.” He pressed a kiss to her temple, and started to
loosen the strap across her chest. Her heart beat a rapid tattoo beneath his
fingers. “You’re too hard on yourself, Annie. You’re on our side now. You have
a right to be here.”
She watched his hands, desire making her throat ache. Was this going where she
thought it was going?
“Annie?”
“What?” she said, nearly jumping. Armin was looking at her carefully, and she
tried to remember what he’d said. “I… don’t feel that out of place here.”
“Have you made friends?”
She shook her head mutely.
“And you don’t mind being alone?”
His intent stare made her look away. “No,” she said. Then, trying to keep
accusation out of her tone: “I didn’t think you did, either.”
“I don’t,” he confirmed. “But it’s better when it’s by choice, isn’t it?”
Annie shrugged. She was used to living in her own head, regarding others with
suspicion. “Maybe. It’s… easier not to get attached.”
Armin ran a thumb over her bottom lip, up to her cheek: a sweep in the shape of
a smile. “Is that what you are? Not attached?”
“It’s what I wish I was, sometimes.”
“I already told you. I won’t let you regret—”
She caught his hand. “You’re here, aren’t you? And probably going on the next
expedition?”
“I’m a veteran now. We need all the experienced scouts we can get—”
“So you’re going, and we both know the risks we take when we go. Don’t tell me
I won’t regret it.”
He flexed his hand, held tightly in her grip. She was hurting him, she
realized, and dropped the hand abruptly.
“Fine, I won’t tell you that,” he said. His hands slipped through her wet hair,
wrists moving to twist the yellow strands around his fingers. “But I’ll tell
you we’re better off now than we ever have been. We have more information, more
recruits, more supplies than ever. Yes, things are still a mess, but for the
first time in a long time our situation is favorable. I’ll take what I can get,
when it comes to hope.”
The pull on her hair tilted her head back, exposing her neck, and Armin made
use of it, setting his lips against the side of her throat where the barest
contact made her shiver. He seemed to be asking her for something without
words, but she wasn’t sure what. To bear his hope? To agree?
His mouth was teasing, his kisses too light to satisfy. She pressed into him,
eyes closing.
“Mm, no good,” he said. His hands moved to hold her face, forcing her to look
at him. He met her gaze steadily, a smile on his face. “I want your eyes open
this time.”
This time. Anticipation lanced through her. She shrugged the loosened gear off
her shoulders and knocked Armin back against the bed, her mouth on his, her
hands on his arms, keeping him down.
“Uh, Annie?”
She kissed him fiercely, with all the force she’d dreamt of using the next time
she saw him. It felt painfully good to have him beneath her, his mouth opening
to allow her more access. Her nails raked his biceps through the shirt,
impatient to touch all of him.
“Annie,” he gasped, when she broke the kiss for a short moment.
“What?” Her voice was a hiss.
“I’m not going to run. Let me touch you.”
She looked at her hands pinning his arms down against the bed, then at his
face: his hair fanned out around his head, eyes steady even with the pupils
blown wide. The urge to keep pushing him down was strong—he looked good like
that, beneath her—but she eased her grip. The next moment she was dislodged,
stomach lurching as she fell against the bed, Armin’s weight suddenly on top of
her.
“Hey!” she yelled.
“Shhh,” he said into her neck. Her legs trembled at his low tone. “Don’t want
anyone to hear.”
Then he was tugging at her hoodie, and her back rose up almost against her
will, rushing to accommodate him. Traitorous body, she thought as he pulled off
her top garment so only a flimsy white shift covered her top half. There was a
traitorous pulse of pleasure between her legs, too, when Armin’s hands felt her
breasts through the shirt, his eyes heavy-lidded with desire. She reached up
and locked her hands behind his neck, pulling herself up to kiss him.
“Ah—” he said, unhooking her hands gently. “I’m not done. I have to see you
before the sun goes down, you know.”
“What happened to going slow?” she groaned. He slid down her body to take off
the bottom half of the gear, starting at the feet. They’d taken their boots off
earlier.
He looked up from his task to meet her hot gaze. “You want to go slow?”
No way.“You wanted to, didn’t you?”
“I wanted to start something with you, the right way. But… I want this, too. Is
that bad?”
He sounded sincere, though there was no way of telling with Armin. “You mean
you thought of me?” she asked, unable to resist. “While we were apart?”
He smiled, his finger tracing her ankle. “A lot.”
She shot up, her hands moving to work on the buttons of his shirt. “Well,
you’re not the only one. I want to see you, too.”
He released a strap. “Sounds fair.”
Their motions became frenzied after that, each of them trying to make sure the
other would be unclothed before the sun had fully descended. Annie ripped off a
button of Armin’s shirt, and Annie’s gear got tangled. Neither one of them
cared, because minutes later they were looking at each other, faces flushed,
not a stitch on either of them. Annie’s breath left her.
He was beautiful, scars and all, callused skin and all. She wanted to call the
sun back up, to shine on him fully, but she knew it was hopeless. Armin seemed
equally entranced. He ran his hand down her side, over the curve of her hip. He
was on top again, having wrestled her down when she pulled ahead in the race to
get gear and clothes off before the sun went down, and his eyes seemed to leave
warmth wherever they alighted. Her own gaze was pulled down towards his
erection, remembering the silky feel of it in her hands.
She flipped them, wanting to see him with his hair fanned out around him once
more. He didn’t protest, this time, and she thought that perhaps the battle for
dominance hadn’t really been a battle at all. He seemed perfectly happy like
this, with her straddling him. She slid her hands down his chest, savoring the
feel of him, her palms moving slowly down his abdominals to the hard length of
him. He sucked in a breath when she curled her fingers around his erection, and
one of his arms came up to cover his face.
“It’s embarrassing when you look at it like that.”
Embarrassing? How could he even think that? Did he know what it did to her? She
moved down his body, the way he had. She pressed a kiss to his pec, his ab, his
hipbone, descending. His back arched when her breast touched his erection, and
he made a choked noise.
No wonder he had enjoyed being in control of her that night, when he made her
come around his fingers. This kind of power was addicting. She pressed a kiss
to the trail of hair that led downward, the way he had that night, then the tip
of his cock. He groaned.
“D—don’t. You don’t know how, right?”
She’d filched a dirty book from one of the soldiers, but when it came down to
it she didn’t know. It made her no less eager to try: she wanted to make him
keen under her, the way she had under his mouth, his touch. She licked a stripe
up the underside of his cock before tonguing the slit and sucking a
little—experimentally. There was no distinct taste—a little salty, maybe.
She let her spit wet the tip, wrapping her lips over and moving her mouth down.
She didn’t think he’d want her teeth on his sensitive skin, so she kept her
lips tight in order not to graze him. His hips bucked upward, and she drew
back, something akin to a smirk beginning to pull at her lips. She liked this.
“Annie. You have ten seconds to stop or I’m flipping us over and holding you
down.”
“Why? Why are you embarrassed?”
“I’m not embarrassed. I want this, but—not now.”
She glared, moving back up his body after one last caress. “And you listened to
my protests so well that night.”
“Were you arguing? I don’t remember.”
He had a point. She hadn’t managed to vocalize any of her protests, but she was
convinced he’d known. She reached for his face, trailing her fingers down his
jaw to his collar. “Now what am I going to do with you?”
He shivered, whether in cold or anticipation she wasn’t sure. The shutters were
open, but she still felt flushed. She leaned down over him, alternating kisses
and bites, until his fingers were digging into her hips, his back arching. She
inched up so she was over his erection and rolled her hips, the way she had
before. By the fading light of dusk, she saw Armin throw his head back,
exposing his throat.
Her mouth went dry at the sight, and vaguely she wondered why an act like that
did something for her. It went straight to the growing arousal between her
legs, making her press against him again for contact, her wetness coating him.
He pulled her tight against him, seeming keen to maneuver her beneath him.
She sat up, stopping him. “No. I’m in control this time.”
He brushed his fingers across her collarbones. “Okay.”
It sent another lance of pleasure through her, and suddenly she was impatient
to have him inside of her, surging up to meet her. She sat up, and her fingers
closed around his erection. She positioned it carefully and sank down, rolling
her hips as she descended. A small sound escaped Armin.
“Shhh,” she said, leaning forward. He was nearly all the way in, and she rolled
her hips again. He hissed through his teeth. “We don’t want anyone hearing.”
His hand caught the back of her head, pulling her down roughly. He bucked his
hips, pushing her so her mouth met his. His kiss was rough, uncoordinated. It
made her pound down against him, moving her hips in small, frantic movements.
They found their rhythm eventually, though Annie stayed breathless. She loved
the feeling of him rising to meet her, her own hard motions against him, the
way his hands explored her body when she sat up to catch her breath in between
kisses. She ground against his pubic bone, feeling the familiar pressure build.
His movements were losing the smooth control he’d found after they first
started, his hands finding her hips again to hold her down against him while he
thrust. She wouldn’t have it; she entwined her fingers with his and pinned his
hands against the mattress on either side of his head so she could work towards
her own pleasure, savoring his gasps of breath. Her legs ached, but the promise
of release made her ignore it. She leaned down to kiss Armin, and he raised his
head to meet her desperately, their lips catching.
Her whole body went light. She kept up her small, fraught movements through the
short period of weightlessness, and her release crashed over her a moment
later. She gasped her pleasure into Armin’s mouth, fighting for the continued
sensation, then against the sudden desire to lie boneless on top of him. It was
time to draw his release from him, too, and from the way he sounded it wasn’t
far off.
She changed her motions, coming down onto him in great, cresting movements, and
he rose up to meet her. The aftershock of her own orgasm was still pulsing
through her, and she tightened around him as she came down. Three, four,
five—he gasped out a breath, his hips shuddering up into her, and she rode him
out, trying not to feel too triumphant at the way his strong motions had been
reduced to helpless stutters.
She released his hands, and his arms wrapped around her. His breathing was
heavy. She let her cheek rest against his chest, savoring the rapid beat of his
heart.
“Armin?” she said, after a long silence.
“Hm?”
“You mean it, right? You care about me.”
He brushed back her damp hair, kissed her forehead. “Yes. I think I might even
be in love with you.”
She laughed, and he laughed softly with her: at the absurdity, she thought,
with their bodies still pressed together, absolutely spent. The ache in her
legs distracted her eventually, and with great care she moved off him,
collapsing next to him instead. Her hips were sore.
Another silence, then: “Annie?”
“Yes?”
“Watch the sunrise with me tomorrow.”
She didn’t want to leave this bed, ever, not even to close the shutters, but
the nights were long this time of year. Plenty of time before the sunrise.
“Okay.”
 
===============================================================================
 
 
Armin dragged her out of bed, just as he’d threatened, and what felt like
moments later Annie was standing on the battlements with him, chilled by the
biting autumn wind. The sky was lightening over the plains and the town in the
distance. To the west, behind them, Wall Rose stood in darkness, an endless-
seeming monolith. She shivered, and Armin pulled her in close. The survey
cloaks did little for warmth this time of year.
They didn’t have long to wait. The clouds were tinged pink and orange, beams of
light falling across them, and the sun appeared within minutes. It hurt to look
at, and so Annie looked at Armin instead.
“Happy?” she asked, still pretending to be resentful about being dragged from
bed.
“Yes.”
She watched his hair blow out behind him, and the smile he had for her. I love
you, she thought for the nth time. She couldn’t say it yet. She didn’t have to
say it—but she wanted to, one day. Maybe before the next expedition.
“You?” he asked, after a long moment. He didn’t mean it in the flippant way she
had.
“I… don’t know.” In her experience, happiness was fleeting. Maybe she was happy
now, but what about tomorrow? The next day? What happened after the next
expedition, and what happened if—against all odds—their side won? What happened
when she was no longer useful?
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “It’s okay. You can take your time.”
“I’d rather take yours.”
He grinned, and pulled her into an embrace. She could no longer see the new
sunlight slanting across his lashes, but she didn’t have to. She could still
see it in her mind’s eye, where she kept all memories of him. How many more
could she gather? How much time did she have?
“Okay,” he said. His hand was gentle against the back of her head, stroking her
hair. “I’ll let you.”
Chapter End Notes
     THE END
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