Archive of Our Own ^beta

The crystalline prison had been Annie’s world for four long years, and for much of that time, it had been Armin’s too. He was the most frequent visitor, a silent sentinel who watched over her, a guardian of a slumbering beauty. The others eventually faded, their concerns consumed by war and survival, but Armin remained. Day after day, he would approach the shimmering, impenetrable shell, his eyes tracing every visible curve and line of the woman within.

Her face, serene and unblemished, held a timeless quality, a stark contrast to the ravaged world outside. He memorized the gentle slope of her nose, the curve of her lips – lips he longed to feel, to taste. His gaze would drift lower, over the subtle outline of her chest beneath the tight fabric of her uniform, the faint swell of her breasts. He imagined the softness of her skin, the warmth held captive behind the cold crystal. His fingers often reached out, pressing against the smooth surface, a phantom touch that sent shivers through him, convincing himself that he could almost feel the contours of her body, the delicate bones of her hands, the strength held dormant in her thighs. Each visit stoked a fire within him, a tender obsession that grew with every passing month.

There was one particularly lonely night, the air thick with the scent of rain and despair, when Armin’s carefully constructed composure finally shattered. The absence of Annie, the weight of their shared history, the unyielding coldness of her prison – it all converged into an unbearable ache in his chest, a desperate longing that clawed at his insides. He found himself alone in the dimly lit chamber, the crystalline monolith glowing faintly, Annie’s form bathed in an ethereal light. His eyes, heavy with unshed tears, devoured her. He saw her, not as a titan shifter, not as an enemy, but as the girl he had always been inexplicably drawn to, the girl he missed with an agonizing intensity.

His hand, trembling, reached out to the crystal, pressing his palm flat against it, mimicking the curve of her hip. He imagined her warmth, the yielding softness beneath his touch. A choked sob escaped his throat, and he slowly sank to his knees, his gaze fixed on her. The yearning was a physical pain, a raw, insistent throb in his groin. He closed his eyes for a moment, picturing her, alive, awake, her eyes meeting his, her hand in his. The image was too potent.

With a ragged breath, Armin reached for himself, his fingers fumbling with the buttons of his trousers. His eyes remained locked on Annie’s sleeping face, a silent prayer, a desperate plea for connection. He began to stroke himself, slowly at first, his mind reeling with years of unspoken desires. He imagined her hands on him, her lips, her body pressed against his. His hips began to thrust gently, a rhythm building, mirroring the desperate beat of his heart. "Annie," he whispered, his voice hoarse, barely audible above the drumming in his ears. "Annie..."

The crystal felt cool beneath his palm, yet in his mind, it was her skin, warm and yielding. He pressed harder, envisioning her arching into his touch, her breath hitching. He could almost taste her, smell her, feel the phantom weight of her in his arms. His free hand pressed against the crystal, fingers tracing the outline of her thigh, then her breast, a frantic, desperate caress. He moaned, a low, guttural sound, as the friction intensified, his body tightening. "Annie... oh, Annie..." he gasped, his climax building, hot and undeniable. With a final, desperate thrust, his body convulsed, a wave of release washing over him, hot cum spilling onto his fingers, a silent offering to the woman encased before him. He slumped against the crystal, panting, his forehead pressed against the cool surface, the shame and relief warring within him. He had missed her so profoundly it had driven him to this, a raw, primal act of devotion.

Four years later, the impossible happened. The crystal cracked, shimmered, and dissolved, and Annie Leonhart walked out, blinking against the new light of a world she no longer recognized. Armin was there, his heart leaping into his throat, a mix of elation and profound dread.

"Annie," he managed, his voice barely a whisper.

She looked at him, her pale blue eyes assessing, unreadable.

He couldn't hold her gaze. His eyes darted everywhere – the floor, the wall, the back of someone’s head – anything but her face. He felt the blush creeping up his neck, a heat that had nothing to do with the room's temperature. He cleared his throat, adjusting his collar. "It's... it's good to see you... awake."

Annie raised an eyebrow, a flicker of something unreadable in her expression. "You seem... uncomfortable."

"No! No, not at all!" he blurted, too quickly. "Just... surprised. Happy. It's a lot to take in, you know? After all this time." He gestured vaguely, his hands feeling suddenly enormous and clumsy. He couldn't shake the image of himself, naked and desperate, in front of that crystal. The memory was a physical weight, pressing down on him, making it impossible to meet her eyes without picturing it.

She simply watched him, a slight tilt of her head. The silence stretched, thick and awkward, until someone else stepped forward to greet her, breaking the excruciating tension.

Months passed. Annie slowly re-acclimated, the world a blur of rapid changes and new faces. Armin, meanwhile, remained a shadow at the edges of her periphery, always there, yet always distant. At a gathering of the remaining soldiers, a rare moment of peace and celebration, Armin found himself unable to tear his eyes away from her. She moved with a quiet grace, her expression often neutral, yet every now and then, a fleeting smile would touch her lips as she listened to a story. Each glance he stole was a dart of longing, a reminder of those lonely nights.

Annie, with her sharpened senses and years of observing, immediately noticed. She felt his gaze, a constant, warm pressure on her. A subtle shift in her posture, a slight stiffening of her shoulders – she knew. Excusing herself politely, she slipped out of the noisy room, walking purposefully towards a small, disused cabin known to be stocked with old wines.

Armin, predictably, followed. Concern warred with an overwhelming curiosity. He had to know if she was alright, if the world was too much, if she was slipping away again.

As he stepped into the dim cabin, the air heavy with the scent of aged wood and fermentation, Annie turned her back to a wall of dusty bottles. "I knew it... you're following me," she stated, her voice calm, devoid of surprise.

Armin froze, caught red-handed. His heart hammered against his ribs. "I... I was just worried," he stammered, his defense weak and unconvincing.

"Worried?" Annie’s eyes narrowed slightly. "You're acting like a stalker, Armin."

The accusation stung, yet he found a strange courage in his desperation. "I'm just worried that something bad might happen to you... or you might get comatose again," he confessed, the words tumbling out, raw and honest. The thought of losing her again, just as he'd found her, was unbearable.

Annie’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly. A faint blush bloomed across her pale cheeks, a color Armin had rarely seen there. A strange, sparkling sensation erupted within her chest, a warmth she hadn't felt in what felt like a lifetime. It was confusing, yet undeniably thrilling.

Without a word, without another moment of hesitation, she took two quick steps, closing the distance between them. She reached up, cupping his face gently, and then her lips met his. It was a soft kiss, hesitant at first, a brush of skin that sent a jolt through Armin’s entire body.

"A--Annie... what was that--" Armin gasped, utterly stunned, his mind reeling.

She pulled back just enough for her eyes to lock with his, her blush deepening. "I’m glad … someone’s worried about me” she murmured, a hint of something he couldn't quite decipher in her voice.

That was all it took. The dam burst. His dick, as if on cue, awoke with a hard, insistent throb against his trousers. He couldn't take his eyes off her, his gaze devouring her flushed face, her slightly parted lips. The taste of her soft kiss lingered, and in it, he detected a faint, sweet tang of alcohol. The realization that she might have had a few drinks, loosening her inhibitions, only intensified his desire.

He crushed his mouth against hers, kissing her harder, a desperate, hungry claiming. “Hmmmmm ….” Annie gasped, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as he deepened the kiss, his tongue tentatively exploring the warmth of her mouth. Her lips yielded, tasting of wine and something uniquely Annie – a sweetness he’d longed for, but never dared to dream of tasting. He shifted, pressing his erection against her, a silent testament to the years of suppressed desire. She moaned softly into his mouth, a sound that vibrated through his very core, igniting every nerve ending.

The small cabin, smelling of wood and fermented grapes, became their private world. Their lips, swollen and tingling, broke apart only to seek other skin. Armin’s hands found the hem of her shirt, his fingers trembling as he pulled it up, exposing her midriff, then her breasts. He sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of her pale skin, the delicate swell of her chest. Annies’ hands were just as eager, fumbling with the buttons of his uniform, tearing at the fabric in their haste.

Soon, their clothes were discarded in a haphazard pile among the dusty wine bottles, forgotten. Armin knelt before her, his gaze drinking in her nakedness, the woman he had watched for so long, finally real and tangible before him. He lowered his head, his tongue tracing a path from her navel, across her flat stomach, until it reached the wet, pulsing folds of her pussy. “Ohhh … A-rmin”  He caught her clit between his lips, a soft, warm suction that made her gasp and arch her back, a raw sound of pleasure escaping her throat. He flicked his tongue, teasing and swirling, tasting her sweet wetness, his fingers delving between her thighs, finding her slick opening, pressing a gentle thumb against her clit while his middle finger slid inside, pushing, releasing, creating a building pressure.

He moved up, his mouth finding her breasts, sucking greedily on her nipples, first one, then the other, pulling at the sensitive peaks until she cried out, her hands gripping his hair, pulling him closer, demanding more.

"Armin... fuck me... like what you’re wishing to the crystalline," Annie gasped, her voice thick with arousal, her hips bucking against his face.

Armin froze, his head snapping up. His eyes, wide with a sudden, dawning comprehension, met hers. "You knew?" he whispered, a wave of shame and shock washing over him. The implication was clear: she knew about his lonely vigils by the crystal, about the desperate acts of self-pleasure, about everything he’d done.

"Annie... I'm sorry. I don't want you to feel bad," he stammered, his mind racing, fearing he had tainted this moment, that he had disgusted her.

A slow, sensual smirk spread across Annie's lips, her eyes glinting with a mischievous, almost predatory light. "You must face a punishment, Armin," she purred, her voice a low rumble that sent shivers down his spine.

Before he could react, she pushed him gently back until he sat against a stack of barrels. Then, she knelt between his legs, her pale hair brushing against his thighs. Her hand closed around his stiff, throbbing dick, and with a confident, deliberate movement, she took him into her mouth.

“Ohhhh … shit” Armin groaned, his back arching, his hands flying to grip her head as she began to suck, slowly at first, then with a deep, practiced rhythm that stole his breath away. Her tongue swirled around the head of his dick, tracing the sensitive ridge, then she took him deeper, her throat working, her eyes never leaving his, a silent challenge, a promise of exquisite torture and pleasure. He felt himself nearing the edge, ready to cum within moments, but she pulled back just slightly, her lips teasing the tip, before taking him fully again, her eyes still locked on his, acknowledging his desire, his history, and now, her control.

When the moment of exquisite torture had stretched his nerves taut, Annie finally straddled him, lowering herself onto his throbbing dick. A gasp escaped both their lips as he slid into her, a tight, warm embrace that made him cry out her name. “Fuck … Annie” , it was tight, so incredibly tight, after all these years of deprivation. Her hips began to move, slowly at first, a sultry lap dance that had them both groaning. Her inner walls gripped him, milking every inch of his length, and he felt the answering tremors in her body, heard the soft, desperate whimpers she couldn't suppress.

They shifted, Annie turning to face him, wrapping her legs around his waist, their bodies moving in a frantic bicycle position, thrusting and grinding, their hips slamming together with primal force. The sturdy wooden crates and barrels around them seemed to vibrate with their passion. “Ha–harder … Ar–min”, Armin buried his face in her neck, sucking lightly on the sensitive skin there, his tongue tracing the line of her collarbone, tasting her sweat, her scent, the pure essence of her. He felt every inch of her clit brush against him with each inward thrust, sending waves of pleasure through them both.

With a final, desperate surge of energy, Annie wrapped her legs around his waist, arching her back, her body a beautiful bow, her arms outstretched like a ballet dancer, taking him deeper, higher, until they reached the precipice together. “Y–yes … ohhhh fast–er”,  their cries mingled, a primal roar of pleasure and release as they both reached their climax, hot waves of cum spilling into her, her body convulsing around his. They clung to each other, panting, their skin slick with sweat, their hearts hammering in unison.

Annie slowly lowered her head, resting her forehead against his, her breath soft against his lips. A soft smile played on her face, and her eyes, clear and bright, finally met his.

"I missed you too, Armin," she whispered, her voice husky and filled with a love that had been years in the making. The shame, the awkwardness, the fear – all of it dissolved into the potent, intoxicating honesty of their shared desire, and the profound, undeniable love that had finally found its way home.