Sunshine and Rainbows

by Jigglywigglypuff

College AU set in the year 1999. Mikasa met Eren the first week of junior year, and it seemed like love at first sight. However, the intensity of their fast romance would be their downfall as Eren's childhood trauma comes to light and threatens their relationship. A story of love, heartbreak, and friendship while attending university in the late 90's.

10. Do What You Want to Do

As Armin walked out of the dormitory and into the courtyard, he had one feverish thought invading his mind:

What the hell just happened?

It was insane. Bizarre. Kind of nice? But so fucking weird and surreal and just felt so wrong that he really wanted to take a hot shower. Or a cold one? Whatever he would do, there was no way that the image of Mikasa's perfect tits would leave his mind anytime soon. He cursed himself for that extra second his eyes lingered. Damn they were nice. And damn him for still thinking about it.

He felt so acutely aware of his surroundings, of the chill that crept the air, pursing around his body in a delicate breeze. Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his flannel jacket, he forced a deep inhale through his nose, feeling the sharp frost bite his nostrils. For the last weekend of October, it was pretty mildly cold. It was also very empty, as he assumed most everyone had found their way to a party by now.

Empty, except, for the small body that sat at the bench.

A short concrete bench, lacking a rail or backrest, just a cemented stub nestled between trees and a semi-working water fountain. And the body that occupied it—petite, extended, lying down as if the rocky surface was a luxurious bed, her head hanging off the edge. One leg bent, the other flopped off the bench. She could have been confused for dead if her foot wasn't tapping against the cement.

Black headphones nestled snug against her head and ears, connected to a portable cassette player that rested on her chest. He could hear the faint sound of muddled music, but not enough to decipher what she was listening to.

But in the darkness, there was enough light from the moon and stars (and the lamp posts surrounding them), for him to see her, to see the neon yellow glisten of her hair, falling gently to her shoulders, the black combat boots that hugged her ankles—or were actually too large for her petite frame. Light denim overalls draped her form, one of the straps undone haphazardly, and a white sweater hugging her torso beneath. She wore no jacket, but a shiver failed to trickle over her body.

Ashes of her cigarette fell like loose glitter, the stick grasped between her fingers, and as she exhaled, a gust of smoke slipped from her lips, and he noticed how delicately they puckered and how pink they were.

And fuck, because he realized it was fucking her. The girl from the smoker gang. The one he sometimes saw kicking the heavy bag at the gym. The girl he had wanted to talk to for a while but was too timid because she was fucking intimidating and she looked like she would eat his head off.

But watching her there, sitting alone in her cute overalls, he contemplated for a moment. What would be the worst thing that could happen? This night had already been absolutely fucked. What would be the harm to put himself out there and just talk to her?

However, the dryness that consumed his throat proved otherwise. It took him a second to gulp, to gather enough saliva to slightly alleviate the uncomfortable feeling. And then he felt the rest of the results of his anxiety—heart accelerating, hollowness emptying his chest. Just go home. Go home. Enough things have happened tonight.

But he found himself standing over her, and her eyes pierced him like an arrow to the heart.

A slender finger pressed a button on her walkman, and the muffled music stopped. No sound, but the whispers of nature and the song of the crickets. She said nothing, made no movement. Only stared, her eyes large and unreadable, two bright cerulean gemstones with a fatal gleam.

Tugging at the collar of his jacket, Armin hesitated. "Can I bum a cigarette?"

She blinked once. Twice. A slight twitch pulled at her lip. "You don't smoke."

She seemed so sure of her response, uttering the words as a firm declaration. He was surprised how feminine her voice was. Light, pleasant. He wasn't exactly sure what he was expecting. She sounded exactly the way she looked, cute and small.

"I dabble in it," Armin said with a nervous chuckle, though it did not impact her impartial expression. Her gaze lingered on him, her eyes grasping onto his, while her lips fumbled as if she were trying to decipher if he was lying.

It was either seductive or threatening the way she bit down onto her cigarette, securing it between her teeth at the corner of her mouth. Carefully, she sat upwards, the cassette player falling gently onto her lap. Reaching into the front pocket of her overalls, she pulled out her pack and a lighter, her eyes never leaving him.

He took this as an invitation to sit next to her, doing so cautiously. The spread of his legs was more subdued than usual, and he took the cigarette she offered him, holding it towards his mouth. He observed the precise swipe of her thumb against the spark wheel, and a flame lit on her first attempt.

She was very close to him when she burned the tip of his cigarette, the luminosity of the tiny fire lighting up her face in a beautiful swirl of highlights and shadows. He almost forgot how pretty she was, how intense and ample her eyes were, what a peculiar shade of orange blonde she dyed her hair. The piercing on her nose was small yet sparkled vividly.

"Thanks," he said quietly, and took his first swig before erupting into a furious short coughing fit.

Armin really tried to control it, embarrassed at his novice smoking skills. He had maybe smoked two cigarettes in his life and absolutely hated it. But he just wanted to impress this grungy girl because it was Halloween weekend and he was alone. And she was just so pretty and interesting he could think of no other way to talk to her besides subjecting himself to this.

She made no effort to relieve him of his pain. No concerned babble or even some helpful taps on his back. She just observed him casually, her thighs pressed together while her ankles wobbled, smoking like an expert as the fog escaped her lips like a sensuous dance.

It took him a moment to get accustomed to it, for the coughing to settle and for his throat not to feel like it was being boiled alive. Soon enough, it only became extremely uncomfortable but manageable. He cleared his throat several times, and there a slight slouch curved his back.

She continued watching him, intrigued. "Nice Jonathan Taylor Thomas costume." She said it so casually it was almost funny, exhaling a puff of smoke directly in his face.

And he felt the urge to laugh almost, a hint of one pulling at his mouth, as his eye watered from her harsh gesture. Was she joking? Was it a compliment or an insult?

"I'm…not in costume," he clarified, painfully inhaling another round of smog and tar. She only shrugged, swinging her legs. "Sure."

At the exhale, he coughed uncomfortably, adjusting the lining of his jacket as he eyed her attentively. She hadn't started playing her music again, only sitting in the silence beside him. The light scent of something fruity graced his nose, mixed in with the harsh smell of old smoke.

"I'm Armin."

It took her an exaggerated moment to respond. He could see the travel of her eyes, how she appeared to take note of him. It seemed almost judgmental.

"Annie."

"Cute." He didn't mean to say that out loud, and by the strange shift in her stare, he really wished he hadn't. To kill the awkwardness, he adjusted himself on the seat, feeling the roughness of the concrete dig into his joggers. It felt like he was swallowing coals each time he breathed in the cigarette.

"What are you doing here outside by yourself?" He tried to say it casually, but it came out a bit too concerned and interested. She kept her gaze forward, the hunch in her back slowly increasing.

"Listening to music." The play button continued to he neglected.

"What are you listening to?"

He knew he was being annoying and fucking weird, and it was apparent by the bitter flare in her expression, only her eyes moving to look at him. Her chest expanded as she breathed in more smoke, seeming to revel in the buzz from the tobacco.

"Vitamin C." The smoke drifted out of her mouth in a thick mist as she answered him.

His nose wrinkled when he smiled, tilting his head to this side in interest. "Really?"

"Yea, so what?" she shot back, scooting her bum to face him. Her glare was very aggressive, as if testing him to counter her. But the smile hadn't left his lips, only growing, and she seemed to be affected by it, a hint of a blush tinting her cheeks. It looked grey in the moonlight.

"Is that why you have your hair this color?" he mused, his hand subconsciously grazing her locks. Her body visibly stiffened, her teeth clamping down onto her cigarette. She stuttered before answering.

"Maybe. Who cares? What's your fucking problem?"

It was charming how flustered this was making her, and Armin only chocked a muted laugh, lifting the stick to his mouth. It started feeling less terrible breathing it in, and more relaxing. Like a soothing, heated fog enveloping his lungs, sending a faint buzz to his head.

"Nothing," he said, shooting her a calculated look before staring ahead. "I just think it's cute you want to look like your favorite pop star."

Annie recoiled in disgust, throwing her leg over to straddle the bench so she could face him directly. His eyes lowered to the swells of her thighs clinching the concrete for a small moment.

"Vitamin C is not pop," she said sternly, a smidge of fury laced in her voice. But Armin shrugged at this, pressing further.

"I'm pretty sure she is."

When she shook her head, there was a soft bounce to her bangs. "No."

"Then what is she?"

A wave of thoughts seemed to pass her then, her teeth sliding over her bottom lip. "She's obviously alternative." Suddenly, she leaned closer towards him, shoving his shoulder. It was hostile yet mellow, but rougher than she needed to be. "What's with the third degree? Why are you here sitting next to a stranger? Don't you have some costume contest to enter or something?"

Her cheeks and the tip of her nose were darkened crimson, and tediously she shuffled on the bench to sit beside him in a more respectable manner. Even through her denim he could see the front of her thighs flex as she clamped her knees together, removing the headphones from her ears. She stuck them and the walkman into her front pocket, protruding and weighing forward from the weight.

"You aren't really a stranger," he confessed, allowing his leg to touch hers, his knee resting there carelessly. "I've seen you around a lot. Around campus. And at the gym."

There was an enamored gleam in her eyes as she peered up at him, a squirm to her mouth. "Yea…Yea, I've seen you too."

"You're," he began, a bit thrown off from her sudden attentive stare, "really good. On the bag."

"You really shouldn't watch. It's fucking weird."

He exhaled uncomfortably, fog erupting from his nostrils, and he had to clear his throat to ease the intense burn that stung there. "I wasn't trying to be a creep. You're just really nice to look at."

He winced at his own words. Definitely something a creep would say. Yet, he witnessed her roll her eyes, spitting the cigarette onto the pavement. Even in the boots, her foot looked so small yet powerful as she stomped on it, extinguishing the small flame.

A delicate sigh left her mouth while she glared at the tiny pile of ashes by her feet. The sound was almost pleasant. "You're such a lame."

Her fingers gripping the bench, she turned her neck to face him, her eyes delving into his own as if she were searching for something within him. A deep, penetrating gaze, from eyes that took up nearly half her face. Large, blue, intense. It would have been intimate if it wasn't so uncomfortable.

His heart beat was a heavy patter against his chest, the cigarette burning between his fingers. He didn't even know her but there was something very magnetic about her, a radiating presence. It was sucking him in.

"So what are you doing here?" she asked him again, a bit gentler. "I'm sure there's cooler things for you to be doing right now."

He faltered, wishing he could break their stare but unwilling and unable. "I was checking on my friend. She just broke up with her boyfriend and isn't doing too well."

She seemed to know exactly who he was talking about. "That tall ballerina chick?"

He nodded. "Yea, her." And she seemed the worst possible person in the world to vent to, and it was probably a horrible idea. But damn, he really just wanted to talk about it and organize his thoughts. "It just…it got kind of weird."

Annie huffed a breath in amusement, and there she placed her back onto the bench, throwing her feet on his lap as if he wasn't even there. He was startled by the bold gesture at first. Feeling how the heel of her combat boot kneaded into his thigh, while she hugged her knees. Her hair fell like a neon golden waterfall behind her.

"Did you guys fuck?"

Armin verbally stuttered, nearly jumping out of his seat, while she lied there almost serenely, unaffected. The cigarette had fallen out of his grasp, rolling gingerly on the sidewalk. The stream of smoke that evaded it was quick to evaporate.

"N—No," he managed to spit out, a bashful redness consuming his face. He didn't know what to do with his hands, tempted to squeeze her ankles. Her pantlegs were rolled at the bottoms, exposing slivers of creamy peachy skin. She looked like she had never been touched by the sun, but kissed amorously by the moonlight.

"We didn't," he clarified, slanting his brows. "But she kissed me, and I stopped it. Then she flashed me—"

Annie propped herself on her elbow, a curious expression lurking over her. "Did she have nice tits?"

Blinking a million times per second, Armin parted his lips but no words emerged at first. "Um, well, yea—"

A hint of a chuckle rumbled in her throat then, as she smirked and resumed her position of lying down on the bench. "Sounds like you had a sweet night."

But he was quick to shake his head in disagreement, his eyes venturing upward towards the stars. So many glittered in the black canvas of the sky, seeming to serenade the moon, perched as a beautiful fat crescent. Such a stunning sight it was, yet tainted by the smell of cigarette smoke and foul language that cursed their mouths.

"It was so strange, though. It just felt so wrong." When she didn't respond, he glanced towards her, and she seemed to be just as entranced with the stars as he was.

"I had always thought that I kind of hoped that would happen. Like I secretly wanted it? Not that I ever tried. But, you know, you always wonder, right?" The sigh that heaved his nose was heavy, and he finally caved in and clasped his hand against her ankle. He expected her to kick him in the groin, but she didn't flinch or react. As his fingers slid slightly within her boot, he could feel the protrusion of her bone, the softness of the thin skin there.

Silent she remained, yet he noticed the gentle rise and dip of her chest as she breathed, how the junk in her pocket caused the front of her overalls to droop. He felt compelled to lift the other strap of her garment over her shoulder, but dared not to.

"But when it finally happened," he continued, at this point just talking to himself, "it felt so fucking weird. Like unnatural almost. Not like she was my sister, but something else. Something just completely wrong."

He looked towards her again, noticed how her hands rested on her chest. They were so small, her fingers curling together as if focused in thought. And he was still holding her ankle, his grip on her so light, trickling over her skin. He felt a gentle press of her heel at his thigh.

"You guys look stupid together."

His eyes narrowed, his hand brushing through sandy blonde hair restlessly. "What?"

"You're both the same size. It looks fucking weird." She paused. "What is she, like five six?"

He frowned. "Five seven." He was not going to let her rob him of a precious inch.

"I'm five even," she mused, then propped herself up again to look him dead in the eyes. "So that's seven inches, right?" His expression altered, but he didn't reply, and she pressed, a knowing look crossing her face, a dark and sinful glisten to her pupils.

"It's seven inches, right?" she repeated, a slight lift to her brows.

He could feel his blush burning now, scorching his skin, briskly letting go of her foot. She sat up abruptly then, awaiting his answer.

"Yea…something like that."

A smirked claimed her mouth, and she looked ahead in amusement. "Nice."

Was she…flirting with him? After he just told her he made out with another girl? No, she must have been teasing him, knowing the shy reaction she would get. This girl was indecipherable from the steady tone of her voice to the discretion of her face. He had convinced himself he misunderstood her intentions, that no undertones were laced in her words. He just really wished she would prop her feet on his lap again, to feel the supple skin of her leg.

"You shouldn't fuck your best friend. That's dumb." They seemed to turn their heads in unison, eyes connecting in an unbreakable gaze, differing shades of blue in a desperate combat.

"You should fuck a stranger instead."

She said the words so nonchalantly as if she had asked about the weather. And he was taken aback, so absolutely stunned, that he couldn't find the words to speak, his lips parting as a thick breath fumbled from his mouth. A knot tied itself in the pit of his stomach, his hand brushing against hers as he gripped the cement for support.

"I, um, well—are you offering?"

Did he really just say that? Oh god, his heart was just hammering at the bone of his chest, as if alerting him to how absolutely stupid he sounded. And when he saw her narrow her eyes, he wanted to dig a hole in the dirt and bury himself in it.

"Are you considering?" she shot back, as if it were a challenge.

Almost frantically, he scratched at the top of his head, fidgeting on the bench. It felt like she was inching closer to him. But her vibes remained so casual and laidback, as if she hadn't just suggested that they sleep together. "I mean, well, I…you're very pretty," he commented, his voice falling at this final word.

He saw her blush and writhe a little, her neck snapping away from him. There was an overdrawn moment of silence before she said, "Well, I wouldn't have said it if I thought you were ugly."

Despite the chill breeze, he could feel himself begin to sweat within his jacket, observing her spread her legs and lean forward between them, bright yellow hair falling in front of her eyes. She was trying to avoid his gaze now, seemingly embarrassed.

"Shouldn't we…" he began again, garnering her attention, "get to know each other..a little? First?"

Her sigh was long and exaggerated. "Then we wouldn't be strangers, would we?"

When he curled his fingers over her hand, she jerked, flinging her stare towards him. His palm seemed to encompass the entirety of her hand, so much smaller than his. This time, his stare was penetrating, vivid, slipping into her alluringly.

"I just want to know you a little better," he said, his tone smooth and low, "before I fuck you."

He saw then the tremble of her eyes, how much larger they became as they widened. How she slid her thighs together, pressing them compactly while she rubbed at her knees. His hand remained on hers, and she made no effort to disconnect them. There was a slight exaggeration to her breathing, his words and diction catching her by surprise. He seemed to ignite a fire within her, watching her writhe on the seat in satisfaction.

"What do you want to know?"

And he hesitated, a slew of questions swirling his mind before he settled on a simple one. "Where are you from?"

"I'm an immigrant," she answered swiftly, her eyes linked to his.

"From where?"

"Germany. I came here when I was seven."

He nodded, interested. "How long have you been kickboxing?"

He seemed to hit a nerve there, and she faltered. "Same year. It helped me get through the bullshit of being ESL."

She shuffled then, fixing the strap of her overalls before all her things would tumble out of the front pocket. "What about you?"

"What do you want to know about me?"

"Nothing, actually." And she stood from the seat, hoping to drag him with her. "Can we go now?"

He chuckled at her persistence, his hand clasped against hers as he pulled her back down. As she sucked in her lips, she seemed agitated, uncomfortable, a nervous bounce to her knee. He attempted to soothe her by caressing her hand.

"What's the rush?" he asked, and she rolled her eyes.

"You really want me to change my mind, huh?"

A beat passed, a lingering stillness, until she finally grunted in defeat, digging her heel onto the bench as she lifted her knee towards her. "If I tell you something maybe like five people know about me," she began, cautiously moving her neck to peek at him, "then can we go?"

He noticed her soften then, how much smaller she looked when her big energy was diminished. There was a gentle rawness to her, a vulnerability she was visibly in combat against. And she must have been really turned on to be willing to share such a forbidden side of her with him.

The words seemed heavy as they remained confined in her mouth, her eyes wandering while she seemed to be looking to stare at anything else besides him. She settled on the comfort of the stars.

"My dad was a big Muy Thai fighter. I was supposed to be one too."

She stopped herself then, glancing at him briefly. His attention was unmoving, so focused on her and the sound of her voice, the sweet mist of air that danced in the chill of the air whenever she spoke.

"He trained me for eleven years, and I won all the competitions. Then I turn eighteen and have my first big fight. No headgear, a real fucking fight. He brings an agent to come watch me."

Another pause, a glitter to her eyes as if she were reliving a painful memory. But she showed no sign of weakness to him, exhaling deeply with control.

"I hadn't been feeling well. Something was off. My knees, my joints, swelled up so bad. It hurt to walk, to even fucking breathe. I felt sick, got this crazy rash on my face. But the fight was coming up, so I got some Vicodin from a kid at school and put make-up on. I wrapped my knees to help control the pain."

She looked at him then, almost in amusement as she placed her foot back down onto the ground. "By fight day, I barely make it through one round before I fucking collapse from the fucking pain. My dad rushes me to the hospital, they have no idea what's wrong. They say I have some kind of arthritis or whatever. It's not for another few months until a doctor tells me I have fucking lupus."

A laugh cursed her throat. It wasn't a pleasant sound, but a smile managed to tug at her lips anyway at the irony of it all. "So yea, I'm sick. But not the kind that kills you. Just the kind that makes your life fucking suck."

He didn't know how to properly react to this information. Armin felt touched she had shared such a sensitive part of her to him, opening herself to a literal stranger, but he didn't want to make her feel worse or agitated. Clasping his hands together, he gave her a tender look. "I'm sorry that happened to you. I appreciate you telling me."

She shrugged however, her glare situated on the ground. "It is what it is."

"It must have been really hard having to stop kickboxing because of it."

He saw her expression morph, her posture straightening as she readjusted herself to face him. "Who the fuck said I stopped fighting?"

He blinked several times, hoping he had heard her incorrectly. "You're still fighting?"

"It's going to take more than that to stop me."

He still seemed troubled by this. "Is there organ involvement?"

"What?"

"Is there organ involvement?"

She looked at him with an agape mouth, bewildered. "What are you, a fucking doctor?"

"Just, I'd be worried about you, you know, your kidneys if—"

Her loud, exaggerated grunt cut him off, and she rubbed at her temples then, her eyes shutting closed. "I'm really starting to not want to have sex with you."

"But you still do?" he countered, a bit too quickly.

She saw the hope in his gaze and must have deemed it pathetic. "Barely."

When he shifted closer to her, he could feel the soft press of her body against him, how petite and slim she was, yet possessed a simultaneous strength in her. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get too personal. I just want you to be okay."

She heaved a sigh from her mouth, as if trying to release some of the heaviness inside her. "Again, you don't fucking know me. So don't worry about it." Then she looked towards him but not directly, more like past him. "How do you even know about lupus anyway?"

"I learned a bit about autoimmune diseases in one of my classes."

And she laughed then, the sound forced from her throat. "You're a science major, you fucking nerd?"

He wavered at her taunt, feeling her thigh press along his own. "Uh yea, marine biology."

"What is that? The study of baby turtles?"

His expression contorted between one of amusement to insult, his shoulder nudging hers lightly. "The study of life in the ocean."

"So baby turtles," she doubled-down brazenly, her nose lightly grazing against his chin as she turned to look at him. The smile left her face briskly as they locked into another weighty stare, her lips falling until they were gently separated. He could feel the delicate, warm breath slip from her mouth.

"So…are you ready now?" she asked him.

But he hesitated again, persistent in his quest to discover her, unearth another layer of who she was. The bump of his throat bobbed as he gulped, the muscles in his neck tense. He lowered his head until his forehead gently brushed hers, and he noticed her hold her breath, a stiffness to her eyes.

He was just as uncomfortable and timid as her. "Maybe…I should kiss you first?"

The noise she made was somewhere between a grunt and a sigh. "Haven't you kissed enough girls today?"

He fumbled at the comment, pulling away from her slightly. He could feel his hands getting clammy, a droplet of sweat creasing at the back of his neck. His hand swiping at his hair, he tried to smile but it came out a tilted line on his lips. "I mean, wouldn't it be weird, though? If we didn't do that first?"

He could see her eyes shift to his mouth for a quick moment, her lips squirming about her face. "It's already weird."

But she didn't object when he slid his hands to the low of her back, his palms pressed against the denim. As if on instinct, she draped her arms around his shoulders as he brought her closer to him, a delicate arch to her back, and her breath hitched, the sound sharp and sudden.

Long, curled lashed cradled her eyes, fluttering over his skin. Parted pink lips, with gentle puffs of air heaving from them. She smelled good, very light. Like smoked citrus. Their proximity allowed him to feel the gentle patter of her heart. She seemed to be more in tune with her body than he was.

"If you're gonna do it, then do it," she said to him, her inflection flat and daunting. And all he could think of what a fucking bizarre night this was. Nothing about the events leading up to then were normal. So he wasn't thinking straight when he sat next to her, smoked a cigarette, spilled his guts and pried into her life. He wasn't exactly in his right mind as he accepted her audacious offer of anonymous sex. He just knew she was so fucking pretty, and he liked her, and the night was already surreal anyway. Why not just keep going?

He was of clear thought, however, when he kissed her, pressing his lips onto her and enveloping her mouth with his. The movement was soft yet intense, and she seemed to melt in his touch, feeling her pucker in response, retaliation.

He expected her to taste like tar, but he could only describe the flavor of her mouth as warm, so distinctly her, like pure unadulterated skin. Supple and wet and warm. And he felt the breath she emitted from her nose, a heated gust of air on his face.

When he parted from her, their lips separated so slowly and gingerly, it felt almost as good as the kiss itself. She made no move to detach herself from him, while his grip remained planted on her back. He could see the delicate quiver of her bottom lip, and he was tempted to kiss it and absorb, swallow that sensual tremble.

Her eyes opened carefully, with vigilance, apparent in the gleaming blue of her irises. The color was bold, swirling in her eyes, as if they were trying to hypnotize him, make him just as entranced as her. Because he could see her breathe through an open mouth, her tongue glossing over her lip.

They sat there in silence. Staring.

~oOo~

Fingers taught against meaty flesh, pressing and leaving marks on her skin. Grasping, holding, hot naked thighs. And his palms were so soft but strong, palms slick from both of their sweat. Her back was so arched it fucking hurt. But it hurt so good. Grabbing the headboard for support, and rocking, grinding, doing whatever she could in her quest for her release.

His mouth scorched at the center of her body, sucking and kissing while his tongue flicked against the small mound of nerves that made her jolt. In swirling circles, long laps, hands squeezing at her thighs, the edge of her bum. It felt like fire, a rising heat that pooled in her belly and between her legs. A series of erotic moans dripped from her lips like oozing honey, her own drool staining her chin.

"Fuck." The word slipped from her mouth as if it were a prayer, a splinter cursing her finger from the headboard. And she shoved her hips forward on his face, feeling the majesty that was his mouth and tongue worship her drenched goddess.

She gasped when his grip clutched her thighs, lifting her away from his mouth. Looking down at him with trembling eyes, she breathed frantically through parted lips, a scowl consuming her face as she looked down at him.

And what a beautiful fucking sight it was. He was handsome, but with her fluid immersing his face, he was fucking sexy. His eyes were so bright and blue, amply staring up at her, his breathing faltering. Those lips capable of such magic were covered in a thick line of her wetness, speared towards his nose.

"Why'd you fucking stop?" she managed to force out in a low voice between breaths.

A drop of her liquid dripped from between her legs and sopped onto his chin. It was thick and viscous and he made no effort to wipe it from his face.

"Let me catch my breath," he choked. She felt the heat of his exhale against her core. "You're so aggressive."

A drift of cool air stifled her nipples, and they hardened around the jewelry pierced there. She was so turned on that she could feel her arousal throughout her entire body, every erogenous zone igniting.

She frowned. "Quit being a pussy, Armin."

A sharp yelp fled her mouth when he picked her up from her bum, throwing her down onto her back towards the end of her bed. She landed rather gently, propping herself onto her elbows as she spread her legs with bent knees. Completely bare, waxed, all her parts on full display. She felt no shame or bashfulness. Her legs widened further.

He slithered towards her, just as naked, his arousal equally apparent. But he seemed very intent on the current mission. To her disappointment, he wiped at his mouth with his forearm, her essence smearing on his skin.

She appreciated the tone of his body, the divots of muscle on his abdomen, the many tight curves of his arms. The lights were on, semi bright and yellowy. She could see everything and so could he. She liked it that way.

She noticed the crinkle of her bedsheets as his knees pressed into the mattress. Black and white stripes on a thick comforter, one she could barely give two shits about now. She just wanted to keep seeing him nestled between her legs, strangled by the grip of her thighs.

His hair was wild and unkempt, and she stiffened when she felt his palms smooth against her groin, his hands slippery and warm as he secured her there. There was a generous sparkle to his eyes, his gaze lingering and absorbing.

"Are you okay?" he asked her, as if it was obligatory.

"Shut the fuck up."

And he listened to her, following instructions. When his mouth delved into her core unapologetically, she threw back her neck, her hair following the motion. A moan crept from her throat with the subtly of a gasp, and she would have closed her eyes and reveled in the feeling, the pleasure. But she found even greater satisfaction watching him. How he held down her thighs and restricted her movement, the gentle motion of his head as he savored her. The flex of his bicep from the severe concentration of it all. He looked so good when he was doing it. And it felt even better.

Her clit grew heated and contracted as his tongue swirled around the tiny bondage of nerves. His warm, wet, calculated tongue. As if he knew exactly what he was doing. Not one second wasted, not a single moment where she wasn't about to burst into a euphoric release. His tongue, his lips. Sucking, swiping, circling. Over and over again. She tried to squeeze her thighs but he reinforced his stance and slammed them down.

She writhed on the bed, her elbows digging into the sheets. A flush consumed her face and she began panting. The heat in her belly was bubbling, radiating. She knew she would shatter soon, from every delicious swipe of his tongue, inching closer and closer. She could feel everything, every single thing. The rippled surface of his flesh as he lapped against her, the dribbling heat of his mouth, the soft edges of his lips. Even the warmth of his breath, each exhale through his nose adding to the budding sensation.

She could always tell when the release was near. But this time, it arrived unexpectedly, suddenly. A sharp, swift eruption that caused her to jerk her hips into his face, a gasp to steal all the breath from her lungs. And she couldn't breathe, or think, or even comprehend anything but the intense throbbing at her core, her clit pulsating and forcing shivers throughout her entire body.

Her moans were loud and uncontrollable as she dropped her back flat onto the bed, her head hanging off the edge. And her fingers gathered fistfuls of his hair, kneading at his scalp as she pushed his head down. He was still going. Still sucking, kissing, licking her without remorse.

Black spots clouded her vision until she saw nothing but bright flashing lights and it came to a crashing halt, the only remnants of her orgasm a delicate pulse between her legs.

A gasp remained muffled in her throat when she felt him grip her hips and drag her closer to him. And he lingered over her then, trapping his palms between her shoulders. It made her feel so small.

Their eyes connected, the stare deep and intense. Her essence drenched his face, and that made her smile. He kissed the smirk away from her lips, and she could taste herself in his mouth. She was almost flavorless, except for a tinge of sweetness that was distinctly her. Moaning into the kiss, she cloaked her arms over his shoulders, her knees squeezing at his hips. She could feel his longing hoisted against her.

She exhaled thickly when his mouth ventured from her own, kissing down her jaw as he found interest in her neck. She felt herself clench from her desire, how his tongue smoothed along her skin, the soft pucker of his lips, how his breath warmed her. Further down, to the junction of her neck and shoulder, her clavicle. The flat bone of her sternum, until he discovered the small swells of her breasts.

Her nipples were hard, perked. Eager to be touched. She felt the heave of his exhale first, before the plash of his tongue along her peak. His lips enveloped her, tongue swirling the jewelry as it swished in his mouth. A pleasurable hollowness caved in her belly, and she arched her back, a moan singing from her throat.

His skin felt smooth and soft as she burrowed her nails into the cleft of his shoulder blades. The way he sucked on her nipple was so sensuously slow and carnal she thought she would come again just from the action alone. He was so hard, his length solid and spread on her navel, and she groaned at the loss of heat when he pulled his mouth away from her, connecting again into the same, passionate stare.

"Do you have a condom?" he asked in a hushed tone, and then kissed her again before she could answer. Her mouth puckered against his, and remained that way when they parted, as if reaching for more. But she would never admit that.

She nodded slowly, and he allowed her room to dig into the drawer of her side table. He must have seen the bottles of prescription medication thrown in there haphazardly, and if she hadn't told him about her illness, it probably would have been a more concerning sight. She ripped a condom from a packet and threw it at him, watching in amusement as a blushed tinted his cheeks. Her eyes remained pried on him as he put it on.

And abruptly after, she pushed him down onto the bed, his head landing in a soft thud on her pillows as she straddled his hips.

She could feel the desperation of his arousal, so firmly tucked against her. She grasped the thickness in her fist, just to watch him squirm, to see the contraction of his abs, the quiver of his bottom lip. And she was so wet it was leaking down her inner thighs, a glisten shining over them.

Her palms smoothed along his stomach, feeling the ripple of his musculature, then caressed the pucker of his nipples, the steep curves of his arms. She squeezed her knees at his hips, clutching his length as she slipped it between her thighs.

A weighted grunt rumbled in her throat as she sat on hip, letting him fill her inside. He puffed a breath in return, his hands clinching at her waist, clamping so hard she was sure he'd leave marks on her skin he would later regret.

The sensation hurt for a brief moment from the blunt entrance, but quickly morphed into a pleasurable warmth that pooled in her groin and the tips of her breasts. And she moaned again, before she even started moving, swiping her hands at her chest because that moment of intrusion always felt so fucking good.

When she leaned back, she grappled his ankles, squeezing his bone before she began maneuvering against him. Her pace was rough, aggressive. Just as he said. And she didn't care, because she was chasing the feeling, the inevitable climax that would ensue if she kept fucking him this way. She rode his length with precise hips, feeling him impale her over and over again. So deep and penetrating and hitting her core with an unmerciful force. She grunted each time she felt him enter her, watching with satisfaction as he winced from her vehemence, his knees bending as his grip became painful around her stomach.

She found enjoyment from the squirm on his face, how a wrinkle creased his nose when he squinted his eyes, droplets of sweat beaded at his forehead. He seemed so fucking concentrated, as if he were taking a test.

"Slow down," he whispered hoarsely, lifting his back from the bed to envelope her small frame. They were holding each other compactly, intimately, while her cheek pressed onto his shoulder. He was beginning to burn up.

Annie continued to bounce herself on him, softening her pace and prolonging the movements. She allowed herself to breathe in his scent, her nose delving into the side of his neck, a whiff of a light cologne tickling her nostrils.

"Quit being such a fucking bitch," she said, her teeth nipping at his ear. His embrace constricted, her breasts plastered flat against his chest, while her hips thrusted vehemently, digging into the bone of his pelvis.

She groaned when he pushed her down towards the end of the bed. And unwilling for him to take her this way, she trapped him between her thighs and flipped them back around so that she was on top again. She felt his resistance and struggled against him. But they could only rotate so many times on the narrow vicinity of her mattress. When her knee slipped, she fell off the bed, bringing him with her.

It was a short tumble down, and she landed on her tailbone. Before she could even react, Armin was all over her like a worried grandpa, taking her wrists and inspecting her.

"Oh shit, are you okay? Does anything hurt?"

He grunted when she shoved him to the carpet, taking him captive between her thighs once more as she pressed the entirety of her weight on top of him. She heard the hum that sang in his throat when he slipped inside her, their lips only separated by a breadth.

Hot mists of air cascaded from her mouth and onto his face, her eyes half closed as she embraced his cheeks and kissed him. Her hips moved slower, but harsher, her mouth gliding onto his own, and her tongue pried open his lips and slithered inside, glossing against the roof of his mouth until it engaged with his tongue in a lush dance.

She didn't expect him to be bold enough to try to lift her again. But when his fingers sunk into the plump flesh of her bottom, a gasp stifled her throat. And he struggled only briefly to ascend from the floor, until he was standing straight, holding her against him. Her legs cradled his hips, arms flung around his neck, while he grasped the bottom of her thighs.

She thought he would place her back onto the bed, but instead he fucked her this way, throwing her against his pelvis. Her eyes shot open from the impact, a grunt coursing her throat at every rebound, each time she bounced down and thrashed against his length. Desperately, she held onto him, feeling how his fingers sunk into her flesh, his grip tight and unrelenting.

Moans of pleasure and force spilled from her lips, foul words dripping from her tongue like poetry. The intensity and vehemence of this position was sending a throbbing pressure at the center of her body, pulsing at her core each time he thrust into her. And she clenched against his length, stifling his longing, feeling every inch of him so deep and buried within her.

It was odd when he sat her on top of a desk. Not even hers, but her roommate's. She didn't bother to correct him, pushing aside a column of textbooks so she could spread her knees, her fluid streaming onto the wooden surface in trickling drips.

Their eyes bound together, and he was so close to her that she could feel the heat from his body diffuse towards her. She didn't break the hold of his gaze when she felt him push her thighs even further apart, thumbs delving into the bone of her hips and smudging her skin. She swallowed her gasp when he pushed himself inside her, her back curving into a dramatic arch.

She could feel clumps of his skin gather beneath her fingernails as she clawed at his shoulders, her face contorting in a strange twist of pleasure. And he was kissing down her neck again, his hips gnashing against her skin, a burning friction generating at her pelvis.

"Is this okay?" he asked her quietly, his mouth sucking at the line of jaw. She closed her eyes and grunted.

"I've fucked myself harder with a dildo I duct taped against the wall."

Her tone was flat as she said the words, and she felt the puff of air he released against her neck in amusement just before his palms circled her waist and he began to move inside her harder, faster, pressing into her so swiftly that her eyes sprung open and she began panting with every thrust forced within her.

It was like an instant orgasm, how the pressure and warmth engulfed her and she became a slippery mess on that table. She could hear the gush of her core as he fucked her, how dripping wet it sounded. It was almost gross how drenched she was. Almost.

A pounding, unrelenting rush of pleasure and lust consumed her, the sensation so powerful and profound. She must have been screaming, cursing, saying his name. A slew of words fled her mouth with no comprehension. Just so consumed by the throbbing, hammering, fervid feeling. And it felt so good, she didn't tell him to stop. Allowed him to keep thrusting into her with that same passion and fury, growing only more turned on by the arousal that bled from his eyes, the gasps that hovered over his tongue. Pushing and pushing and furthered by her moans and grunts until he finally relented into his own release.

She saw the haze that glossed over his eyes when he came, a muted sound kept contained by his tongue, how he wrapped his arms around her so intimately it could have been mistaken for love. She liked watching him come, to see the blank expression that covered his face, could almost see the stars that sparkled in his vision. Until he collapsed onto her, his face submerged in her neck.

He didn't stop holding her, and she felt the suction of his nose as he breathed her in, still panting and erratic. She allowed him the moment he needed to calm down, feeling the separation of their bodies only briefly before he picked up again and placed her gently onto her bed.

And as she watched him adjust himself, trash the condom and reach for his joggers, she had one maddening thought consume her while she cloaked herself within her comforter.

Was he going to leave?

She didn't care if he did. That's what she tried to tell herself at least. But the second she thought it, an inward panic boiled in her chest.

Her lips pursed together in an unacknowledged contentment when he slipped into the bed beside her, nestling against one of her heavy pillows. They kept their gazes forward towards the blaring white blankness of the ceiling. She could feel the press of his shoulder against her own, yet he made no effort to embrace her. Again, she didn't care.

"You're…wild," he finally said after an overdrawn stillness. A gentle chuckle vibrated in his throat. Annie frowned at this, shifting her neck to glance towards him.

"Is there a problem?"

She kept that same flat and unreadable tone, but it didn't phase him, that he turned to look at her too, a tender smile creeping on his lips. "No, no problem. It was nice. Different."

The roll to her eyes was dramatic and she rolled to her side, her back towards him. "Glad to entertain."

When she felt him curl up against her, arms enveloping her waist as his chest smoothed along her skin, she stiffened. He was solid and warm, but still somehow soft. She didn't realize she had stopped breathing until she felt the heave of his own flutter over her shoulder.

"God you're clingy," she mused, but he only hugged her tighter.

She sighed when his fingers trickled over her nipples. He clasped onto one of the bars. "Did those piercings hurt?"

She huffed. "What do you think?"

She felt him smile against her skin. "I can only imagine, with all those nerve endings."

At this, she allowed herself to relax against him, enjoying the sensation that came as he continued to gently tug at the jewelry. "It feels like fire when they do it. But after, when it heals, everything is ten times better."

A moan wanted to slip from her mouth, but she kept it contained. He seemed to take her statement as an invitation to fondle her nipples, playing delicately with her piercings. It felt good, sharp and stinging sensations swarming the rose peaks. She couldn't help but writhe on the bed.

"If you're gonna keep doing that, you better be ready to go again," she said sternly, and he hesitated a moment before stopping.

"I…need a minute."

She let him cuddle her in the silence. It was almost pleasant, except for the racing thoughts hoping to convince her otherwise. Especially the one nagging thought that felt almost like an impending doom lingering over her, the main source of her anxiety.

"My roommate's at a frat party. She'll probably be missing for the next three days," she said and faltered as she shut her eyes. "So, you can stay. If you want to."

The silence was loud and stammering, and she could intensely hear every small sound such as the ticking of the wall clock and her own panicked breathing. Even her heart pattered to an irregular rhythm. She didn't realize she was holding her breath again.

"I want to."

Relief flooded her insides, but why? Why did she care?

Her eyes fluttered closed but she couldn't fall asleep. It felt nice having his heat coat her.

"What are you studying?"

She sighed at the question. He was trying to pry into her life again. She humored him. "English."

"How's that going?"

"It's fine. Though I don't get to play with baby turtles like you."

His chuckle was light yet sarcastic. "I don't play with baby turtles."

"But you play with that dog your friend carries around. What's her name—"

"Mikasa."

She nodded. "Yea, how the fuck did she get a dog on campus?"

An extended sigh slipped his lips. "Her uncle is the head of campus living."

"Wow, special treatment much?"

She felt him pull her closer against him. "Honestly, it's a good thing she got that dog. She really needs him now. She's a complete mess."

They were venturing towards an uncomfortable topic but she had to ask. "So…why'd they break up?"

"Because he was a fucking tool and cheated on her."

Her nose wrinkled at this. "Really?"

"Yes."

"Was he Brad Pitt or something? How good looking could he possibly be to think he could cheat on her?"

This seemed to hit a nerve with Armin, a gossipy, unrelenting nerve. She felt the rumble of his groan warm the skin of her shoulder, his grip on her solid.

"You have no idea. She thinks he's Casanova but he is such a giant douchebag and he fits all the characteristics of one."

"Please, do tell."

He thought for a moment. "For starters, he wears a conch shell necklace. He has a beeper clipped to his belt. He basically ingests breath spray and wears so much cologne it's like—"

"Somebody spilled a bottle of Abercrombie Woods?"

She turned around in his arms, her face so close to his that she could feel the patter of his lashes against her skin. He seemed a bit dumfounded by her interjection, nodding enthusiastically.

"Yes! Yes, exactly!"

Her laugh came out as a snort, and it was probably the first time that night a complete and unmonitored smile consumed her face. "Fuck, I know who you're talking about. I've seen her around with him. It's that green ranger looking wannabe."

They were so close and giggling so maniacally, she felt the vibration of the chuckle in his neck, pulling her closer. "And you're right," she added, "he does fucking reek. He's such a fucking tool."

It was nice to feel him so near her, absorbing his heat, the waft of his scent soothing, and to see his smile, just as silly as her own as they laughed together on her bed, bodies tangled in the sheets.

"Finally, somebody gets it," he said victoriously, his forehead pressed gently onto hers. They had finally calmed from their giggling fit, and suddenly she became acutely aware of how close they were, his breath grazing her skin. The blue of his eyes seemed to be like a magnet to her own, locking her in his gaze. It was strangely warm and tender.

"I think I want to see you fight one day," he said to her softly, and she rolled her eyes.

"No you don't. I can't imagine you there. You'd freak out."

When he moved several strands of neon hair behind her ear, her breath hitched, the air lodged in her chest. "I bet you look really cute knocking someone out."

She was tempted to push him off of her, but she became so comfortable in his embrace, she didn't dare unfurl from him. "You're really fishing to find out, huh?"

His smile was stupid, but very handsome. "Do you have like a fight name or something?"

"Yes." She blinked. "But fuck you if you think I'm going to tell you."

The entertained huff that fled his nostrils at her comment warmed her face, and she could feel his palms smoothing along the skin of her naked back. "When is the next one?"

"In a few weeks." And she paused. "You're not going."

"What, are you embarrassed?"

"No. It's just not a nice, friendly official sort of thing. It's kind of underground. It would freak you out."

His brows slanted then, the smiles replaced by that concerned look he made that she was beginning to hate. "It's like MMA?"

"Yes."

He pursed his lips. "Will there be a medic on site?"

"Oh my god." She attempted to pull herself away from him, but he dragged her back in, his cheek planted firmly on her neck.

"Okay, okay. I'll shut up." She could feel him mouth the words on her shoulder.

Annie sighed in approval, closing her eyes while her fingers pawed his upper back as if meddling a piano. Solid, lean muscle plated his frame. She really liked touching it and feeling him tense at the contact.

"Can I ask, if you're in any pain right now?"

Somehow, the question didn't annoy her as much as all the others. She drew circles along his skin, poking at the soft yet firm flesh. "It's not so bad. Most of the time I feel pretty normal because of my meds." She wanted to keep talking. "I can't drink on them. It fucking sucks. So I started smoking instead."

He hummed. "You should really quit that."

Her knuckles lodged in the crevice of his shoulder blades. "And you should mind your own fucking business."

It was impressive to her how entertained he was by her, instead of appalled and offended, as most people were with her crude and unhinged language. "Is there anything I can do to help you feel better?"

The question caught her off guard. Her immediate reaction was to say something snarky, like sucking on her clit again. But rarely did someone ever ask her in genuine concern. In reality, there was nothing he could do to help. And he was smart, he knew this too.

She was quiet for a second, and when she replied, her voice was softspoken. "Can you rub my back?"

As he pulled away from her neck, he rested his head on her pillow, and she could see the sincerity in his eyes, how deep and calming the blue in them gleamed. "Yea, of course."

She felt a bit embarrassed for asking, but she was too tough to let something like that bother her. So she turned around and offered him the canvas of her back, swiping her hair over her shoulder. He could probably count every individual bone of her spine, from her neck down to her tailbone. And it didn't take long before she felt him knead his thumb into her shoulder blade, pressing directly against a knot.

She sighed at the pressure, sinking into the bed as he progressed. But she kept her eyes open, hyper focusing on his touch. The way his hand gathered clumps of tense muscle, massaging into her skin. The feeling was euphoric, almost sexually gratifying. She couldn't remember the last time somebody offered to do this for her. Why should they? It had nothing to do with her disease. Lupus didn't cause knots. But it felt so fucking nice to be touched as if somehow a massage could cure her.

"Is that good?" he asked her.

"Yes."

"You're really tense."

She huffed in response. "No shit."

Her head felt heavy on the pillow, weighted by her exhaustion. She considered maybe keeping him around. It was nice having someone to talk to, rub her back, care about her. But it was also insane and fucking terrifying. They had just met a few hours ago and already she was thinking about him as more than a living dildo.

Why did he care so fucking much? What was his deal? She was definitely an asshole to him in the short span of time they spent together. Why did he care if her back hurt? Or if there would be a medic at the fight? Why did he want to know so much about her?

All these thoughts were overwhelming to her, and she hadn't realized she was doing the one thing she absolutely despised most in the world. Lightly, she sniffled, trying to stop the few tears that trickled from her eyes. But it to was too late, he had already heard her.

He was quick to turn her to face him, and that annoying look of concern crossed his eyes, his blonde brows furrowed. "Hey, are you crying?"

"No," she shot back, concealing her face in her pillow.

She felt him embrace her shoulder, squeezing her tenderly. "Did I do something wrong?"

And she shook her head, feeing another slew of tears escape her eyes. "No."

"Then why are you—"

Annie sat up abruptly, the blanket slipping off her body and revealing her bare, peachy hued skin. The jewelry pierced at her navel shimmered, and she was quick to wipe her face with her knuckles. "I think I fucking like you." She wanted to barf just saying it.

Armin laughed however, lifting his torso to join her as he gave her a playful shove. "That's it?" he mused with a smile. "If it wasn't already painfully obvious, I like you too."

"Then why didn't you talk to me until today?" she fired back, a tremble to her voice as the skin around her eyes grew red and swollen. "Why did you wait until you made out with your friend on the same night—which, I should add, is pretty fucking douchey of you too."

She knew the comment was unreasonable, and figured he would counter her claim by stating the fact that she was the one who suggested they have sex out of nowhere. But he sighed then, his palm sliding down her arm.

"You're right, it is. I'm sorry, Annie."

She peered at him curiously, sniffling to clear her nose.

"I wanted to talk to you for a while, but I guess I figured you were with one of those guys you're always smoking with."

A look of pure disgust plagued her face, and she could feel the burn of bile creeping up her throat. "You mean Bertolt and Reiner? Those clowns?" She recoiled from the mere thought of it. "How the hell would that even work? They're like eight feet tall!" She considered it for a moment, however, her thumb grazing her bottom lip. "But I guess that didn't stop Pieck."

She shook her head, prying his hand away from her. "I was just fine being a miserable bitch, and now you got me here feeling jealous, like I really want to beat your friend Mikasa to a pulp."

He laughed nervously, scratching at his scalp. "Uh, please don't hurt her."

And fuck, a couple more tears evaded her eyes, despite her efforts to keep them maintained. His knuckles grazed her skin, dabbing at the wetness gathered at her cheeks. His smile was affectionate, serene.

"Is it really so bad if you like me?" he said, and she didn't answer, her eyes glittering as she held back more tears. She hoped she didn't look as stupid as she felt.

"It doesn't mean we have to get married. We can just hang out and get to know each other."

It sounded a lot better coming from him, instead of the mountain of intrusive thoughts she hiked in her head. Her back slouched as her gaze focused downward, she could only shrug at his comment.

She didn't retreat when she felt him cradle her in his arms, shifting her body against him. "Come here," he said to her softly, alluringly. Seduction laced his voice, and she felt herself grow hot as she welcomed his embrace.

And he was kissing her, deeply, intimately, the way he moved his mouth against her lips, gliding and swirling and sucking her in. She moaned into the motion as they fell back onto the mattress in a gentle thud.

She clutched at his shoulder to steady herself as she squirmed on the bed, feeling his palms flush against the skin of her low back. A hot breath heaved from her nostrils, a burning exhale that tickled his face, and it seemed to only further him to kiss her deeper, nibble on her lip, swipe his tongue against her mouth.

"You kiss weird," she said in between breaths. His lips curved against hers.

"Does it bother you?"

She allowed him to kiss her a few more times before she answered. "It's making me horny."

The lust slithered up her groin, a dampness pooling at her center. And she groaned when he placed himself on top of her, her legs naturally spreading apart. He was hard again, and she could feel herself drip on his length.

Their kisses became vulgar, obscene, tongues engaged in a tender combat through panting breaths. He was touching her all over now, squeezing the small mounds of her breasts, clenching the plump fat of her derriere. And when he tried to separate from her, she clamped onto his neck, her puckered mouth reaching for a few more kisses successfully.

It happened quickly then, when she pulled out another condom, letting the wrapper scatter to the floor as she slid the rubber over his longing. She lied beneath him, allowing him to slide inside her and fill her so fully that her eyes flung open and consumed her entire face.

This time, she didn't fight the closeness, the intimacy, how compressed his body was against her own. So close, she could feel his heart beat strumming on her chest, the rhythm blending with her own. It was absolute chaos.

He didn't move slow or gently, as she figured he would after such a tender moment between them. He was hard, very hard. Just the way she liked it. His fingers glided to the low of her back, lifting her off the mattress as he heaved inside her. And she grunted at every thrust, an undying moan singing in her throat at every solid, harsh push of his arousal. She became so wet so very fast, and she knew he must have felt her drench him, her essence dripping onto his thickness.

And he was still kissing her, absorbing the noises sputtering from her mouth, swallowing her moans and gasps and growls. Her palms were slick against his cheeks as she pressed his face against her own, kissing him back with the same fervor, her tongue grazing his teeth until he allowed her access inside.

It was sudden when he flipped her onto her stomach, her body delving into the sheets as she bent her knees and lifted herself until she was on all fours. The anticipation alone from this position was euphoric, a tightness pulling from her crotch to the pit of her belly. It was almost romantic how he pushed the hair off her back and over her shoulder, feeling like a gentle caress along her skin. But that tenderness dissipated when he entered her from behind, hands clasped at her hips and delving into her skin.

A loud sound of something ripped from her throat. A moan, a gasp, a yelp, all combined into one deeply aroused noise. And drool dribbled from her mouth, lingering on her chin as he started to fuck her this way. It only took her a second to revel in her climax, the pressure of his firm thrusts budding within her core. The feeling was so intense and frenzied, consuming her entire body, from the jolt of her breasts to the swing of her hair. Her fingers curled into the blanket, and she couldn't control the filthy words spilling from her mouth. Dripping so beautifully like a personal sonnet to him.

He kept going, pushing himself inside her, and she kept coming. Repeatedly, euphorically, the feeling so severe she thought she might die from it. He was taken by his passion, the sheer pleasure and bliss of being inside her. It was all so maniacal and delirious. All the colors she saw, the splotches of black and streams of light that blurred her vision and engulfed her senses. She was aware of nothing else but the feel of him, within her, the way he touched her.

And she didn't know when it ended, when they both collapsed onto her bed. Even when she fell asleep cradled on his chest, lulled by his pulse and the sound of his breathing. It was all a fucking blur. Everything a mirage after that insane, earth-shattering orgasm.

~oOo~

Armin refused to believe his night with Annie was just a one-night stand. But when he called her on Sunday and left a message with her roommate, it was safe to say by Wednesday she was not going to return his call.

And it absolutely stumped him. Their night had gone so well, she even told him she liked him. So why was she ignoring him now? And why was it bugging him so much? He barely knew her, but there was just something so magnetic about her, that he couldn't get the fiery little pixie out of his mind.

He tried to think of another reason to call again, without seeming too desperate. But even the first time was probably already needy enough for her. He had barely waited a day to call. But that was normal for him. Only douchebags waited three days, right? He wasn't a douchebag…right?

It was already noon on Wednesday as he sat in the office of the College of Environment, working his scheduled shift. It had only been about two weeks since he started working there, and it was always so quiet and boring. He just spent the hours doing homework at the front desk, sometimes conversing with other members of the department. Students rarely walked in. Sometimes staff needed help with the copy machine.

And that day the office was empty, except for him and the guidance counselor, who was under the opposing desk trying to hook up the internet.

"You would think that after installing the second phone line last night, they would have also connected this damn cable."

Jeff groaned as he crawled against the carpet, adjusting his glasses and pressing wrinkles into his slacks. He was thumbing the hard drive searching for the correct port, and Armin would have helped him easily if it wasn't so amusing just watching him struggle.

Instead, he leaned back against the swivel chair, reading from one of his textbooks about aquatic life. His sneaker clad feet were propped onto the desk, his striped sweater taut against his skin as his dark jeans draped his legs comfortably.

Jeff poked at the ports timidly, as if they could electrocute him. "This isn't even the hard part. After this, we'll have to figure out how to log into the world wide web. You kids and your internet, don't know why the library doesn't suffice anymore. Back in the seventies—"

Something caught his attention and he bumped his head underneath the table. "Can I help you, young lady?"

Amin felt his heart sink, and when he looked towards the door he stumbled in his seat, nearly falling off.

Annie stood like a harmonic presence, leaning against the frame, her torso draped in a navy baggy windbreaker. Her backpack hung loosely at her shoulder, and he noticed her legs were bare except for the combat boots on her feet. She was wearing a strappy black dress, a white blouse underneath.

His eyes were glued to her legs, watching her quad contract, until she glanced at him with her mouth pressed into a straight line. He could feel the penetration of her stare, how intense and big her eyes were. Her hair was tied back into a messy bun, strands of loose fringe decorating her forehead.

"I'm here for a tour," she declared dully. He could see the pack of cigarettes protruding from her pocket. And then she added with a straight, unamused face, "I want to see the baby turtles."

For some reason, Armin grew red, a flush to his face, and all Jeff could do was throw her a strange look, resuming his task underneath the desk.

"Help her out, Armin."

He only stared at her with bewildered eyes for a moment, and when she knowingly lifted her brows, he stood from the chair abruptly, following her out of the room. They walked together in uncomfortable silence down the hallway, passing important rooms without explanation. He knew she wasn't here for a tour.

He could hear the patter of her boots against the white tile as she walked, her hands buried in her pockets, and he looked down at her with intrigue, his lips fumbling about his face nervously.

"I called you on Sunday."

She only looked at him briefly, as if inconvenienced. "Yea. I know."

He rubbed at his temple. "You didn't call me back?"

"You called too soon. It was weird."

She stammered when he grabbed her wrist, stopping their travels. He could see the bashfulness in her eyes, redness staining her cheeks as she peered up at him with fluttered lashes.

"It hurt my feelings," he said to her plainly.

And she exhaled through her nose, a squirm to her lips. "Well, I'm here, aren't I?"

He would have released his hold on her, but he enjoyed how the entirety of her petite bone fit in his grasp. Subconsciously, his thumb grazed over the inside of her wrist. There, she pulled her gaze away from him, motioning with her head. "This tour sucks. What's in there?"

He blinked. "That's a broom closet."

That didn't seem to bother her. "Maybe you should show me inside."

Finally, he was catching her drift, and it made him really flustered and red. He let go of her hand finally, his fingers tugging at the collar of his sweater nervously. "I finish working in about two hours, we can hang out afterwards—"

"Get inside, Armin."

She possessed a direct authority in her tone, that he didn't think twice when she dragged him inside. It was dark and clammy in the room, but she seemed to light up the area with commitment igniting her eyes, that the moment they were alone, she dropped her backpack and let her jacket slide off her body.

The dress was flimsy against her small frame, clinching the curve of her waist yet flowy by the strong swells of her thighs. He noticed a choker wrapped around her neck, wired and looped along her skin. The same citrusy scent exhumed from her, but it was a bit stronger now than it was the other night.

She seemed to give him a dirty look. "Well?"

He scratched at his ear. "Well, what?"

"Aren't you gonna kiss me or something?" The roll to her eyes was generous as her hands planted firmly onto her hip bones.

He was so confused by this, his nose wrinkling in bewilderment. "I could have kissed you out there," he objected.

"No."

He could see her gradual metamorphosis, going from bold and domineering to shy and timid, as her hands clasped in front of her, a gentle sway to her hips. And so he did kiss her, because she asked and because he really wanted to. He had been thinking about it for the last three days. His hands clutched the small of her waist and she stood on the balls of her feet to meet him halfway.

The gesture was short and staccato, and when they separated, he saw the haze that glossed her eyes. She rested her head against his chest in what was a weak attempt at a hug.

"You look really pretty in that dress," he said to her, petting the back of her head, and she narrowed her eyes when she looked up at him, an angry dimple pressed between her brows.

"It'd be prettier with your face underneath it."

His lips fumbled nervously as he searched for the correct reaction to that, while a blush crept onto his cheeks. But before he could even say anything, she turned herself around, leaning forward onto a shelf. The instant she touched it, a barrage of dust decorated the air. It almost looked like a stream of glitter behind her.

Without hesitation, she lifted her skirt, exposing a white cotton thong, smooth peachy legs, and a plump bottom. She pulled down her underwear assertively, a thick stickiness damp at the center of the garment.

"Come on," she ordered, pressing a curve into her back. "This thing has been giving me a wedgie all day." The thong stopped its travels at her knees, and she rubbed her thighs together expectantly.

Armin only stood there, rather dumbfounded, taking in his surroundings and then at the girl bent over in front of him.

"You…you wore that for me?" he asked.

And she rolled her eyes, a grunt lodged in her throat. "Is that what you got from all this?"

He shook his head as if it would unjumble his thoughts. "I, well—you just can't expect me to get worked up that fast. You're going to have to help me out a little."

Her brows slanted, and he stuttered when she grabbed his wrist and shoved his hand between her legs. His fingers curled upward, as if on instinct, and he was greeted by her warmth and wetness. Her fluid was thick and dripping, a rippling heat burning sweetness at the apex of her thighs. The taste of her was still so fresh in his mind, yet when she moved his hand away, she brought his sticky fingers to her mouth, her eyes locked on his as she sucked on his digits.

"I did that for you," she said flatly, her face void of any emotion. "You made me so wet because I'm your little slut."

It might have been the first time a single sentence made him hard, and he hated himself for it. He shifted uncomfortably. "Don't talk about yourself like that."

Yet she licked the remainder of her essence dripping down his palm, her tongue warm and soft against his skin. "But I can't help it because I'm Armin's little slut."

This girl was insane and always moving at the speed of light. They skipped so many important steps their first night together and now she was demeaning herself as a means of sexual roleplay and it was barely even lunchtime. Did she want him to call her a slut? He was definitely not going to do that. But hearing her say it? That was enough to get him going.

When he clutched her waist and lifted her to sit on the shelf, a sharp gasp evaded her mouth, a tremble taking her bottom lip. She pulled her underwear down over her legs, spreading her thighs so that he could fit between her. And she slipped the thong in a bunch in his pocket.

Her arms lazily adorned his neck, slipping around him as he began to kiss her, messily, eagerly, as if he hadn't seen her in months instead of a few days. The frantic way he kissed her was welcomed heavily by her, the way she panted in heat against him, the moan that sang in her throat as she clenched her thighs at his hips.

"I missed you," he said between breaths, kissing her mouth, her chin, her jaw, until he was sucking at the skin of her neck under her ear. She writhed in her seat, her fingers pressing dents on in his shoulder blades.

"You're so fucking needy," she murmured.

A sharp inhale growled deep in her throat when he drank the hollow of her neck. "You didn't call me back."

"Get over it."

"I wanted to hear your voice." His hands glided along the small of her waist, his thumb brushing over the impression of her nipple. He could feel the rod of the piercing beneath her blouse and she flinched at this. His teeth grazed against the fabric, lightly tugging at the jewelry. The way she squirmed on that shelf with watering eyes turned him on even further.

"Quit with the romantic crap."

"You have very low standards for romance."

He kissed her again, albeit slower, more languid and amorous. He felt the hot breath she exhaled through her nose, how it warmed his skin, and his hand slipped beneath her dress again, finding the drenched center of her body.

She bit down on his lip. "Quit playing around."

His thumb found her clit, briefly swirling against the sweet cluster of nerves. "Say you'll call me back next time."

She hesitated. "No."

He rubbed at her sex again and she groaned, his lips meeting hers in another vulgar kiss. He felt her tongue caress his teeth, pleading for access, but he kept his mouth closed. Instead, he went to his knees, dipping underneath her dress. And he pawed at her knees, parting them further, greeted by the darkness and her dripping, quivering core.

She jerked when he lapped at her clit, his tongue circling around her source of pleasure. "Will you answer my calls now?" When she didn't answer, he gripped her knees harder, sucking the mound of flesh. His mouth filled with the taste of her, her essence mildly sweet and thick, a luscious nectar churned by her desire.

"Okay. Fine," she chucked out, her tone breathy and disarrayed. Her response didn't suffice him, but continued drinking her in, gulping her sweetness, his mouth devoted to her sodden sex. He liked feeling her wiggle, trying to keep her voice down, her body in control of her pleasure. He felt the heat of her core ignite, drizzling warmth into his mouth.

"What will you say when I call you?"

She grunted. "I'll say…" She cut herself off, stifling a moan as he resumed his exploration.

"I'll say, hi how are you—"

"I don't like that." He surprised her when he sunk a finger inside her.

Another thick grunt evaded her mouth. "Hi sweetie, I missed you so much—"

It was a perfect harmony to his ears, how breathless she was, writhing in her arousal and saying the words she knew he wanted to hear. And he was satisfied with it, that he stopped pressuring her for more, his mouth latching to her clit and sucking, his thumbs kneading at the skin of her knees.

He was so close to her, tasting and inhaling her, hearing her suppressed moans and muted gasps, how the closer she reached her climax, the more she rocked her hips against him. And he knew when she came, when he heard the influx of moans and filthy words spill from her mouth, the way her body jerked. He knew as a gush of her fluid filled his mouth, and he could feel the relentless pulsing of her clit against his tongue. How it throbbed, he could almost ride her pleasure with her, experience the ripples of her orgasms as she trembled against him, until it slowed to a delicate pulse.

They were rather silent afterward, their "tour" complete, and she didn't give much of a hint of what was next. But he was very determined to call her after work to catch her bluff.

However, he didn't need to. Once his shift ended and he walked outside, welcomed by the November chill and sunlight, a bustle of students roaming the campus, he found her there waiting for him.

He really tried to conceal the stupid smile that emerged on his face, but he was just so happy and stunned to see her. All he could think was, wasn't she cold standing there without pants and such a thin jacket? It didn't seem to faze her, however, not even a remnant of a shiver passing her. He remembered then that her thong was still wedged in his pocket.

She barely acknowledged him when he approached her in front of the building, shoving her shoulder gently. "You waited for me?"

Even though she blushed, she maintained her standoffish composure. "I told you I would." She really hadn't.

"Did you want to hang out?"

"I'm hungry," she shot back.

"Okay." He rubbed at his head. "We can go get something to eat."

"I—" she seemed to contemplate her next words, looking up at him with large, timid eyes. They were a piercing shade of cerulean in the sunlight. "I wasn't lying, you know. When I said I liked you."

Her voice had fallen so much he could barely hear her, but her words registered through his mind and he felt relieved almost hearing it. He was driving himself crazy the last few days trying to analyze their last encounter. When he rubbed his knuckles against her cheekbone, she frowned.

"So what do you do typically when you like someone?" he asked her.

And she answered dully, "I let them pay for my meals."

He laughed, the sound a dry rumble in his throat, and the smile that engulfed his mouth was so warm and affectionate he saw the uncomfortable flush that draped her face.

"Fair enough."

They stared at one another for a moment, and she shifted then awkwardly. "Okay, so…let's go." She stopped dead in her tracks when he extended his hand, expecting her to take it.

She looked at him as if he were holding an amputated limb, but eventually she huffed a resistant sigh, clamping her palm against his. Their fingers interlocked, and she gave him a rather aggressive squeeze before shoving their connected fists into the pocket of her windbreaker.

And all he could think of was how small and fragile her hand felt in comparison to his. But he had seen her hitting the heavy bag. There was nothing fragile about her.

Only a few hours later they were entangled in his bed, kissing and petting heavily through their clothes.

He would never get tired of kissing her, or touching her. And it was almost miraculous how wet this girl became, as if she could turn it on instantly like the swipe of a faucet. His fingers rubbed generously at the apex of her thighs, feeling her warmth leak down his palm.

And she rubbed her thighs together, her hands clamped onto his shoulders as she kissed him eagerly, her mouth gliding and swerving against his, tugging on his lower lip.

"Thanks for the steak," she breathed, and she smiled against her.

"I'll get you a steak every fucking day."

"You'd be broke by next week."

The sound of keys jumbling on the other side of the door interrupted them, and swiftly they pulled away, Annie lowering her dress as Armin grabbed a pillow and hoisted it against his groin.

Jean walked in only a moment later, deciding to stare at the frazzled spectacle as he closed the door behind him.

He dropped his bag to the floor near his desk, dressed in his usual slacks and blazer that he wore to his internship. He narrowed his eyes, running a hand through his slicked back hair as if waiting for an explanation.

"Jean, this is Annie," he said nervously, pulling at the collar of his sweater as it suddenly felt very hot in the room.

She gave him a nod. "What's up."

"She's um, she's my—"

"I'm his girlfriend."

He gave her a startled look, all his vocabulary suddenly forgotten as she seemed as nonchalant and unfazed as she possibly could have been.

Jean seemed suspicious of the declaration. "Since when do you have a girlfriend?"

He faltered, but she had enough moxie for the both of them. "Since today." Then she gave Armin a narrowed look. "Right?"

Was she kidding? She had seemed so reluctant to show him any ounce of weakness and now was bold enough to say she was his girlfriend? And the sad thing was, it made him very stupidly happy.

And he decided to agree and claim the title before she decided to change her mind, which could have been at any moment.

"Right. Annie is my girlfriend. Since today."