after taking a not-so-great exam, your boyfriend is there to comfort you
word count: 3.5k
content warnings: none
Statistics was never your strong suit—I mean, was it anybody's? Luckily, the class isn’t even that important on a transcript, right? Though a fat C could do some damage to your upkept GPA. Still, you were never great at math. So, a C is actually a pretty good damn score if you think about it. No need to worry about it too much, obviously you aren’t a complete failure. Especially when the rest of your transcript is littered with A’s. So how bad could this one exam possibly be?
You continue to feed yourself these delusional affirmations as you exit the academic building your class was just held in. The cool, fresh air hits you, and you puff out a frustrated breath back. You just accept it—no amount of studying could’ve prepared you for whatever that exam was. The late night reviews that fell into dawn and the reserved spot you unwittingly made in the library and the coffee drinks that would appear in your hand after passing out on your boyfriend’s bed with drool highlighting your textbooks.
All the time and effort you put in this week unfortunately lost all its meaning the minute you sat down and were handed that packet. For a moment, you thought you might’ve stumbled into the wrong classroom—even though the professor and classmates you meet up with every week greeted you as you walked inside. There was still a chance the plaque on the wall was the wrong classroom number. Another delusional affirmation.
Your feet have a defeated drag as you idle the massive quad and decide your next course of action. That exam was supposed to be a breeze so the rest of your day you'd have a weight off your shoulders. But now your head dips and your shoulders sag—and maybe a good cry in an empty classroom could be the solution.
The buzzing in your back pocket brings you out of your daze. You blink away your rimming tears as you raise your phone to read the notifications covering the lock screen of the same person who messaged you. And the only person who could put a smile on your face in a crisis like this.
ren.✦ ݁˖: so.
ren.✦ ݁˖: movie starts off great. buff hot sexy main character
ren.✦ ݁˖: honestly just long tan and handsome EVERYWHERE. really resembles me, you know? kicking ass, protecting his woman, smoldering the FUCK out of the camera
ren.✦ ݁˖: then THEN this little asswipe shows up with a rifle BIGGER THAN HIM and shoots him??? and now he’s dead??? and there’s still an hour left??? and no one told me.
ren.✦ ݁˖: i truly cant fathom that someone approved this script
ren.✦ ݁˖: but anyway… you want to hang out with me so bad
You almost forget what has you on the brink of tears. You’re giggling at your phone in the middle of the quad. And now this other solution for your crisis actually sounds much better. You swipe under your nose with a sniffle as you text back with a schoolgirl smile on your face.
babygirl ❤︎: spoiler alert!
babygirl ❤︎: and i would love to hang out with you
ren.✦ ݁˖: love to? you like me so much, get a grip!
His answer is immediate—he must be sitting around waiting for your text because it usually takes a while for those bubbles to appear. Your boyfriend has his phases where he is genuinely just chronically offline. Phone? Has no idea where it is. Calls? Straight to his threatening voicemail of never calling this number again. Text? If it isn’t you, he’ll probably get back in the next three to five business days.
ren.✦ ݁˖: also how did your exam go?
babygirl ❤︎: next question…
ren.✦ ݁˖: aww babygirl :(
ren.✦ ݁˖: come over to mine. i got a big hug with your name on it
babygirl ❤︎: yay!
You rhythmically knock on your boyfriend’s door to signal it’s your specific arrival—his roommate, Armin, loves to answer it to be nosey. Luckily for you, when heavy footsteps meet you on the other side and the door swings open, it’s your boyfriend, Eren, standing before you.
His hair is reaching the length where the ends nearly brush his shoulders. The dark brown strands shape his slender face impeccably. It's rare you see them in their natural flow as Eren prefers his hair tied up in a half up bun.
“Hey, baby. You okay?” He greets you, pulling you inside his dorm so he can shut the door. His green, nearly blue, eyes study your defeated expression under his thick, downward brows.
“Hi,” you say, meekly, ignoring his question. Eren’s hands mold into your waist to tug you into him before his arms slip completely around you. His body curls down due to his towering height. Your arms throw themselves around his neck, though you stuff your face into his collar—you shyly inhale his pine scent.
Eren doesn't pull away until you do. He continues to watch you as your eyes slide down his body. You note that he wears a plain gray shirt and athletic shorts, giving you a nice view of his tanned running legs. There was just something about his legs being built with pure muscles that sinks your teeth into your lip to contain yourself. Any chance you were given to sit on his lap or press your leg against his, it was yours for the taking.
If your jaw wasn’t being tilted up by Eren’s finger, you’d stare at them for a minute longer. His permanently annoyed gaze softens when you look at him. “Come on,” his head motions behind him, “you want to change into something of mine?”
“I already am,” you snort, tugging at the hem of your graphic shirt that hides your silhouette. Eren lifts a brow, then it dawns on him why it looked so familiar.
“You little sneak,” he pinches the junction of your neck and shoulder—because he tends to leave marks there, the spot has grown extra sensitive to the touch. You squeal, slapping his hand away with a pout. He barely smirks, amused.
Eren leads you into his room in the back corner of the suite. When the door opens, you are flashed with purple lights that decorate the borders of his room. His TV, situated on his dresser, displays a menu screen that pauses the movie he was texting you about.
"So," he drags out—his voice is husk—as he slips your bag off your shoulders and discards it next to his, “want to tell me how it went?" You shoo your shoes off your feet before stepping further into his room.
“Well—” you attempt to explain the tale of your statistics exam but the words die in your exhale. You feel your throat compress as the shame and the disappointment hit you all at once. Eren casually circles to the spot in front of you. The embarrassment—the one thing he promised you never had to feel around him, slaps you directly in the face. Eren ticks his jaw as you advertently avoid his eyes. You simply answer his question with an unconvincing, "no."
Eren reaches for the dips of your hips to hold you still, enclosing on the space between you two. His body heat bounces off of yours as leans in to press a single kiss to the corner of your mouth. He meets your eyes for a moment, studying the tension as it unknowingly leaves your body when you blush at his gesture. He hums, satisfied, then he’s latching onto your lips with a wet smack.
Your head leans back from the force. But Eren releases your hip to grasp your neck, keeping it stable. A quiet, masculine groan comes from the back of his throat. A swirling sensation pools in your stomach from the sound. Your lips are being nipped at, then again, kissed softly, then nibbled on, before his own brush against yours.
Suddenly, you’re being pulled back by the neck to meet Eren’s gaze. And it shoots a calm wave of tranquility through you.
“You can tell me, baby. What happened?” He questions you with a gentle purr. He even squeezes your warm neck to dig the reassurance into your skin.
You sigh with a mere shrug. "It just… wasn’t great. It was actually a disaster before it even started," you mumble, trying not to internalize that feeling again of reviewing your completed exam and knowing half of your answers are surely incorrect.
"It couldn't have been that bad," Eren says between gentle kisses—he steals each breath you take. "I've seen you study all week for it. We even stayed up late last night for a final review."
"We?" You cock up your eyebrow at him. Eren flicks your forehead, you hiss, and then peppers his lips to that aching spot as his apology.
"I'm just saying, I know how hard you worked to get all that information to stick. And that had to have shown on your exam."
"I'm telling you, Ren, I think I walked into the wrong stats class," you say, grasping at his shirt. "I'm doomed!"
Eren deeply chuckles at your comment. "Think so?" he teases with a tilt of his head. His hair follows. You feel the urge to push the curious strands behind his ear.
"Your girlfriend is a failure, babe. If you want to dump me, I totally understand.” You spin around to climb on top of your boyfriend's massive bed. Living in a single allows for two twins to mesh into one king. He keeps it fairly bare with a navy blue comforter. But now there are tossed blankets and stuffed animals that aren’t his thrown on top.
You sit on the edge of the bed, and Eren draws in like a magnet to the spot between your dangling legs. Two hands plant on either side of you. “You’re not a failure and I have no desire to ever break up with you—dumb as a stump or not,” he says to the pout overtaking your bottom lip. “I think your professor gave out the wrong exam to your class. I can put a hit out on her if you’d like?”
The seriousness in his statement makes you bark out an unintentional laugh. You slap a hand over your mouth to contain it. Eren blinks back at you with an uneasy, grim stare. As if he possibly considers acting upon it.
You place your hands on his shoulders and shake your head. “I appreciate that, but no.” Eren only shrugs. “But if I get my first ever C, at least it was in statistics. No one can be mad at that, right?”
“Nope. And let me know if they do.” You study the fixation he has on you, once again possibly serious. Eren has a sharp, almost cold look to the naked eye. The thickness of his dipped eyebrows casts a slight shadow over his eyes. The way his stare is darkened, the tension of his chiseled jaw, the dryness in his tone is all simply unconscious.
It explained why you were so intimidated by him when you became apart of his group. You sat down with his best friend, Armin, and he listened to you attempt to solve the mystery of Eren’s supposed hatred towards you. He let you ramble on for a while, baffled by the humor of your situation. After enough hours in the dining hall and no rational reasoning came to mind, you decided to settle on something simpler—your crush just didn’t like you, it is was it is.
Armin couldn’t hold it in any longer. He burst into a loud fit of laughter directly in your face. You felt the flush of heat rise to your cheeks as you kept asking what was so funny. While swiping tears from his eyes and sucking in too much air, Armin finally told you the truth.
“So, unfortunately for you and Eren Jaeger, he has the meanest face… well, that I’ve seen, probably in all existence. And also unfortunately for you and Eren Jaeger, he doesn’t know he has the meanest face because he’ll become the most defensive person ever if you try to tell him. And the third unfortunately for you and Eren Jaeger, he won’t—no sorry, he says he can't tell you that he thinks you are the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid his eyes on.”
You blinked widely at Armin, stolen of words. He goes on.
“He glares at you like he hates your guts because he doesn’t know he’s doing it. And he doesn’t say anything because he's only ever had a crush on a girl once, and that girl is you. So, his logic is that if he just stares at you hard enough, you’ll magically figure it out.” Armin blows out a frustrated breath.
“And I haven’t,” you snort.
“And you haven’t. Which is totally fair. But yes, I think this… whole situation is quite hilarious.”
Even after you two finally spoke about it, watched Eren put Armin in a headlock for revealing his secret then kissing him for helping him out, your boyfriend hasn’t changed his rested state one bit. Deadpan eyes peer at you, filled with admiration and affection he hasn’t put completely into words yet.
“I don’t want you beating yourself up over this exam, y/n. Be frustrated, cry or yell if you need to, but then let it go. I know, and you know, that you are a very intelligent woman, and one exam doesn’t change the truth in that. Alright?” Eren looks at you with such intensity as he speaks. His hard scowl contradicts the warmth in his voice and the kindness of his words.
You smile at him, grateful. “Thank you, Eren.”
“And if I’m being honest, I think getting a C is kinda sexy,” he jokes. You look at him, bored.
“You’re not being serious.”
“Oh, I am. Completely.”
“Ugh, men are so easy.”
“Can I admit I’m getting a little hard just thinking about it?” Eren grows a wicked grin as he pretends to adjust himself in his shorts. You roll your eyes, shoving at his chest. The low rumbling of his laugh makes you blush.
You glance away and land on the TV, still paused on the movie he was watching. “How’s the movie? Still bad?” You swiftly change the topic.
Eren scoffs, now reminded of what had him so pissed off earlier. His eye twitches at the screen. “Whoever officially rated this movie four stars is a pathological liar,” he grumbles, and you giggle at his grimace. You lean forward to kiss his jaw. “But hopefully the kid dies soon—“
“Ren!”
“—then maybe the rating will make sense. But I’m still probably going to leave a nasty review anyways, even though this movie is, like, ten years old.”
You shake your head at him, attempting to suppress your smile. You lean back on your hands. “Well, I don’t mean to be a bother. I’ll—”
“Whoa!” Eren straightens up to his full height, which snaps your mouth shut. His sudden frown at you is defensive.
“What?”
“Never refer to yourself as a bother again,” he says, curtly. “I asked you to come over, so take that back,” he bites—his long finger pokes your breast. You both look down at where his pointer sits, and Eren’s lips curl into a smirk. You lift an unimpressed brow at him. “Pervert,” you mutter.
“Never said I was a saint.” He humphs, content.
“Anyway,” you circle back, “finish your movie. I’ll make myself comfortable here.” Your hand blindly finds one of your blankets thrown on top of the comforter.
Eren responds by attaching his lips to yours. He kisses you with an eagerness but otherwise gentle as he tilts his head for a perfect angle. One of his hands runs along your thigh to the back of your knee to hook it around his lean waist. He presses himself closer to you—somehow the limit doesn’t exist.
A warm tongue swiftly finds your bottom lip to lick across with a silent request. You respond with a gasp and your head is then knocked back. Eren hums something incoherent as his tongue slips into your mouth. The thick muscle darts for yours to tangle and lick up between kisses. The hot gesture sends a shiver up your spine. You softly moan for Eren to engulf the sound.
There is a wisp of his name every time he breaks the kiss to breathe into your mouth. “What is it, babygirl?” he whispers pure of sultry, "You want me?" but doesn’t give you a chance to respond as you’re back to smacking lips. The rasp of his voice and the grind of his hips arouse something dangerous inside of you.
You pull away to slow yourselves down, only for Eren to chase after you with a pathetic noise neither of you acknowledge. You hold your boyfriend back by the shoulders, forcing him to catch his breath. He would happily pass out if it was while he got to kiss you endlessly. Eren stares at you with hooded lids, drunk on the sight of your wet lips.
“You need to keep your tongue in your own mouth. It never ends well,” you quip with a giggle as your boyfriend busies himself with short pecks along your jaw.
“Never heard that one before,” he says, then looks at you with those green, blue eyes. They have a playful glint to them. “You love when my tongue plays with—”
“Shut up,” you smack a hand over his mouth. “Go watch your movie, please.” Eren grabs your wrist and brings it to his now plump lips. He kisses it gently at the pulse.
“Why don’t you come sit with me?” he suggests, letting his hands wander down your sides until they’re holding the meat of your hips.
You shrug, indifferent. “Okay.” Eren easily lifts you off his bed and places you on the ground. He has a pink saucer chair that sits too big in the middle of his dorm room. It was never supposed to end up there, but when you saw it at the store and sat down into its soft faux fur, you almost fell into a deep slumber. Eren had to physically lift you out of it and carry you away.
You feigned a pout the whole drive home, and even turned away from your boyfriend as you got into his bed for the night. A few huff and puffs were added for dramatic effect. But Eren told you it wouldn’t work.
The next day, you arrived at his dorm after your class and found the pink chair in the middle of the room. Eren uses it more than he'd admit to.
Your lengthy boyfriend sinks down into the deep chair, before patting his lap. “Come to papa,” he jokes with a wide smirk. You scoff but still do as told, stretching your legs across his exposed thighs and lying against his side.
Eren’s arms immediately engulf you and pull you into his chest. You turn your head so it’s stuffed into his neck. The vibrations of his voice relaxes you. “Comfortable?” He asks. You simply nod.
One of Eren’s arms is around your back while the other reaches down to your stacked legs. He places his hand on your thigh and grazes your skin. You know he’s finally settled when he sighs from the weight of your body on top of him. He grabs the remote to start the movie up again.
You don’t really have an interest in watching, only to be held by your boyfriend. You let your eyes flutter shut and instead bask in the warmth of him. Eren knows you're finally at ease when your breathing against his neck turns light. He smiles shortly.
There was a pang in your heart earlier. Something had made it tighten, something had your shoulders heavy, something had your frown creating wrinkles in your face. But each kiss that is placed on your forehead, followed by a sweet nothing fades the memory.
"You really think I'm intelligent?" you ask your boyfriend, shyly.
"The smartest person I know... well—"
"Aside from Armin," you both say.
Your lips brush Eren's neck before you start peppering kisses up the length of it. “I love you,” you whisper against his skin. Your hand that rests loosely on his shoulder tightens to keep his neck close to your mouth.
Eren hums quietly, sounding more of a groan. He shifts in the chair as your kisses reach the underside of his jaw. “I love you too, babygirl,” he says then adds, “and I’m so incredibly proud of you. No matter what grade you get.”
“Even if it’s an A?” You ask, pulling away to look at him. But for once, he doesn't meet your gaze.
Eren feigns a disappointed sigh, scratching at his head. “I mean, I guess it’s alright. I still might be able to get off.” Your head throws back to laugh.
"Think so?"
He hums in thought. "Actually, I don't know. Let's test it out."
before, during, even after his soccer game, all armin can think about is that new update
word count: 2.6k
content warnings: none
You turn your right leg outward and pass the green and purple patterned soccer ball with the inside of your foot. There isn’t much power behind your kick but it still makes it to Armin waiting across from you. This is the usual spot Armin likes to meet up and decompress with you after his morning practices—the upkept mowed grass alongside the Reiss Field, home of the Titans.
You always ask your boyfriend how his practices went, especially days like this when he has a home game later today. But Armin has been rambling nonstop about a video game he admits he hasn’t played in a while.
“So, then like two weeks ago, the creators announced that they’d add Amore to the new update with all her lore. But remember the trailer I showed you?” Armin speaks steady, bouncing on his toes before striking the ball back to you. You nod at his question, though the trailer doesn’t immediately come to mind. “That girl that appeared in the warehouse—that’s supposed to be Amore!” His voice turns exasperated, so it must be a big deal, you note.
You prepare to pass the ball but switch to your left foot to give your right a rest. The motion feels off to you and rolls a few feet away from Armin. He swiftly knocks the ball back to his original spot as if you already kicked it there.
“I don't know but that Amore in the trailer is nothing like the one Damien described, nor the creators, when they brought her up... like, months ago. Damien said she was—”
“Wait, as in the main character in the game, Damien?” You jump in with a lifted brow. You try using your left foot again with better precision. The ball makes it closer to Armin than the last kick. “He talked about her?”
“Yeah, all the time during his cutscenes,” Armin answers. “But we’ve never seen her until now.”
When the ball returns to Armin, he lets it roll onto his laces so he can pop it up the air to juggle. You place a hand on your hip, now able to rest for a moment.
“She was really small in the trailer, I think,” you mention as Armin walks to you with each foot effortlessly juggling the ball. His eyes are still trained on you as your conversation continues.
“Exactly!” He exclaims with a growing smile. “She looked ten, right?” You nod—the memory faintly returns with a young girl with auburn hair appearing on the screen and Armin leaning closer to the TV with that intent look in his eyes. He had a hand on your thigh that almost slipped off in shock. No way, that’s her, he had muttered but didn’t give you any clarification as to what he was talking about.
“Is she not ten?” You snort your question. Armin kicks the ball harder when it hits against his laces so it reaches his arm. He loops the ball and stuffs it under his armpit.
“No! She’s supposed to be twenty something, around the same age as Damien because they were childhood friends before the apocalypse happened,” Armin explains as he stands in front of you. His hand reaches to idly play with the loose strands of your hair. “But anyways, it was rumored that the players supposedly ‘power up’ when Damien teams up and fights with Amore because of their chemistry. That hasn’t been confirmed, though. Maybe with their next trailer.”
You hum in agreement because you have no idea if it's true. Armin presses a gentle kiss to your lips before you can react. You would think to ask what it was for, but Armin grew habitual to sharing a short kiss without thought.
“Connie thinks that she’s going to end up betraying us in one of the later levels when we least expect it. I’ll be so pissed off if that’s true. We already lost Raymond and Frize,” he continues. The two of you stand in the middle of the field with the fall sun shining on the side of your faces. Armin is still cooling down from the intensity of his practice, thanks to Coach Shadis. He takes a swig of his water bottle as you speak.
“Oh, I remember them. That’s when Eren broke his old controller because there was that ultimatum of, like, save Frize or learn the secrets hidden in some basement,” you reminisce.
Armin’s head falls back to laugh at the memory. It was a long night. Luckily, a Saturday night so they didn’t have to worry about quiet hours in the dorms. It took a couple of interventions to calm Eren down after that level. “What a hothead. Seriously.” You giggle softly as Armin pinches the bridge of his nose.
“You can be like that too, sometimes, Minnie,” you say, shivering at his hand drawing down the line of your jaw to then rest on your neck. His fingers are always warm, as if he can become a human furnace when necessary.
Two thick, blonde eyebrows draw in at you. “Never that bad,” he argues in a gentle tone.
“But you yell at the TV and curse at your character a lot,” you lift a shoulder to shrug. The ball that’s placed loosely in his armpit is snatched away to give your hands something to play with.
Armin rolls his eyes. “Everyone does that, honey.”
“No, not everyone. You,” you say with your finger poking his chest to tease him, playfully.
“Mhm,” Armin waves you off with another kiss, longer than the last. “You like listening to me ramble about my video games?” he asks with his lips brushing against yours.
You hum your answer as Armin engulfs your bottom lip. His hand slides around your neck to hold you still. Your chin lifts to meet his height. With your arm holding the soccer ball, your other rests on his chest.
“Sure it doesn’t get annoying?” Armin asks. “You can tell me if I talk too much.”
You pull back from his kiss to shake your head. “Nope.” You haven’t told Armin to his face but it genuinely means the world to you that he’s so comfortable going on a tangent about things that fascinate him. The noticeable glint in his eyes that appear when he speaks about something so passionately is why you love listening to him. Even if you two are with the group—you will gladly be his listener as he rambles for so long that has to pause because he hasn’t taken a breath yet. So, you shake your head again for confirmation. “It’s never annoying. Promise.”
Armin smiles, widely.
“Are you ready for your game later?” you ask him. The soccer ball drops to your feet so you can kick it in the direction of the trail that leads back to campus. Armin slings his bag on his shoulder before joining you.
“Only if you’ll be in the stands,” he wiggles his fluid brows at his cheesy line. You roll your eyes, keeping your head down to hide the flush of your cheeks. “I can’t decide what I enjoy watching more when you’re in the stands: you quietly cheering and squirming in your seat or… when you side eye that same group of girls that sit in the top right section.”
You feel the growl fizzing in the back of your throat at the sole mention of them. Armin snickers, grabbing at your waist to slow you down to his pace as you involuntarily sped off. He holds you against his side.
“I’m joking, honey!” He presses a kiss to the top of your head.
“Well, I’m not,” you mutter. “They only ever cheer when you have the ball.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” Armin says to ease your mind, but you stop in your tracks to face him.
“It is,” you press, not raising your voice but Armin instantly catches the hidden change in your tone. He faces you to show you have his attention. “I even wear your jersey, and that apparently means nothing to them.”
“Guess not,” Armin shrugs. Before you can huff, he holds your chin up. “But it means everything to me.” His words strike at you so hard, you stumble a step back. Your eyes widen at him—Armin snorts at your reaction.
He leans forward to line his radiant blue eyes with yours. The only thing you can look at is him. “The only person I’m looking for when I play is you. The only person I want watching me is you. The only person I care is in the stands is you. The only person I want to hear rooting for me is you. Even if it’s your silent cheering,” he adds to tease, earning a slap to his chest.
“Shut up,” you grumble because you can’t control the overwhelming urge to jump into your boyfriend’s arms and kiss him madly in the middle of this field. Instead you duck your head to hide your smile.
"I'm just saying, you being there is the only thing that matters to me. So, a million girls could be sitting there, but the one person I'm searching for is you," he continues.
An arm slips around your waist and you’re being lifted off the ground. You squeal, grabbing onto Armin’s shoulders as you look down at him, shocked. You take in the soft features of his face. The slope of his short nose, the tint of his cheeks, the doe shape of his eyes, the warmth of his lips as he presses them against yours.
You whisper a sorry for reacting so impulsively. But Armin shrugs it off because if he can ease your mind with a simple reminder, he will gladly do so.
“So, you’ll be there?” He asks.
“Of course, I will.”
“With face paint and all?”
You press your nose against his. “I leave that to Sasha and Sasha only.”
Armin laughs, placing you back down on the ground before finding your hand to interlock his fingers with. You continue to follow the trail in the direction of Armin’s dorm so he can change out of his sweat-patched uniform.
Your usual spot on the bleachers is the bottom right section of the stands—right behind the home team’s bench. Although, as the Titans star left winger, Armin is almost never on the bench. You watch your boyfriend play for ninety straight anxious minutes.
His chemistry with Eren as the sole striker is unmatched. Being childhood best friends and roommates, playing soccer together since middle school may have had something to do with it. Connie, their third roommate, is their attacking midfielder. And always somehow at the right place at the right time.
You cheer on Connie as he steals the ball from the away team’s defender as he took a second too long to clear it. His head shoots up, looking for Armin as the patch of blonde hair hustles down the left side of the field. Your boyfriend is always easy to find—mostly because he’s the only player you ever unabashedly stare at, even when he doesn't have the ball. But Armin recently started wearing his signature green barrettes that you casually clipped in his hair one day to keep his bangs back.
Armin waves a subtle gesture to Connie as he rushes past the right defender. Connie reads Armin’s signal and sends a through ball around that defender. The lightbulb hovering over Eren’s head immediately flicks on as he spins around the defender that was literally holding his waist and runs up the field with Armin.
He carefully keeps an onside position to make sure the play isn’t a waste. Your thighs begin to bounce as Armin meets up with Connie’s through ball and dribbles closer to the goal. Your hands grasp one another and presses against your lips.
“Come on, Minnie. You got it,” you whisper, hoping he could hear your chanting in his own head. And maybe he did because Armin looks up to scan Eren’s position before sending a cross ball. The crowd goes silent for a moment as Eren’s towering height leaps over the defender and the goalie running towards him and headbutts the ball into the top corner of the goal.
The reaction is delayed and disbelieved that the star three players of the Titans have done it again. You are on your feet with the crowd as the stands erupt in a loud, chaotic cheer—cowbells and blowhorns and stomping feet on the bleacher floor. Eren pumps his fist in the air before darting in Armin’s direction. You smile widely as your blond boyfriend jumps into Eren’s arms to celebrate their goal. Connie and the rest of the team soon join them, and you coo proudly at their teamwork.
Eren and Armin are clasping each other’s back as they jog to their side of the field to start the next play. You plop back down in your seat, giggling softly as your excitement hasn’t settled down yet.
Armin looks directly at you in the stands as you wear his blue and white jersey. He waves wildly at you, to which to shake your head and subtly wave back. “Good job,” you mouth, turning your fingers into a thumbs up. Armin blows an exaggerated kiss in your direction then points to one of his barrettes.
That one was for you.
You have to hold your cheeks in your hands to cool them down.
After the game, you vacant your spot on the bleachers and follow the crowd out of the stands. Most of them wait by the fence to congratulate the players as they leave the field.
You stand in your usual spot to make it easy for Armin to find you. His matching jersey is coated in sweat as he approaches you with open arms. “Sweaty,” you grimace. Armin ignores your expression and engulfs you into a hug.
“You’re my good luck charm, you know that?” Armin tells you as you look up at him.
You smile shyly. “Am I?” He nods, before leaning down to kiss you. No one bothers Armin as you are always the person he goes up to first to celebrate a win or to be comforted after a loss. He hums at the warmth of your lips. You return a sound just as pleased. Armin likes to slyly slide his pierced tongue along your bottom lip before you can catch it.
“You know what I realized during the game?” Armin says but doesn’t stop pecking your lips. You’re suddenly hyperaware of the amount of public affection he’s displaying in front of his teammates and fans, who wait around to congratulate him. But you’re the only person he cares to see after his games.
“What?”
“It would actually make sense if Amore were to betray Damien in the game,” he says in a long, tired breath. “I almost forgot that her father created the Krik!”
You stare at Armin, dumbfounded. “What?” You blurt.
He continues, “The alien creatures in the game that are trying to kill you—they’re called Kriks. And Amore may be a Krik, which could explain—”
“Armin!” You yell in his face with a laugh.
His eyebrows draw in. “What’s wrong?”
You shake your head, briefly shutting your eyes. “In the middle of that game, that’s what you were thinking about? As you were playing?” You ask, astonished.
Armin simply shrugs with you still in his arms. He reaches up to push strands of your hair away from your eyes. “Well, yeah? I need to watch that trailer again. I’m going to quickly change so we can head back to my dorm,” he says as he releases you and grabs his bag he dropped on the ground beside you.
You’re still at a loss for words.
“You are such a gamer,” you snort.
Armin either doesn’t hear you or doesn’t comment as he mutters, “Hopefully I can find a video of someone doing a deeper analysis of the trailer on Discord.” He throws his bag on his shoulder and leans down to kiss you. “Wait up for me, yeah?”
You smile softly and nod. “Of course.”
You watch as Armin turns and walks with the rest of his teammates to the locker room in the athletic center.
you like to watch armin as he games with his friends
word count: 3k
content warnings: none :)
“There’re two hiding on your left, Eren.”
“Fuck! Cover me.”
“Connie, where the hell are you?”
“You need ammo to shoot a gun, Jean.”
“You’ve been looting this whole time!”
“Guys, three more just showed up!”
“We’re fucked. Thanks a lot, Connie.”
“Eren, push in.”
“I don’t have enough ammo to charge.”
“Oh, I wonder who could help you with that.”
“Shut up, Connie.”
You lay on your stomach, cheeks pampered with a blush as you stare at the back of your boyfriend’s head. The palm holding your chin up has the sudden urge to slick their fingers down the smooth hairs of his freshly shaved undercut.
Armin doesn’t hear how you shift on his bed to tug down the hem of his hoodie. Your head leans further into your propped up palm, covered by the hoodie’s cuff, to watch the apocalypse game your boyfriend plays on the TV. The desks provided in the dorms are small, but two of them pushed together makes the perfect gaming setup.
Armin’s fingers jam into the buttons of his controller, frustrated at his teammates for getting themselves killed. You stifle a laugh at the growl snarling at the back of his throat. You’ve never understood the devastating passion men have for video games.
“Connie, if you rush in again without telling us, I’m not healing you next time.”
“Yeah you will.”
“Try me.”
“Ohhh, speak to me like that too, Min.”
“Shut up, Eren.”
You giggle under your breath at the banter between Armin and his suitemate that is only a wall away. The sweet sound of your faint laughter catches Armin’s attention. His head whips to the side—you meet with dark blue eyes, almost gray in the sunset lighting of his dorm room.
He turns his body in your direction as you shrink down into the bed. He has a single green barrette clipping his bangs to the side. “What?” you mutter. His newly painted headset—delicately made by you—is pushed behind one of his ears.
“What’s so funny, honey?” You smile into your shoulder at his nickname for you. It came early in your relationship. Almost a week of being a couple, you grew a cold and nasty cough. The inflammation in your nostrils and the post nasal drip scratching your throat turned your voice into a hoarse rasp. You didn’t want Armin to comment on your new vocal cords, so you only spoke to him in gestures. It took a lot of prodding and persuasion to get you to finally answer him verbally.
Your throat continued to ruin your week, so Armin suggested that you take a spoonful of honey to help with your cough. Your nose immediately shriveled in disgust.
“What?” Armin chuckled at your reaction. He couldn’t help but place a kiss to your red nose from the amount of tissues you’ve stuck up your nostrils. “You don’t like honey?”
“No,” you answer, bleak.
“Well, then that means you’ve never had it. Honey is universally known for being delicious.”
“False,” you squeak with a pout. Armin smiled wide at you.
“Nope, it’s sweet and delicious—just like you, honey.”
Your eyes darted to him, unsure if you heard him right. But the amused expression on his face, and the teasing reveal of his tongue, said it was true. You felt the embarrassed heat reaching for your face and rashly shove your hand into his face to block his view of you.
“Shut up!” you cry.
But you never corrected him. So, he kept the nickname.
“Are you laughing at me?” Armin’s voice breaks your daze. He swallows the sight of you, spread out happily on his bed—it took a couple of visits for you to actually become comfortable laying in his bed. Your shirt is discarded neatly on his dresser as you replaced your top with your boyfriend's hoodie he bought when you two went to the beach for a weekend. It’s one of his favorites, but solely because you wear it so much that it permanently smells like you.
You shake your head at his question before stuffing your face into your folded arms. “Keep playing. I’m sorry,” you say, waving his attention back to the TV screen.
Still he doesn’t look away, growing a smile on his face. You gracefully look to the side, suddenly feeling the heat of his hoodie engulfing you. "Why are you looking at me like that?" you ask him, to simmer down the notion that it could be for other reasons.
Armin learned so much about you in the time you two spent together before becoming a couple. He was so attentive because he worried of doing things that could casually scare you away. Like how you disliked when he gazed at you without saying why. It was simple admiration, but to you, his stare could mean anything. He always looks at you with such intensity that it felt overwhelming when you didn't know why.
"I think you're very beautiful," he replies, easily. Your shoulders relax as you whisper a quiet thank you.
"I think you are too," you say, grazing your bottom lip with your teeth.
"Now, keep playing," you bark the order, still unable to look at him. You wait for the tips of your ears to cool down.
Armin doesn’t let the moment stir too long in your face. He leans over and puckers his lips with a request, “kiss, please?” Almost like a moth to a flame, you crawl to the end of his bed so you can reach his glossy lips. He has a tendency to steal your chapsticks, but you always buy the glass shine kind.
You feel him smile within the short kiss. And he hums, pleased. Before you can escape, he grasps your chin to keep you close for another peck.
“Minnie,” you drag out in a playful scold. He presses his lips to the corner of your mouth then the tip of your nose before releasing you.
“Thank you,” he says with a new glint to his eyes. You lift a brow at his lazy grin as he slides his headset back over his ear. “Gonna watch me kick some ass?” He asks. You simply nod and stay near the end of the bed for a better view of the TV.
The loud voices coming from Armin’s headset makes him roll his eyes. He turns back to his game and his character comes to life. Now within reach, you place your hand on the nape of Armin’s neck to thread your fingers into his hair. When your nails scratch his scalp, he unconsciously leans into your hand. Through his gritted remarks at his teammates, he sighs instinctively from your gesture.
You watch his character shoot at numerous enemies at a precision that would be impressive to anyone—gamer or not. His fingers move almost on their own as he meticulously hunts and hones in on his targets. You bite the inside of your cheek to control the swirl in your stomach.
Armin becomes your own personal commentator as he guides you through their mission. You listen attentively to him—you can tell he’s speaking to you from the switch between a soft explanation to a cursing storm as Connie gets shot down again. He hints that they’re almost done when your second yawn strains the line of your jaw.
The fingers in his hair have fallen to the bed as you roll onto your side. You stuff your nose into his green sheets, finding comfort in the familiar smell of Armin. Your eyes flutter tiredly, before glancing at the digital clock on the nightstand. The night has tumbled into Saturday but you don’t flinch at the new date. There’re no classes to worry about and no morning practice for Armin because Coach Shadis couldn’t argue that a great win doesn’t deserve a day off. And the only plans this weekend is being with your boyfriend.
The not so subtle cheer from Armin and a bloody COMPLETED banner being slapped on the screen indicates good news. His stiff posture unravels and he knocks his head back in relief. “Fucking finally. It only took us two weeks to beat this level,” Armin sighs as he speaks to his teammates.
“Alright, you guys get twenty minutes and we’re back on for the next round. If you’re not back by then, I’m making out with you.”
“That’s not a threat, Eren,” Armin snorts as Eren’s smacking lips fill his headset. The painted pair slip from his ears and are placed on the desk by his controller.
“Congratulations,” you speak sleepily as you clap. “Proud of you, guys.” Armin stands from his chair so he can hover over your curled position on his bed. You turn to lay on your back and reach up for him. Armin excitedly leans into your hug as you press him into your chest. A short kiss snuggles into his hair.
“I assume you’re done studying for the night,” he says as he straights up again.
You almost forgot about the textbooks sporadically thrown across the two twin beds pushed together in Armin’s single room. The anatomy of an orca whale is half highlighted because you became distracted by the flex of Armin’s arms as he used his controller and leaned forward in his chair—the long slope of his pale neck bent deliciously as he stretched his muscles.
You simply nod because another yawn steals your voice. Armin chuckles, collecting your textbooks and loose papers from the bed. “You look so pretty when you’re tired.” He doesn't catch your embarrassed reaction as he busies himself neatly organizing your notes into a folder and placing them into your bag against the bedpost.
You stretch your limbs and starfish on the king size bed, enjoying the sheer size of it. You share a room with your roommate, Sasha, so you don’t have the luxury of a wide bed like this. That’s why you usually end up spending the night at Armin's instead of yours. But it’s never a dull moment having Sasha as a roommate.
“Are you sleeping over?” Armin asks you, crawling onto the bed to sit beside you. He plants his hand on the other side of your waist to lean over you. His head lines up with yours so you’re forced to stare up at the freckles sprinkled on his nose. Its shape is a soft slope that is tinted pink at the tip.
“I can go back to my dorm,” you say, though the fourth yawn that follows almost punches you to sleep.
“Wait, why?” Armin blurts in a panic. His eyebrows shoot up. His free hand slides to the nape of your neck to hold and control the tilt of your jaw. His thumb pushes against it to lift your head up as it almost falls onto its side for a rest. “Sleep here. I’ll be quiet while I game.”
“I don’t want you to have to do that,” you say, sheepish. “Have fun with your friends. It’s Friday night… er, well, Saturday—”
“But I don’t want you to leave. I love when you sleep over,” Armin almost whines as he leans down to press his lips against your cheek. “Stay with me, please?” He continues to beg as he trails his pecks along your jaw, tilted again with his thumb.
You easily give in, because it doesn’t take much to let Armin have his way. And vice versa. That one endearing smile you do where you push your lips together shyly so your teeth won't slip through, and then your gentle eyes look up at him is all it takes. Any request is at your service.
“I’ll be asleep soon,” you say, beginning to sit up so you can lay in his bed properly. He moves out of your way and watches as you crawl to his headboard. His eyes unabashedly gawk at the curve of your ass that peek out of your sleep shorts.
“That’s okay, honey. I just want you here with me,” Armin answers with a distracted clear of his throat. He follows you to the top of his bed as you slip under his sheets. The junction of his thick hoodie and weighted comforter makes you hum, content.
Armin climbs on top of you, earning a sweet giggle from you, and drops down to his elbows. Your arms slip around his neck as he grazes his lips along yours.
“So, you’ll stay?” he asks, already knowing the answer, as he kisses you, tenderly. You respond instantly. The sound of each kiss is delicate and follows with an underlying noise from the back of your throat. Armin lets his tongue slip out to lick at your lips before he switches back to gentle pecks. You shiver at the cold metal of his tongue piercing—too slow to latch onto it before it’s back in his mouth.
Armin’s lips are always soft and poised when he kisses you. He never pushes for more than what the mood deems as perfect. He wasn’t your first kiss but you wish he was. You admire his expertise but also envy that others got to experience them before you did. One of them being Eren, and he loves holding that against you.
Armin puckers against your top lip for a long second, inhaling a breath so he can bask in the intimate feeling of your warm mouth. He releases your lip with a loud smack.
Armin burrows his head into your neck, letting out a quiet sigh. “Stay with me, always, okay?” you barely make out his words as they are whispered incoherently. Like he doesn’t want you to hear. But when he pulls back to look at you, his intense stare makes your chest heavy.
“Okay,” you respond. Armin’s thumb wipes the saliva that drools from the corner of your mouth. Just for him to nip at your bottom lip and cunningly swiping a lick with his piercing again before you could react. “Hey,” you whine as he laughs.
You release Armin from your arms so he can stand up and tuck the sheets up to your chin. He can’t help but place another kiss on your lips. It’s a slow, sensual peck that reminds him he has a whole weekend with you. “Keep the bed warm for me. I’ll join you soon.” He pinches your chin as you nod.
“Don’t stay up too long. You don’t know how to sleep in,” you comment as Armin travels back to his spot in front of the TV. He snorts in agreement.
“I’ll let the guys know I have a curfew.” You smile, shyly. Armin’s lips widen into a grin at you. “Get some sleep, honey.”
You only watch briefly as Armin puts his headset back on and lowers his voice as he regroups with his team. He notably attempts to speak quieter, and you’re thankful because you can actually slip into sleep.
You don’t know how much time passes when you feel a slender body slip into the sheets beside you. Armin sighs as he lays on his back and tugs you against his side. Your hand habitually slides under his shirt and splays on his stomach. The sunset lights that shade the room into an orange hue are turned off.
“How’d it go?” you ask as you place your head into your boyfriend’s neck. His arm around your back easily digs down to the layer of your skin. Your spine almost stiffens at his soft fingers tracing figment lines.
“We need to replace Connie, desperately,” Armin jokes—though there’s some seriousness to his statement. You giggle softly in the quiet room. You can almost hear the smile grow on Armin’s lips. “Eren suggested Mikasa, but she believes there’s an I in team.”
“Maybe it’ll help her learn to work others,” you shrug. The warmth of Armin’s stomach, and the prominent lines that lead into his waistline, sends butterflies to your own. “Although, I think she’d only be interested in teaming with Eren.”
“Good point,” Armin says. “What about you?” he asks, turning his head. You pull back from his neck to look at him. The starry night bleeding through his window casts a delicate shadow on his face. His eyes are glassy with sleep but he holds your gaze as if it’s the only thing that matters.
His free hand reaches up to caress your cheek, sliding into your hair. His thumb loves to brush along your lips.
“What about me?” you respond.
“Would you want to play with us?” Armin asks, then closes an eye as he corrects himself, “with me, your boyfriend who’d love more than anything to game with you.”
Your laugh is muffled by the cuff of the hoodie you wear. Armin joins in, simply from the sound you make. He pulls you in for a kiss that only lasts a moment.
“You guys might as well keep Connie. I’m no better than him.”
“Trust me, honey, we’d prefer you,” he says, his tone actually earnest. “Maybe not Eren. He might get jealous.”
You shake your head with a faint roll of your eyes. Armin snorts. “Are you ever going to break up with him?” you ask, clearly poking at the inside joke the group has about the two.
“One day. But it’s always you,” Armin says, slipping you back down against his side. “Now, go back to sleep.”
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