Mostly solo | ooc, audio porn, frotting, fingering, car sex, edging, riding, p in v, sex toys, mutual/guided masterbation, public sex?, mommy, squirting, spanking, water sports?, idek🤦🏾♀️
಄ a/n: i finally included nanami and hiromi!!! 🥳🥳 also it's my exam week, but of course i spent 4 hours on this instead of studying. and i'm thinking about writing headcanons 🤔
hi i rlly wanna request a kind of jealous reader but not in the way like oh who is she haha more like i alr know everything about her and i will plant a bomb in her toilet if she doesn’t get away from you </3 ps ur the funniest person ever ily
here you are i hope this is up to your expectations!!! (I love you too 🫶🏽🫶🏽)
❛ i’m not jealous ❜
jjk men reacting to jealous (borderline possessive reader)
SUMMARY ·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ in which panda gambles away all of toge's money so toge goes to beat his ass only to find that saving a woman from a petty crime leads him to an opportunity he wasn't expecting—to get money. in a relationship based off of money and sex and absolutely no feelings, will toge and you be able to stay afloat on this contractual relationship? or will it sink?
PAIRING ·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ college!unhinged!toge x ceo!cougar!y/n
WARNINGS ·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ half-smau/half-written, smut, fluff, angst, dirty jokes obvi, age gap rl, mommy kink!toge, dom!reader, sub!toge, all characters are 18+, kys jokes because it's funny and maybe more
A/N just wanna say THANK YOUUUUU for all the love and support i received on this series omg i was not expecting it to pick up the way it did. will forever love these losers and i will definitely make cute little bonus chapters in the future :) i already have a few ideas for that. ANYWAYSS THANKS FOR MAKING IT TO THE END
synopsis — you just really love shy, nerdy, awkward armin arlert. not to mention how much you adore his tongue piercing.
wc — 5.4k
warnings — oral (f receiving), brief m receiving oral, unprotected sex, dom! kinda reader? armin is a loser virgin, tongue piercing fixation, mentions of drinking and getting high.
“Ah… I’m not sure if we should be— mmph!”
Armin downright whimpers when you silence his protest with a soft giggle and press your lips to his again, cupping his cheek like you’re trying to ease him into it. He kisses back, but it’s clumsy—his lips too hesitant, his breath shaky. The way his slightly clammy hands tremble as they slide awkwardly onto your waist gives him away completely. His fingers twitch like he’s unsure if he’s even allowed to touch you, like he’s expecting to be jolted awake from some perverse fever dream at any second.
You smile into it. He tastes a little like fruit punch and nerves.
How’d he even end up like this?
Honestly? He’s not entirely sure himself.
All he knows is that about an hour ago, he’d been forcibly dragged out of his safe, sacred little sanctuary—his room—by none other than Eren Jaeger, who’d called him a “shut-in loser” with all the affection of a lifelong best friend trying to get his social recluse ass to touch grass for once. “Just come out for one night,” Eren had said. “You never hang out anymore. You just rot in front of that stupid computer!”
That “stupid computer,” by the way, is the love of Armin’s life. A lovingly hand-built, high-performance rig that he’d spent months putting together with trembling excitement and a YouTube tab permanently open. The tower is pure art—transparent case with perfectly routed cable management, cool-toned RGB fans that change hues with each temperature spike, and a custom water-cooling loop that keeps everything running quieter than a whisper. The inside glows in a soft gradient from blue to violet, illuminating every pristine component like a spaceship console. His mechanical keyboard clicks satisfyingly under his fingers, each custom PBT keycap matte and worn in just enough. The desk is outfitted with dual curved monitors, a steelseries headset perched on a 3D-printed stand, and a carefully arranged line of anime figurines—each one dusted weekly.
He lives there. He thrives there. Not out here.
So when he’d first stepped foot into the frat house—blinking under dim purple lights, instantly accosted by the stench of sweat, alcohol, Axe body spray, and weed—he’d wanted to turn and run. Connie had looped an arm around his neck before he could so much as take a step back, dragging him further inside like a lamb to slaughter.
He would’ve given anything to be home. Back at his setup. Back where he could peacefully queue up for League of Legends or post a hot take on a message board about dungeon tier lists. His teammates were probably on Discord right now, wondering why his little green light hadn’t turned on tonight.
That was then.
Somehow– Somehow, in the haze of being drunk or high out of their minds— Eren was out of it, Connie was asleep on Sasha’s lap, whose head was on a knocked out Jean’s shoulder. Mikasa, for how composed she usually was, was slumped next to Eren, his hand wrapped around hers— you had managed to finally snag the shy boy to yourself.
You’d only recently started hanging out with the gang, weaving your way into their circle with a kind of natural confidence Armin found both mesmerizing and terrifying. You’re funny. Loud in a charming way. You speak your mind, talk to Eren and Mikasa like you’ve known them for years, and make sly little jokes that leave Connie wheezing. Even Sasha likes you—and she doesn’t like anyone new.
But around you, Armin turns into scrambled code. He avoids eye contact. Stumbles over his words. Does that thing where he pushes up his glasses like a reflex even when they’re already in place.
And it wasn’t hard to realize that Armin liked you.
He wasn’t subtle—not in the way he’d glance up from his phone screen when you laughed a little too loudly, or the way his ears would burn pink every time you plopped down next to him during hangouts, hips brushing, thighs touching just barely. He'd sit there stiffly, eyes wide behind his glasses, thumbs still tapping away at whatever gacha game or tactics RPG he was grinding, pretending not to notice how your perfume clung to the air between you like static.
You’d catch him staring sometimes—well, more than sometimes. Once when you bent over to grab a charger, and again when you wore that cropped shirt with the worn-out neckline, his gaze getting stuck right where your collarbone dipped into something just a bit more scandalous. But he’d always look away just in time, pretending to clean his glasses or scroll deeper into Reddit threads.
The boy was practically a walking Tumblr post from 2013. Always in those oversized hoodies with the sleeves too long, fingers tucked halfway into the cuffs, his laptop stickers flaking off from years of aggressive clicking. His room, as you’d come to discover later, was nothing short of a digital command center. Dual monitors—one vertical, one horizontal—cast a cold RGB glow over his unmade bed and tangle of charging cables. His mechanical keyboard clicked loud enough to echo through the dorm floor, each keystroke deliberate. Rows of Funko Pops lined the top of his bookshelf, mostly anime characters and one out-of-place Miku figurine he shyly claimed was "cute."
And that chair—God, that chair. It was one of those ridiculous ergonomic gaming thrones with a headrest, a lumbar support pillow, and armrests that he always adjusted like he was gearing up for war. You could tell it was his pride and joy, considering how he refused to let anyone else sit in it. Except, of course, for that one time you snuck in during a group hangout and plopped down in it just to see how far he’d go before breaking—he just stood there, mouth open, shifting awkwardly until he gave up and sat on the floor beside you. Pathetic. Adorable.
So yeah, it wasn’t hard to realize Armin liked you. He was just painfully obvious about it in a way that made you all the more obsessed.
Especially after that day Eren—loud-mouthed, smug Eren—dropped the most shocking bit of information mid-conversation over nachos and beer.
“Guess who finally let me bully him into getting a tongue piercing?”
Your head had snapped around so fast it almost gave you whiplash. "You're kidding."
Eren had just grinned like the devil himself. “Nope. Took him to the place on 8th. Cried like a bitch but hey, he’s got it now.”
You’d turned to look at Armin, who was red as a tomato, sipping his Sprite like he wished he could disappear behind the carbonation. He didn’t even deny it.
You haven't been able to stop thinking about it since.
Which brings you to now.
So when all of a sudden, you're sitting next to him on the too-small couch, murmuring something about there being something wrong with your phone, and desperately needing someone to fix it for you, and no, the dim lighting of the living room simply isn’t enough to inspect it properly—you somehow manage to drag him upstairs to one of the empty rooms, thigh pressed a little too close to his as you explain how glitchy your phone is, how you're so sure it must be some kind of weird virus, and wow, isn't that so crazy?
But cut the bullshit. Even Armin knew you were lying.
Phone glitching? Yeah, right. He’d seen your screen time stats by accident once—your camera roll was 95% front-facing selfies, memes, and blurry videos from nights out. He wasn’t stupid. But he was clueless—at least about your intentions.
You’d had a thing for him since day one, not that he knew, obviously. The first time Eren had pulled you into the fold, dragging you into their little friend group like some shiny new accessory, Armin had looked at you like you’d be gone by next week. He wasn’t good with new people—too shy, too stiff, too used to lurking in the background with his legs folded crisscross on the floor and his thumbs tapping away at his phone while everyone else drank and talked over each other.
Even now, when everyone hung out, Armin would be half-present—physically there, tucked into the corner of the room with his hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands, but mentally god knows where. Probably grinding a mobile RPG or replying to a fan theory thread. He liked games where he could build things, micromanage every stat. His phone battery was always draining because he never stopped playing. Long, elegant fingers constantly moving, tapping, swiping. Even when you sat next to him, he couldn’t seem to stop. You once made a joke about how he probably tapped faster during battles than he would during sex.
You remember the way he’d choked on his Redbull.
But now—now he’s stuck. Sitting next to you in a quiet upstairs room, your perfume in his lungs, your thigh pressed right up against his, and your phone held limply between you both like some half-hearted prop.
He keeps glancing at you, lips parted like he wants to say something—anything—but nothing comes out.
“You gonna fix it or just keep staring at my lockscreen?” you tease, your voice low, syrupy sweet.
He blinks, startled, fumbling to grab the phone from your hands with a stuttered apology. “S-Sorry, I—um—yeah, let me just… check the settings, I guess.”
His hands shake slightly as he scrolls, and you bite your lip watching him. The way his jaw tenses, his brows furrow in concentration—it’s endearing. You wonder if he knows how flushed his ears are. You wonder if he knows how loud his breathing is.
You lean in just slightly, enough that your breath brushes the shell of his ear.
“You know,” you murmur, “I still haven’t seen that piercing.”
His entire body jolts. His fingers fumble the phone, almost dropping it in his lap. “W-What?”
You smile innocently, like you don’t already know exactly what you’re doing. “Your tongue. Eren told me. Kinda wanna see it for myself.”
Armin swallows hard, eyes wide as he looks at you like you just asked him to strip naked. “I-I mean, it’s not—It’s nothing, really. I-it’s just… uh…”
“C’mon,” you coax, fingers brushing the side of his knee. “I’m curious.”
He hesitates. Then, shakily, he sticks his tongue out just a little—just enough for the cool glint of metal to catch the light. Your stomach flips.
God, you didn’t expect that to be so hot. On him, of all people.
“You’re full of surprises, Armin Arlert,” you whisper, eyes meeting his.
And you swear to god, if you didn’t know better, you’d say the look in his eyes shifts. Just a little. Like something in him snaps or gives in. Like he’s done pretending he doesn’t know what’s going on.
“…Is your phone actually broken?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.
You grin. “Not even a little.”
And for once—for once—Armin smirks.
It's crooked. Barely there. But it's smug in the quietest, most devastating way, because he knows now. You're not here because of some bullshit glitch or broken screen. You're here for him.
The second you lean in, brushing a strand of his blond hair out of his face, he freezes—like a deer caught in headlights. His breath hitches, lips parting just slightly, and his fingers tense where they’re still holding your phone like it’s a lifeline.
“You’ve never kissed anyone before,” you say softly, not a question. Just an observation.
His cheeks flush bright red. He doesn’t answer.
You cock your head, smiling. “That’s okay. I’ll teach you.”
His breath catches again, sharp and audible this time, and he shifts a little like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands—does he drop your phone? Hold it? Hold you?
You take the decision away for him, gently slipping it from his fingers and setting it down on the nightstand. Then, without breaking eye contact, you slowly slide onto his lap, one knee at a time, until you’re straddling his narrow hips, hands settling on his shoulders.
His whole body goes stiff. “Ah… I’m not sure if we should be— mmph!”
You kiss his lips again, silencing him effectively.
“Armin,” you say as you pull back, voice low and amused. “Relax.”
He doesn’t. Not entirely. But his hands hover awkwardly near your waist now, like he’s trying to be respectful, like he’s afraid if he touches you wrong, the moment will combust.
You lean forward, just enough that your noses nearly brush.
“Close your eyes,” you whisper. “Don’t think. Just feel.”
He obeys, lashes fluttering shut. You let your lips graze his, soft and tentative, barely a kiss at all—just enough for him to taste your breath, to feel the warmth of you against his mouth.
He shivers.
You pull back slightly, your voice like silk against his ear. “See? That wasn’t so bad.”
He exhales shakily. “It’s… it’s good. You’re… good.”
You smile. “You haven’t even gotten the full lesson yet.”
And then you kiss him.
Really kiss him.
You press your mouth against his fully this time, slow and confident, your lips moving gently over his like you’ve got all the time in the world. He kisses back clumsily at first, a little too much pressure, a little off with the rhythm, but it’s adorable, and you can feel the way his whole body trembles under you.
You guide him with quiet murmurs between kisses. “Slower… softer, yeah… there. Just like that.”
His hands finally land on your waist, unsure at first, then a little firmer when you deepen the kiss, your fingers threading into the hair at the nape of his neck. You part your lips slowly, and when he instinctively mimics you—nervous, but curious—you feel it.
The smooth, cool ball of metal.
You pause just barely, lips still brushing his, a grin curling at the corners of your mouth. “There it is.”
“Huh?” he whispers, dazed.
“That piercing,” you murmur, voice thick with heat. “Feels so fucking good.”
You kiss him again, and this time your tongue finds his. The sensation of the cold stud sliding against yours sends a sharp little jolt straight through your spine. It’s addictive. You roll your hips slightly against his, and he gasps into your mouth, fingers tightening on your waist like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to pull you closer or push you away.
He tastes like mint and nervous energy, and the little helpless noises he lets out when you suck on his bottom lip are enough to make your thighs clench around his lap.
You pull back for a second, just to look at him. His lips are flushed, slightly swollen, eyes glazed with something between awe and pure panic.
“You okay?” you whisper, thumb brushing across his cheek.
He nods, almost too fast. “Y-Yeah. I just—I didn’t know it could feel like that.”
You lean in again, lips ghosting over his jaw. “That’s just the beginning.”
He groans—actually groans—and it’s the hottest fucking sound you’ve ever heard from him. You swear you feel him twitch beneath you. His hips shift slightly, involuntarily, and the friction makes both of you gasp.
You grab a fistful of his hoodie, tugging him back into another kiss, messier this time. Less structured. All tongue and heat and shallow breaths. That piercing catches on your lip as you suck on his tongue, and you moan softly against his mouth.
He's kissing you like he wants to prove something now. Still hesitant, still learning, but eager. Hungry. His hands slide up under your shirt, still shy but bolder than before, fingertips ghosting over the bare skin of your waist.
You roll your hips against him again, deliberately this time, and the noise he makes—somewhere between a whimper and a curse—goes straight to your core.
You smile into the kiss, breathless. “You’re such a quick learner.”
He swallows thickly. “I—I wanna keep learning.”
“Yeah?” You rock against him again, and his eyes flutter shut. “You will.”
You dip your head to press a kiss to his neck, right below his jaw. He gasps, tilting his head back like it’s instinct, and you suck a slow, wet mark into the pale skin, making him jolt beneath you.
“You’re so sensitive,” you whisper. “Bet I could make you fall apart with just my mouth.”
He whimpers.
And fuck, that sound does something to you.
You're grinding against him now, fully, the heat between your legs pressing right against the growing bulge in his pants. The way his hips buck up helplessly, like he can’t stop himself, is intoxicating.
You mouth at his jaw, then his ear, letting your breath tickle the shell of it.
“Armin,” you purr, “do you want me to show you more?”
He looks up at you like he’s ready to beg.
“Yes,” he breathes. “Please. Show me everything.”
You don’t make him ask twice.
You kiss him again, deep and slow, feeling the way he melts into it now. No hesitation—just heat, want, and the softest desperation in how his mouth opens for you like he’s starving. You taste that metal ball again, glide your tongue along it, and the sound he makes—fuck, you’re obsessed.
Your hips move instinctively, grinding down on his lap, and you can feel him. Hard. Pressed right up against your core through his worn out jeans and your shorts. The friction draws a moan from your throat that has his eyes fluttering open, pupils blown wide.
“Fuck,” you whisper, forehead pressed to his. “You’re so hard already.”
He nods, frantic, breath stuttering. “I—yeah, I can’t—I didn’t mean to—”
“Shh.” You cup his jaw, tilt his face up. “Don’t be embarrassed. You think I didn’t want that?”
You shift just a little, rolling your hips down with purpose, dragging your clothed pussy against his cock. He chokes on a gasp, his fingers digging into your waist like he’s trying to stop himself from bucking up into you again. You grab his hand, beckoning him to slip his fingers under your shorts, under the waistband of your panties.
“Feel how wet I am for you?” you murmur, lips brushing his ear.
He nods again, helpless. “Yeah—yeah, I feel it—fuck—”
You smile wickedly and grab the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head in one motion. His mouth drops open.
He stares.
Hard.
Like he’s short-circuiting. Like he’s never seen anyone naked before and can’t figure out where to look. His hands twitch like he wants to touch you but doesn’t know if he’s allowed.
You guide them to your tits.
“Touch me, baby,” you say softly. “It’s okay. You can.”
He swallows hard and palms your breasts gently, reverently, like he’s afraid to squeeze too hard. His thumbs ghost over your nipples and you sigh, arching your back into his touch, giving him a show.
“God, you’re perfect,” he breathes.
“You’re cute,” you reply, pushing your hips down again. “And obedient.”
He whimpers at that.
You roll your hips slow and steady, grinding on him until you feel his thighs start to tremble beneath you.
Then you lean down, lips brushing his. “I want you to eat me out.”
His eyes widen. “I—what? I’ve never—”
“I’ll guide you. Just do what I say.”
You’re already sliding off his lap, standing between his legs and shimmying your shorts and underwear down in one motion. His breath stutters when he sees you like that, bare and dripping, your thighs glistening in the low light.
You make a move to lie back on the bed, but he stops you, pink in the face.
“S–Sorry, I– ah– Can you ride my face? Please?”
He looks like he wants to wipe his existence off the planet because why’d he say that in such a high pitched tone, why’d he stutter like that, why’d his voice crack when he said please, why'd he—
But you just giggle amusedly, pushing him back onto the bed, straddling his face.
His whole body tenses like he’s trying not to combust. “Are you sure you’re okay with thi—?”
You don’t answer. Just lower your hips slowly until you’re hovering just above his mouth.
“Open up.”
He does, and when your pussy presses against his lips, you sigh like it’s relief. He’s clumsy at first—licking too shallow, too soft—but you guide him. “Use your tongue. Flatten it—yeah, just like that. A little harder. Good. Fuck, Armin.”
The moment his tongue finds your clit, you moan, your hips jolting forward. And the pressure of that cold little ball dragging against your most sensitive spot?
It’s over.
You’re grinding on his face now, fingers buried in his soft blond hair, riding him through sloppy, wet licks and messy kisses that leave your thighs shaking. He moans beneath you, hands gripping your hips like he’s into it, like the taste of you is something he wants to memorize. His piercing continuously flicks against your clit, making you whine and shudder, thighs clamping around his head. And soon enough, you’re coming all over his tongue, his name leaving your mouth prettily.
He’s hard again—probably never stopped being hard—and when you finally can’t take it anymore, you slide down his body and palm him through his jeans.
“Fuck,” you breathe, eyes wide as you feel the outline of him. “You’ve been hiding this from me?”
He covers his face with one arm, flushed and overwhelmed. “I didn’t know I’d get like that so fast.”
“You’re adorable.” You lean down and press a kiss just above his waistband. “Let me take care of you.”
He whimpers again.
And when you tug his jeans down, his cock bounces free—hard, flushed, leaking at the tip. You stroke him once, slow and firm, and his whole body jolts.
“Oh my god,” he chokes, hands fisting the sheets. “I—I don’t think I can—”
“You can.” You kiss the head of his cock, swirl your tongue around it just once, and watch him squirm.
Then you straddle him again.
“Wait—” he gasps. “Are you—are we really—”
You line him up with your entrance, slow and steady, and you moan when the tip slips in.
“Fuck yes, baby,” you whisper, eyes fluttering shut as you sink down inch by inch. “You’re inside me.”
He’s panting, chest rising and falling like he’s about to pass out. “You feel… holy shit…”
“Tight?” you tease, grinding down once you’re seated fully.
He nods, eyes wide, mouth open. “I’m not gonna last—”
“You’ll learn,” you murmur, starting to move. “I’m gonna teach you everything.”
And as you ride him—slow, deliberate, dragging every sweet sound out of him—you know for a fact that this won’t be the last lesson. You bounce up and down on him, watching with a gaze full of lust and amusement as he croons your name, head thrown back, drool escaping the side of his lip, thick glasses askew.
He looks like he’s unraveling. Like his brain stopped functioning five minutes ago. Like all he can focus on is the way your cunt squeezes him every time you drop down.
“F-Fuck, you feel so good,” he whimpers, voice cracking with raw need. “I c-can’t… I’m not gonna last…”
You lean forward, letting your chest brush against his, your lips brushing his mouth as you whisper, “That’s okay. Just give it to me.”
His hands are shaking where they grip your hips, but he tries to match your rhythm anyway, pulling you down harder every time your ass slaps against his thighs. He’s trying so hard to keep it together for you—sweet, trembling thing, so eager to please despite how close he is.
“I–I’m gonna– I’m gonna– I don’t have a condom on, I—”
“Don’t worry,” you murmur, kissing the edge of his jaw, tongue flicking over his pulse point. “Just pull out, baby. I’ve got you.”
And it’s like your voice alone is enough to break him.
His grip tightens—frantic, bruising—and you barely have time to lift off before he comes, gasping your name like a prayer. Thick ropes spill over his stomach, twitching cock pulsing as he groans and writhes beneath you, flushed and utterly wrecked. His glasses have slid halfway down his nose, and he’s too dazed to fix them.
You exhale through a low laugh, trailing your fingers through his release before bringing them to your mouth and sucking them clean, just to tease him. His breath stutters at the sight, and his eyes roll slightly as he pants beneath you.
You collapse next to him, both of you catching your breath in the quiet, sticky air. The room smells like sweat and sex and faint body spray, and outside the door you can still hear the low thrum of party music, muffled now like the two of you are in a different world entirely.
He’s quiet. Still. Hands awkwardly covering himself, glasses pushed to the side. You catch the way his lashes flutter, how red his cheeks are, how he refuses to meet your eyes.
You turn on your side, resting your head on one hand. “What’s wrong?”
He swallows hard. “That was my first time,” he says softly. “Like… all of it. Kissing, sex, everything.”
You pause, the weight of his admission settling into the space between you. He glances up at you finally, face filled with anxiety.
“I… I hope I didn’t disappoint you.”
Your heart aches a little.
You reach out and gently remove his glasses, setting them on the nightstand, then cradle his face in your hand.
“Armin,” you say, voice low and sincere, “that was the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced. You have no idea.”
He blinks, surprised.
“You were perfect,” you say, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his forehead. “And I like that it was me. I like being the first.”
His face turns even redder, if that’s possible. “I–I didn’t even know what I was doing.”
“That’s the fun part.” You smile, brushing a strand of his hair off his forehead. “Means I get to teach you everything.”
He hides his face against your shoulder, groaning. “You’re gonna kill me.”
You laugh softly, wrapping your arm around his waist. “You’re such a cutie.”
You lay there together in the silence for a while, his head nestled against your chest, his arms tentatively curling around you like he’s not sure he’s allowed to hold you yet. You run your fingers through his hair, gently tugging here and there, and you feel him relax more and more under your touch.
“You still nervous?” you murmur after a while.
“A little,” he admits, voice muffled. “I just… I’ve never done this. Any of it. I don’t want to mess things up with you.”
You kiss the top of his head. “You’re not. I like you.”
He lifts his head to look at you, shy but hopeful. “Really?”
“Mhm.” You brush your lips against his again. “I’ve liked you since I saw you trailing behind Eren with your stupid oversized hoodie and your Switch in your hands like you were allergic to human interaction.”
He laughs, sheepish. “I kind of am.”
You grin. “And I kind of love that.”
He watches you for a moment, eyes soft and a little awestruck. Then he leans forward, kisses you with all the gentleness and hesitance of someone who’s just now realizing he might be falling for someone, and you smile into it, warm and full and smug.
Because you know you’ve got him.
—
It’s official now. You’re Armin’s girlfriend.
It had happened somewhere between all the blushing kisses and stolen glances and slow, breathy I like you’s whispered in the privacy of his bedroom. There was no dramatic confession, no rose petals or fireworks. Just him looking at you one afternoon with that overwhelmed, adoring gaze, thumb brushing over your knuckles while he mumbled, “Do you, um… want to be mine? Like… officially?”
And you’d kissed him stupid in response.
So now, two weeks later, you’re at his place again, perched sideways on his lap in his gaming chair, legs draped over one armrest while his are stretched beneath the desk, twitching slightly every time something exciting happens on screen.
You’re wearing one of his hoodies—big, soft, and smelling like fabric softener and his shampoo—and nothing else underneath. Which he hasn’t noticed. Yet.
His focus is laser-sharp, blue eyes narrowed behind his glasses, tongue pressed to the corner of his mouth like he’s fighting for his life on whatever boss battle he’s got going. You shift a little, trying to get comfortable in his lap, but he doesn’t even flinch—just grunts something about “just give me a second, babe, I’m in the middle of something.”
And yeah, it’s a little infuriating. But also?
Ridiculously hot.
Like, his headset is way too big on him. He keeps muttering things under his breath about cooldowns and mechanics and DPS output. His fingers are flying across the keys, long and elegant and twitchy, like they were built to type essays at the speed of sound or code random passion projects no one ever asked for.
At one point, he actually shushes you. A little breathy “waitwaitwait– babe, hold on, this guy’s cheesing—oh my god I swear to god if this fucking healer dies I’m gonna—”
You blink. Then snort.
“You’re so nerdy,” you murmur, voice laced with amusement, “I can’t believe this is my boyfriend.”
He doesn’t look up. “You knew what I was when you signed up.”
“Oh, I did.” You lean in, dragging your fingers up the nape of his neck, just under the headset. “And I like it.”
He shudders a little. “You’re distracting me.”
“I know.”
Still, he plays. Fidgety, intense, mouthing instructions to himself like some kind of adorable, socially anxious commander. You watch the screen for a bit, half-understanding what’s happening—some massive raid, particles flying everywhere, his team yelling in the Discord chat you can hear leaking through his headphones. Armin doesn’t talk much, but when he does, it’s surprisingly confident. Precise.
“No, back left! You kite, I’ll stun—good—shit, I got hit, that’s fine, I’ve got mana—”
You shift again. This time a little more deliberately.
His hands pause on the keyboard. “...Are you doing that on purpose?”
You blink at him innocently. “Doing what?”
“You’re… squirming.”
You tilt your head, smiling. “I’m just trying to sit comfortably, Armin. Your thighs are kinda bony.”
“I—what? I—”
He falters. And you know he’s starting to get flustered. Because his hand slips on his mouse, and he curses softly under his breath as his character takes a hit onscreen.
“Can’t believe I’m being insulted and sabotaged right now,” he mumbles.
“I’m your girlfriend,” you remind him, turning so you’re fully straddling him now, knees on either side of his hips, “it’s in the job description.”
He swallows thickly. You can feel him beneath you now—half-hard already, tension building the longer you stay in his lap.
“Please let me finish this fight,” he whispers, jaw tight.
You kiss the edge of it.
“Okay.”
So you wait. Sort of.
You shift again. Start pressing little kisses to his throat. Let your fingers toy with the edge of his shirt, lifting it just slightly. Not enough to distract him fully. Just enough to make him sweat.
By the time he finally mutters a breathless, “Got him, holy shit,” and slumps back in the chair, he’s panting and flushed—and not just from the game.
You lean in, both hands planted on his chest now, smiling sweetly.
“All done?”
He nods.
“Good.” And then you roll your hips once against his, slow and deliberate.
He makes a soft, broken sound in his throat. “Y-You’re evil.”
“Mmhm,” you hum, dipping down to kiss him again, this time deeper, tongue teasing the edge of that stupid metal piercing he still refuses to tell you the story behind.
It’s so easy to ruin him.
His hands flutter uselessly for a second before they land on your hips, gripping like he’s still not sure he’s allowed to touch you. You grind down harder, and he whines into your mouth, glasses fogging up, hips twitching like he’s not in control of his own body anymore.
“Fuck,” he breathes, voice high and shaking. “I’m—I was just trying to game.”
“You’ll live,” you whisper, licking into his mouth again. “Besides… I like seeing you like this. So desperate for me.”
He groans.
And you know right then, without a doubt, this little nerd is already obsessed with you. Completely and utterly whipped.
author's note: HELL YEAH I LOVE NERDIFYING ANIME MEN!!!! fantastic give me 14 more of them bzzzzz
seriously when i saw this fanart the first thing i did was open up google docs and get my ass to WORK i feel like by now its really obvious i have a thing for nerds :3
hope u guys #enjoyed i have a really bad tongue piercing fixation, not sure if it was obvious... (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ )
a/n : two posts in a day 👀 well it was needed after how long I took on the last one..let me know if you guys want this with other characters ! (all pics are from pinterest and aren’t mine.)
c/w : not proofread, rushed, mean ish reader and Isagi, fem reader, chud ish y/n, suggestive jokes, teensy bit of clingy Isagi, swearing, kinks mentioned lowk, mpreg kinda mentioned (idk either yo), short.
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a/n : this was made like in an hour or two cs i saw some Isagi icons while on pinterest..😔 hope you guys like thiss, have a good day/night !
꩜ synopsis: a harmless campus interview turns your best friend into an overnight internet sensation—and suddenly, every thirsty TikTok comment feels like it’s whispering your secret.
☆ art cred: @/juvianism on instagram :3
You nearly spill your coffee all over your Political Theory textbook when you unlock your phone. Another two hundred comments on that TikTok. You know you shouldn't check—you probably watched it about a million times yesterday alone—but your fingers move before your brain can scream at you to stop.
@/bookslvt01: ok but the way he talks about virginia woolf??? NEED HIM CARNALLY
@/colossalthighs: i’d let him annotate my entire body fr
@/arlertmeout: he looks like he apologises before choking you
You bite your lip, half-entertained and half-horrified, scrolling through the endless comments under what was supposed to be an innocent campus interview. The video has 2.3 million views now, completely insane for something filmed outside the modest main library—the same one you find yourself in at the moment—on a random Tuesday.
"Ugh, don’t tell me. You're watching it again, aren't you?"
Your head snaps up comically quick, caught red-handed, to find Sasha sliding into the seat across from you at your usual table, eyeing your phone screen with knowing amusement.
"What? No."
"You are! You have that weird, glazed look in your eyes. The same one you get when Professor Ackerman extends the deadline for our research papers." Sasha unwraps what appears to be her third sandwich of the day. You don't mention how it’s only twelve in the afternoon. "You know you could just talk to him about it, right? He's literally one of your best friends."
"And say what exactly?" you finally close the godforsaken app, trying to ignore how your screen time report is definitely going to be embarrassing this week. "Hey Armin, I've watched your viral video more times than I can remember and I'm having very inappropriate thoughts about your tongue piercing that I absolutely shouldn't be having about my friend?"
Sasha snickers, a piece of lettuce tumbling to the table from her mouth. "Well, when you put it like that... actually, yes. One hundred percent that."
"Sasha, I can't just—" you frown in frustration, inhaling deeply. "It's complicated."
"How is it complicated? You've had a crush on him since freshman year."
"That was different. That was before we became friends. Before I knew him." You lean back in your chair, staring at the ceiling as fond memories overwhelm you. "Back then he was just this cute, nerdy guy in my intro psych class who got excited about statistical analysis and always smelled like that vanilla body wash I love. I used to sit behind him just to watch him get all animated during discussions about cognitive behavioural theory, you know?"
Sasha merely rolls her eyes. "Jesus, and you call me demented. Well, what about now?"
"Now? Now, he's Armin. He's my friend who stays up until 3 A.M. to help me with my assignments, who brings me soup when I'm sick, who texts me the dumbest memes about historical figures," you slump forward, close to pouting. "He's the guy who spent six hours teaching me how to play that MMO he's obsessed with just because I mentioned being bored over winter break. He's..."
"He's the guy you're infatuated with," Sasha supplies helpfully.
"I'm not," you start to protest, then wisely opt to give up instead. "Okay, maybe. But that's exactly the problem. I can't risk blowing up our friendship just because some stupid interview made me realise I want to climb him like a tree."
"A tree with a tongue piercing," Sasha adds with a cheeky grin.
"Fuck’s sake, don't remind me," you let your head rest against the table. "Do you know how many times I've replayed that two-second clip where he licks his lips? It's pathetic."
"It's not pathetic, it's kind of sweet. There's a difference." Sasha takes another bite of her sandwich, her eyes evidently lighting up. "Besides, you don't know that he doesn't feel the same way. Have you seen how he looks at you during our study sessions? Boy's got it bad."
"He looks at me like a friend, Sasha. Because that's what we are."
"Believe me, friends don't look at friends the way he looked at you last Friday when you were explaining your thesis argument. I thought he was going to combust from sexual tension."
Before you can blatantly disagree, you hear an all too familiar voice behind you.
"Sexual tension about what now?"
Your stomach drops directly through the floor. You turn around carefully, and there he is—Armin Arlert, campus's newest digital sensation, standing there with that signature bemused expression he gets when he catches you and Sasha gossiping. His blonde hair is mussed like he's been running his hands through it, and he's wearing that adorable blue sweater that brings out his eyes deliciously.
"Oh, um..." You scramble for an explanation, panicking on the inside. "We were just talking about... about..."
"About how Professor Ackerman's lectures are basically academic foreplay," Sasha jumps in smoothly. "All that tension and buildup with no satisfying conclusion. I mean, hello?"
Armin laughs, the sound warm and comforting. "That's fascinatingly accurate, I’ll admit." He shifts his weight, and you only then notice he's carrying his laptop bag and what seems to be a bag of takeout. "Mind if I join you? I brought Thai food and figured you might be hungry since you've been here since—," he checks his phone, "—9 A.M., according to the text you sent complaining about how it’s criminal that the library opens so early on weekends."
Your heart does a little flip at his consideration. "You didn't have to do that."
"I wanted to." He slides into the chair next to you, close enough that you can smell his cologne—a rich blend of velvety caramel and toasted cinnamon that positively makes you want to lick him all over.
Stop. None of that, you horny bastard.
"Besides, I figured you might want to hear about the latest developments in my accidental internet fame."
Sasha perks up at once. "Hell, yeah. Have you been recognised on campus yet?"
"Five times yesterday," Armin appears to lament, pulling containers out of the bag. "Including once in the bathroom, which was... awkward, to say the least." He hands you your usual order without asking what you want. "But the weirdest part is definitely the DMs."
"DMs?" you pipe up, failing to ignore how domestic this feels what with him knowing exactly what you like. Typical, precious Armin.
"You have no idea," he opens his laptop and turns it toward you two with a nervous twitch. "I've gotten marriage proposals, offers to 'show me a good time,' and at least a hundred messages asking about my tongue piercing specifically."
Your face burns as you push away the thought that you've been mentally composing similar messages. "That's... wow."
"The worst part is, most of them are asking if I'd be interested in demonstrating its uses." He fidgets with his glasses, coming across as embarrassed but also endearing. "I had no idea that thing would cause such a reaction."
"Well, it is pretty noticeable," Sasha remarks with a meaningful peek at you. "Very... attention-grabbing."
"I guess." Armin glances at you pointedly. "What do you think? You've seen the video, right?"
The question is innocent enough, but something in his tone makes you look at him more carefully. There's an out-of-the-ordinary implication that you can't quite put your finger on. "Uh... yeah, I've seen it," you manage to croak out. Terrific. Could you get any stiffer?
"And?"
"And what?"
"What did you think?"
You stare at him blankly, trying to figure out if this is a normal friend question or if you’re incorrectly perceiving the foreign edge of curiosity behind it. "I thought... I mean, your book recommendations were really good. Very passionate."
"Passionate," he repeats, the fleeting flash of understanding across his face confirming your earlier weariness. "That's interesting."
Sasha's phone cuts through the uneasiness with its incessant buzzing, and she scans it with obviously fake surprise. "Oh no, would you look at that. I have to go... meet... someone... about... a... very real thing... I have." She begins gathering her stuff with awfully suspicious speed. "You two have fun talking about books. And passion. And tongue piercings."
"Huh? Wait. Sasha—" you squeak out, but she's already dashing out of the private study room you had booked for the both of you until late afternoon (traitor). Which leaves you alone with Armin, who's scrutinising you with an expression you can't quite read.
"Alright," he speaks after a moment, closing his laptop and leaning back in his chair. "Want to tell me what you actually thought about the video?"
"I already told you."
"No, you gave me the safe answer." He tilts his head slightly, studying you with purpose. "Come on, we've been friends for two years. I know when you're holding back."
You hastily shove some noodles in your mouth, avoiding his gaze. "I'm not holding back."
"Really? Because Sasha seemed to think you had some important opinions about it."
You make a mental note to start drafting your plan for the girl’s well-deserved comeuppance. "Sasha talks too much."
"She does," Armin agrees. "But she's usually right about things. Especially when it comes to you."
The rarely there confidence in his tone makes you look up and, when you meet his gaze, the intensity catches you off guard. "What do you want me to say?"
"Did you know," he continues conversationally, "that TikTok shows you analytics about who's viewed your videos?"
Almost instantly, your heart stops. "What?"
"Mhm. Very detailed analytics. Including multiple views from the same account." His lips quirk up in a small smile. "Want to guess how many times your account shows up in my viewer list?"
You feel heat creeping up your neck. "I don't know what you're talking about." You briefly consider denying reality, blaming a technical issue, or claiming a glitch in the matrix—but none of it sticks.
"Seventy-seven times," he announces, the metaphorical checkmate hitting you straight in the chest. "As of this morning."
Oh god. Oh god, oh god, oh god. He knows. "I can explain—"
"Can you?" He angles himself forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Because I've been trying to figure out why my very good friend has watched a boring thirty-second video of me talking about books seventy-seven times."
You want to run away, mouth opening and closing like a fish. "I... the algorithm is weird sometimes?"
Armin chuckles, low and warm, absent of any malice. "Try again."
"I was checking to see if the view count was going up?"
"Nope."
You're quiet for a long moment, trying to figure out how to get out of this without completely humiliating yourself. You don't suppose it's too late to jump out of a window? Ultimately, you sigh in defeat. "Okay, fine. Maybe I watched it a few times."
"A few?"
You narrow your eyes, crossing your arms in defiance at the unsolicited endless interrogation. "More than a few."
"How many more?"
You want to strangle him, and not in the sexy way. "You’re being annoying."
"Come on." His voice has dropped slightly lower, and there's something almost akin to teasing in it. "I told you about the marriage proposals. Fair's fair."
You mutter a profanity under your breath, groaning. "Fine. I watched it a lot. Happy?"
"No. We’re getting there, though. Why?"
"Why what?"
Armin’s glee sharpens into something ravenous, a flicker of desperation lurking beneath his carefree demeanour—like he’s itching for you to say exactly what he needs. "Why did you watch it seventy-seven times?"
Your lungs feel too tight, too exposed. "Because..."
"Because?"
"Because you looked really good, okay?" The words come out in a rush. "Because watching you talk about literally anything is incredibly attractive, and because that frustrating part where your tongue piercing shows has been tormenting me ever since the video came out."
The silence that follows is eerily deafening. Armin simply stares at you, and you wish the ground would swallow you whole.
"Shit," you grumble, burying your face in your hands. "I'm sorry. That was completely out of line. I know we're friends and I shouldn't have—"
"Hey. Look at me."
The way he asks convinces you to peep through your fingers, reluctant but unable to look away. His expression is attentive and focused—definitely not one of disgust.
"You think I'm attractive?" he questions softly.
"I... yes?"
He blinks, his usual calm shattered by the raw vulnerability in your voice. His fingers tremble, revealing the fierce hope inside that there’s a potential chance that someone sees him as more than the sum of his quirks. "Even though I'm just a loser who gets excited about obscure paranormal documentaries and spends too much time playing video games?"
"Especially because of that," you admit, having never been more sure of yourself.
His answering smile is slow and devastating. "Good to know."
"Good to know?"
He hums, reaching across the table, and gently pulls your hands away from your face. "I've been wondering if you'd ever see me as more than just your friend who helps you with your homework."
Your brain, without a doubt, malfunctions. "What?"
"Did you really think I started bringing you food and staying up late just because I'm a good friend?"
The words disarm you. You’re trapped between incredulity and the dawning comprehension of what he might be suggesting. "I…"
"And did you think I learned how to play your favourite songs on guitar just because I had time to spare?"
"Y-you said you wanted to practice—"
"And I presume you thought I got this piercing because I was feeling rebellious?"
That stops you short, confusion apparent in the furrow of your brows. "You didn't?"
Armin's grin turns almost predatory. "I got it because I overheard you and Sasha talking about how cool you find them. This was back in October, after you'd been dating that guy with the lip ring."
You feel like a kettle left on the stove too long. "You... what?"
"You said, and I quote, 'There's something about tongue piercings that's beyond exciting.’ Something along the lines of how the person has to be bold enough to get it, but there's the simultaneous insinuation of what they can do with it."
"I’m going to kill myself," you gape at him in horror. "You heard all of that?"
"I was sitting right behind you in the campus coffee shop. You weren’t exactly shy about it." He shifts closer, and you can spot the hint of silver when he speaks, "I made an appointment that very afternoon."
"You got a tongue piercing because of something I said about another guy?"
"I got a tongue piercing because I wanted to be the guy you were talking about."
The confession hangs in the air between you, charged and electric. You stare at him, trying to process this complete change in everything you thought you knew about your friendship.
"I've been trying to get your attention for months. I was starting to think I'd have to do something drastic."
In spite of being made to face terrifying revelation after revelation, you manage to stutter out a breathless laugh. "More drastic than getting a tongue piercing for me?"
"I was considering learning to play your favourite video game."
You snort despite yourself. "You hate that game."
He shrugs casually, as if the lengths to which he would go for you knew no bounds. "I know. That's how desperate I was getting."
The atmosphere between you feels tense now, full of possibility and two years of unspoken tension. Armin traces your knuckles and the simple touch sends heat shooting up your arm.
"So," you say, trying to stay as composed as you possibly can. "What happens now?"
"Now," he starts, standing up, "you tell me what exactly you were thinking about during those seventy-seven views."
He's close enough that you have to tilt your head back to look at him, and the unwavering want in the blue of his eyes makes your breath catch. "I was thinking..." you trail off, feeling timid with his attention on you.
"You can do it. Use your words for me?" his voice has gotten rougher, huskier, and it sends delightful shivers down your spine.
"I was thinking about what it would feel like."
"What would feel like?"
"Your piercing. When you..." You gesture vaguely, cheeks burning. Armin's hand comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing across your bottom lip. "When I what?"
"When you kiss me," you whisper.
"Just kissing?" The question is loaded with underlying intentions, and you shake your head slowly.
"Tell me what else you were thinking about."
"Armin..."
"Please." The plea is hushed but insistent. "I want to know what's been going through your head."
You swallow, your throat suddenly dry as you let go of the entirety of your self-restraint. "I was thinking about what it would feel like on my body. What it would feel like when you use your mouth on me."
His pupils immediately dilate at your words. "Fuck."
"Is that... is that okay?"
Instead of verbally affirming, he leans down and kisses you. It's gentle at first, tentative, but when you react by fisting your hands in his sweater and pulling him closer, he deepens it. The first brush of his tongue against yours has you gasping, and when you feel the metal of his piercing, it sends intoxicating pleasure shooting through you.
You break apart, breathing heavily, and Armin rests his forehead against yours.
"How was that?" he asks earnestly, voice raspy.
"Good," you breathe. "Really good."
His smile is full of care but there's primal desire behind it. "And the piercing?"
"Want more of it."
He brushes his thumb across your lip again. Truth be told, it’s plain torture. "You know, we're in public right now."
Every wall you built is crumbling under the weight of him, and all you can do is let it. "I know."
"Anyone could walk by and see us."
"I know."
"And you don't care?"
You drag your hand up his thigh, stopping just shy of where he clearly wants it, "Not even a little bit."
He kisses you again, harder this time, and you can't help the soft moan that escapes when his tongue meets yours in another dance of display. The sound seems to flip a switch in him, because his hands are tangling in your hair and he's pressing you back against your chair.
"God, you have no idea how long I've wanted to do this," he murmurs against your lips.
"Tell me ‘Min."
"Since freshman year. Since that first day in psych class when you argued with Professor Smith about the ethics of behavioural modification."
You draw away just barely, shaking under the intimacy of his declaration. "That long?"
"That long." He doesn’t think twice before trailing his teeth along your jaw, and when the metal of his piercing digs into your flushed skin, you whimper needily.
"You were so assertive, so brilliant. I was completely and utterly gone."
"Why didn't you say anything?"
"Because you were dating that business major asshole, and then when you broke up, we became friends,” he hesitantly halts his ministrations to flutter his eyelashes at you, “I-I didn't want to ruin it."
Good heavens, you didn’t stand a chance from the beginning.
"But then you kept looking at me like... like you wanted me too, and I started hoping..."
"I did want you. I do want you." The admission comes out whinier than intended, but you can’t bring yourself to be bothered at this point. "So much."
His hands tighten in your hair. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
You’re unaware of how many minutes pass as you lose yourself in the sensation of his mouth on yours, and the way he tastes like mint and something uniquely him. You dig your nails lightly into his sides, claiming him in an act of fervent possession. His breaths mingle with yours and the world outside your tangled bodies fades until there’s nothing but lust burning between you. By the end of it, your chests rise and fall in tandem.
"We should probably get out of here," he mumbles, peeking around the library.
Craving Armin has left you dazed, vision glassy as you attempt to make sense of your surroundings. "Right. Um, your place or mine?"
He pecks your nose, full of affection, tenderly guiding you. "Mine. My roommate's gone for the weekend."
You start gathering your things with shaky hands, hyperaware of the way Armin is observing you. When you bend over to pick up your bag, you hear his sharp intake of breath.
"Something wrong?" you ask innocently.
"N-nothing," he mutters, skittishly pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
The walk to his dorm feels like it takes forever, full of stolen glances and the kind of anticipation that makes your skin feel too tight. When you reach his room, he fumbles with his keys for a moment—so fucking cute—before getting the door open.
You haven’t had a lot of time this semester to crash at his dorm—neat and organised, with anime posters on the walls and stacks of books and manga everywhere. But you barely have time to take it in before he's pressing you against the closed door, urgency lacing his actions.
This time, there's nothing apprehensive about it. His hands are everywhere—your waist, your back, squeezing your ass—and when you arch against him, he makes a low sound of approval.
"You taste so good," he shudders against you. "Everything I’ve imagined and so much more."
"You imagined this?"
"Every night for two years." His mouth moves to your neck, nibbling along your throat. "What you'd look like, what you'd sound like when I made you come."
The words send heat pooling low in your belly, prompting you to press your thighs together instinctively. "Fuck, don’t say shit like that.”
"Why not? I’ve been longing for you. All of you," he whispers, pulling back to look at you with dark, lidded eyes. "You’re not getting away until I’ve had my fill."
It would be an understatement to say that you hadn’t foreseen this when you woke up today. That you'd be spending hours with your legs over Armin's shoulders, forgetting your own name; the compassionate, stammering genius the internet drooled over. Too bad he’s not on the market. It would be a treat if his fans could see him like this—flushed and breathless, fingers gripping your hips like he’d die without you. Armin Arlert, golden boy of TikTok, practically begging to let him ruin you.
You grow dizzy at the promise in his voice. "Please."
He lets his hand trail lower, indecently tranquil, and just as you think he’ll do something reckless—he pauses, smirking wickedly.
"Want to find out what this piercing really feels like when I eat you out?"
being with choso meant having your tits sucked 24/7 ୨୧ choso kamo x fem!reader ୨୧ i love boobs
it starts off as a coping mechanism after a long hard day. choso will pull your shirt down and suck on your nipple, softly, squeezing the other gently.
somehow over the months, it turns into an obsession. now, even after a good day, choso thinks he deserves to reward himself. his lips attach to your nipple, sucking and licking, rutting his bulge against your cunt.
if you're home all day with him, there's no point in putting on a bra, let alone a shirt. it will be stripped off you instantly. his lips will be attached to your chest in record time.
he loves sucking on them when he fucks you too. he pounds into you while licking your nipples, marking every single bare spot of skin. he thinks you look pretty like that. and when they all start to fade away, he fucks you again so he can mark them.
your tits will always be covered in his spit. he loves the way his spit shines when it catches a shimmer of light. he spits on your nipples before taking them into his mouth, admiring the wetness of him on your pretty buds.
he sucks your nipples while going to bed. you'll cradle his head in your chest while he sucks on your nipples like a baby with a pacifier. you've gotten used to feeling him falling asleep with your nipple in his mouth. his drool with slide on your skin as he sleeps with you in his mouth.
he slammed the door, huffing. "what the fuck is your problem?" you asked, watching as he throws his gym bag on the floor.
"no one believes i have game!" he whined. armin scrunched his face as soon as he heard you snort, not taking your eyes off the tv, once. "something funny?" he asked, clearly unhappy with your response. he pathetically plumped himself on the sofa next to you.
armin was a nerd. your typical tv nerd. one who knew wayyy too much about things that were less than ideal, academically gifted and zero game when it came to getting women. i mean it wasn't his fault that he was sooo eager to please his teachers. sure, he was cute with his glasses that seemed more like a magnifying glass glued to his face, and not to mention that fuck ass bob of his. but you know what, he wore it well. and you had to give him that much.
"ok so, how do you pick up a pretty girl then?" you asked, now directly facing him. he fiddled with his bony fingers before swallowing harshly. "well?"
"well i'm charming?"
"according to who?" you bellowed out in laughter as he pouted. "you're a nerd, and there's nothing wrong with that," your hand rubbed on his knee as you gave him a pitiful smile.
"are you...giving me pity right now?"
"no? i'm comforting a friend," you said curtly.
"can i ask you something?"
you smiled expectantly, knowing that he was probably going to splutter out some fuckary. however, nothing could ever prepare you for what came out of his big mouth.
"what's a munch?"
your eyes widened in shock.
"is it a bad thing? everyone was asking if i was a munch, so i just said yes,"
"why the fuck would you say yes to something you don't know the meaning of?"
"well to be honest, it seemed like a good thing..." he put his head down as his face grew hot.
you weren't any better because now your palms were sweaty. "armin, aren't you like, a know-it-all?"
"oh please, i'm not that smart..."
"clearly," you couldn't help but pity the poor baby. and he didn't like that. he didn't like it when others looked down on him especially with pity.
"so, are you gonna tell me?"
"a munch is a man who loves to eat pussy, okay?"
"but i've never...done that before,"
"i can tell," you huffed out while he visibly blushed. "well now the whole school knows that you loves to eat pussy," you giggled loudly. you half expected armin to whine like he always does, but he stays silent. "oh come on, i'm just kidding, laugh a little,"
"so, being a munch sounds fun, i wanna try it out," he turns to face you.
"sorry? armin, are you fucking okay? you don't even know how to eat it,"
"how am i supposed to learn?"
and that's how you ended up with your legs held all the way up to your ears, with armin and his bob between your legs. his tongue piercing swirled on your clit. "you're...you're a fucking liar!" you squealed, as his mouth suckled on your clit. he moaned, completely ignoring you. unbeknownst to you, he was smirking as your syrupy slick dribbled down your ass crack. but that didn't stop him.
his tongue trailed all the way down to the winking hole, as his thumb rubbed your bud with ease. you were unbelievably wet as he tongue moved up towards your hole, squeezing it into your tight pussy. you pulled on his hair, bringing him impossibly closer to it, smothering him completely. each time, his tongue subtly stretching you out. he grunted and groaned, sending vibrations straight to your heart. that lying bastard. he's not fucking new to this shit.
you mewled, watching him remove himself from your cunt for a hot minute. "what's wrong? i'm just showing you what a munch is," he slyly grinned, his chin covered in nothing but slick and saliva. fuck, was he nasty, fingers never leaving your clit. your toes started throwing gang signs as tears formed in your eyes. before you could tell him to move his ass and finish his meal, he's already attaching his mouth in a suction motion onto your clit. you played with your nipple as your hips literally bucked up into his face, greedily trying hard to get more. more of that attention he was giving to the entirety of your sweet pussy.
honestly, you were mad you hadn't just sat on his face to shut him up sometimes. and trust me, you'd thought about it. the ball of his tongue piercing rolled continuously on your clit with speed, as you damn near closed your legs in overwhelming pleasure. this nerd was flicking your clit raw, but you loved every moment of it. "just like that," you whined, yanking his hair a little too harsh. if you had pulled it the right way, he might've just cum in his pants for the second time that night.
"mfphm, fuck armin!" you squealed a little too loud, that wretched piece of metal and his tongue making you cry tears of and pleasure. it seemed almost sadistic with the way he kept repeating the same motion that made your legs shake and quiver. "okay, armin, m'cummin!" and all those words did, was spur him on. watching as he attempted to push his face into your sticky cunt, your leg locked up, with your back arching steeply.
you came hard, but that didn't stop armin from flicking his tongue on your clit, over and over again. and the worst part? you couldn't get him to move away. "okay, i get it!" you moaned out, damn near screaming. he was lucky that your legs felt weak, or else he would've been crushed by your thighs, not that he would mind. "armin, i'm done!" you sobbed out, and the obscene sounds of him slurping and sucking on your pussy never stopped. your hand moved to place itself on his head and attempt to push him away.
a feeling arose in your tummy, something unfamiliar, and at the point you were crying hot tears. you even couldn't let out one coherent sentence before you came again. even harder than the first. you genuinely felt ethereal, ringing in your ears and seeing nothing but white. your heartbeat was in your ears as he finally removed himself after riding your orgasm out.
two slim fingers slowly slipped into your cunt. "you bastard,"
"hey, that's not anyway to talk to the guy that just gave you the orgasm of your life," he pouted, fingers curving upwards towards your g-spot as you moaned out loud. he swiftly pulled them out before slapping your cunt.
you sat up immediately, and gave him one harsh slap across his face. "you said you've never eaten pussy, what the hell was that?" you huffed out.
"thanks!"
"it wasn't a compliment,"
that sneaky bastard. of he knows how to eat it. but now you had to find out if he could lay it down. well, you actually didn't have to worry about that, cuz baby, despite cumming in his pants twice, he still had more in him.
it’s just past 2am when the bedroom door creaks open.
you stir first. you don’t even sit up, just blink at the shadow in the doorway. the shadow is small and chubby, clutching a frog plushie to his chest.
“gumi?” you whisper. “what is it, baby?”
he doesn’t say anything. just stands there in his too-big froggie pajamas, silent.
you sit up.
that’s when he toddles over. silently with quick little steps and climbs straight into the bed, right between you and toji. gumi wedges himself into the sheets like he’s done it a thousand times (he has).
you gather him close instinctively. his cheeks are warm and his long lashes are damp,
“bad dweam,” he mumbles.
your heart breaks into a million tiny pieces. “oh, baby.”
“was big an’ loud an’ - an’ it chased me,” he sniffles.
“fwoggie twied t’fight it but he don’t got arms.”
you nod solemnly. “poor froggie. so brave.”
“he twied,” megumi insists, serious as death. “but it was too monsty.”
he sniffles again. then hiccups.
you pat gumi’s back. he’s curling into a tighter and tighter ball, sock hanging off one foot, toes cold against your thigh.
“what happened to your other sock?” you ask, gently.
megumi lifts his head. considers this. looks at froggie. then solemnly whispers: “he eated it.”
toji, who was pretending to be asleep, snorts into his pillow.
you don’t even correct him. just nod very seriously. “we’ll deal with that tomorrow.”
then gumi wiggles around like a franticworm until he’s planted directly on top of toji’s chest.
he’s sprawled out like a starfish. plump cheek smushed against toji’s rough skin. froggie clutched in one hand, the other splayed out like he’s claiming territory.
toji lets out the heaviest sigh.
“he’s a parasite,” he mutters. “a chonky parasite.”
but one big hand still rises to cup the back of megumi’s head.
megumi lets out the tiniest little hum of satisfaction. already drifting off again.
When Satoru bought a new bed for you two to share, you had assumed it meant you would finally regain some personal space.
This was proven to be, in fact, false.
This was the third night in a row that you had been awakened by your husband's long limbs smacking you in your sleep. One lanky leg flopped over your own shorter legs while his arm draped over your stomach. It had become a routine of sorts; he would join you in bed around 4AM after finishing his duties, then around 5AM, he would begin his shenanigans.
At first, it was smaller, less irritable things like accidentally nudging you in his sleep, or snoring, but as time went on, his unconscious body seemed to turn restless. Satoru began to spread out on the bed, taking up around seventy five percent of the mattress, leaving you a sliver of space to occupy.
His lanky frame lay sprawled on the bed, limbs stretched out on top of your own as if you were his personal body pillow.
It eventually became insufferable; you couldn’t sleep with his constant invasion of your personal space, so you begged him to buy a bigger bed.
And that he did, except it somehow made the problem worse.
Now you lie awake, 5:17AM, with your husband snoring happily next to you, his leg draped over your hip, arm stretched over your collarbone, and face tucked into the crook of your neck. You didn’t understand how he managed to somehow take up the entire king-sized bed.
You huffed, trying — and failing — to push his body off of you, “Gosh, why are you so damn heavy?” You muttered under your breath, hand moving to nudge him awake.
“Toru, get up!” You whisper shouted, “You’re suffocating me, you oaf.” Gojo blinked groggily, bright blue eyes piercing the dimly lit room, “As much as I adore you, I’d like to get my three hours of beauty sleep, babe.” He groaned, nuzzling further into your neck, “Yeah, Toru. Me too, get off.”
He whined, pulling you further into his embrace as if he was trying to trap you. You rolled your eyes at him, hands still trying to push him away so you could actually enjoy your sleep. “Why do you hate me? I’m just trying to cuddle my wife,” he peeked up at you, blue eyes widening in faux puppy eyes.
“No, you’re suffocating me. Seriously, baby, how do you take up so much space?” He lifted his head, gasping in mock offence, “Are you calling me overweight? That’s so hurtful, I’ll have you know I have an amazing physique.” You stifled a laugh, brushing your fingers through his snowy hair, “Yes, Toru, I can see that, but I wouldn’t be surprised if all those sugary snacks caught up to you.”
“I’m just saying you sprawl out a lot, Toru, I’m trying to sleep, and I feel you practically on top of me.” He hummed into your neck, seemingly contemplating how to respond, “I just enjoy being close to you, is that a crime?”
You giggled, “It is when I’m practically being strangled.” Satoru whined louder this time, “It’s not fair, you deprive me of physical touch, babe.” You swatted his shoulder lightly, “Be quiet, you big baby. No one said we couldn’t cuddle. I just said stop confusing me for the mattress.” He pouted, “But you’re so soft.”
Leaning down, you kissed his pursed lips, “Just cuddle me like a normal person, okay?”
“But I’m not normal,” he sleepily argued.
You laughed, tugging lightly on his messy hair, “I know, baby. I know.”
