cw: nerd!armin, nsfw, smut, pwp, college au, exhibitionism? p in v, slightly public sex, sex in library, armin is mean, riding, spit, tutor? armin secret sex pro, lowk just pure smut in the library bc nerd armin has taken over my brain
nerd!armin has you bouncing up and down his cock. tucked in the corner of the library that no one visits, where no one can hear your muffled cries.
drool hangs out the corner of your mouth, soaking the fabric of the pink, lacy panties you had put on just for him, the same ones he had ripped off of you.
just moments before, you had innocently asked him for help on an assignment...before purposely dropping your pencil to show off your new pair.
armin wasn't well known to others, but he had been your secret obsession the whole semester. but while everyone else was out partying, he was studying, meaning that you had to resort to... alternative measures in order to see him outside of class.
"you just had to show off, didn't you?" he grunts, lifting your hips before slamming them down brutally. "wanted everyone to see what a little slut you are, hmm?"
you can only stifle a moan in response, tears pooling at your eyes as you clutch onto his shoulders. the fabric of his shirt is soaked by your fluids. the plap! plap! plap! of skin against skin is loud and audible, but the sound is the least of your worries as armin stills his grip on you, all movement coming to a halt.
you whine pathetically, squirming in his arms to attempt some form of relief.
a slap! rings through the library, and the stinging sensation on your left asscheek leaves you whining and rutting for more.
"stupid slut." he growls, fogged up glasses slipping down the rim of his nose. he slaps you again, before lifting your hips and thrusting up into your, hard.
"ah!" you crumble, face burying into his neck. he lifts his hand from your ass to tangle it into your hair, pulling your head to face him. "fucked so dumb you can't even look at me anymore?" he snatches the panties out of your mouth. "let me hear you moan."
you obey, letting forth your cries as he resumes his thrusts, pounding into your poor, abused pussy like it's his last race.
"a-armin, wait, i'm 'bout to--!" you slap a hand over your mouth to stifle your moans as the dam breaks. wet, erotic squelches continue as he fucks you through your high.
suddenly, you're flipped onto the desk, study materials flying onto the floor as he pins your stomach to the brown hardwood. he presses down on your back, leaning over you to lick a stripe up your ear. "who said you could cum without permission?"
you hear a rustling behind you. in your fucked-out gaze, you see him pulling off the rubber that is soaked with your fluids. he catches your stare. a grin tugs at the corners of his lips. "bad girls deserve to get fucked raw."
raw? a shiver runs down your spine. "wait, armin, it's a bad day for me--ah!" you're silenced as he rams into your pussy, bottoming out in one deep, brutal thrust. you're a moaning mess, fingernails etching into the wood as you're slammed back and forth against the table. "n-no, i'm gonna get preg-ah! pregnant..."
he scoffs, pushing you down harder. "even better."
armin presses against your back, snatching your jaw to slam his lips against yours.
his glasses press against your nose, and he squeezes your cheeks to grant himself entrance into your mouth. As your tongues collide, you feel the cool metal of his tongue piercing scrape against the roof of your mouth. you moan into him, heated pants stealing your breath as your walls squeeze around his cock involuntarily.
"you like that?" he chuckles darkly, pulling away to stick out his tongue. "got it just for this."
he lifts you by your hair, forcing your back to arch as he bullies his way into your core. he pulls you into a kiss again, before mumbling a quick, "open," and spitting into your open mouth with a splat!
you take it, swallowing obediently and sticking out your tongue to show him your work. he groans filthily, and you feel his cock pulse inside you. he roughly slams into you, a grin erupting onto his face, and you see his tongue dart out to catch the drool at the corner of his mouth.
he flips you over with a grunt, slamming your back into the table as he begins pummeling into your core. "cum again f'me." he mumbles, wiping the fog off his glasses. he's reaching down to rub circles on your clit. "cum. now."
with his words, you come undone on his cock, legs spasming as you clutch at his wet t-shirt. you're shaking as his thrusts slow, before he gives you one last thrust, bottoming out to shoot ropes of cum into your womb. with a low, "fuck..." he's pumping for at least a minute, and you can feel the hot spurts painting your insides white as he stills inside of you.
he's panting, face buried into your neck, glasses pushed up into his hair. you both lie there for a moment, savoring the post-nut bliss before he slowly pulls out of you, bringing a moan out of your mouth. you feel the sliding of his cock as he taps it on the head of your clit, admiring his handiwork. he whistles, taking out his phone to snap a picture of your cum-filled hole, the white fluids dripping down onto your thigh.
you're too fucked out to care as he records your sorry state, giving your cunt a few slaps, even pushing a finger into your hole to plug his cum back in, before stuffing his phone into his back pocket. he's stuffing his cock back into his pants, but you can barely move, still twitching and panting on the table from your high.
he's about to leave when he gives you a once over, then takes off his plaid flannel to wrap you in it carefully. he sits you down carefully, brushing your hair from your face, leaving a soft peck on your temple. he slides your used panties up your legs, making sure to carefully keep his seed inside, then smooths out your skirt, tucking a business card into your waistband. he's cleaning off his glasses before bidding you farewell, leaving you in the library to collect yourself.
you were definitely going to schedule another session.
"call me if you need another lesson."
you slowly pull out the card, eyes skimming the letters on the cardstock and fingers quick to save the number in your phone.
Armin Arlert, Tutoring Services, XX university, (#).
Tears Run Down My Thighs (when did you get hot?) | Armin Arlert x Reader
18+ only!! Minors do not interact!!
Ao3 Version, Wattpad Version
Divider from @/firefly-graphics!
Pairing: college AU, Nerd!Armin x Pervert!Reader (AFAB, gender-neutral pronouns)
Wordcount: 23k (oops)
Summary: You've always liked your best friend Armin, and you did a pretty good at hiding it. Any time you thought of him sexually, you would simply reset and erase the thoughts from memory.
But when he comes back from the summer looking ... nerdier, you can't seem to get him out of your head. Surely, your methods will still work, right?
Warnings: lots of sexual fantasies and female masturbation, multiple orgasms, reader is down bad for nerdmin, oral sex (m and f receiving), nipple play/licking, motorboating(?), unprotected sex, creampie, come eating and swallowing, mentions of alcohol and partying
A/N: I seem to have a theme of writing sexual fantasies, but this is my first time actually writing a sex scene. Yippee!
I tried to keep this fic as inclusive as I could, so while the reader has female anatomy, their pronouns are gender-neutral. I also did not include Y/N or nicknames in this story, as I'm not a personal fan of either. Please let me know if I made any mistakes regarding this.
This story was inspired by fanart made by @mochikuyo on Twitter. For some reason the specific order of short-haired Armin to nerdy Armin sparked something in my brain, and here we are a month and half later. Links should also be included where referenced in the story if you want to check it out! Also peep the double Sabrina song title lol
You're a disgusting pervert.
…
Okay, that sounds like you need to be put on some government watch list. Technically, you weren't doing anything outwardly creepy, let alone illegal.
The context is this: You were crushing on your best friend, Armin. Hard.
Technically, you always had feelings for him. It was difficult not to, honestly. One day he was your partner for a class project, the next your study buddy, and now you could barely remember him as anything other than your best friend.
However, somewhere along the way, between stolen glances and late night conversations masked under the guise of study sessions, you started to become aware of the fluttering in your chest.
For the longest time, it was a harmless crush: the type that wasn't worth pursuing and risking your friendship over. Unless Armin made it ridiculously obvious that he had similar feelings, any infatuation you had was quickly buried. You eventually grew used to it, and life went on as normal.
That's not to say the want for more didn't sometimes gnaw at you.
Last year, when you first met Armin, he had finished his summer internship in California, and the beach environment was evident in his look. He had a glowing tan for months, which paired wonderfully with his short, blond hair and his open button-ups that flowed in the breeze (you especially liked his blue one; it made his eyes sparkle and look like the ocean he had grown so fond of). One time, his white undershirt was a bit on the thin side, and you caught a faint outline of his abs every time he stretched. You distinctly remember how warm you felt at the sight, and the impulsive urge to risk it all and kiss him silly afterward.
You also remember stomping out the compulsion like an ember. At the time, you had just become friends. This was the second hangout you had that wasn't at some school building or coffee shop. The last thing you wanted Armin to think was that you've been lusting over him this whole time, especially if he saw your relationship as purely platonic.
From then on, any time you caught yourself thinking about him for too long, you immediately stopped your fantasies then and there. These lapses were few and far in between, so you didn't worry very much over your lack of judgment. A quick reset, and it was like the thought never occurred.
But then summer came and went again, and you soon realized how utterly fucked you were.
During the long break, rather than spend another hot summer in California, Armin got an opportunity to study marine biology in the South Pole. He was fascinated with the extremophiles found in the area, and was over the moon when he got accepted to intern at one of the research centers there.
There were some downsides, however. Namely, the difficulties in communication. While he wasn't going completely silent, between the lack of reception and busy schedule, his replies were likely to be on the sparse side. Armin profusely apologized for this, but you laughed it off and reassured him that it was fine.
"Seriously, Min, don't feel sorry. This is literally your dream. You'll probably be enjoying yourself too much to even worry about that. We'll see each other soon enough, alright?"
"Yeah, I know that," he sighs, a shy smile forming. "The opportunity is great and all, I just think— I just think I'll miss you a lot."
You smile back , ignoring the way your heart skipped a beat.
As expected, contact over those twelve weeks were limited. You shared the major events, like when you visited your family or when Armin stumbled upon a waddle of penguins while working, but even those messages felt bittersweet, distorted due to the separation.
The whole break, a part of you was itching to go back to school. Stressful as it is, at least your friend wouldn't be in another continent. One by one, as the summer came to a close, your friends started arriving and coming back to campus, the college town growing louder by the day. Hangouts and bar outings were back on the docket, but they felt lackluster when the person you wanted most wasn't at any of them.
Why did there have to be limited transportation out of Antarctica? Do you have to promote this place as the next big tourist spot just so you could make them have a regular flight schedule?
Eventually, when everyone was mostly accounted for, your friends decided to throw a party the weekend before classes. Connie, Jean, and Marco were the only group that had a townhouse rather than an apartment, and were more than willing to use their space to welcome everyone back.
You were also very much looking forward to the party too: not only could you catch up with everyone, but this would be your first time seeing Armin since the spring. His flight arrived only a few hours ago, so tonight was the perfect opportunity to talk about your summers, no longer constricted to texts and awkward emails.
However, what you didn't think to consider is how much a person can change in twelve weeks. Specifically, how much a person can physically change in that time.
If your messages with Armin were scarce, photos and videos were practically nonexistent, so when he first walks into the house party, you don't fully comprehend that it's him. Rather than hair that cuts cleanly in the back, you're met with long hair that covers his ears and brushes his neck, and small, rectangular-framed glasses that draw you into a pair of familiar, blue eyes. It's a moment of confusion, followed by a moment of recognition, and finally a moment of realization.
You liked this look. A lot. Maybe even too much.
You don't notice that you're staring, not until Eren swoops Armin into a bro hug and drags him to the kitchen. You keep watching him until he rounds the corner, unsure if he notices you and your hot stare.
How would his long hair feel in your fingers? To play with it while you kiss—
Nope. Reset.
You don't give yourself the chance to finish the thought, ejecting yourself from whatever fantasy you were about to have. You take several gulps of your cup, letting out a slow exhale after you swallow. The drink burns the whole way down. While you originally scolded Sasha and her habit of overpouring, you were grateful for the buzz you were surely going to feel soon.
Something you failed to consider, however, was the amount of drinking games you would get roped into, and apparently how bad you were at all of them. If you thought your drink was bad, the last two losing cups were borderline stomach-churning. You're ninety percent sure someone added pickle juice in that last cup.
Luckily, you're still sensible enough to tap out of the next round, only stumbling a few times while walking out towards the patio. For the most part, the backyard looks empty. There must have been a group out here earlier though, judging by the dying flames in the fire pit.
You close your eyes and focus on the smoke wafting in the air. Compared to the drinks you were having, it smelled like heaven. With a sigh of relief, you open your eyes and slump onto the nearest lawn chair. It's comfortable enough, for the most part. If you were drunker, you could easily fall asleep here for an hour or two, though the last time someone (Reiner) did that, someone else (Ymir) drew a penis on their face, so maybe it was for the best.
It doesn't take long for your solitude to be broken. You barely register the footsteps creeping up behind you, too lost watching the fire in front of you.
"Hey," a voice you knew all too well says. You look up to see Armin smiling as he slides into the seat next to you. "Mikasa told me I'd find you here. Heard you lost the last two rounds of boom cup." You can hear the smirk in his words as he takes a sip from his cup.
"Their table sucks. Ping pong balls wouldn't bounce for shit," you grumble.
"Well, you probably just kept bouncing them into puddles of beer like last time."
"… maybe." Definitely.
"At least you quit while you were ahead," he offers. "I saw Connie pour soy sauce into last round's cup."
The image makes you swallow back a gag. The alcohol in your stomach sloshes around, a wave of nausea overtaking you. Armin must catch the grimace on your face, because he quickly apologizes and extends his cup to you. You shake your head, declining the idea of having more to drink.
A hand grabs your wrist and you stop your motions. You're suddenly aware of how close Armin has gotten, his body leaning into yours. He pushes the cup into your open palm, and your fingers instinctively lace around the plastic.
"Don't worry, it's just water. I stopped drinking a while ago," Armin says. Once you have a firm hold, he takes his hands away and relaxes back into his chair. You try to ignore the feeling left behind on your wrist. "You seem like you need it more than me."
"Yeah, probably. Thanks," you croak.
You look down at Armin's (now yours, technically) drink, noticing a mark on the rim closest to your mouth. There's a faint shine to it when it catches the light from the fire, similar to a lip gloss stain. It was no doubt from Armin and the chapstick he always wore: he had a terrible habit of picking at his lips and licking them afterward. The waxy smudge probably had his spit mixed into it.
Without a second thought, you bring your lips to the cup, matching them to exactly where Armin's once were.
An indirect kiss.
Your sips are slow, to not upset your stomach or to keep your mouth on the cup for longer, you're not sure. The chapstick isn't flavored, but you wonder if it would taste different if you caught it from Armin's mouth directly. If his lips would feel rough underneath the greasy layer, and if his tongue would work into your mouth, licking with the same fervor he uses against his own. If your tongue met his, would you be able to taste the liquor that didn't get washed away?
Stop. Reset. What the hell is wrong with you?
You grip the drink, the plastic denting and making a loud pop noise. Tilting your head back, you proceed to chug the rest of the water, possible stomachache be damned. You finish the cup with a soft groan. Were you always this easily aroused when drunk?
Armin clears his throat. You snap your head back toward him, almost forgetting he was watching you the entire time. He's looking at you with slight worry and confusion.
Shit, how long did you space off for?
"Uh, guess I was thirstier than I realized. Sorry," you say.
"It's okay," he reassures. His stare feels more calculating than observing. You can't tell if he actually believes you. "I've been meaning to find you for a while. I was going to right when I came over, but Eren kept dragging me around."
You snort, the awkwardness quickly fading. "Sounds like he missed you." You knew the feeling. "How did you end up getting away?"
"He's currently arguing with Jean about whether you can make tea in a microwave. Got pretty heated, no pun intended, and I slipped away in the middle of it."
You weren't surprised at the news. The two of them always get into some weird debate at these things. Assuming that they're both drunk, and they probably are, you give it another ten minutes before they're crying into each other's arms and profusely apologizing. Their relationship was weird like that.
"And before that?" you ask. "Did you have a good time?"
Armin hums in consideration before answering, "I'd say so. Nice to see everyone before the school year starts. Reiner's pretty wasted, though. He thought I was Historia when I first said hi to him. That was … something." There's a wince at that particular memory. "I guess I do look a bit different, so I don't really blame him."
You let yourself look at him, your blinks slow and heavy in your inebriated state. His hair shines in the faint light and looks soft to the touch. Some strands look a bit wild, messy from the antics of the night. It was candid. Boyish.
Thoughts from earlier resurface, and your fingers twitch in want. You catch the action, and promptly dig your fists into your lap.
"I suppose being MIA all summer doesn't help either. Not that you could really do anything about that," you eventually respond. "Do you at least like it? The haircut?"
"No strong opinions, to be honest." He pauses, tilting his head and mulling it over. "It just kinda happened, really. There's not exactly any barbershops over there, and it was nice to have something to cover my ears so they wouldn't freeze." Armin tucks a piece of hair behind his ear at the memory, like he just figured out he doesn't need to worry about that anymore.
"Clothes were a similar story. Sweaters got a bit bulky under all the layers, so it was easier to wear a thermal and some vest over it." He motions down to his current outfit: a t-shirt for some punk band Mikasa probably got him into over a white, wrinkled long-sleeve. "This was my attempt at a summer-friendly version of it. I think it's growing on me though, what do you think?"
You look good, you think to yourself. You look so good. You were always attractive and handsome but right now you're making me go crazy and—
"It suits you." Images of you kissing Armin's neck and sucking bruises into his collarbones so they're barely peeking over his shirt now plague your mind. "You should keep the haircut too." Hopefully he doesn't catch your selfish intentions.
Armin smiles at your praise and looks away from you in slight embarrassment. It's short-lived as he catches the time on his watch and says, "It's getting late, do you want a ride home? I just had the one drink from earlier, so I'm good to head out."
A part of you wants to say no. Take a breather and properly reset your hormonal brain. On the other hand, a free ride is a free ride.
You quietly agree with a nod. Soon enough, you're sitting in the passenger seat, a mix of sleepy and tipsy settling in your bones. You watch Armin as he reverses out of the driveway and pulls onto the main road. A car from the opposite lane passes by, and the bright headlights shine through your window and send a glare across his glasses.
"I never realized you wore glasses," you murmur, almost like it's some secret between you two. "How long have you had them?"
Armin shrugs. "A while. Sometime in middle school, I think."
"So what? You just never wear them? Are you walking around blind all day?"
That makes him laugh. "Usually just wear contacts, but I can read most things if they're close. I see most things perfectly fine, if that's what you're worried about."
You huff at his teasing. "I guess I just don't see why you never wore them in the first place. Seems like it be easier to."
"It kind of depends, really. During the summer, my glasses would fog up outside, so I wore contacts. But the cold made my contacts dry out my eyes, so I wore glasses whenever I was working inside. I haven't gotten around to grabbing more contacts yet—"
"I like them. Your glasses." You turn away from him, too timid to look at him while you make your confession. "They … they look really good on you."
A blush creeps up Armin's neck. "Oh. Uh, thanks. That's nice … that's nice to know."
The rest of the ride is silent. Mortification sets in; curse your drunkenness and loose lips. You shouldn't have said anything, but your body must have panicked. An ugly, possessive part of you wanted him to know, to know how attractive he was with his glasses. That you would pray to some higher being for him to ditch the contacts altogether.
Would his glasses fog up if you kissed him? If your hot breaths met his needy pants? He would be blindsided as you dragged him closer into your face, moaning into his mouth as you gently pushed his bangs away from his eyes. You could peck the tips of his cheek before moving further back, nipping his earlobe and kissing the space behind, making him let out a whine. When you pull back, his glasses would be slightly askew, his face all the more flustered.
Stop. Eject. Abort. Literally anything. Just stop it.
You will your mind to turn off whatever sick television is playing up there. Your body doesn't get the same message, however. As you tense, physically trying to reset yourself, your legs press together and squeeze. The complete opposite effect happens and you ache from the pressure. You press your thighs together a tad harder and shift your weight forward, almost rocking into the pleasure. A particular bump in the road makes you clench down.
Fuck, what is wrong with you? Why can't you stop thinking about him?
The car thuds into a stop, and you hear the click of the door unlocking when Armin puts it into park. It makes you focus back into reality, a quiet gasp leaving your lips. Your legs relax and pull away from each other.
"You okay?" Armin asks.
You quickly nod. "Mhmm." A light cough escapes your throat. "Still a bit out of it, I guess."
"Right, yeah, of course. Here, I'll help walk you to your place," he offers, ever the gentleman. You should've known better.
"You know what? I suddenly feel a lot better. Fully sober, even." You sound like a frat guy being pulled over by a cop. Your hand is on the door handle and you're making a break for it before he can unbuckle his seatbelt. "I'll be okay. Thanks though."
You're only a few feet away before he calls your name, the window now rolled down. "Let me know when you're free. We should hang out and catch up … I've missed you," he says. Even when he's shouting out his car, there's something about his voice that's still so gentle. Almost fond. When you turn around to face him, you're met with wide eyes and an expectant smile.
Guilt hits you. At the end of the day, Armin was your friend. The long distance was just as evident for him as it was for you. He's trying to make up for lost time, the same as you before you started spiraling out. The least you can do is meet him halfway.
"I missed you too," you reply, voice just as affectionate. Armin looks relieved, his smile more relaxed. "Thanks again for the ride. I'll text you when I'm home."
He nods. You say your goodbyes and Armin watches you go inside before driving. A short walk up the stairs later, you enter your apartment, do a half-ass job of washing your face and brushing your teeth, and climb into the comfort of your bed.
It was an off night. A true reset with eight hours of uninterrupted sleep will do the trick, you think. Partying with all your friends that you haven't seen for months, combined with the buzz still circulating in your body, was bound to lead to heightened emotions. Now that you're home, you'll feel relaxed and refreshed in no time. You repeat these affirmations in your head as you let your eyes shut.
By what seems to be the hundredth repeat, you start to lose it. Checking the time on your phone, more than half an hour has passed, and you groan in frustration. Your body feels nowhere near relaxed.
At that exact moment, your phone buzzes in your hand. A text.
[Armin 🌊]
I'm guessing you're probably asleep or something, but I just wanted to say it was nice to see you tonight! Even if it was only for a little bit lol
Are you free Tuesday? I need to write a reflection paper on my internship this summer, so I was thinking of hanging at the library if you wanted to join. I know it's only the first week, but I figured the company would be nice. Let me know if you're free!
Have a good night :)))
God, was his texting always this cute? Of course you would say yes. Armin could ask you to help clean his bathroom, and you'd be ready with a bucket and scrubber in hand.
You text back a quick yes and goodnight before tossing your phone onto your nightstand and landing back into your pillow with a grunt. Why were you being so weird with him right now? Just because Armin looks different (hot), doesn't mean your relationship with him has changed. You were friends and nothing more.
The same heightened emotions from the party probably just made your feelings for him go into some weird overdrive. Prior to tonight, none of your daydreams have ever been so physical. So, well, freaky.
It wasn't fair of you to act like this. To push him away because you can't keep it in your pants. But your reset methods clearly aren't working, so you needed a new approach. At least right now.
…
Oh.
The answer is obvious, isn't it?
"Goddammit," you grumble to no one. Were you seriously considering masturbating to your best friend? That was completely invasive. Your friendship was built on mutual respect and appreciation of one another. It would be wrong to use their trust like that.
… Then again, wouldn't it be respectful to get your horniness out of the way before it affected your friendship?
Your counterargument, combined with the fact that it's two in the morning and your roommate is staying the night at her girlfriend's, is enough to get you to shimmy out of your shorts.
If you're going to actually go through with this, might as well let yourself indulge in some of your fantasies.
You think back to what would have happened if you stayed in the car, if you didn't panic and leave. Maybe in another world, if you were a bit more confident and you were sure that Armin felt the same way, you wouldn't have ran. Maybe you would have went toward him instead, climbing out of your seat and leaning over the car console.
Inches away from wide eyes and parted lips, you'd close the distance and offer a gentle kiss. Something to test the waters, to see if he wanted more. He lets you tip your weight onto him, steadying you with one hand on your shoulder blade and the other balancing the both of you on the seat of his chair. When he doesn't back away, you let yourself deepen the kiss, cupping his cheek as you work his mouth open.
Your other hand would trail down his body, starting from his slim shoulders down to his firm chest, finally stopping at his soft thighs. You rub the inner part of his leg and swallow the whimper that escapes his throat. It's all the assurance you need to bring your fingers higher up, grazing his crotch.
You let one of your hands travel under your shirt and cup your breast, the same hand that fantasy you is using to palm Armin's length. Your thumb brushes against your nipple, the bud quickly hardening under your attention. You switch to your other breast as you let your mind wander.
With your fingers skimming across his stirring cock, giving it the bare minimum pressure to work himself into a fuss, Armin's kisses start to grow slow and sloppy, barely keeping up with your hungry lips.
He pulls his face away from you with a soft moan and dips it into the crook of you neck. His breath warms your skin as he utters a whiny, "please," and lets his hand drag down your back and settle right above your ass. You give his now hard dick a sure squeeze, and you smoothly climb over the gearshift in the time it takes to let out a desperate groan.
Your fingers find the band of your underwear, stretching and playing with the elastic. You travel lower and cup the heat radiating through the fabric. The tip of your middle finger presses into your folds, making you hum at the sensation. You stroke the entrance of your slit and feel the dampness soaking your panties.
Guess you don't really need foreplay when you've been blue-balling yourself for more than a year.
You pull your underwear to the side, the air chilling on your exposed pussy. Taking your same finger from earlier, you pump your knuckles into the warm muscle. You clench hard on your digit as you whimper in desperation. You add another finger to relieve the ache, groaning at the fullness. A particular curl of your fingertips nearly knocks your knees together and you have to remind yourself to keep breathing.
With your legs settled on either side of Armin's, your cunt sits perfectly on top of his boner as you start a desperate, dirty grind against his length. The motion jostles his arm and makes his hand lower, hovering over the swell of your ass. His broken moans come out uncertain, unsure of what's happening and what he should be doing.
A forceful yank of his wrists pulls his hands right where you want them, and he grabs your ass with a needy squeeze.
It doesn't take long until Armin's practically shaking under you, gripping you like a lifeline as you continue to rock your hips to meet his. His attempts at kissing your collarbones are messy and consist mostly of licking the skin and the occasional light nip when the tip of his dick feels your movements.
You tilt his chin to sit below your sternum. A brush of his bangs exposes his forehead, and you leave a kiss on the skin before you push your shoulders and trap Armin's head between your chest. He shamelessly wails at the contact, letting himself be smothered by your tits.
A heat bubbles low in your stomach. You're so close already, your limit fast approaching. The emptiness when you pull out your slick fingers makes you whine, but when you start massaging your clit, the noise quickly dissipates into a choked-out gasp.
You cover your mouth with your palm, trapping the air escaping your lips. It's a futile attempt at silence: the sounds of you smearing your arousal are lewd, echoing in the quiet of your apartment. Even with no one else home, you're left feeling shameful and dirty. Yet that makes you all the more horny.
A particular flick against your clit makes you clench down hard. Everything felt like too much and not enough. You bring your fingers back down and give your needy cunt something to throb on. A tightness grows above your cervix after a few pumps, and you pull out to frantically rub your clit.
"Oh fuck—oh god. Please let me come, please, please, please," a voice rumbles against your heart.
The thought of Armin coming in his pants makes your eyes shut tight as you ride your high. You bite the skin of your palm that still covers your mouth and stutter out short pants, your body twitching under the waves of pleasure.
You don't think you've ever came so hard so fast before. Several seconds are lost from your memory as your vision turns white, and your lower body jerks at the aftershocks. When you move your fingers away from your abused clit, you wince, the area now sensitive.
Clarity comes after your pulse slows down, the realization of what you just did sinking deep in your gut. You grimace when you can feel the stain your wetness left on the bedsheets when you shift your body, and it takes you longer than it should to clean yourself and change your underwear. Your motions are hesitant, embarrassed even if there's no one to see the events that transpired.
But again, this was a one-time thing.
Probably.
Hopefully.
When you're back in your bed, you hate how sated your body feels, and how quickly sleep finds you soon after.
The floor of the library vibrates under your foot. Your leg has been incessantly bouncing for the past ten minutes; you'd be surprised if you didn't leave a dent in the carpet.
A few days have passed since your … incident. That following morning, you woke up with a surge of energy and determination. You were drunk, had some pent up emotions, and masturbated them out. Things could be normal again.
Then again, you have yet to test this theory. Since the party, Armin's been busy unpacking or submitting papers to get class credit for his summer research. The texts you've sent one another in the meantime seemed normal enough. It may have taken twice the time for you to send them, double-checking each message before hitting send because you were paranoid you would say something along the lines of "I jerked off to the idea of us dry humping in your car", but still.
Today was the true test. The two of you agreed to meet at the library after your classes, with your last class ending a few minutes earlier than expected. You were hoping the extra time would give you a chance to steady yourself, but no matter how hard your leg bounces, the nerves can't seem to be shaken out. The end of your pen starts getting abused as your thumb continuously clicks against the spring, however it's short-lived when you notice the nasty side-eye from the grad student working the front desk.
"I don't think I've ever seen the library this empty before," a voice beside you says. Armin proceeds to slide into the seat across from you, ruffling his hair away from his face. You exercise restraint and look away, suddenly finding your notebook interesting. So far, so good.
"No one's exactly studying on the second day of classes. Unless you're, you know, a nerd," you smirk.
"Well you're the one who agreed to hang out with a nerd. So what does that make you?"
Fucking whipped. Some creep that's potentially edging themselves by being near you. "A good friend, obviously."
Armin hums. "Can't argue with that." He stares at the notebook in front of you, the page still freshly blank. "Do you have anything you're working on? I'd hate to bore you while I work."
"Not really, but it's okay, I could always look ahead. Or play minesweeper if I feel lazy," you shrug, both of you knowing the latter was more likely. "How's your work coming along?"
"It's just busy work, really. I just need to explain what I did over the summer and what I learned, so it shouldn't be too hard. They just need proof that I actually did something worth earning credit for."
He opens his laptop and starts settling into the space. His long, slender fingers rapidly type across his keyboard faster than your eyes can comprehend. The dexterity leaves you mildly impressed, wondering how they move against your clit.
Stop it. Get a grip.
"—uh, you know," you start, drawing a stop to Armin's motions. "You never really got to tell me what you did over there. At least not the specifics."
"Oh." His eyes widen, staring at you like a lost puppy. It's entirely too endearing. "I didn't think anyone would care that much."
That leaves a sour taste in your mouth. While you did have ulterior motives to your question, wanting to use it as a distraction from your impure thoughts, you also wanted to hear about his passions. In what world would Armin ever be boring?
"Of course I would care. You seemed really excited to go there, I could only imagine it was like a dream come true. I want to know everything."
"Okay. Well, if you're sure,"—Armin sits up, face relaxing into a soft smile—"So there's still a lot that's unknown regarding the world and its microbial diversity, but that's what makes it super cool. We can be one of the first to research it, which is also kind of frustrating, since there's so much information to look at and few references to compare it to, but it's crazy to see how these organisms thrive in climates that we find uninhabitable. If we can learn how they're able to survive, we can apply it to so many different things to improve people's lives. We could slow down the spoilage of food to aid starving communities; preserve stem cells and embryos; prevent hypothermia during medical procedures."
His hands are waving all over the place, words coming out a mile a minute. "And even if we can't apply these functions to our world, it's still really interesting. We also went along the peninsula to find these micro-animals called tardigrades in the moss cushions, they're honestly pretty cute. I mean, you have to see them through a microscope and then some special imaging to get a good illustration of them, but still cute nonetheless."
You always liked the way Armin explained things: passionate, never condescending, always detail-oriented. It was one of the main reasons why you wanted to keep studying with him: even as the semesters pass, and the two of you no longer have any shared classes, you still find yourself captivated in what he has to say.
But never had his words made your mouth water. That shouldn't have been as hot as it was, and have you been staring at his mouth this whole time? You nearly choke on your spit when you swallow.
"Oh! I could show them to you, if you want," Armin continues. "There was a section about them in this one biochemistry book I looked at before my internship. It had a cool visual of the types of environments they were found in too."
"Mhmm, sure." You had no idea what he just said. When he starts getting up from his chair and motions you to follow you, you move without a second thought.
Fucking whipped.
The science section is further back in the library than you expected. It seems like you pass every subject before Armin stops at a particular shelf. You can't tell if the old smell is coming from the wood of the shelf or the yellowing papers. Probably both.
It was so quiet in this section. Even when classes pick up, you doubt many students travel this deep into the building.
God, the things you could do to him here without anyone noticing.
No, fuck. Stop. Are you seriously going to get horny in the middle of the library?
You force yourself to read the titles on the shelves. You get to a textbook titled Supramolecular Chemistry: Fundamentals and Applications when Armin mutters to himself, "It's either on this shelf or the one above it ..." He's tracing his finger across the book spines, rapidly scanning each title on the shelf that's eye-level to him. "Not here …"
Armin proceeds to go one shelf up and start searching. Unbeknownst to him, his shirt rides up and exposes the lower half of his stomach.
Great. As if the repeat of the long sleeve and t-shirt combo wasn't torture enough.
Your eyes lock on to the bare skin like a Victorian man seeing ankles. His stomach looks muscular yet soft, you can almost see the faint divot of his belly button at the top. Looking further down, his jeans are slung low on his hips, the band of his green, plaid boxers peeking out of the denim. But what really gets you is the vertical line that connects the two.
Dark blond, nearly brown hair travels from his navel and disappears underneath his boxers. It's probably only a centimeter or two wide, the hairs straggly and zigzagging ever so slightly down. It's the sexiest thing you've ever seen in your life.
You want to push him against the shelf hard enough to make the near-rotting wood splinter. You want to give him a searing kiss to his parted lips and slacked jaw before getting on your knees for him. You want to yank the zipper of his pants down with such force that it nearly rips off the teeth. You want to follow the hair down and see if it darkens around the base of his cock.
Jesus Christ, what is happening to you? Look away. Now.
You don't listen. You're too far gone.
The show continues as you picture yourself nuzzling the happy trail while kissing the skin above his underwear. Armin's looking at you with wide eyes as he lets out a choked gasp. He looks like he wants to tell you to stop, but there's something about the way his eyes glaze over and how nostrils flare that makes you think he wants you to keep going.
A harsh pull on his clothes frees his growing cock. You savor the moment and give gentle kisses up his length, feeling him harden after each peck. A wet lick across his tip makes Armin groan and brace himself on the nearest books behind him. You swallow the bitterness of his precome and moan at the taste. Without warning, you suck his length into your mouth, letting your tongue drag against the underside.
Armin sinks into the shelf with a gasp as saliva pools and leaks past your lips. The messy sounds of your sucking grows, and a choking noise echoes loudly in the room. You're desperate to take every inch of Armin down your throat, and his poorly muffled moans only spur you on. His knuckles whiten as his grip on the shelf tightens, but it's a feeble attempt at restraint when he's subconsciously thrusting himself deeper into your mouth.
When you come up for a breather, you press a sweet kiss right below his belly button, letting the drool dripping down your chin soak the hair beneath it. It matches perfectly with the wet patch smeared around his base. Your hand jerks his slick cock and you can feel him twitch in your palm. You can't decide if you want to swallow his warm load or spit it into the mess you already created.
"Here it is, someone didn't shelve it right. How hard is it to follow the LCC system?" Armin pulls the book down with an exasperated sigh. "Give me a second to find the sect—are you okay?"
You look like a nervous chihuahua. Your shoulders are pulled tight toward your body and your eyes are bulging out of their sockets. You don't think you've been breathing for past twenty seconds.
You feel guilty. Wrong. You need to get out of here before you melt onto the floor.
"Sorry," you barely muscle out. "I just realized that I promised Sasha that I would help her with her uh … laundry."
Armin lowers the book down, closing it between his thumb. "Her laundry?"
"Yep. Poor Sash, sometimes she just doesn't know when to wash and when to … dry."
"… Huh?"
What the hell are you talking about?
"Anyway! I should really get going, don't want her to ruin her clothes and all that. Check out that book and I'll look at it next time, alright?"
"Uh, yeah sure—"
"—perfect! Amazing! I'll see you later!" You don't give Armin a chance to say goodbye before you're sprinting down the hallway. You pass the spot where you were sitting earlier and swipe your backpack off from the floor, ignoring your pens and paper that are scattered across the table.
The run to back to your apartment happens in a blur: all you can feel is the burning in your lungs and the blood pounding in your head. Your leg muscles feel like they're one wrong step away from tearing off the bone, but you still somehow make it to your place in half the time.
You immediately strip your clothes off and jump into a freezing shower. For the most part, the cold water soothes the burn in your body, no doubt helping whatever soreness you're bound to have. You stick your face directly into the spray, hoping the water can wash away your shame.
God, you feel like you're under some spell. Some crazy, twisted spell cast by some outcast pervert that wanted to watch the world endlessly fuck one another. You can't seem to flush out the mixture of adrenaline and arousal that scorches your gut. Drops of water hit your pebbled nipples in a way that makes you crave the chill rather than pull away. Everything feels like torture, but you can't do anything but want and want.
You support yourself with one hand on the wall in front of you while your other hand snakes down to your heat. A wetness that's definitely not from the shower coats the pad of your fingers, and you can't help but dip a knuckle inside you.
The relief, although small, makes you let out a shaky breath. It doesn't take long until you're grinding against the base of your palm and pumping your fingers into your tight hole. Your hand is cramping and you're leaning your forehead against the wall, moans airy and faint against the running water.
A curl of your fingers makes you come with a silent scream. The inside of your thighs are left a slippery mess and your bicep is still aching after you loosen your wrist from your cunt. You come back to your senses and remorse kicks in. Something deep inside you still simmers, and you have a feeling this was only the beginning.
"Fucking hell …" you whisper with a huff.
Grabbing the shower knob, you move the water to a reasonable temperature and clean yourself up.
… You can't stop masturbating.
If you weren't in class, you were in your room with your hand shoved down your pants, too pent up to even take them off. Even with your frequent showering (your water bill is going be insane this month) and wipe downs, you constantly felt damp and icky.
Your underwear was either wet with arousal or sticky with your come that somehow continues to leak out of you hours after touching yourself. The window in your room is permanently propped open and your candle is barely holding on, but you can't seem to waft out the smell of sex. You might as well wear a sign that says "World's Biggest Pervert" when you walk around campus.
One thought of Armin, and you feel a pulse between your legs. Your dreams were plagued with him and all the different ways you could make each other get off, making you wake up to a sopping mess in your shorts the following morning and filthy visions that you can't help but touch yourself to for real.
It was especially agonizing on the days you met up with Armin. Fortunately, logic hasn't completely escaped you yet, and you made sure all your hangouts have been in public spaces the past couple of weeks, using the library or coffee shops as buffers for your dirty mind. It worked, for the most part.
You ignore the time last week when Armin took his glasses off to clean them against his t-shirt, and how his tongue darted out between his lips when he buffed a particularly stubborn smudge, making you thankful for the thick seam in your jeans. It was enough to relieve the ache in your clit until you got home, where you immediately shoved a pillow underneath you and humped the thing within an inch of its life.
You also ignore the time two days ago, when he saved you from being taken out by some idiot student and their motorized scooter by grabbing your arm and pulling you away from the middle of the sidewalk and into his chest. Your face was surrounded by the earthy musk of his cologne, leaving you feeling warm and dizzy afterward. Later that night, you notice how the smell lingers on your shirt, and you ride your fingers while sniffing the fabric.
…
Okay, so maybe you weren't doing so great. At least you weren't doing this in public, which is … the bare minimum, technically, but it's still something.
Eventually, the weekend comes around, and it's both a blessing and a curse: you could stay at home and get yourself away from the source of your dirty fantasies, but now that you had no actual plans or obligations, you were left to your own devices, and you severely underestimated yourself.
When you wake up to a vivid dream of Armin's mouth between your legs, you try to match the sensation with your fingers until you're squirming under the covers. When you take a shower to clean yourself up, you use the pressure of your shower head on your clit and picture Armin with you, naked and kissing down your neck. When you try to distract yourself by reading a book on the couch, you imagine your head in Armin's lap and his fingers in your hair, and somehow that makes you horny enough to throw the book on the coffee table and grind against the armrest like a dog in heat.
Your afternoon passes in the haze left by your orgasms. You lost track after the fifth one, and your head feels like it's full of fog as you try to stay cognizant. Your pussy is spent and swollen from your constant abuse, but you know if you worm your hand back down it'll be aching for more.
You're in the bathroom cleaning up after yourself after your latest session (an ad for a cruise trip to the Bahamas played on your TV, and you couldn't stop picturing Armin shirtless afterward) when your phone vibrates on the sink counter.
[Armin 🌊]
Are you busy this weekend? I saw they released the new season of that one anime you told me about, did you want to watch it together? My place is free! :)))
The text makes you check your calendar in shock. You've been so frazzled from your new… interest? Habit? Addiction? You honestly forgot all about the show in the light of recent events, but you're more shocked that Armin somehow remembered this.
You told him about the news months ago, a few weeks before he left for the South Pole. It was a comment in passing, when you were searching the manga section of the bookstore to find your next read. You pointed out the series and mentioned you were excited to see them animate the next arc, since it was one of your favorites. From what you knew, he didn't watch the show, let alone read the manga, and you definitely didn't expect him to think twice about what you said.
Armin was attentive, you knew that for a fact. Quiet, but always paying attention. Yet experiencing it first-hand, at a time where you're nothing but self-destructive and avoidant, makes it especially touching. For the first time all day, your mind feels a bit clearer, and you text back that you'll be over in an hour before you change your mind.
A familiar rush of blood ripples through you. Unfortunately, the idea of seeing Armin excites you more than it should.
You put your phone back down by the sink, and with a frustrated groan, your hand finds its way to the eager spot between your thighs.
You're still waiting at Armin's door a couple minutes after you text him that you're here. Confused, you slowly knock on the wood, the rhythm choppy and awkward. Was he not home for some reason?
You're about to send another knock when the door swings open, an out-of-breath Armin on the other side.
Specifically, an Armin wearing gray sweats and his gaming headset around his neck. You're embarrassed at how attractive you find him right now, and how your breaths are just as heavy as his.
"Oh my god, I'm so sorry," he sputters out. "I ran as soon as I got the chance, I thought me and Eren would be done with this game before you got here. There's a couple seconds left until the last round starts, you cool just hanging out in my room while I finish up?"
You're not sure how he said all that in one breath, or if you caught most of that. "Hm? Uh, sure. Don't worry about me, I can wait."
Your agreement is enough for him to start jogging back to his room. "Great. Thanks." He brings his headset back to his ears and adjusts his mic. "Jesus, Eren, I'm heading back. You can literally hear me outside your door right now. Don't do anything stupid before I get to point ..." His voice grows quieter as you take your time to catch up to him. You let the initial shock subside and take a deep breath to slow your racing heart.
Armin doesn't pay you any mind when you enter his bedroom, already focused on catching up to the rest of his team in the game. His room looks the same as it always does, though you haven't been in here since the spring. You always thought the space was quite cozy, with his preference of using lamps over the fluorescent overhead light and his bookshelf that contained just as many mementos as it did books.
On the middle shelf, you spot his vintage camera that his grandpa gifted him, along with what looks like to be a vial of water. It's a new addition, probably from the Southern Ocean that he's been surrounded by for several weeks. You make a note to ask if he brought anything else back from his trip.
Your eyes eventually land on Armin's bed and you freeze. It's the same bed as it's always been, with slight chips in the headboard and those navy blue bedsheets that are so stereotypical and dude-ish that it's almost comical. You've sat on his bed plenty of times; it was your go-to spot whenever you came over to hang out. You even made the space your designated nap area when the two of you were studying for finals, the mattress the perfect balance of firm and soft that you couldn't help but shut your eyes for a few minutes.
Sitting on his bed right now, with everything you've been feeling lately, seems wrong. It somehow felt too intimate, an invasion of privacy despite your familiarity. But you're trying to be normal, and it's not like there's ample seating options in his room, so you bite the bullet and sit on the edge of the bed.
You're dragging your nails across the seam of his comforter, letting the mouse clicks and mumbles of Armin's voice drown in the space, when you hear a loud bang from Eren's room and an annoyed groan from across from you.
"Dammit, I told you, Eren, you have to back up. Their tank probably has ult, and we need to save our cooldowns if we don't want to topple over," Armin commands into his mic. "And I can't heal you if you're around a corner, so stop complaining."
Armin's shoulders are hunched over his desk, and his back curving into a position that he'll surely feel later tonight. His right hand whips his mouse in controlled, sporadic directions while his glasses slip down toward the bridge of his nose. He's deep in concentration, you're not sure if he would notice you if you did anything.
What could you get away with while he wasn't looking?
Ew, no. That's terrible, stop it.
You were curious about it, though. Horny, yes, but also curious. Like you mentioned earlier, he was often observant around other people. Is that the case when he's at home, relaxed and in his own world?
Were you part of that world?
Would he notice if you laid yourself down on the bed, your head nestled on his pillow that smelled of his shampoo? Would he be able to pick up on the sound of your pants slipping off your legs and onto the floor? The wet pop of your mouth after you suck on your fingers?
How long could you play with yourself before he turned around? Would he finish the rest of the game and chat with Eren before he even looked your way?
Did you want to distract him? To make him look at you and ruin his game?
You bite your lip at the idea, suddenly feeling hot all over. Out of all the fantasies you've had of Armin, and you were racking up a heavy amount, this seemed the most wrong. Like you were taking advantage of him at his most vulnerable.
But then Armin nearly growls at his monitor, and all rationale flies out the door.
"Fuck! Fall back, Eren! It's a 2v5 right now, we can't win this!"
God, could make that noise at you? Your daydream resumes, and now you're purposefully making noise in the background of Armin's game, letting the squelch of your cunt echo in his room as you let out a moan. You wouldn't stop when he turned around, indulging in the pleasure building in your stomach. You picture him and his eyes narrowing in on you, the look he often makes when he's starting to get irritated at something. Or in your imagination's case, someone.
He'll mumble something to Eren and mute his mic before he even gets the chance to respond. Just when you think he might actually be upset at you, he'll stand up and hover over the edge of his bed, and you'll notice the way his cock stirs in his sweatpants, already half-hard.
It would be all the reassurance you would need to whimper and say, "I'm sorry, I couldn't help it. Need you so bad." You would let your leg reach toward Armin, moving your foot up his thigh and grazing his dick, before stopping and playing with the top of his pants, signaling him to take them off.
You're acting coy, a smug smile playing on your lips. You think you have Armin right where you want him, but then you feel a tight grip around your ankle, the same one that hovers in front of his pants. In one quick motion, your whole body is dragged several feet closer to him, your feet now dangling off the bed.
The abrupt change makes you gasp and your cunt clench on nothing, your hands now at your sides as you prop yourself up. Your shock makes Armin smirk.
"Don't worry. I'll give you everything you need…"
Fuck, you're so horny. If you don't stand up soon, you're going to leave a wet spot on his bed.
You high-tail it for the bathroom across the hall, mumbling an excuse that Armin definitely didn't hear over the chaos happening on his screen. For the best, you think. It'll give you more time to put yourself together.
When you're in the bathroom, you hold yourself over his sink and stare at your reflection. Is this what your friendship with Armin is going to be like from now on? Getting turned-on by your best friend, then feeling guilty and avoiding him, only to jerk off to him anyway? Is he wasting his time on someone who's nothing but a complete pervert?
Your brain feels like it's being strung out in a million different directions, but it's still nothing compared to the throbbing deep in your cunt.
You double-check that you locked the bathroom door before you pull your pants to your feet, goosebumps raising on your exposed lower half. The wetness from your pussy sends a chill through your body, but you soon warm up when your fingers slink down and past your folds.
With perfect precision, you continuously hit the spot deep inside you that makes your toes curl. The knot in your belly tightens and a wave of pleasure starts creeping in. You're so close, putting more of your weight against the sink as you ride your hand to your orgasm—
There's a knock on the bathroom door.
"Sorry to bother you," Armin begins to say. "Eren and I finished our game, so I'm going to get the show set up in the living room. Do you want any snacks or anything?"
The noise startles you, making you nearly trip on your pants that are still on the floor. Your heart is pounding against your ribcage and your eyes are bulging, staring at the door like it's about to swing open and reveal your dark secret.
Armin calls your name when you don't answer right away. "Everything good?"
Shit. "I'm fine! Sorry, I was just thinking … maybe some popcorn? Or whatever you're having is fine … I'll be out in a minute!" You swear your heart is going to burst out of your chest.
"Alright, sounds good."
The sounds of footsteps fade away from the door and down the hallway. The beeping of the microwave confirms he's in the kitchen, and you quickly pull your pants up and wash your hands, ignoring the dampness in your underwear sticking to your skin.
What the hell is wrong with you? You're at Armin's apartment for crying out loud, you shouldn't be trying to get yourself off in his bathroom. Eren's in the damn room next to you right now. You should at least have the decency to pull it together until you got home.
You opt out of drying your hands and place your palms on your hot face, letting the cold water calm you down. When you feel like you're at a reasonable temperature, you open the door and head to the living room.
Armin's already sitting on the couch with the TV on and popcorn on the table in front of him, sending you a quick smile when you pop into view. Eren's sitting next to him, hunched forward and staring at his phone.
"Oh, hey Eren. Are you joining us?" you ask, relief starting to set in; he would be the perfect buffer between you and Armin.
"Nah, I'm just hanging around. I'm waiting for Mikasa to pick me up so we can get dinner together." He glances back down at your phone, not noticing how your body deflates at the news. Armin does, though. "Actually, it looks like she just parked, so I'll see you guys later." He stands up from his spot on the couch. "Have fun with whatever you're watching, I'm sure it'll be good. I'll be back later tonight, so could you leave the door unlocked for me?"
"You know you could make a copy of a key for like, three dollars, right?" Armin points out.
Eren shrugs, taking the comment as a yes. "Then I guess I'm three dollars richer. See ya guys."
You laugh at Eren's irresponsibility and wave him off. When he slams the door on his way out, you feel a weight land back on your shoulders as you're left standing awkwardly in the middle of the living room.
Armin scans you with concerned eyes before breaking the silence. "I saved a blanket for you, if you need it."
He points to the blanket lying on the back of the couch. It's the same blanket that you always use when you're over. No matter the weather and what you're wearing, your legs always got chilly whenever the two of you watched something. The sweet action stirs terribly in your insides, making you feel disgust for yourself. You don't deserve him.
You mumble a quick thanks, grabbing the blanket and sitting down. You make sure to put extra space between the two of you before bringing your knees to your chest and tucking the blanket under your feet. While you're trying to get comfortable (a task more difficult than it should be), Armin's doing the same, sitting cross-legged on the cushion while grabbing the popcorn and placing it in his lap.
He grabs a handful of popcorn, pointing to the bowl with his other hand and asking, "Want some? I added extra butter for you."
You stare at the sight at bit longer than acceptable. Luckily, Armin is already looking away from you, searching for the remote and hitting play. "Yeah. Thanks," you gulp, trying not to think of the implications of his actions just now as you grab a few pieces.
He was offering you popcorn, not asking you to grab his dick. Get your mind out of the gutter.
The first episode drags; not because it's bad, honestly you had no clue what was happening, despite having read the manga. No, you were more focused on looking like you were paying attention. Your eyes haven't left the screen once, and you haven't even made a grab for the popcorn bowl even though by this point, you usually would be debating if you should pop a second bag or not.
It's not until the outro song plays that you snap back into reality, the music playing several volumes louder than the rest of the show. Armin cringes at the loud noise, quickly turning the tv down to a reasonable level.
"Hate when that happens…" he mumbles, putting the popcorn back on the table and getting comfortable again.
First, Armin stretches his neck, extending his head back and forth with a low groan. Then, he stretches his legs and spreads them further out, his left knee almost knocking into your right foot. Finally, he settles back into the couch, and if you stare hard enough, you can see the print of his dick just barely outlined in his sweatpants.
The things you could do with him right here on this couch…
The sight makes drool pool in your mouth, and it reminds you just how soaked your panties are from earlier. Your cunt aches all over again, starving to be satiated after you stopped just before your release.
"So, what do you think so far? I know you mentioned something about a bus hijacking arc? Does that happen in the next episode?" Armin asks, reaching for a few more pieces of popcorn.
"Good. It was good." It feels like the blood has rushed away from your brain and toward your pussy. What are you saying 'good' to again?
Your lack of answer leaves Armin confused, mouth pursed and debating if he should repeat himself. For whatever reason, he leaves it at that. "Uh, alright. You cool to start the next episode then?"
You offer a gentle hum in agreement and he presses play, both of you now awkwardly staring straight ahead.
Great. Now you're horny frustrated and non-horny frustrated. Why can't you at least act normal around him? You need to do something to calm yourself down.
You need to come so bad.
…
No. Absolutely not. You are not going to masturbate in his bathroom again.
It would be obvious, even more so, that you're being weird. Even if it wasn't weird, he would probably think you had a stomach bug or something, which is just as embarrassing. If you went to the bathroom, he would pause the tv so you don't miss anything. You couldn't have Armin wait on you while you came to the thought of riding his thigh.
…
Although, you could just do it here on the couch.
Technically speaking, if you were subtle enough, he wouldn't notice anything under the blanket, especially if you left your legs pulled up toward your chest. It would also eliminate the issue of him waiting on you, since the show would just keep playing.
It was a crazy idea though, and way too risky. Just pay attention to the episode, make a couple comments about it, and everything will sort itself out.
Your pussy throbs, almost like it's fighting against your logic. Apparently, it wasn't taking no as answer, and in retaliation, you're flooded with dirty visions of Armin and his hand creeping under the covers and finding the spot you're trying so hard to ignore.
His middle fingers drags across the seam of your pants, making it dig between your folds and right on your clit. It's teasing, the pressure not enough for how wet you are, but it still makes your legs snap shut as you whine. With a firm hand, he moves away from your center and pushes on your inner thigh, forcing your leg back to where it was. Your other leg moves back too, taking the instruction.
"Don't move," Armin whispers, voice gravelly. "Just keep watching your show. I'll take care of you."
Your whole body feels hot. You want to kick away the blanket and let yourself cool down a bit, but something is stopping you. A part of you that wants to touch yourself and come till you see stars.
With slow, measured movements, you move your hand off the couch, moving it to the middle of your body. Your fingers inch further down, relaxing against your pants as you cup your heat. It's a small comfort as you continue to clench on nothing. Your legs form a tent shape with the blanket, making the action unnoticeable. You could easily move your hand away at any time, and no one would have to know.
Yet the risk to push further entices you.
Armin thumbs the edge of your pants, making your stomach tense at the gentle graze. He pushes the band away from your skin, letting his hand go past the barrier. The tips of his fingers trail down your body with deft precision before they're pushing past the side of your underwear and drawing circles over your entrance.
Your cunt pulses, desperately pleading for his fingers to fill you up. Your breathing comes out unevenly as you try to focus on the scene in front of you. You must be doing a decent job of paying attention, because he sinks a finger inside you, sopping up your arousal before pulling out and spreading it around the outside of your pussy. He was making a complete mess out of you, and you wanted to beg for more.
"I'm going to get some water real quick, do you want some?" Armin asks.
You blink, hand still cupping your mound. "Sure, that would be nice. Do you want me to pause the show?"
He shakes his head, already walking to the kitchen. "It's cool, I shouldn't be long. I'll still be able to hear it from over there."
The moment his body disappears, you spring into action. You bump the volume of the tv up a few notches, letting the noise muffle your own as the hand that's been cupping your clothed core slips fully under your pants. Your hips jerk at the coolness of your slick pussy no longer sticking to your underwear, and again when you finally touch your clit. With how pent up you are, you honestly might be able to come before he comes back.
You imagine your fingers are Armin's, rubbing the hard nub of your clit and making your eyes flutter shut and your head feel fuzzy. Everything is so sensitive under his controlled motions and your skin feels like it's on fire. You're ready to strip off your clothes and plead for Armin to fuck you so good, so deep right here on the couch.
The door opens, making Armin's fingers freeze.
"Hey guys, you still watching your one show?" Eren greets, taking off his shoes by the door. Your eyes are wide, panic thrumming through your body at being caught in the act.
Well, almost caught. Eren hasn't picked up on anything yet.
"Yeah, it's pretty good so far," Armin replies. He starts moving again, dragging a line from your slit up back up to your clit. It's as if he was testing you. Not to see if you would say no—he knew how badly you wanted his fingers. How badly you wanted him to keep going.
No, he was testing to see if you could be quiet enough.
The familiar ache right before you come is hitting you with full force as you continue to stroke yourself with fervor. You're about to let go and fall off the edge when footsteps grow louder.
"Looks like I didn't miss much," Armin mumbles, setting two glasses down. You haven't stopped your motions, going just slow enough to keep your orgasm at bay. He seems to be oblivious at the crude activities happening under your blanket, sitting back down like everything was normal.
Your breaths are heavy and your chest is nearly heaving under the covers. You just need to come at this point. Get everything out of your system, and you'll be back to normal.
Your fingers speed up, your brain on high alert for any suspicious movements that you make.
"You want to watch with us?" Armin asks Eren, barely dipping a knuckle into you. Your cunt tries to grip him, to suck him in deeper. He takes the hint, pushing another digit in and fully fingering you. You bite your lip so hard you nearly break skin, trapping your moans in your throat.
"Eh, sure, why not?" He shrugs, staring at the screen and slumping into the recliner next to you. If he turned a little to his right, he would be face-to-face with your dazed expression and Armin's arm snaking underneath your blanket. Yet Armin was unrelenting, continuing to work you open while his friend sits less than ten feet away.
You can feel the coil in your stomach ready to snap.
Armin angles his hand and lets the base of his palm grind against your clit, and you're creaming on his fingers with a shivering breath. Eren isn't fazed, not even noticing when Armin's hand leaves your body and the blanket, bringing his fingers to his lips and nonchalantly cleaning off your come with his tongue.
A flick of your clit sends you spiraling, your pleasure releasing in waves as you helplessly throb. You let out a deep sigh as you come, hoping that it passes off as a normal breath. There's a thrum of ecstasy that circulates through your veins, but it's nothing compared to the heavy shame that it comes with. Your muscles in your abdomen tighten until they cramp, and the comedown leaves you feeling utterly pathetic.
Your hands feel slimy when you wipe them off on your underwear, and you start to feel even worse. You can't believe you just did that. What the hell possessed you to make you think that this was okay? That you could pretend to be a normal friend after this?
You're an absolute monster. A total creep. You have completely ruined your friendship with Armin and you need to leave. You don't deserve his kindness, not after what you just did.
A layer of sweat clings onto you, and you're sticky with humiliation. "Actually, I'm getting a bit tired. I should get going," you say, moving off the couch and pulling the blanket off you. You're grateful you didn't leave some stain on the upholstery.
"Oh, really? I mean, you just got here, are you sure you don't want to stay a bit longer?" Armin pauses the tv, the second episode barely halfway through. He's looking at you with worry, but you can tell by the small pout of his lips that he's trying to hide his disappointment.
Your heart aches at the sight. It feels like every choice you make is the wrong one.
"Yeah, sorry. Just a long day and all that." Not technically wrong, you did masturbate about a dozen times today. "Plus, might as well walk home before the sun sets. No need to worry about me." You're making a dash to the exit, your shoes half-on before you swing the front door open.
"Wh—okay. Uh, have a good night then. I'll see you later?"
The door closes before he finishes the that last part. Your hand is still on the doorknob, and you're tempted to open the door again just to agree that yes, you'll hang out again. That everything was okay. But that would be a lie, and that would probably just make things worse.
You couldn't keep dragging him through this cycle of trying to be his friend and then pushing him away when you failed. Until you could get yourself in check, you were a burden.
You walk away from the door, unsure when you would let yourself see your best friend again.
"Alright, you're pissing me off," Eren says.
You look up from your spot in the coffee shop, confronted with irritation personified. "Uh … sorry?" You're not sure what's happening right now, and it doesn't help that Eren is just an intense person to begin with. He could be mad at anything. "… did I forget we made plans? Or like, forget to say 'bless you' or something?"
"What?—no. At least, I'm choosing to excuse your bad manners on that right now, but next time it wouldn't hurt you to say it at least once! Allergies are no joke! Ragweed could kill me. Do you want your lack of common courtesy to forever be stuck on your conscience?"
"Considering that ragweed is probably not deadly? I think I'll be fine," you reply with a blank stare.
"Ugh, whatever. I'm not having this argument again." Who else was he having this conversation with? "I meant what's going on between you and Armin?"
The mention of his name gets your attention, a pang of guilt hitting you like a freight train. Eren must notice how you tense, his eyes narrowing in on you.
"I don't know what you're talking about," you bluff, hoping he'll drop the conversation, even though you know he won't. Not only is he intense, but also freakishly determined — a dangerous combination. "Plus, why would I tell you of all people? You're his best friend. You'd either tell him about this or get mad at me and take his side. Or both."
"Well, maybe."
Eren stops.
"Probably."
Another pause.
"Okay, I would, but there's clearly something wrong between you two. Whenever you study here, Armin's usually with you. Instead, he's sulking in his room because you've been ignoring him all week, and I know you've been ignoring him all week because he looks at his phone all lost and disappointed, and you're the only other person he texts on a regular basis. So you better talk to him and fix whatever is wrong with you or I'll—"
"—you'll what? You don't have anything on me, Eren, and you definitely don't scare me."
"Told you," a voice behind you says.
"—fuck! Were you there this whole time?!" you shout, turning in your chair and locking eyes with Mikasa's.
She ignores your question and simply takes the seat next to you. "Look, we just want to help you. Both of you. Something clearly happened between you two. Or at least, something happened between you two that only you know about. I don't think it's fair to keep Armin in the dark. So if you don't want to tell him right now, I think you should at least tell someone what's bothering you."
You sigh. "Look, I appreciate it, but I promise you there's nothing—"
"—I'll tell Historia that you were the one that shrunk her favorite sweater in the dryer."
"Oh fuck you. I thought you were doing a good cop, bad cop thing," you scoff.
Ever since that night at his apartment, you went no contact with Armin. It might not have been the best strategy, if you can even call it that.
You ignored his text checking to see if you made it home okay, then his ones asking if you wanted to study at the library, followed by his ones where he linked a particularly interesting YouTube video defending fanfiction and asked for your thoughts. That one took a lot of strength to ignore, and you now have a saved paragraph in your notes regarding the topic.
But the worst messages were probably his last ones.
[Armin 🌊]
Is everything okay? Haven't heard from you in a while
Did I do something? Because I'm not sure what
I'm sorry for whatever I did, and for not knowing what I did :/
Can we at least talk about it?
I want to figure this out
I miss you
You had to shut your phone off after that last one, and when you turned it back hours later, you couldn't help but feel disappointed that he hasn't said anything since.
It was especially excruciating when you were on campus. Earlier in the week, you were leaving the lecture hall with Annie when you spotted Armin waiting for you by a nearby bench. Before he could spot you in the crowd, you grabbed Annie by the arm and dashed back into the building, mumbling something about forgetting your laptop charger inside.
A couple days after that, Connie caught you walking past the courtyard while he and Jean were tossing a frisbee across the lawn. While he was trying to convince you to check out his next DJ set at the local nightclub, Armin was walking your way, steps getting more urgent when he realized it was you.
In a panic, you told Connie to 'go long' and toss the frisbee to you in the opposite direction. Halfway through chasing the disc, you made a break for it and sprinted away, much to everyone's confusion.
("… I'm not sure they get this game," you heard Jean yell to the two.)
Since then, it was safe for Armin to say that you wanted nothing to do with him. You got exactly what you wanted, and you've never felt more horrible.
You honestly didn't expect anyone to notice the change, but you should've accounted for Eren and Mikasa's unwavering loyalty. They knew Armin better than you, being childhood friends and all. Like you, they would do anything for him, including interrogating and threatening you until you spilled your secret.
"Look, you're right," you sigh. "Armin doesn't know anything, and he definitely didn't do anything wrong." Other than get super attractive and make all your feelings toward him impossible to ignore. "Things between us just got … complicated, and it's just easier if we keep some distance. I swear, I'm doing this because I care about him."
Eren huffs, though he can tell that you're being honest. "I just don't get it." He crosses his arms and tilts his head, glare still as harsh as before. "If he didn't do anything wrong, and you supposedly didn't do anything wrong, what changed?"
Mikasa hums in thought, turning in her chair to stare you down as well. "For once, he actually makes a good point …"
"For once? What's that supposed to mean?"
"—do you not have feelings for him anymore? Is that why you're avoiding him?"
What?
"What?" you blurt out. "You knew?"
Mikasa leans away from you, brows furrowed. She shifts her gaze to Eren, who looks equally confused, then back to you. "Was that … not public knowledge?"
"No!" You're not sure your voice is an appropriate volume for the coffee shop anymore. "It is very much not public knowledge! It's not supposed to be anyone's knowledge! Especially you guys!" You're pinching the bridge of your nose and praying that this conversation can't get any worse. "Please tell me that at least Armin doesn't know I like him."
"Like him? As in, present tense?" Eren catches.
Dammit. The conversation was getting worse.
"Yes, as in present tense," you mutter under your breath, admitting defeat.
"Oh, well that's easy enough," Eren shrugs. "You like him. He likes you. Problem solved."
What?
Mikasa hums again, this time in disagreement before butting in and saying, "Not exactly. They've always liked each other. It still doesn't explain the change."
What?
"Ugh, you're right." Eren slumps back into his seat.
You wish you could melt onto the floor and get mopped up by an underpaid barista. You're frozen in place, helpless under their hot, blinding looks. A pounding thumps in your skull and your brain is trying to stay still and process the information Eren just told you.
"I'm sorry, can we go back to what you guys just said?" you somehow manage to squeak out.
Eren lets out a dramatic groan and an exaggerated eye roll. "You both like each other, keep up. All of us see how you two look at each other. Armin always has googly eyes and this stupid grin whenever he's around you." He then lazily motions to you. "And you … well you used to look at him like that too. Actually you still do sometimes, but now sometimes you look at him all spaced out. And you breath weird … like you're trying to stop yourself from having a panic attack or something … whatever the hell that's supposed to mean."
"—wait, oh my god! You have the hots for Armin!" Sasha yells behind you.
"Oh come on! You too?" you angrily shout. "Were you listening to us this whole time?"
"Well, I work here, so I was originally going to top off your coffee," she explains, gesturing to the coffee pot in her hand. "Then I got nosy. So I eavesdropped instead."
You look down at your cup. "… Sasha, I got a matcha."
"Oh. Guess I was just nosy then." She sets down the pot on the table. You're not sure if she realizes the damage the hot pot is going to do on the wood. "But just hear me out: Armin comes back from his summer of isolation looking like a total nerd, no offense, and now you're acting all weird around him. Eren just described the telltale signs of sexual attraction. Clearly, his new look is doing it for you, and now all these horny thoughts you're having is making your body go into overdrive because of your already strong feelings for him."
Sasha moves her hand in the air like she's solving equations in her head. "You liking him for a year or so, multiplied by the average horniness it takes to want to have sex with someone, divided by the three weeks he's been back …" Her eyes widen, cracking the code. "Oh wow, that's rough. Yeah you probably would have jumped his bones the next time you saw him, no wonder you're avoiding him now."
Your tongue feels like lead in your mouth. Any excuse you could possibly make dies before you can find the words. The three of you are looking at her with varying degrees of shock, disgust, and in your case, complete embarrassment. Someone should tell her never to do math again. But someone should also tell her she may be the next Sherlock Holmes.
"Wait what? What happened to you guys helping me out?"
"Listen, I love you and all, but that was before I knew you wanted to do … that with Armin," she shudders. "He's like my brother. And now I can't stop picturing him naked."
Sasha snorts in your direction. "Well neither can they."
"Please stop talking," you mumble back.
Mikasa grimaces and takes a deep breath before talking again. "Just talk to him, okay? And we can pretend this conversation never happened."
You quickly nod. "Gladly."
Mikasa can barely look at you as she heads for the door. Eren slowly starts to follow her, but before he leaves, he turns to you with pursed lips. "So ... that was probably my fault."
He then walks away, not elaborating.
"Wh—a sorry would have been nice," you stammer. Was that payback for his 'bless you' argument earlier? Maybe he had a point about the common courtesy thing after all, though you would never say that to his face.
You let your head drop onto the table and bury your face in your homework with a pained groan. Sasha still lingers behind you, unsure if she helped or not.
"Uh, want some coffee to go?"
You nod into your notebook. "… Yes please."
You let the idea of reaching out to Armin linger. For about a day, that is. Because the following morning, there's a pounding at your door.
Armin is already letting himself in before you register he was at the door.
"Is Historia home?" he asks.
"You know she never is." She practically lives at Ymir's ever since they started dating last spring. Thank god too. You couldn't imagine how much worse your situation would be if she was around.
"Cool. That means I can yell at you here."
The door closes with a quiet click, Armin already standing in the middle of your living room. You're taken aback by his fervor, only responding with a quiet "huh?"
"—look, I was going to let you have your space. I took the hint and left you alone. But yesterday, I said hi to Sasha on the way to class and she basically laughed in my face. And then Mikasa comes over later that night and barely says a word to me. Hell, she couldn't even be in the same room as me without getting war flashbacks or something. And when I finally decided to come over so we can talk things out, Eren tells me to 'have fun' and 'be safe'? Like what is that supposed to mean? Why are all of you being so weird around me?"
And yeah, okay. You kind of deserved this.
Armin's face is red, lungs heaving as he finally lets himself take a breath. He finally meets your gaze, and he deflates. Now that the initial anger has worn off, he looks incredibly hurt.
"I feel like a little kid all over again. Like there's some joke that I'm not in on," he whispers. "Did something happen over the summer?" He pauses, scared to ask the big question looming over his head. "Do you not like me? Are we not friends anymore?"
"What? No—no that's not it at all. Of course we're still friends." You finally snap out of it, walking towards Armin. You want to grab him by the shoulders, to reassure him that he has the completely wrong idea, but you resist the urge. If you got too close, you were worried you wouldn't be able to control yourself.
"Then why does it feel like I'm doing something wrong?"
"It's not like that. You're not—"
"—then explain why you're doing this! You have been weird with me ever since I came back. And now you're ignoring me? Clearly, you have some issue with me, and I seem to be the only one that doesn't know why. I don't want to bother you if that's what you want, but I just don't see what's changed between us." He looks down at himself, hand on his chest. "Do you not want to be seen with me?"
"What?" That's the idea he got from this?
"Were you just being nice to me after I came back? Do you think I look … bad?"
Definitely not. "Armin, please I—"
"—are you embarrassed to be my friend? Is it the hair?"
The complete opposite: you want to pull his hair and see if he moans at the pain. "Armin …"
"—the glasses? The shirt? I know it's goofy, but I thought the Minecraft reference would come off more ironic than serious …"
The shirt is more sexy than funny, actually. That's what the problem is. How is he not getting this?
His ramblings are utter nonsense. Your left eye twitches in irritation. There's an ache in between your legs. You want him to shut up, and you're debating between smacking him upside the head and kissing him to do so.
"—I want to fuck you."
Well. That works too.
"Wha— huh?!" Armin chokes out, jumping out of his skin. The sudden jerk of his body makes him lose his footing for a split second, and his glasses slip and balance themselves lower on his nose. If you weren't making a total fool of yourself, you would find the sight endearing.
"I want to fuck you. Or you fuck me. God, I'd let you do anything to me." The laugh you let out sounds pained and borderline psychotic. "Honestly, I've gone through a million different scenarios at this point, I've probably thought of it all." Your heart rate is going so fast it would probably break a monitor. "Yes, it's the hair. And the glasses. And your freaking clothes. But not liking them? That couldn't be further from the truth."
"I-I don't understand."
You bury your face in your hands and shake your head. Armin is looking at you like you're a stray dog, unable to decide if it's safe for him to help you with whatever is wrong with you. "I can't stop thinking about you, Armin. I've always liked you. I tried to ignore those feelings. I thought I was doing a good job of not letting it ruin our friendship. But then you show up after months away looking like that," you motion toward him, "and my mind starts playing a porno every time you're near me. Even when you're not around me, I'll dream up some perverted fantasy of us and jerk off to it."
Armin sputters. "Y-you what? To me?"
Shit. Did you not mention that?
"So that's why you've been acting off lately?"
You slowly nod. "Pretty much." No use hiding anything now.
Armin's jaw hasn't closed for a whole minute. His eyes keep flittering from one half of your face to the other, completely mystified. It's taking him longer than you expected to wrap his head around this. You're not sure if that's bad or beyond awful.
"So—so that night? At the party? You weren't sick, or—or drunk?"
"I mean, I technically was drunk. At least when you first found me," you begin to say, "really, I couldn't stop thinking of shoving my tongue down your throat."
He gulps. "And when I dropped you off? After you went home?"
"Tried to go bed right away and figure my shit out. Ended up masturbating to the thought of dry humping you in your car."
"Cool. That's uh … nice," he mumbles. His gaze feels darker, his breaths evening out and deepening. The room suddenly felt smaller. "Then what about the library? You didn't have to meet Sasha then?"
You shook your head. "Took a cold shower after I kept dreaming of sucking your dick. Didn't work, though. Actually, it just got worse after that."
He raises his eyebrow at the word 'worse'. The lamp next to you now burns bright like a spotlight. Why did it feel like the tables were turning on you? "So last time, when you came over …"
"Yeah … I tried to figure that out in the bathroom." You feel your throat dry up, and you let out short cough. "I had the urge to touch myself and distract you from your game, so I left to go try and take care of it … but you kinda knocked at a bad time." Your mouth presses into a flat line. "I was about to finish then you scared me off."
"Oh. Um, sorry? I guess?" Armin says. "Is that why you left so early? To go home and uh … finish?"
"Eh, not exactly …" Your body is so warm right now you could burst into flames. You let out an awkward laugh and tilt your head, considering your next words. "I left early because I already … did. Finish."
His face was still, but the blush gave him away. "When would you—but you were on the couch. You didn't get up, so when …" He's struggling to put the final piece of the puzzle together. All it takes is a look from you, and his eyes widen.
"The blanket," he whispers, like he discovered the secret to the universe. "I was right next to you? When you were …"
You give a small nod, keeping your chin down. "Kept thinking that it was your hand instead of mine. That Eren came back early, and you let him watch the tv while you secretly touched me." You scratch the back of your neck. "I guess that fantasy was a bit on the nose, now that I think about it …"
It's quiet after that. This conversation now feels like a trial, and Armin was the judge that decided your fate. All you could do was wait for his response, and pretend you weren't completely dreading it. You stare at the ceiling, sending a prayer to whoever is listening that you make it out of this with some dignity intact.
While you were wishing for a miracle, Armin clenches his jaw. He takes a moment to himself to consider his word, and puffs out his chest before speaking.
"What are you picturing right now?" Armin asks. He senses your confusion and explains himself further. More insistent this time. "Right now, when you're looking at me, what are you thinking about?"
The question makes your stomach tighten. "I'm thinking about how I'm scared out of my mind. That I ruined everything. How I should've looked into those culty celibacy classes more."
He shakes his head and takes a step forward. "You're thinking that way because you're assuming the worst."
"Can you blame me?" you scoff. This feels like a trick question, like you're the one not in on the joke now. Is he toying with you before he inevitably ends your friendship? "What should I be assuming, then?"
"Assume that I feel the same."
It's your turn to be in disbelief. It's like someone shook you like a soda can, you can feel the bubbles fizzing in your system. You're not sure if you like it or not.
"I don't—what do you mean?"
"You're assuming the worst right now, that everything you just said is going to scare me off. So assume the best instead," he says. "Assume that I feel the same. That I've had a crush on you ever since you hugged me after we got an A on that class project."
He takes another step forward. "Assume that I told Connie at the party that he could shave my head. Assume that I had to beg him the next day not to actually do it, after you told me you liked my hair. Assume that I binged the two seasons of that anime the week I came back so I could talk about it with you. Assume that I fall for you more every time you want to listen to my boring info dumps about the ocean."
"They're not boring," you say under your breath, looking away from Armin.
"Exactly," he mutters back, a smirk on his face as he takes another step. "Assume that you're hottest person I've ever met. That I wake up every day wondering why you let me hang around you, let alone be your friend."
His words make you stutter. You lower your head, fiddling with the hem of your top. He takes another step.
"Assume that I always make you take the stairs before me so I can stare at your ass. And that every time we go out to a bar, I'm purposefully sipping my drink all night and pretending I'm not looking down your shirt." A gentle finger nudges your chin up, Armin now inches away from you, cheeks rosy and radiating heat. When did he get so close? "Assume that I want to those all those things you thought about, and then some." He bites his lip, eyes darting across your face. "What are you thinking about?"
Armin's hand still sits under your chin, and it's the only thing stopping you from sinking into the carpet and letting the floor swallow you. You blink owlishly at him. Everything else in the world is frozen except for him.
While you could picture an infinite number of sexual situations with Armin, you only pictured this conversation going a few ways, all in varying degrees of bad. From asking for time away from you to giving you a number for a local therapist, the idea that he would confess his feelings (in such a rom-com way, at that) was nowhere near your perception of reality.
This was better than anything you could have come up with.
Eyes still wide, there's a pause before you finally say, "I guess what I'm thinking about is,"—you tuck some of his hair back, leaning toward his ear—"is if your shirt should stay on or off when I ride you."
"Christ," he chokes out, leaning into you. His face is an inch away from nuzzling against yours. "You're gonna kill me. Can we go back to a minute ago when you were about to have a panic attack?"
You giggle into his hair. "We could … but then we'd be further away from seeing each other naked. Hey though, if that's what you want—"
You don't get a chance to finish whatever shitty joke you were about to make, Armin quickly tilting your head to give you a bruising kiss on your lips. It takes you by surprise, but you soon fall into the rhythm of his mouth when his hand cradles your cheek. His other arm wraps around your waist, making you lean into him. You ground yourself by gripping the collar of his shirt and fuck, it looks so stupid, why does he make it so attractive?
The frame of his glasses presses against the tip of your nose, but neither of you budge at the obstacle. Armin kisses you like he's been waiting for you to tell him about your filthy desires; he kisses you like he's trying to convince you that he feels the same, and that if he stops, he'll never get this chance again. It's intoxicating and entirely mind-numbing, all you can do is go pliant in his arms and enjoy the feeling.
The thin layer of his chapstick smears onto your lips, and the flavorless wax does somehow taste better on him. A carnal craving awakens in you as you lick Armin's bottom lip, slipping your tongue in when his mouth opens in response, deepening the kiss even more. He meets you halfway and groans at the wetness of your tongue. It makes your core ache. You want everything he has to offer.
"My room," you mumble between kisses. A squeeze on your hip tells you he heard your request, and you tug him down the hallway, wet kisses trailing along his jaw and down his neck as you shuffle. Armin's breath hitches when you suck above the bump of his collarbone, and you smirk and make a mental note for future purposes.
In the rare chance you do forget, a red hickey is left as a friendly reminder.
By sheer luck, you make it to your bedroom without any issue. You lock the door behind you — on the rare chance Historia comes by, you would rather not scar her. And you were definitely not holding back on Armin now that you finally had him.
You're back to kissing him as you drag him toward your bed, laying yourself down across the mattress and pulling him on top of you. Armin tries to settle his weight on you as gracefully as he can, his arms on either side of you as he holds himself up. It only lasts for about a minute. You buck your hips to meet his and grind against the growing bulge in his pants, and he collapses his chest into yours with a choked whine.
"Oh fuck," he says, breath fanning the curve of your neck. He attempts to leave open-mouthed kisses on your skin, though they're nothing more than pitiful moans he matches the motion of your hips, hesitant at first, but overpowering now, his eagerness getting the better of him. "Can—can I touch you?"
If you weren't so turned on, you would find the ask a bit silly, considering you're dry humping one another already. But something about the neediness in his voice, and how hard he feels under his pants, makes you moan a yes. "Please, Min. Want you so bad."
"Fuck, okay." Leaning to one side of you and lifting himself up, Armin lets his opposite hand hover over your breast for a moment, waiting for you to stop him. When you don't, he pulls his lip between his teeth and lets his hand cup your chest, kneading you through the fabric of your shirt. You both take a deep breath, yours giving way to a moan as his thumb brushes over the peak of your nipple.
Armin gulps. "Are you not wearing a bra?"
You shake your head. "Never do when I'm home."
"Oh. Cool," he mumbles, "that's uh, good to know," he squeezes you again, "so if I took your shirt off, I would, um …"
"—you would see my tits?"
You're trying to hide your smile as Armin's ears turn red. "Don't laugh at me. I'm nervous, okay?" he jokingly pouts. "It's a lot to take in. This has been my wet dream since forever."
"I'm nervous too," you reassure. "My heart is going crazy right now. Want to feel it?"
"… is this your way of making me grab your other boob?"
You wrap your hand around his and guide him to the other side of your chest. "Can't it be both?"
Your hand curls, forcing Armin's to do the same. He must feel the way your heart thumps under his palm, judging by the way his shoulders lower and his eyes crinkle. Another soft squeeze later, this time on his own accord, he takes a deep breath and says, "Okay, think I'm a bit better now, thanks." He pecks the underside of your jaw, the spot tingling afterward. "Can you sit up a little for me?"
Nodding, you push yourself up as Armin sits up and leans back on his heels. His fingers lace around the hem of your shirt and slowly tugs the material up. When your shirt moves past your stomach, you raise your arms out and let the fabric slip off the rest of your torso. You lower yourself back down onto your bed, giving him a full view of your tits.
"Oh wow. Okay," he croaks out, "those are … really nice. Fuck, you're so hot."
You hide your face into your pillow. Armin was the perfect mix of hot, pathetic, and endearing. One second you're horny out of your mind, the next you're teasing and bantering, and now you're flustered at his honesty. It was a whiplash that you couldn't get enough of.
Familiar hands trace up your sides, holding you just below your breasts. You turn and stare down at Armin, who peppers kisses up your sternum. At the top of your chest, he meets your gaze and places a sweet kiss on your lips before moving to take his glasses off.
"Wait no, I like your glasses," you pout. "Why are you taking them off?"
Armin just smiles. "I appreciate your enthusiasm for them, but they'll just be in the way when I do this."
"Do what? Kissing earlier was fine with them, I don't see what—oh fuck."
The view below you was obscene: Armin firmly cups both of your tits and brings them closer to his face as he goes back to kissing the center of your chest. His thumbs skim over your nipples until they pebble under his touch, and a moan vibrates your ribs as he nuzzles your chest, suffocating himself between your tits.
You keen under his touch, holding his head down as your shoulders push forward and brings your chest closer to him. He moans again at the added pressure of you, kissing the center of your breastbone one more time before he lets himself breathe.
"Fuck, I love your tits. I'm never going to get these out of my head now."
The space between your legs starts to throb endlessly. He could take a picture of them for all you care, but one dream at a time. "Don't stop, please."
Armin eyes your hard nipples and kisses up one of your breasts. When he gets up to the center, his lips parts and he sucks on the hardened nub, making you cry out.
"Holy shit, Armin. That feels so good," you whine. He rubs your other nipple and continues to mouth at the other, his tongue occasionally flicking the bud. The warmth of his mouth sends shocks of pleasure through you, and you can do nothing but whimper under his touches as he switches from one breast to the next, wetting your other nipple with his tongue.
A light pinch at the base of the nub makes you gasp so loud you shock yourself. The barely-there pain makes your brain short-circuit, and you grab the sides of Armin's face and bring him up in a feverish kiss.
"Need more," you beg. "Want your fingers inside me."
Armin hums in agreement, moving his weight off you while you continue to kiss. Your hands fumble on the waistband of your pants and you awkwardly kick your legs to shimmy them off, leaving you in just your underwear.
He sits himself between your now spread legs, the wet spot in the middle of your underwear front and center of his vision. "You're so wet," he says in astonishment.
"Because of you," you mewl. "You always get me this wet, Armin."
He groans. "God, that's so hot."
His fingers graze up your thighs and draw closer to the center of your body. He pushes the pad of his middle finger onto the wetness of your underwear, nudging himself between your folds. The wet spot grows as more of your arousal floods the fabric. Armin swears you actually soak his fingers as you whine under his touch.
Every inch of you was buzzing. You were a horny mess whenever Armin was in the same room as you, the fact that he was touching you, however small, was driving you crazy. He starts drawing a line between your slit to the nub of your clit, and a sudden, but well-acquainted tightness pulls at your abdomen. It's too good, too fast. He draws another line, and you realize too late what's happening.
"Armin, wait. I think I'm—"
Your words die off as his finger skims over your clit. On instinct, your legs clamp together and wrap around Armin's hips and you shudder out a surprise orgasm, his hands snapping to your knees to hold you during the tremors. Shutting your eyes tight, you gasp out quiet, strained moans as a wave of euphoria washes through your body.
You let yourself ride through the quivers of your aftershock, your legs relaxing back onto the bed as you start to open your eyes. Once you adjust to the brightness of your room, you're met with a slack-jawed Armin.
"Did you—did you just come?"
"Ugh, yes. Sorry." You cover your eyes with your hands, cringing at yourself. "I don't know how that even happened, honestly. I guess it's been a while."
"Definitely don't be sorry. That was the best thing I've ever seen." He shakes his head, eyebrows drawing together. "I just didn't expect that to happen so fast. Or at all, really. I figured it would take another try or something …" He winces at that last part, then quickly clears his throat. "I guessing that you haven't … you know, all week then? Since we haven't seen each other for a while?"
"… Uh, yeah. More or less."
"More or less?" he asks.
"There may have been a … moment." You let out an awkward laugh and push on your palms until you feel the sockets of your eyes, "Do you remember that video Jean sent to the group chat? Of you and the guys at the gym?"
Armin does a double-take. "The one where I almost bounced a basketball into my face? Seriously? That did it for you?"
"I mean, it was the gym shorts too …" They were weirdly baggy and long on his lanky legs, like he borrowed them from Connie or Eren last minute. In the video, he was attempting a free-throw and messed up before he even tried for the shot, dribbling the basketball right underneath himself and nearly knocking his teeth in when it bounces straight up. It was equal parts pathetic and adorable, even in your time of sorrow.
Later that day, you found yourself lying in bed, crossing your thighs together and rocking into the pressure on your clit as you thought of licking the sweat off his neck and palming him through the mesh fabric of his shorts. Out of all your Armin-related orgasms, this one was probably the most subtle one, but also the most desperate.
Your strategy wasn't perfect, okay?
The mattress shifts, and there's a hold on your wrists. Not too tight, but firm enough to snap you back into the present as you let Armin move your hands away from your face. His fingers trace up and interlace with yours as he brings them close to him, twisting your wrists so he can kiss the tops of your knuckles.
"I think I need a redo," he mumbles on your skin. Even with your hands in the way, you can make out the shy grin on his face. "Need to see if that was a fluke or if I'm just that good."
You scoff, as if you're not dying for him to do more, for him to make you come so many times that your brain turns to mush. Joking or not, he can have this ego boost if it means he keeps touching you.
"Yeah, whatever," you eventually say, smiling back. "I'm all yours, Armin."
That makes his grin deepen. He kisses your knuckles one more time and lowers them down to your sides, his fingers starting to hook around your panties.
With a gentle nod of encouragement, you lift your hips and let Armin slowly drag your underwear down your hips. His fingers graze the middle of your thighs before the center of your underwear finally unsticks from your dripping cunt. A think, honeyed line of your come and arousal still connects the fabric to your core, and Armin groans.
"So messy …" he says to himself. He cuts off the connecting web with a pinch and scoops as much of your slick as he can, smearing it between the pads of his fingers. You see the pink of his tongue between his lips when he brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks. The action makes you whimper, but Armin isn't fazed, pulling back his now clean fingers and saying, "You taste good, too."
As flattering as that was, your cunt was aching for more. He must notice the way you're clenching on air, because he mumbles a quiet "sorry" and finishes pulling off your underwear, hooking it off one ankle then the other.
You can't tell if he's trying to be sneaky when he tucks your panties into the back pocket of his pants, but you don't comment on it. He could do whatever he wanted with them, it was only fair after all. Plus, it was incredibly sexy to see him stake a claim on you. You save the fantasy of him jerking off into them for future use.
Armin adjusts and moves further back on your bed. His eyes struggle to focus between your slick core and the rest of your naked body, but the fire behind them is evident, scorching you from head to toe. "You're so beautiful," he whispers.
You lightly kick his foot with yours. "Arminnn" you whine. "C'mon."
"I know I know, I'll hurry up now. Just needed you to know that."
His ears are red again, and you almost feel bad for being so needy and impatient when he was being so sweet with you. Almost. He slinks another couple feet down on the mattress, working himself into a lazy plank with his mouth fanning the spot you need him most.
"Tell me if I'm doing something wrong, okay?" You can practically hear his voice rattling your insides.
"Of course Min, just, please."
Without any other warning, Armin licks the same pattern as earlier, dragging his tongue from the bottom of your entrance to the tip of your sensitive clit. You let out a sigh of relief at the contact, but it soon turns into a desperate wail when he keeps his tongue around on the bud. From there, it's a steady pattern of languid strokes and soft sucks as he makes out with your clit. The wet kissing sounds echo in your room, and you can feel your arousal leak out of you at the sight of Armin between your legs.
"God, that's good," you keen. "Your tongue's so good, fuck. Please don't stop."
A moan vibrates against you at a particularly rough suck. He keeps the same force on your clit and grabs at your thighs, pulling them up toward his head and squeezing at the plush muscle. It was like the longer his mouth stayed on you, the hungrier he got.
You were rapidly starting to lose yourself in the pleasure, and you hold his hair to ground yourself. Your fingers thread through the strands until your nails gently dig into his scalp, and Armin hums at the new sensation.
His lips part from your clit and down to your slit as he licks the drooling mess on your cunt. A thick, slurp noise erupts from him when his tongue pushes past your folds and soaks his mouth with your juices. The noise you let out would put porn to shame, and you can't help but grip Armin's hair tighter as you ride his tongue until your thighs tremble under his hold.
"Close …" you trail off with a moan.
Armin continues to work you open with his tongue and kiss your folds, his eyes dark and hazy with lust as he stares up at you. Maybe it's the way his nose nudges your clit, or the fact that he's clutching the base of his length to calm himself down, but you topple over with a shaky exhale as your cunt spasms around his mouth. Your toes curl into your comforter as your thighs trap Armin, who's still tenderly sucking and swallowing the come spilling out of you.
Eventually, your hips start to writhe away in overstimulation, and he slowly pulls away from your core, looking as disheveled as you. His hair is messy from your death-grip and his eyes are glazed over, but what's the most damning is his bright pink, swollen mouth and the shine that glistens his chin. His chest is heaving, deep breaths syncing up with yours.
"I'm guessing I did alright then?" he asks.
"Something like that," you heave out, still reeling from your orgasm. Your eyes dart down to the lower part of his face. "Um, sorry for the mess."
"Hm?" He follows your gaze and blinks. "Oh, that's fine. I mean, it would probably look bad on my part if it wasn't." Armin wraps the bottom of his shirt into his fist and uses it to wipe off his chin, steeping the fabric with you. You don't think he realizes how attractive that is. "That reminds me, did you want the shirt on or off?"
Definitely doesn't realize.
"On for sure," you murmur, staring at the drying, white stain on the dark green of his shirt, "though I would definitely like to see it off next time."
"Hmm, I like that."
"What—being shirtless?"
"That there's going to be a 'next time'," he blushes. "I know we said we liked each other and all that, but I don't know, I guess it's nice to hear a confirmation of it."
You push on your hands and sit up, your face right under Armin's as you try (and fail) to smooth down his hair. "I like it too." You peck his cheek, watching his flush deepen. "Now, I'm going to need you to take off your pants. I'm dying to see your dick."
He chuckles, leaning into you for a chaste kiss. You can feel his grin against yours. "Hopefully you weren't picturing anything crazy in your fantasies. I'm pretty average."
"With how hot you are, I'm sure it'll be the prettiest, most average dick ever."
"Thanks? I think," he questions, fiddling with the button of his pants as he stands up. A sense of pride flows through you when you see the dark spot of precome on his plaid boxers, the light blue stripes looking shades darker under the stain. You already have a faint idea of what his dick would look like, based on how it was pressing against his clothes, but when he finally exposes himself to you, your brain freezes and has to reboot.
Armin wasn't being modest, he really was an average size, not that any of that mattered to you. But you too were honest earlier, because it really was the prettiest dick ever. You admired the way his hair around his base was neatly trimmed; it was also a tad darker than the happy trail above it, meaning your daydreams were both erotic and accurate.
As you made your way up his length, you could see how his tip was shiny from his precome, and how he looked so hard that it made you throb back in sympathy. With his size, you probably had a decent shot of deep throating all of him, and you were more than eager to try and find out.
You're an animal on the prowl as you start crawling toward the edge of your bed, staring at Armin with big, hungry eyes. "Need you in my mouth," you purr, and his cock twitches in response. Your wanting mouth is right in front of his tip, and just when you're about to revel in the salty taste of him, he winces and yanks you by your hair until you're at least a foot away from him.
"Shit—sorry." His hand clasps around his cock with such vigor, you're worried that's he going to pop a vein. He tightens his grip one more time before letting go with a relieved sigh. When he looks back at you, his whole body deflates and he hangs in head in embarrassment.
"Sorry, that was totally out of line," he says, shaking his head. "That sounds really hot, but I'm like, this close to coming." He winces again, as if the mere thought of coming was about to send him over the edge. "I think I got more worked up from eating you out than I realized, so I probably won't last much longer, and I really want to come while I'm inside you. Is—is that okay?"
You weren't sure if you should mention that you quite liked how hard he pulled at your hair, or how hearing how worked up he got from you was such a turn-on. It was white noise compared to him basically begging to fuck you.
"More than okay," is what you end up saying, a sly smirk forming. "Do you still want me to ride you?"
"God yes. Please do that, fuck," he rambles, frantically agreeing.
"Alright," you reply, your smile turning mischievous when you notice that how his cock is bobbing so close to your face. With Armin still in his daze, you couldn't help but send a quick kiss to the head of his dick. A sharp gasp escapes him as he nearly keels at the contact, gripping himself again.
"Jesus—fuck!" His face is as red as his tip, and his knees buckle so hard you're worried you completely broke him. "You're such a—oh god—I don't even know what to call you I'm so fucking horny. Please keep going before I blow my load on your floor," he begs, ignoring the amusement on your face.
Armin looks delirious when you guide him back to your bed, if he had his glasses on (and you'll be sure he does next time) they would probably be a fogged-up mess with how heavy he's breathing. Excitement courses through you thinking of how much worse he'll be when he actually feels you.
Without a second thought, you swing your hips over him and support yourself on the top of his chest. You lean forward and kiss his lips, the tangy taste of your come still lingering on him as he weakly kisses back. Your nose bumps against his as you mutter, "Is now a bad time to mention that I'm on birth control?"
His groan is borderline agonizing. "It is if you're trying to go for longer than a minute."
"Hey, give yourself some credit. I bet you can make it for at least two."
He wants to banter back, but the conversation soon ceases when he feels the wetness of your folds soaking his shaft, the two of you whimpering at the feeling. Armin feels velvety under your grasp, and when his head prods at your entrance, his stomach clenches and his hands fly to your hips. You feel his fingers dig into your flesh as he restrains himself from pushing into you, letting you take him at your own pace.
Even with how soaked you were, and how well his tongue worked you open, the stretch was still overwhelming. You have to pause halfway down his length and take a deep breath, your cunt giving Armin a small squeeze as you take a deep breath. He's staring in complete wonder at the sight of where you two meet, awestruck at the way your hole swallows his cock.
In all of your fantasies, this part was always the fuzziest: your fingers were never enough to replicate your visions, too short and too small to imagine as Armin. But now, as you're buried to the hilt and your heart is in your throat, you're realizing that even your dreams couldn't live up to the real deal.
Armin was the perfect length for you, and the thought makes you swell with fondness. The fullness stretches you so good. The longer you sit on him, the likeliness that you won't last much longer than him increases.
"—fuck, you're so tight," he sighs, "this is better than anything I could've imagined."
You laugh, though it comes off a bit strained. It was like he read your mind, which would have terrified you less than a day ago. Now you want nothing more than for him to know just how obsessed you are.
"I'm gonna start moving now," you say. Armin bites his lip and adjusts his hold on your waist, anticipating your next movements.
The wind is immediately knocked from him when you rock your hips, the drag of your cunt on his cock is all but torturous with how good it feels. Your rhythm is awkward for the first bit, angles varying a couple of degrees here and there while you try to find what feels best. Though to be honest, it all feels amazing. If Armin was able to focus on anything other than his breathing, he would probably agree.
The next roll draws a surprised moan from you, the new angle hitting a spongy spot that makes your eyes roll back. Chasing the feeling, you pick up your pace and start bouncing on Armin's cock, wet, smacking noises echoing where your ass meets his skin. It blends in wonderfully with the creaking of your bed frame and Armin's guttural groans.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, you take me so well. Your pussy is so perfect," he says in awe.
You whimper at his praise and your cunt throbs in response. It makes Armin curse under his breath. "It's so deep in me, Min," your voice comes out hoarse. "Your cock feels so good."
"Yeah?" he asks. His hands lower, his fingers pressing into the swell of your ass and helping your lift yourself up and down his length. "Fuck, don't stop then. Take what you want."
His words make you gasp, spurring you on. Your nails dig into his shirt like you're clawing for the pale skin underneath, and your movements become fervid as you relentlessly slam yourself down on his cock. When you feel a burn zip through your thighs as you start to lose stamina, you quickly switch your motions and grind hard against the base of Armin's length, circling and poking that delicious spot deep that sends sparks through your nerves.
Your drooling cunt soaks the hair around his cock up to the edge of his shirt. Armin looks down and moans, "You're making such a mess on me. Want you to come on my cock so bad. Can you do that?"
You nod so fast your head spins. The pit in your stomach tightens as your legs start to shake, your movements growing tired as you try to push through and find your peak. Armin catches your frustrated whines and shifts under you. Confused, you purposefully slow yourself down, ready to ask if he's okay, but any concern is erased from your consciousness when you feel a wet press of his thumb rub against your swollen clit.
"Oh fuck—right there. I'm gonna come, Min," you say with a hard clench. Your previous exhaustion is forgotten as adrenaline gives way, the added pleasure sending you into overdrive. His thumb flicks your clit the same time you slam down, and your mouth drops open in a silent scream, your cunt unrelenting as you come, holding Armin inside you like a vice.
"Shit—you're gripping me so tight. Come here," he pleads, but it's more of a demand when his hands slide to your back and push you into his chest. It's more teeth than mouth when he tries to kiss you, lips far too needy to properly meet, but it's satisfying all the same.
Armin's slowly rocking into you, your walls still trembling out the last of your orgasm, and his nails scrape into your sweaty skin as he hisses. "Fuck, I'm gonna come. I want to come so bad," he grunts against your lips.
"Want your come," you whimper back. "Fuck me until you come, please."
The next few moments are a bit cloudy, but somehow you end up rolled onto your back, legs wrapped around Armin as he thrusts into you with abandon. Your cunt feels like it's on the brick of overstimulation, but you welcome the sensitivity when Armin pants into your neck with such desperate determination.
His hips start to stutter and his whole body tenses as he comes with a shudder. You can feel Armin's cock pulse inside you, spurts of thick come covering your walls as he keeps coming and coming, just about crying from the satiation he's finally given in to.
After an especially hard jerk of his hips, he sighs and goes limp into your arms with a small oomph. "I—sorry, just give me a second. Fuck, that was so good. I think you killed me," he half-laughs, trying to catch his breath.
"I don't mind," you smile, sending a peck to the top of his head while you run your fingers through the ends of his hair that stick to his neck. "This is kind of comforting."
"Yeah, it's pretty nice. I just worry that if I stay inside you, I'll just have a permanent boner, and I'm not sure what the health risks are regarding that."
"Thank you?" you joke while Armin sits up with a grunt, his (still hard) cock slipping out of you. You whine at the loss.
He stares at the space where you separate, tongue darting to lick his lips as he looks at your cunt. "Fuck, I came so much inside you, it's starting to leak out," he mumbles. In a trance, his two fingers make its way to the dripping line of come down your slit, collecting the spill and delicately pushing it back inside you.
You're caught by surprise at first, and despite the puffiness of your folds and the near-pain sensation aching inside you, you found yourself craving the possessiveness and the fullness from his release. You don't think Armin fully registers what he's doing until you softly moan at a curl of his fingers inside you, making him quickly retreat out of you.
"Shit, sorry. Too much. That was weird of me," he cringes.
"No no, it's okay. Feels good," you mewl. "Keep going. I want to be stuffed with your come. Please."
Armin checks your face, and when he sees that you're being serious, his eyes darken and his fingers find you again, repeating the pattern of scooping and pumping his come deeper into you. You force your breathing to deepen as you push yourself through the slight sting, a pit of pleasure forming deep in your gut.
Your cunt starts to indulge in the tender feeling, subtly sucking Armin in deeper just when he's about to pull out. "Such a needy pussy …" he says, his words toeing the line between observing and taunting as he keeps moving. "You can't seem to get enough. Guess I have my work cut out for me. Need to make sure you're always full of me."
A chill goes down your spine at the unexpected dirty talk, making you shiver out a small orgasm. It goes as quickly as it comes, but the bliss it leaves still soothes your system. Your come mixes with Armin's and oozes out of you and past his knuckles. It's too much to push back in, much to your dismay, but Armin seems to have other plans.
He scoops your combined releases, but instead of bringing his digits to your entrance, they meet his tongue as he sucks himself clean. A puny noise from your throat escapes you as more of your come starts to leak out of you. Armin seems to understand, because his fingers massage your folds again and he asks, "Wanna taste?"
You don't trust yourself to speak, so you weakly nod and let your mouth loll. Creamy, white fingers dip past your teeth and sit on your tongue before your lips wrap around him. Your sucks are slow and unhurried, savoring the heady saltiness of Armin and the tanginess of you. You let out a sated hum as you swipe your tongue across the tips of his fingers, and out of the corner of your eye you see a twitch from his semi-hard cock. You also notice the ring of cream sitting on the base of his shaft, and you're both embarrassed and aroused at the mess.
"You're amazing," he admires. Armin moves his fingers out of you with a faint pop of your mouth and places them underneath your chin while he leans in. His kisses are different than before, not fiery like the first time, or quick like the ones in between your lewd actions, or even clumsy while he was on the brink of coming.
They're … precious. Loving, even. You hope you kiss him back the same way, despite your deep stupor.
He rolls off you without crushing you as best he can, the two of you lying side by side, looking up and focusing on the weird water stain on your ceiling. If you squint, it kind of resembles a man riding some titan-like creature. Weird.
"Are you okay?" Armin double-checks. "I didn't like, hurt you or anything, right? I know I got carried away at certain parts, and I hope you didn't say yes on my account or anything—"
You kiss the top of his shoulder, smushing the side of your face into your pillow. "I'm fine. Will definitely feel this later today, but fine. I wanted to do it. All of it," you reassure, and Armin relaxes, drawing his attention back to you.
"Okay, another serious question then," he starts, "what exactly about me makes you so …"
"—horny? Ready to fuck you at a moment's notice?"
"Uh, yeah. That," Armin blushes, as if he wasn't literally feeding you his come earlier.
"I don't know, you just look more … you? If that makes sense? I don't think your look necessarily changed how I felt about you romantically. You were always attractive, and you looked great before, don't get me wrong … there's just something about your 'nerdy' look that makes you look like a virgin that would come in his pants, and I guess I'm really into that?" You scowl. "Sorry, that sounds bad. I'm explaining this terribly."
Armin brushes it off with a wave. "It's alright, I think I kinda get it, plus I did almost come in my pants earlier, so you're not wrong there." He purses his lips, trying to think of an explanation. "It's like how certain styles or colors look better on some people compared to others, but more sexual? Everyone has their preferences at the end of the day—I always like those white pajama pants you wear around your place. The ones with the pink flowers on them? I could always see your underwear when you bent over, it drives me crazy."
You scoff in mock offense. "Creep. Why is this the first time I'm hearing this?" You wore those pants all the time, they were the softest pair you owned and a personal favorite of yours. Maybe all those wash cycles thinned out the material, though.
"Like I said, you're not the only one with a dirty mind. And who are you calling a creep?" He bumps your shoulder with his. "You came how many times? Once from me barely fingering them, might I add."
You cross your arms with a huff, wishing you were under your blanket so something could cover your naked body. "In my defense, I didn't expect to be so pent up, or for you to be so good at … everything." You grow warm recounting his skilled tongue and thick cock.
"Would it turn you on if I said I learned most of it from webtoons?" he smirks.
You cover your face in shame and let out a dramatic groan. "Ugh, yes. Why is that so hot?" The bed shakes as he laughs. At least he's entertained.
There's a stretch of comfortable silence afterward. You eventually pull your hands away from your eyes and bask in the afterglow. A part of you wants to scream in your pillow and kick your feet up like a schoolgirl. Another part of you wants to crawl into Armin's chest and slump your body into his. They're both silenced by the puddle forming underneath you. You're now extremely aware of how sticky you are, and you can't help but recoil a little.
"I should probably clean myself up." An idea forms in your head. "… would you want to take a shower with me? Might be easier that way, and I wouldn't mind seeing you shirtless a bit sooner."
He narrows his eyes at you. "Are you trying to wash yourself or check me out?"
"I can multitask. What, you don't want to shower with me?"
"Oh I definitely do," he clarifies, coming closer into your space. "I never got the chance to check out your butt. Without pants on, that is."
The back of your hand lazily smacks his chest. You start picturing the warm water of the shower and Armin's hands denting your skin as he takes you from behind, your chest and hands pushed against the steamy glass of the door as you leave imprints for future you to find. A memory of Armin's cock pounding into you until you saw stars. You wonder if he could leave another memory on your ass too, spanking you until your skin is sore and tingling.
"Oh wow, are you doing it? Are you having a fantasy right now?" Armin asks, sitting up on his arm to get a better look at you.
You tune back in, blinking away your dream. "Huh? What?"
"You just spaced off and started breathing weird," he points out. "Were you thinking about me just now?"
"Maybe …" A beat. "Yes."
You can't believe Eren actually made a correct observation about you. Were you really that obvious? Mortification takes over as you try to scrub out the dream from your head. You literally just had sex. Great sex, in fact. You should at least wait a few hours before you start conjuring up erotica in your mind.
In your spiral, Armin grabs your hand and traces circles on your wrists. "Well, if you want, we could turn it into a reality," he offers, sending a kiss to your knuckles.
"What—right now?"
"Sure, why not? I don't have much going on today," he shrugs.
"I mean, I don't either but … don't you think you might need a minute? You know. Down there."
Armin lets out an awkward laugh. "Yeah … I don't think you need to worry about that." He looks down at his cock. "I don't think it's gone down this entire time. I might need some more help."
Oh. You would very much like to help him with that.
You draw your hand back in and pull yourself up, trying your best to ignore the gush of come that spills out of you. "Alright, don't threaten me with a good time. I am going to need a food break or something afterward, though, so don't get your hopes up for round three." You pause, reconsidering. "At least not right away."
"Fair enough." He rubs the back of his neck as his skin flushes. "If that's the case, maybe I can take you to that bakery that opened up nearby? For a date?"
That shouldn't turn you on so much, but it does. It also makes your heart sing and your stomach flutter, and your cheeks are about to cramp with how hard you're beaming.
"I would love it if my boyfriend took me out on a date."
Armin's dick twitches and he gulps. "Okay, yeah, I'm definitely ready for whatever you're planning. Please call me your boyfriend again."
You barely get out the words, "I want my boyfriend to bend me over in the shower," before Armin is dragging you to your bathroom with a grin on his face.
— Jean messes up when he tells the world he’s single, so he spends the next month and a half trying to fix his mistake while being a pathetic ex.
Tags: Angst (LOL!) with comfort, kinda fluffy idk I love it. SFW. HOCKEY!JEAN AND ARTSY JEAN oh how I love him. Welcome to the masterlist!!!
“Get off my front door, Kirstein.”
Ouch.
“Don’t be like that, Y/N.”
The 6 foot 3 man standing in front of you, leaning against your wooden doorframe—all dark and polished oak—clad in a white shirt too tight around his arms over his bulging biceps, threatening to snap the seams, does not get the memo.
That you won’t be fucking taking him back.
Not today, and not tomorrow.
You sneer back, feeling the blood circulating through your veins boiling to the point of evaporation.
“Get the fuck out of my face, I don’t feel like repeating myself any more.”
Because you’re fed up with the dusty grey-pink undertoned mulled hair asshole you once dated. Once being up until one week ago.
Why did you break up again?
Oh right.
Because he genuinely thought telling the whole school—the entire world actually—he doesn’t have a girlfriend when interviewed by a sports reporter last week after his big-shot game, was okay.
Like erasing three years of dating just to maintain an image that wasn’t even anything now, was fine.
You were fed up. He didn’t apologise, didn’t even see the bad in it and shrugged you off everytime you tried confronting him about how wrong it is.
And when the girls started sliding into his dms, you lost it.
He was a liar like they all are, and you dumped him before the sun hung in the horizon again, three days after the interview aired.
Packed your shit from his apartment and went back to your dorm, dodging Hitches questions left and right about what you were doing back at your shared apartment when for the last year, you had spent almost every single night at his place.
Because it truly did make no sense. You had a whole wardrobe there, toothbrush that sat next to his in that cheesy couple way, pijama shirts that smelled like him because they were once his, and now all of those belongings were back in your old closet.
The one that starts loudly groaning when you pull the door open, springs worn down by the years.
It’s not like the rest of your apartment is any younger too, the floorboards need a break, there’s a leak every six months.
But it felt so much better than sleeping under the same roof as a no-good liar.
During the last week, you learnt to love your old bed all again—even when at night the springs dig into your back through the mattress.
You also learned to escape about 10 people without even needing to see them with your eyes.
Sasha and Connie tried following you around campus to try and pry answers out of you about what happened because there was just no way the it couple was just over like that.
Truth is, everyone already knew you were with Jean anyway. Everyone on campus was aware that you were both high-school sweethearts since senior year.
Which is why the revelation on national television hurt so much more. Because it was like he was saying you were both done while talking about future plans that same night with him in your arms.
And you felt so stupid.
So you left.
Acted like he never existed. Stopped going anywhere near the hockey rink where he played with literally half of your friend group—Eren, Bertholdt, Marco…Meaning you lost more than just your boyfriend, but your friends too.
Cause you can’t look at them in the face. Can’t look into Mikasa’s eyes and take her seriously as she tries to convince you that he didn’t mean it like that while your head rings like tinnitus with the memories of you and the man you thought you were going to marry.
Dodged Historia’s soft voice asking you if everything was fine, avoided even more looking into Ymir’s eyes because you knew she would strip you bare of your walls if you caught a glimpse of those prying irises.
“Sunshine.” He breathes out, chest deflating once he sees he might not be able to change your mind.
Your eyes clamp shut as you internally wince at the nickname he has called you even before dating.
From when you were too young and too naive to even know what love was about. But he taught you, and losing him hurt tenfold because he showed you how love is supposed to feel.
And it stings all the more because he’s your first everything.
You can’t even think of anyone who would hold you through the rough nights when the walls would close in on you like he did.
Of anyone else who would drive seven hours to comfort you when your relative died in Paradis and you had no one to be there for you.
Of a single other soul who could ever touch you like he did—even with beat up hands and scarred knuckles.
Your heart weakly jerks in your chest because it hurts to do so when it’s not for him when all that was in your veins once was the smell of him, his essence.
The tears are quick to brim your waterline, and fuck, you miss him so fucking much it’s excruciating.
Both of your eyes are matching with red rims and glossy coats over blown pupils.
“Don’t call me that.” You croak out, trying your best to hide the cracks in your chest at the mere sight of him.
The nickname stirs up more emotion in your chest than you had braced for, reminding you of every bad and good moment you were forced to put behind you.
Jean can physically feel the level of hurt in your voice gnawing at his bones.
“Go to the hundred fucking girls in your DMs since you’re actually single now.”
Worst part is, everyone knew it was wrong when it came out of his mouth. It felt wrong—head-over-heels Jean saying that when he had always been utterly smitten with you till the day you broke up and even now as you block him out.
“That somehow hurts so much more coming from you.” He breathes out, arms uncrossing and one going to hook behind his neck as he stares at the floor.
“It should.”
“I don’t want to be single, Y/N.”
“You should’ve thought about that before publicly erasing me from your life.” And you slam the door in his face.
Jean is pathetic. So pathetic and ruined without you that he might just listen to what anyone tells him to get you back.
Buy you flowers? He’s already gotten you seven bouquets of flowers he saw you drop off at graveyards instead of throwing them away—made his heart sting, yes, but did it also make him fall in love with you even more after seeing you unable to even throw them out, instead choosing to put them to good use? Also yes.
What about apologising? He has, even blocked. Sent a heartfelt SMS to every.single.platform. you have him blocked on just in case you ever unblock him. Sent a letter to your apartment—actually multiple, but Hitch threw them out after you said to.
Came knocking at your door times he knew you were at home 100%, waited hours and eventually went home the days your roommate didn’t force him out.
Tried to get different people to give you the letters, even teachers, till everyone started to avoid him too.
Um…what can he do?
Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Sulk in his bed, get yelled at by his coach—actually the reason he’s even in his mess after the bald man drilled into his head that it would be a better look for him to be a career-oriented girlfriendless young star in front of the camera—for slacking off, and whine some more.
Well, he sure is girlfriendless now.
And the whole group is suffering from it.
Nothing really feels the same without you there.
Even though “sunshine” was the nickname Jean would call you, they all saw you as their sun and it felt pretty weird being gloomy under the real star on hot days.
“I’d rip Jean’s head clean off if I could right now.” Grumbles Connie, sparking a patato-chip-mouthed Sasha’s attention.
“Why?” She barely manages to say while her mouth is full.
“ ‘cause I could be laughing about Eren’s ugly ass fucking hairstyle right now with Y/N but we literally don’t have her around now, do we?”
The times where Connie is actually serious and pissed off are extremely rare, considering how he’s always fooling around.
Everyone spins their head to dart daggers at the culprit in question.
Jean sits with his back against the thick truck of the tree the group is sitting under with the absence of Reiner, Bertholdt and Annie.
Hair tousled, some pale brown strands bathed in the sun that filters through the leaves, and head dipped low—lost in the sketchbook cradled in his lap.
No one needs to peer inside of the notepad to know he’s probably sketching every soft curve of your face into the paper again.
Matter of fact, they can tell it’s you that’s subject of his pencil by the way his strokes are deliberately slow and the absentminded, solemn smile on his face.
Connie yanks the open book from his hold anyway, angry all over. And yeah.
That’s definitely you.
Between the universe and Jean though, that’s you from one week ago when you slammed the door in his face.
“Don’t you have some fucking practice to be at instead of doing this pathetic shit?”
Jean’s face is perfectly stoic at the jab, but he’s disintegrating inside.
Great, his lifetime-long friends also hate him as if he doesn’t also do that by himself every second of the day.
Mikasa sends him a pitiful look when he gets up, snatches the sketchbook back and heads to the gym with Eren, Marco and Bertholdt following behind.
Jean is so miserable that he wouldn’t even admit to Marco—his own best friend—that he’s taking the breakup so bad he spends hours at your favorite places during the week hoping you pass by. Yet, you never do.
It’s like you’re a ghost.
He starts to rethink how your nickname really suits you. How you’re so bright and yellow like joy, his favorite color.
How you light up the world because as he stargazes alone now—the stars seem dimmer and a lot more far away.
The first time he sees you after you threw him out of your face, is three weeks after that and the breakup is four weeks fresh.
Still gnawing at him like a parasite.
Still being laugh-worthy, sitting at a takeout restaurant you used to religiously hit up, he received a text from Eren at midnight hitting him in all the wrong ways.
I shouldn’t be telling you this, but Y/N is at our bar rn with some people.
Keep quiet about this or—
He’s parking outside of the place before Eren even has the time to convince him to not come, bursting through the front door without thinking it twice.
Jean finds you swiftly amongst the crowd and the sight is worse than he could have ever imagined.
He should have read Eren’s texts, the warnings.
Because there you were for the first time in weeks. Dressed in a skin-tight mid-thigh black dress with spaghetti straps, long knee-length black books to match and… his leather jacket?
You look criminal, illegal.
And Jean is suffering the consequences of his damn actions.
But it hurts more when he sees you laughing at the bar with Colt who is weirdly close and Petra, Reiner’s arm hooked over your shoulder, clearly batshit drunk, which is why you probably even allowed the friendly giant to stay with you as your ex friend group glares daggers at the lucky traitor from across the building.
Eren yanks the awkwardly staring Jean from the front of the place and over to their table where everyone is present minus the blonde haired man with you.
“You have got to be kidding me.” He breathes out, feeling the world collapse on his back.
Sasha rubs a supportive hand on his back, feeling his tense muscles beneath her soft palm.
“Someone go get her, god what the hell.” He’s damn near hyperventilating. After chasing you for weeks, you show up in plain sight, chatting freely with Colt.
“Send Armin.” He croaks out, the seams of his self-control undoing.
Armins lips purse, Annie steps in.
“She almost left when she saw him going her way.”
Fuck, you really want nothing to do with them.
A gloomy shadow settles over the circular table again, letting the bustling sound of the Friday night in the bar and your distant laughter surround them.
Jeans head swivels around to catch the melody better over the sound of “Rein Me In” by Sam Fender and Olivia Dean bleeding through the speakers.
He doesn’t expect to lock eyes with you.
But he does.
The history between the both of you crashes like waves in your head.
The headache that follows is entirely enough for you to slip from under Reiner’s arm, feeling all too aware again that he’s with them. Picking up your bag and muttering a quick “See you home, babe.” To Hitch, you leave.
Zero beers in and zero drinks in, you walk just fine despite the pain in your head on the sidewalk.
Three long steps away from the bar entrance and coated by the moonlight, you hear the doors you’ve just left through shoot open again.
And you say a silent prayer in hopes it isn’t him—
“Y/N!”
But of course it is.
“Hey! Wait! We have to talk, please” You hear him beg as he jogs up to your quick-paced try to escape.
He reaches in no time due to his height and it angers you more. His voice goes soft as he bends down, trying to match your pace and attempting to reach your earshot.
“You already know what I want to talk about so just stop for a second, I really need to speak to you.”
You snap.
“God, leave me alone! You can’t pull me by the reins you cut, Jean! Get that in your head! You did this to us!”
Your head is in shambles, barely thinking of what you’re saying as your legs tirelessly work.
“I know I did, I’m sorry about it everyday. Can’t you just listen to me for once?” He sounds so hurt you just want to turn back and hug him, but you continue.
“It’s over, Jean.”
Just like that, he’s locked out again.
It doesn’t matter, the next week when his friends tell him it’s already been well over a month since the breakup, he shrugs and says no “it hasn’t been a month, It’s only been a few weeks.” But when he counts in his head, it’s already been a month and one week.
He’s back on your doorstep again, pathetically holding a bag of snacks in his lap as he sketches over the bottles in the nylon.
Tracing you from last week, outside of the bar, your side profile—the one he caught while you fled, all while he waits for you to possibly leave your dorm.
He’s stupid, pathetic.
The whole campus knows it.
He does not care.
He saw you replay K. by cigarettes after sex—the one you silently dedicated to him—over a billion times since the breakup and that’s the only spark of hope he’s still clinging onto because you forgot to block him there.
Something stirs behind him—behind the door—and it flings open the second he manages to lock himself upright and not fall behind as Hitch leaves the apartment.
“You again?” She bores, turning to lock the door when Jean gets a great idea.
“Hitch.” He says, dusting himself off after getting up. “How is she?”
She rolls her eyes. “You’ve already tried this with me before, I’m not telling you anything.” But he catches the way her gaze is distant, hesitant.
Seeing that he’s about to question some more, she turns on her heels and heads straight for the elevator.
Bingo.
The door is left unlocked.
This is so morally wrong.
He knows.
But he walks inside of your apartment again, the one where he knows exactly where your cutlery is, where the switches are and where you hide your candy from your roommate.
What he doesn’t expect to hear though, are muffled sniffles coming from your room. The door is slightly ajar, calling his name.
His feet are dragging him past the doorframe before his mind can even catch up, eager to calm you down from whatever.
Even when he is the root of it.
You jump under the covers at the sound of footsteps breaching and knocking against the wooden floor.
Having thought Hitch had left you to your own time, your heart stops when you see Jean frozen at the side of your bed from over your shoulder.
Tear stained eyes look back at him, fragmenting his heart in thousands of pieces.
And you don’t even need to tell him why you’re crying, he knows it’s because of him because you continue sobbing twice as hard when you lock eyes.
His arms are around you in a breath, bringing the warmth and comfort you were met with the last three years but can’t allow yourself to want today.
But it feels so good.
You feel so safe.
So at peace.
“Go away.” You hiccup, hands fisting his shirt, half pulling and half pushing him away. “Please go.” You plead.
He shushes you, gently rubbing your hair, combing through your worries.
It burns.
His touch burns so bad.
You hate him so much.
“I hate you.”
He hates himself too.
But he loves you so much.
“I love you so much.” He whispers back, inhaling your homey scent.
“Tell me,” you croak out, voice raspy, nose clogged.
“Were we ever bad for eachother?”
No.
God, no.
“No.” The answer fights its way out of his lips so quicky.
“Never.”
You don’t miss a beat either.
“Then why? Why would you do that to me?”
It’s a mess.
He doesn’t know what else to say. “I love you.”
“You don’t.”
He does, so much it suffocates him.
He hates being a stranger that knows everything about you.
“Leave.”
The interaction between you and Jean leaves you shaken up, really shaken up—so much that you go home for the weekend to your parents for a breather.
It does no good when they keep asking about him and you have no answers.
Because you’re both done, but you miss and want him so much it eats you alive.
The scene replays in your mind every second, eating at the white material in your brain little by little.
You going home is a blow to Jean and the group too considering how little you go home as you preferred staying with them.
The breakup is more painful than everything you have ever experienced—not to be even dramatic but you struggle with getting up in the morning.
Struggle to get out of bed when there’s not arms wrapped around you like you used to feel everyday for the last year.
It’s the kind of mental struggle not that his hold isn’t there to physically render you unable to attend classes or go to places you had to be at in some time.
Food isn’t all that appealing anymore.
The stars don’t make sense anymore.
You’re cold in an interior way.
Monday you’re back on campus, fighting the urge to fall asleep in professor Erwins class which is usually attention-grabbing.
However, your soul is so tired from fighting your days that you just want to sleep anytime.
Petra and Hitch are both on your left, whispering about something you’re struggling to hear until the words “hockey” and “match” catch onto your ear.
“Huh? What?” You mumble out, head over your crossed arms.
They freeze, hesitantly turning to you.
“TSU has another major game Thursday. Classes are cancelled.” They try to tip toe around the subject carefully, knowing who is brought up inevitably when the spot is talked about.
“Oh.”
“We won’t go if you don’t—“ Petra is about to start rambling but you cut her off, feeling a fuzzy feeling stir in your chest at a thought.
Maybe you can watch him from afar.
He won’t know you’re there if you’re really far right?
It won’t hurt right?
You wear his very first jersey, a faded dark blue now, beneath his leather jacket—the one you couldn’t bring yourself to leave behind—paired with some washed out denims and work-out black converses.
The number 7 with Kirstein embroidered on top is snugly hid beneath the black layer.
That’s your little secret to the universe.
The trumpets roar and the players glide onto the ice seamlessly in messy rows.
Players disperse, your eyes track Jean immediately once they fall on him. Seven on his back too, Kirstein on top.
His eyes roam over the crowd as he circles the rink on the way to his position, you bow your head as he passes your section and crouch behind the person in front of you.
He skates to his spot and you resume your previous sitting.
The game starts, it’s all chaos and cold in the gym. They’re on fire. From Eren and Jean attacking, to Bertholdt and Marco defending, everyone is on their A-game.
The statistics blur into mid-game as your chest feels heavier by second—that empty void in your chest taking control again as you watch him play.
Knowing you used to cheer for him, wait by the bench with water because all he wanted to see during his breaks was you.
Maybe you’re just as pathetic as him.
Unable to move on.
You see the scouts on the side, close to the separation boards. This is another one of those matches, the big ones that decide his career.
If he gets signed by one of these labels, he’s set for life.
And you know that’s what Jean wants. It’s been his dream since he’s been a kid—you remember him telling you.
Maybe that’s why he did it.
In the spur of the moment, his inner child striking and doing anything to achieve his goal.
Yet, it still stings somewhere inside of you.
Being second.
A loud whistling indicates the end of the match, hockey sticks halting, puck freezing after some time.
The blues won.
They won.
TSU won.
You see their figures huddle, the celebration. The reds retreat sourly.
None of it reaches your brain, not like Hitch and Petra are celebrating by you. Or how three rows down, Colt and Floch are jumping in happiness.
Eren flings his helmet off, Bertholdt follows, Marco tackles Jean, his helmet falling soon off too when he tugs it off too.
Reporters, scouts, girls bundle up at the board, banging against the plastic—calling out for him.
“Jean! JEAN! Give us a moment!” He stops Marco in their play-fight, slipping his gloves off and skating to the edge where a reporter hangs over the uncovered part of the rink.
“Anyone you’d like to thank tonight?” The question is simple, yet he’s never been so ready for it.
There are so many people he has to thank for tonight’s victory—his teammates, their coach, his parents…
“I’d like to thank my girlfriend, Y/N.”
The arena goes quiet.
His eyes lock on your across the hall, knowing exactly where you are. Your brain short-circuits.
“Y/N, baby, I know we haven’t been great lately and I’m so sorry. I’m an asshole, scream out to the whole world how much I fucked up everything, I’ll be sorry for it forever. But I couldn’t have made it anywhere without you. You made me who I am today—the hardworking, dedicated man I am by holding me up when I was at the bottom, for soothing every rough edge of mine and I owe this and every single part of me to you with every inch of my soul. I love you so much, sunshine.”
The crowd erupts in cheers, some people turning to even look at you once you’re located. Your friends stay frozen by your side when your legs unlock and you run down.
You run, cling onto the railing as you get down the bleachers as quick as possible. The screaming filters out as you reach him.
He’s on the other side of the rink, on the ice.
But you jump over the fence and wrap your arms around his neck, legs dangling off the floor as your upper body hugs him on the other side.
You’re supported by his strong arms around your waist.
And the world stops right then.
When your eyes are spilling tears with no remorse.
When his cushioned arms are digging into the leather of his own jacket and your waist.
When you finally decide to forgive him.
Because you simply can’t live without Jean Kirstein.
The good thing is, after being smeared over every national newspaper under “A romantical reunion between rising star Jean Kirstein and his girlfriend” , he still got signed and is now playing in the big leagues.
Oh, and he put a rock on it to solidify that he is not single.
And that he never will be ever again.
Spamming because im really productive in clearing my drafts lately and cause im not nonchalant idgaf. Take it or leave it.
Not proofread cause yall know me lol… maybe one day… MASTERLIST, AOT MASTERLIST, TAGLIST.
studying has been taking up a lot of your time (and mental energy) as of late. Your boyfriend has just the plan to shut your brain off for the night.
black nurse!reader (fem descriptors), eren is a nursing student (a few years younger than reader also) fingering, neck kissing, choking, facefucking, rough-ish sex, squirting, missionary, slightly aggressive rennie 🫠, daddy is used once, nipple play, calls reader slut, spit play, fingers in mouth, creampie, multiple orgasms
word count: 5.3K
🎙️: some of y’all might remember this AU from Wattpad and I’m officially restarting it bc my muse for the others are shot right now. If you’re not familiar with it, I apologize in advance bc I promise it’s not this smutty and juicy in the slightest ☠️ I’m just in a mood. Also, this is my first fic in almost two months, please be nice or I’ll cry!
“Mmmm..nah, I don’t think I’ve played enough. Look at you. All tense and shit.”
if there was one word in the entire English language that you could use to describe your mood at the moment, it’d most certainly be irritable. To the highest degree..and granted, that could have been chocked up to the fact that you hadn’t eaten in hours, you’d been staring at textbooks and computer screens since four in the afternoon and your phone screen read nine thirty..and to really add the proverbial icing atop the cake, this annoying ass man would not leave you alone! Here it was only a week away from your BSN final; two from his N-CLEX exam and here he was bullshitting as per usual. It was how he approached most things in life, his mantra if you will. No need to stress, what’s meant to be will happen.
too bad, you couldn’t take on those sorts of ideologies when so much was at stake! Not when the results of these tests would determine your future as an RN and instructor, and his career as a nurse in general. You’d met Eren Jaeger almost three years ago when he was merely a patient at the office you worked for during your initial internship..earning clinical hours and experience in the field. He was most certainly the liveliest one you’d seen in Dr. Smith’s office and there was never an appointment where you didn’t leave in stitches because he’d made you laugh so hard. However, you pegged him as the rich kid, the son of a doctor with no ambition or common sense...always looking to make a joke out of everything.
so imagine your surprise when you were tasked with not only supervising an entire floor but the local nursing school recruits as well and the first person to come traipsing through those heavy double doors was him! And even more so, in six months time, he’d have you wooed and swept off your feet. That same charm and wit that had you cackling during his appointments were the same ones that made you nearly spit your drink out when you were on a date and eased serious tension among your staff after a rough night on the floor. Just being in his presence brought you immense comfort. However, at the moment…
“Look, Eren. I’m busy, find sum’ else to do, for real.”
you weren’t in the mood for any of it! This exam had been causing you immense stress and it seemed that no matter how hard you studied, retaining information was impossible. Nothing stuck and you were at your wits end..certainly not in the mood for childish antics.
”I’m trying but you don’t want to stop—“
“Maybe because everything isn’t a goddamn joke to me.”
Eren could see the frustration, hence why he had come up behind you, in a half assed attempt to make you scared and somehow wound up groping your chest in the process. Admittedly, he’d never seen you act like this..never even so much as raise your voice at him and here you were, lashing out. Part of him understood your feelings. He knew how important this was and although he wasn’t showing it, he was equally as nervous for his own test. But regardless, nothing was going to change tonight and especially by sitting here irate and snappy. The only thing he wanted to do was shut his brain off and wanted his beloved (y/n) to follow suit..and he was willing to make it happen by any means!
“Eren, what did I just say—“
one thing that he had learned since being together was that once your mind was resigned to something..there was no changing it. So rather than spend time arguing with you, he had another solution!
“..I heard you, I don’t give a fuck about all that right now…’just trying to help..”
“You’re trying to help me by fucking me? Righttt.”
“Yes, I think it’s a very helpful tool for relieving stress. Seen that somewhere in my text book or sum’..”
“Mmm, I think me and you were studying different materials..but sure, why not.”
seconds later, his hand was snaking around your upper body, clutching your throat with the other steadily pulling the chair back and his lips marking your neck with soft kisses. He was adamant in making sure that you got proper rest and a distraction. What better way to do so than to wear you down? Eventually, you’d find those large hands of his snaking around to the front, making home back on your plump breasts..soft, voluptuous and perky as they sat up in your tank top. He could see you visibly enjoying this little tease, indicative by the way your muscles relaxed. He’d continue to massage them until your legs almost instinctively parted.
That’s when, before you even had time to react, he’d spin you around to face him. His grasp still firm around your throat as he moved in for a kiss. Your tongues collided in a steamy clash; smacking against one another as you attempted to catch your breath. But he wasn’t leaving you much room to do so, less known, attest him right now.
“Exactly..now keep those legs spread and don’t move.”
the command was so absolute and matter of fact, it damn near caught you off guard! He’d never spoken to you in such a manner. It was always so playful, jovial and even a bit needy during times like this. But alas, you’d awoken this side of him and you were going to have a hell of a time ‘calming’ him down. Even so, you’d follow his order just this once and part those thick thighs until that plump center, sheathed by the smallest pair of shorts he’d ever seen. Your physique truly was something special…thick in all of the correct areas with stretch marks and a semi-pudgy tummy to match. Your belly ring dangled from the gentle force of him maneuvering you around.
“Eren..I—“
“Whatever you’re about to say, save it…you don’t always have to handle shit alone. I got you..just let me help, okay? I promise, you can trust me..”
he was aware of your past..how mean and cruel previous partners had been so he was very careful in how he approached you. He understood all too well that being overly aggressive would only prove to make you anxious or even shut down entirely. His intention was never to make you uncomfortable. Even so, he wanted to see you give yourself to him fully…trust that he would do right by you and not take advantage of the precious gift that was your love.
he would take great care of you to not only relax but feel pleasure like you’d never experienced it. Although you seemed a bit reluctant, you were ready for whatever he was going to toss your way! Assuring him that you were all his for the taking..
“Fineee…I trust you..”
without a moment of hesitation, he’d detach from your own mouth and move down your neck. Whilst those tits remained exposed, he’d prompt you to give each of those nipples a light squeeze in his place. Meanwhile, his own hands were busy gliding into your underwear, trying to locate that aching bud. That long, tattooed forearm gliding down the center of your torso as a result. It would also serve as a semblance of comfort when he inevitably brought you to ecstasy..
“Mmm..there we go, baby..fuck, you’re so wet already.”
“That’s because you were grabbing on my neck..”
“Oh you like that, huh? I’ll keep it in mind..”
you wouldn’t know it but when you first began dating Eren, he was completely inexperienced. Although he wore his confidence like a lapel pin, he was incredibly timid, shy and nervous when it came to intimacy. The first time you two actually had sex, he lasted all of three minutes before he forced himself to pull out and splatter you with a heavy load. Left a trembling mess, his entire face turned beet red as he just glared at you. He was certain you were going to leave him right then and there; flustered and apologetic, he’d try to make up an excuse as to why he couldn’t satisfy you to your full potential. However, you thought it was adorable! He’d worked up all of his courage to give you a night filled with pleasure and even though it didn’t pan out quite the way he imagined, he had made a complete turnaround since that night and had done good to broaden his sexual horizons. You grew together; learning one another’s ticks and desires, which he knew each of yours to a science. So much so, you practically melted within his grasp and wanted to see just how far he’d take it!
“Open your mouth f’r me, princess…” prompting you as he causally glided those fingers across your tongue. Your gorgeous brown eyes fixated on him in a lustful gaze..by this time, you’d come to completely face him with that tall, lanky frame hovering above. You were all but level with that rising tent within his sweats. Meanwhile, his opposite set of digits were good and preoccupied with your juicy cunt; tightening around the base of the knuckles and then releasing once he’d use the thumb to stroke your swollen clit. Such an awkward position to be in at the moment but it was well worth it for the amount of pleasure both of you were about to receive. Finally retracting the ones in your mouth, Eren would leave you with a trail of drool seeping down your lips and chest in the process. Looking fucked out and starved already without so much as even a single thrust yet..that was the type of desperation and submission he wanted to see from you..
“ ‘ren…lemme suck on that dick..”
although he was trying to maintain control, who was he to deny your very blunt request? After all, he knew if you were dripping now, this would inevitably have you overflowing. Just as the first hand did, he’d slowly withdraw from those tight folds and allow you to clean up the remnants before tugging at that elastic waistband. “oh shit..I knew you’d come around. Here, baby..”
suddenly, you’d feel that same grasp on the back of your head, tugging you forward so that he could align himself with the rim of those pretty lips. The softness brushing against the tip as he rubbed them around…teasing you. “There you go..kiss it—stick your tongue out..that’s it..” from there, (y/n) needed no further instruction. Without the guidance of your own hands, you’d take his entire tip into your mouth and begin to suckle. Suctioning in, enclosing the silkiness of those jaws around his cock. “Fuck..you don’t need me to tell you anything..just make me feel good, princess..like you always do—“
he was well aware of how deviant you truly could become when the need arised. From outside appearances, you always looked so poised and proper..never getting out of character and to some, you’d even come off as ‘boujie’. However, Eren got to see the multitude of your complex layers; dispelling the notion that you were dull or boring. Including this one..the very promiscuous side that would do whatever it took to get hers and make him climax too! When it came to the bedroom, you were adamant and steadfast in what you wanted and he had no issue fulfilling those requests. Eventually, you’d take another couple of inches before establishing a rhythm. It didn’t take long for the very audible sounds of slurping and gagging to emit as a result. You’d gaze up to see Eren’s head resting back on his shoulder blades; groans spilling out in a whiny huff as a result of it all. You could be rather relentless when it came to pleasuring him but he didn’t mind it one single bit, of course!
“Oh my—shit, baby. You take me so good..fucking your own face like that. I love it..”
those words only served as further encouragement and inevitably prompted you to cradle his balls in addition, knowing how sensitive they were. Giving them a light squeeze, you’d continue forcing his shaft between your jaws; the sloppy wet strings of drool pooling down your chest serving as a testament to how much you were enjoying yourself. Where limits should have existed, there were none and it wasn’t long before he’d find himself buried to the hilt of your throat with your forehead scraping his pelvis. With that salacious gaze fixated on him, Eren had to all but restrain himself from forcing a load down your esophagus. But to be fair, this was the outcome he desired so badly and kept pestering you for.
“F—fuck! You’re not playing fair, baby.. ‘gonna make me come if you don’t stop..”
that deep tone with breathy whimpers cried out as he struggled to maintain his composure. However, you weren’t interested in letting up when he so rudely disturbed your study session. He was going to pay for breaking your focus! In a quick slight of hand, you’d shift his member into your palm and his sack in between your lips. Making slow jerking motions until you’d lean back up and coat both with exorbitant amounts of saliva. Seeing how filthy and unabashed you had become for him was causing Eren to lose his mind. Sometimes, he felt as though he couldn’t keep up with you and this was one of those moments. Although this little sexual escapade was his idea, you’d seem to have taken full, unequivocal control of the situation.
“That’s exactly what I want…”
“Then gag yourself on this dick, baby..let that stress out.”
that look in your eyes screaming for him to give you every ounce of his creamy nut…wanting to swallow every drop. Eventually, you’d begin to writhe around against the desk chair, attempting to create friction and stimulation for your clit. Your nipples had once again become extremely hard and the slightest brush was driving you crazy. Eren had heard your response loud and clear, which led him to sandwiching your head between those same fingers that had once curled up inside of you. He’d prompt you to take his cock back into your mouth so that he could work out all of that cum of his own accord.
the pace mirrored that of heavy, rough strokes..ones you’d get to experience soon enough. Gag spit along with loud moans poured out as a result of his brutal pounding but you welcomed the sensation..even increasing it by reaching down and fingering yourself in his place. “..yeah, play with your pussy, baby..” It wasn’t even a full five minutes before you noticed his stride beginning to break and his toned legs trembling. The last couple movements were off kilter and choppy but soon, you’d have your reward in the form of his seed. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, damn—‘coming—“
in that very moment, (y/n) would find yourself held in place by the tight grasp of his palms as he allowed that thick cock to pulsate in the back of your throat. The warm fluid filled your oral cavity until he could muster another drop. The entire time, his loud groaning was permeating the room as well. Once he was able to regain his senses, Eren would slowly withdraw and examine the aftermath. That towering six foot something frame would take a step back to truly take in the beautiful sight in front of him. You were drenched from the neck to your belly button in silky fluids…that wrung out tank top sat idly underneath your breasts and those shorts were halfway around your thighs at this point. To say he’d make an absolute wreck of you would be an understatement.
“Lemme look at you…”
proudly displaying his work of ‘art’, you’d cup those saliva laden tits and squeeze them together with your tongue dangling. By the look on your face, something told him that you were more than happy he’d interrupted you! “Yeah..that’s how you should look. Happy as fuck.” Shoving his thumb between your puckered lips, he’d then bend down to shove his tongue into your mouth for a sloppy peck.
but something also told him that you couldn’t be satisfied with merely sucking him off. You needed—no, you deserved more.
“Are we done? If so, imma be disappointed.”
“Of course not, baby..I got you.”
Regardless of how lightheaded that orgasm had made him, he leaned forward and took you into his grasp. Hoisting you up in one fell swoop to carry you to the bed that was a mere ten feet away. Once he had you flat against the mattress, he’d make haste in disrobing you of those clothes to render you completely naked. He’d follow suit and tug his sweats until they reached his ankles so he could kick them off. Once the two of you were left with only your bare flesh, Eren wasted no time in pinning both your wrists and ankles behind your head. But not before propping your head up with a pillow. A position that led to excitement riddling your face. From this angle, you could watch it go in and out together. With you exactly where he wanted, your boyfriend began the descent down your torso to that plump center. Those fat lips drenched in slick whilst that aching bud protruded between them. He knew you were already overly sensitive so he didn’t want to keep you waiting for much longer but the selfish glutton in him just had to have a taste of that divine nectar.
“Just be patient with me..’need to make sure you’re good and ready first..”
immediately, your eyes would roll to the back of your skull and a nervous giggle arose as well. Make no mistake, he allowed you to have your fun but it was his turn to take control now. Delving headfirst between your thighs, Eren began his quick descent onto that swollen pearl and lapped around it. You’d immediately grasp at the sheets, eyes trailing to the back of your skull as those feet dangled in the air. He’d keep you at bay with a hand clutched around your throat as he continued exploring those folds with his tongue. For a split second, his head would raise to make eye contact with you.
“Fuck..you really needed this, huh? You’re already starting to come..” alluding to the fact that your juices were spurting out as he scooped his tongue inside of your hole and rubbed that sensitive clit. It seemed his skills grew better and better each time you two had sex. He was far more attune to your needs and desires, even more aware of them than you were sometimes.
“Y-yeah!..how’d you learn to do that?” “What can I say? I got a hell of a teacher...” tossing you a wink and a smirk because you truly did turn him out when it came to the bedroom. He’d continue lapping and tracing his tongue intricately throughout your folds until he received the beautiful payout of you squirting all over his face. Try as you might to harbor restraint, it was to no avail and of no use…that tight entrance would spasm before more would spill forth. Just to increase that pleasure, Eren added a finger in hopes of coaxing more out.
“Give me that cum, baby..that’s it. Make a fucking mess for me..” and you certainly didn’t disappoint. The shower of sweet juices continued for another minute or so before you’d lie there, spent and breathless from such an amazing orgasm. Once he’d gotten his fill, your boyfriend would return to the surface for air and to get a good look at your current state. “You taste so good..love making you squirt in my fucking face..” Breaking into a sadistic chuckle, he’d readjust so that his palms were stationed firmly on the backs of your thighs and that he was centered right between them..in that moment, he’d slide his throbbing member across the sensitive core and tease it for a moment. But you couldn’t handle that at the moment.
“Eren, please don’t play..I need you so fucking bad right now..”
nearly in tears from the pending overstimulation and the overwhelming need to be stuffed full of his cock. Your walls would ache and spasm in anticipation; so much so, he’d watch you reach for his hips to guide him in. But naturally, nothing with this man came completely easy…he had to mess with you a bit for all of the resistance earlier. Just as you went to grab him, he’d pin those wrists back in one fell swoop with one hand and use the other to press into your stomach.
“I know you do…that’s why you’re gonna beg me for it.” Immediately being met with a look of shock and a bit of infuriation. Even so, you’d remain there, lying in wait until he got what he wanted.
“I mean, you were being all fussy earlier..I’m not convinced you really deserve it..c'mon, princess…change my mind.” he was so assured of himself and honestly, you were in no position to attest. The desire grew stronger with every passing moment and if he didn’t deliver soon, you were bound to implode. “Fuuuck, Eren! Please—“ “That’s better but not quite..tell me how badly you need me to fuck you.” Besides, when he hovered above you like this, looking so fucking attractive and domineering, you felt no other choice but to submit. So setting your pride aside, (y/n) began to grovel..whimpering and bucking your hips to meet the friction of his shaft rubbing against your wet folds. You’d tell him how good he made you feel and that your body was his for the taking, unequivocally. Finally, that submission and trust he had craved..best believe, he was going to take care not to break it. After your speech, he’d seem content and proceeded to tap the head of that appendage against you before gripping the base and making one full glide across the outside and shoving it inside. Sucking his teeth and moaning as he made place between that flesh.
“Oh fuck…that’s it, gorgeous. Right there..”
you’d release a whimper of your own as you became acclimated to that thick shape. You’d clench around him once before releasing and he knew he couldn’t sit idle for long. With haste, he’d begin slamming his hips forward, quickly trying to establish some semblance of a rhythm so that he didn’t blow his load too quickly. Upon being immersed in that juicy cunt, he’d find his knees buckling from the sensation.
“..pussy’s so fucking tight..and warm..oh God, I love you so much..” his whiny yet deep moans complimented by the sounds of smacking flesh. With your hands now planted firmly on your asscheeks, per his instructions, you’d keep it spread open so that he had ample room to give you both the satisfaction you both desired. Suddenly, his strokes would increase in speed and depth; really stretching you out. Jolting that body around as those perky tits bounced from the force. “Fuck!… babyyyy…” “I know, baby. I know..you just look so pretty when I’m digging you out. I can’t help but fuck you this hard.” Cooing to you as he bent down to plant soft kisses along your forehead. You’d cry out, maneuvering your hands to his back, digging your nails into it..you’d never felt pleasure like this with anyone else. The way he made love to you was incomparable. Even when you fought against it, he knew your body’s needs and wanted more than anything to satisfy them.
“That’s right, princess..let me fuck that stress out of you..let that mind go blank. Just focus on taking this dick.” Whispering in your ear as you held him close.
eventually, your legs would coil around his waist and your eyes would trail to the back of your skull in a haze of sheer ecstasy. You didn’t know what to do with yourself..all except fall apart underneath him. Your body was a bundle of tight nerves, bound together by the building ecstasy and you were bound to explode any minute. Unfortunately for you, he wasn’t done teasing quite yet..instead, he had one more move he just had to try in hopes of sending you over the edge.
“Eyes on me, baby..yeah, I need to see that pretty face right now.”
garnering a smile as he leaned back up and maneuvered his arms to fall into the center of your torso. Suddenly, you’d feel a slight pinch of your nipples before he began to rub them slowly. Tracing tiny circles as he continued to pound into you relentlessly. It was very apparent you couldn’t handle it by the way that cunt twitched around his shaft..you were bound to explode at any moment. Mouthing off about how good it feels as he made alternating motions on those sensitive buds; rolling them between his fingertips, squeezing and even leaning down to suckle them for a brief moment. The sensation lasted for a few minutes before he’d return his attention back to ensuring you got your well deserved orgasm. This time, with a bit more aggression because he recalled how excited you’d gotten when he grasped your throat.
“Oh my God…fuck! ‘m gonna come—“
“Then do it..come f’r me, slut..give me what I want.”
the name sending you into an absolute spiral as he never spoke that way on a regular basis and would never think to disrespect you. But this was exactly what you craved. To be used and made devoid of all feelings except pleasure. Suddenly, you’d feel his fingertips squeezing your jaws as he increased his speed yet again..this time, feeding you the deepest, longest strokes he could muster. The two of you would spout off filthy, steamy remarks at one another through gritted teeth, intense glares and breathy moans as you reached down to aid him by stroking your aching bud.
“ ‘m so fucking close, baby. I don’t think I can hold it..”
“Fuck yes you are..that pussy’s gripping me so tight right now..goddamn.”
Eventually, those thrusts became rather sporadic and Eren was rapidly losing both his composure and stamina. The both of you were so near your peaks that it was only a matter of time before you exploded. You’d try to outlast him but as he maintained that clutch on your jaw, he’d lean down to spit into your mouth, letting that trail drip down onto your tongue as you stuck it out. He knew what was coming and he couldn’t be vexed to continue anticipating it so your boyfriend decided to assist with a little extra lubrication.
“Get yourself off..I’m not fucking waiting..” Without hesitation, (y/n) scooped that saliva out your mouth and onto your fingertips to massage that clit once more. You were rubbing so fast, your head began to grow fuzzy and soon, nothing but an image of static and blackness would fill your vision as you released all over him; voiding yourself of all those warm, sweet sticky juices as they sprayed his abdomen. Right above the incisions from some prior operations..he wore it as a badge of honor quite frankly. That a woman who once took care of him, was now having all of her wants and needs fulfilled. His cock sat idly inside of you until that stream became too powerful and all but pushed him out. That’s when he’d simply grasp the base of his throbbing member and tap against your slit.
“Shit! Oh my gosh..”
“Ahhh..fuck. That’s it..I knew if I got in it deep enough, you’d squirt for me again, baby. That’s my girl..”
“Fuuuck, it feels so good!”
You’d continue spraying until you convulsed uncontrollably. He was still in awe of the mess you’d made but there was still the task of releasing his own. Although he loved the sight of you in such a vulnerable state, he couldn’t let up. Grasping your hips once more, he’d tug you down onto it and continue drilling you with his cock. This time, to relieve himself.
“Hold still, I’m not yet…need to..come inside of you..”
clutching the backs of your thighs, Eren relentlessly shoved that thick cock back inside of you, pumping sporadically until he felt his own legs begin to quiver. It wouldn’t be long before his stride broke so he’d bend down to grant you one last kiss and sweet nothing. Cradling the side of your head into his palms in an intimate manner. With baited, sporadic breath and whiny cries, he’d pour his soul out to you. Becoming almost obiedient and subservient himself.
“I love you! fuck…I love you so much...”
“I love you too..”
“Am I making you feel good? Did I do a good job? Can I come inside of you..please, baby. Can I?”
and without hesitation, you’d nod your head profusely and grant him his wish. But not without sending him spiraling with your last statement.
“Yes, please! Come in this pussy, daddy..I need it.” And from that moment on, Eren fell to pieces. Collapsing his entire body weight onto your own as your legs coiled around his waist, ensuring he couldn’t pull out even if he wanted. His final thrust came in a sharp, forceful thud before he’d begin to pulsate and eventually, release every last drop of remaining semen he had to offer. Emptying his balls inside of you shamelessly. Already spent from his earlier orgasm, he’d let out an ear curdling grunt, allowing you to claw into his back because he knew he’d lost all semblance of control and had probably been a bit rough. However, none of that mattered..you both were utterly satisfied and it was apparent by the puddle of tears streaming down each of your faces. Never had either of you experienced lovemaking so powerful that it reduced you to literal tears.
eventually, he’d finish pumping the remnants into you and soon, find the strength to pull out. Once he was able to gather his own bearings, he’d turn his attention to you.
“Are you okay, princess? I'm gonna go grab you some water and a towel real quick—“
even insisting he’d help you to the bathroom afterwards to avoid an infection and get cleaned up properly. However, he was shocked to find that his words were falling completely on deaf ears! That’s when he’d turn around to see you sound asleep..completely knocked from the events that just transpired. All he could do was laugh to himself not only out of pure pride but the fact that you truly needed this reset. Although he admired and looked up to your hard work ethic, even the most brilliant of brains needed rest. Those test materials, patients and everything else would be there when you awoke..but for now, you could focus on yourself!
♡ summary : you ask your boyfriend to help you pick out an outfit for an upcoming concert…but the options get him a little too excited
♡ cw : MDNI, talks of sexual acts, explicit language, levi/erwin and reader refer to each other as husband/wife, porco is just horny for reader at all times i’m sorry
Racer! Reiner Braun x Flag Girl! Reader x Racer! Jean Kirstein (oneshot!)
summary: You're the flag girl at an illegal underground street race, where the winner walks away with the cash, bragging rights, and one drink with you. Competing racers Reiner and Jean are determined to claim all three, but by the end of the night, they discover some prizes are better when they're shared....
a/n: Guys I have no excuse for this other than I want Reiner and Jean at the SAME DAMN TIME OKAY?? Anyway....enjoy >:)
Coupe — a small, passenger car with a sloping rear roofline, and typically two doors; prioritising sleek styling and sporty performance over interior space.
The night air carried the bite of spent gasoline and cooling gravel, a mixture that had become as familiar to you as the perfume you wear. You stood beside Sasha's battered car, tugging at the hem of your skirt— a gesture that accomplished nothing. The black fabric was designed to ride high on your thighs, and it did so with enthusiasm, leaving the long line of your legs exposed beneath the amber glow of a nearby caged work light. Sasha had picked the outfit out for you— specifically for tonight.
"You look like trouble," Sasha said proudly, leaning against her car with her arms crossed. Her dark hair was pulled back in a messy knot, and she wore her usual uniform of oversized denim jacket and scuffed boots. She looked at you the way a painter looks at a finished canvas— with satisfaction and a touch of pride. "Good trouble. The kind that makes people do stupid things with their cars."
You smoothed a hand down your hip, feeling the fabric stretch tighter across your curves. The top Sasha had lent you a top that was cut low enough that you'd been aware of your own breathing all evening— every inhale shifted the neckline a fraction lower, and you'd caught multiple people staring openly since you'd arrived at the warehouse district. You'd learned to move through that kind of attention the way a ship cuts through water: without stopping, without acknowledging it.
The lot behind the old textile mill in your town had been converted into a staging area. Cars were parked in uneven rows— some stripped to bare metal, others repainted in vivid colours that caught the light like oil on water. The smell of rubber fuel hung thick, mixing with the distant clatter of a portable generator someone had set up behind a stack of pallets. People milled between the vehicles, their faces half-lit by the occasional headlight beam sweeping across the lot like a searchlight.
Sasha walked ahead of you, weaving between a group of spectators who had gathered near the starting line— two painted lines of white stretched across the cracked concrete. Sasha knew everyone here it seemed. She stopped to clap shoulders with a guy in a grease-stained hoodie, exchanged a word with a woman carrying a keg of beer, and gestured for you to follow.
You followed, your heels clicking against the uneven ground. You'd chosen the shoes carefully— high enough to make your calves flex with each step, but not so high that you couldn't run if things went sideways. Underground and illegal races had a way of going sideways. You'd learned that the hard way last summer, when a race had ended unexpectedly because the cops showed up and you had to run in 6 inch heels.
Sasha stopped beside two cars parked side by side at the starting line. One was a deep midnight blue, sleek and low, with a matte finish that swallowed light. The other was a stripped-down coupe in gunmetal grey, its body panels slightly mismatched where replacement parts had been bolted on. Both had the look of cars that had been rebuilt from the inside out— engines swapped, suspensions tightened, every unnecessary ounce stripped away to create maximum speed.
A man leaned against the bonnet of the grey coupe, one boot crossed over the other, a cigarette between his lips. He was broad. Not just tall— but wide. His shoulders strained the seams of a grey shirt with the sleeves pushed up past his elbows, forearms thick and corded with vein lines that caught the work light. He had shortish blonde hair, not quite buzzed but close, and stubble that was more than a shadow but less than a beard. His eyes caught the light from the work lamp nearby, and for a moment, they looked almost golden— like honey held up to a flame. And his hands— you noticed, were large and dusted with the kind of grease that no amount of washing fully removes. They were fixed on Sasha as she approached, then landed on you, and stayed.
His lips parted around the cigarette in his mouth and smoke curled from the corner. His gaze dropped— slow, almost involuntary— down the length of your body, and something shifted in the set of his jaw, a subtle tightening, as though he'd bitten down on the cigarette harder than he meant to. His nose was slightly large, crooked at the bridge, the kind of feature that should have thrown off the symmetry of his face but instead gave it a roughness, an asymmetry that drew the eye.
"That's Reiner," Sasha said, gesturing as you were broken from your thoughts. "Don't let the size of him fool you— he's gentle as a lamb— mostly."
Reiner straightened up from the bonnet, pushing off it with one hand. He was taller than you'd expected. He pulled the cigarette from his mouth, exhaled smoke to the side, and gave you a nod that was almost shy— his chin dipping, the amber eyes cutting away for half a second before finding their way back to you. His hand came up in a half-wave that he seemed to think better of and turned into adjusting the cuff of his sleeve instead.
"Hey," he said. His voice was lower than the rumble of his car idle, the kind of voice that made you lean in.
Before you could respond, a sharp whistle cut through the air from the other car. The driver's door of the midnight blue one was open, and a pair of legs in dark jeans stretched out of it, crossed at the ankle. The man attached to them unfolded himself from the seat— tall, lean, but muscular in a way that was visible in the cut of his shoulders and the line of his arms beneath a fitted black t-shirt. His hair was an ashy light brown, cut into a short mullet that was longer at the back, and his jaw carried a fine scatter of stubble— less than Reiner's, more like he'd forgotten to shave for two days rather than committed to it. His eyes were hazel, bright under the lights, and they found you with an immediacy that was almost aggressive, like a wolf spotting prey across a field.
"And that's Jean," Sasha says. "Don't engage him in conversation unless you want to get annoyed as fuck."
Jean leaned against the open door of the car, arms folded, head tilted to one side. His mouth pulled into a grin that was all teeth and challenge. "Who's this, then?" He pushed off the door and walked toward you, stopping close enough that you could smell his cologne— something sharp and layered over petrol and cigarette smoke. His hazel eyes moved over you with a frankness that had no shame in it, tracking from your boots to the bare skin of your thighs to the neckline of your crop top with the precision of someone cataloguing details they intended to use later.
Sasha waved a hand between you and them. "Boys please. I'd like you to meet my best girl. She's flagging the race tonight." Sasha said proudly. "She's starting you both off."
"She's starting me off, is she?" Jean said, and his grin widened. "I’d like that."
Before Sasha could reply, you spoke before you could think about it. "You'll have to do better than that, Jean. If that's your opening line, I'm already disappointed."
Jean's eyebrows went up. The grin didn't falter— if anything it sharpened. He looked at Sasha, then back at you. "Oh, she's got teeth. I like that." He turned to Reiner. "What do you reckon, big guy?"
Reiner was still standing where he'd been, cigarette between two fingers now, smoke trailing upward past his face. His amber eyes hadn't left you, and at Jean's words, something flickered across his expression— not annoyance, exactly, but something adjacent. He took a drag, held it, and exhaled through his nose. "I reckon you should shut up and let her breathe."
"Breathing's not what I had in mind."
"Clearly."
The exchange was quick, clipped, the kind of back-and-forth that came from familiarity. You watched Reiner's hand tighten around the cigarette, the knuckles of his broad fingers shifting. Jean noticed it too, and the grin on his face shifted into something more private, more satisfied.
Sasha groans next to you. "Boys, please play nice."
"Always," Jean said, without looking at her. His eyes were still on you.
Reiner glanced at Sasha, then back at you, and something in his posture softened— his shoulders dropping a fraction, his weight shifting onto his back foot. He looked, for a moment, like a man trying to decide whether to speak or stay quiet, and choosing the latter. He brought the cigarette to his lips again. The cherry flared, illuminating the crooked bridge of his nose and the gold in his eyes.
You reached into the inside pocket of your leather jacket and pulled out your own pack of cigarettes. The pack was slightly crushed— you'd been sitting on it earlier— and you tapped one free and placed it between your lips. You patted the jacket pockets, and found nothing else. You checked again, more thoroughly this time, pulling the zipper down and reaching into the inner lining. No lighter, fuck. You must've left it in Sasha's car....
You looked up to find Reiner was watching you— had been watching you the whole time, the half-smoked cigarette between his fingers, the ember still glowing. He'd tracked the entire sequence: and something moved behind his eyes, a quiet recognition, and without a word he straightened up and stepped toward you.
He was close— close enough that the heat coming off his chest met the cold air between you. He didn't say anything, instead he lifted his cigarette to his mouth, took a slow drag that filled his cheeks and sent smoke drifting past his crooked nose, and then he pulled it free and held it out to you— the lit end angled toward the tip of your unlit cigarette, his hand steady, his fingers large enough that the cigarette looked small between them.
You leaned in. Your lips closed around the filter, and you tilted your head, bringing the tip of your cigarette to his. The ember touched and you inhaled, and the drag caught— heat blooming at the end of your cigarette as smoke pulled through the paper and into your mouth. His eyes were on you the entire time— not on the cigarette, not on the process of lighting it, but on your mouth. On the way your lips wrapped around the filter, on the hollowing of your cheeks as you drew. His jaw was tight, the muscle in his cheek flexing, and his breathing— you noticed, because the night was cold enough to see it— had gone shallow, the plumes of vapour thin and quick.
Jean was watching from three feet away. His arms were still folded, but the posture had changed— tighter, more locked, his fingers gripping his own biceps. His hazel eyes moved between your face and Reiner's hand with an intensity that stripped the humour from his expression. The grin was gone, and in its place was something rawer, something he was working to keep off his face and not entirely succeeding.
You pulled back, cigarette lit, and exhaled smoke upward into the cold air. "Thanks," you said, looking up at Reiner through the haze.
He nodded. His throat moved— a swallow, visible, deliberate. "Anytime," he said, and his voice was rougher than it had been a moment ago.
Jean cleared his throat, loudly. "So," Jean said, turning to Sasha while his eyes kept sliding back to you. "What's the prize tonight? Usually there's a pot. Cash, parts.....whatever."
Sasha crossed her arms. "There's a pot. Three hundred cash, winner takes all."
"Three hundred barely covers gas or the upkeep of my car," Jean said, scratching the stubble along his jaw.
"What, you want more?" Sasha raised an eyebrow.
Jean's gaze drifted to you again— specifically, to the place where your skirt ended and your thigh began. "I'm just saying, for a race like this, the prize should be worth the effort…."
Reiner, who had been quiet through this exchange, finally spoke up. "What did you have in mind?" His voice was careful, measured, like he was testing whether the floor could hold his weight before stepping onto it.
Jean looked at you, then at Sasha, and then back at you. He opened his mouth, but Sasha watched his gaze and beat him to it.
"Winner," Sasha began, shouting louder now so the people nearby could hear. "Gets to take my friend here out for a drink after the race."
The lot seemed to quiet for half a second— or maybe that was just the space between one breath and the next. Then a ripple went through the gathered crowd, and someone whistled. A few guys near the front of the spectators clapped and shoved each other. You turned to Sasha. She was already looking at you, her expression unapologetic, one eyebrow raised as if to say what? You expected me to be subtle?
"I didn't agree to that," you hissed to her, though your voice carried less protest than it probably should have.
"You didn't say no either," Sasha replied.
Jean looked at you with renewed interest, his hazel eyes bright. "I'm fine with that arrangement. Very fine." He glanced at Reiner. "What about you, big guy? You good with those terms?"
Reiner's jaw tightened— just slightly, a micro-movement that pulled the stubble along his chin taut. He looked at you, really looked this time, and his amber eyes held yours for a long, deliberate moment. Something passed through his expression— not confidence, not hesitation, but something in between. A question he was asking without words.
"Those terms work," Reiner said quietly. His gaze dropped again, but not before you'd caught the way it lingered— not on your chest or your legs, but on your face, as if he were trying to memorise something specific.
"Alright then," Sasha said, clapping her hands together. "It's settled. The winner gets the cash and the girl. Let's get this show on the road."
Reiner stayed where he was. He took one last drag of his cigarette, dropped it, and ground it out under his boot. He looked at you, and his mouth opened— hesitated— and closed again. He nodded, once, and turned towards his car.
The crowd pressed closer to the starting line. You moved to your position— a few yards ahead of the two cars, standing between the painted lines. The night air moved against your bare legs, cool enough to raise goosebumps along your thighs. You could feel the vibration of both engines through the soles of your shoes, a low, guttural thrumming that matched the pulse in your wrists.
Reiner's car was to your left. Through the open window, you could see his hands on the wheel— large, calloused and wrapped around the leather with a grip that was firm but not rigid. His eyes were on the road ahead, but his jaw was still tight, and you noticed his thumb tapping against the steering wheel in a rhythm that didn't match the engine's idle. He was nervous, or focused. Or both.
Jean's car was to your right. He leaned out of his window, one elbow resting on the frame, and looked at you with a grin that hadn't left his face since Sash's announcement. "You know," he called over the engine noise, "if you wanted to just skip the race and pick me now, I wouldn't judge you for it."
"How about you focus on the road?" You quip back.
"I am focused," he said. "On the best view in this lot."
You shook your head, but a smile pulled at the corner of your mouth despite yourself. Jean had the kind of charm that worked because it didn't pretend to be anything other than what it was— bold, slightly ridiculous, and delivered with just enough self-awareness to keep it from tipping into arrogance.
You raised the flag. It was a simple red cloth on a short pole, lightweight, but in the glow of the work lights, it caught the colour and threw it back like a signal fire. The crowd noise dimmed. The engines revved— Reiner's a deep, chest-rattling growl, Jean's a higher, sharper whine.
You held the flag above your head. Your arm stretched fully, and you felt the fabric pull taut against the pole as the breeze caught it. The hem of your skirt shifted against your thigh. You could feel every pair of eyes in the lot on you— some on the flag….but most not.
You held the moment. One breath, then two— then you brought the flag down in a sharp, clean arc.
The sound hit you before the sight did— a roar of engines at full throttle, two distinct pitches climbing and blending into a wall of noise. Tires bit into the concrete, and the cars launched forward, passing so close on either side of you that the wind from their passage tugged at your skirt and sent your hair whipping across your face. The smell of exhaust and burnt rubber flooded your senses, thick and acrid.
They were gone— two streaks of colour disappearing down the straightaway, taillights shrinking into the dark corridor formed by the warehouse walls on either side of the track. The crowd erupted behind you, people surging forward to the line, some holding up phones, others craning their necks to follow the cars' progress.
Sasha appeared beside you. "Nice drop," she said.
You lowered the flag pole to your side, your pulse still humming from the adrenaline of the start. "Where's the finish line?"
"Back here. It's a loop. They come around the east side of the mill and come back through the loading dock." She pointed toward a dark gap between two buildings about a quarter mile away. "First one back wins."
You walked with Sasha to a spot near the loading dock, where the crowd had already begun to gather. The ground here was rougher— broken concrete patched with gravel and old tar. You stood on a raised section of the loading platform, which gave you a clear view of the approach. Sasha handed you a bottle of water she'd pulled from somewhere, and you drank, watching the dark gap between the buildings.
The first engine sound reached you almost two minutes later— a distant whine that grew louder, climbing in pitch. Then a second sound, lower, heavier, running alongside it, and the two tones wove together, separating and merging as the cars navigated the turns of the loop. Headlights appeared in the gap— two sets, side by side, so close together that from this distance they looked like a single vehicle. The crowd pressed forward, and someone next to you was shouting a name— you couldn't tell which one.
The cars emerged and into the open stretch of the loading dock. Reiner's car was on the inside line, hugging the corner of the warehouse— and Jean’s car was on the outside, its matte finish catching the floodlight from the dock and throwing it back in a cold sheen. They were neck and neck— not one ahead of the other by any measurable distance. The engines screamed, and you could see the bodies of both cars shudder as they hit the uneven pavement at speed.
The finish line was another white spray-paint mark on the ground, already half-worn from previous races. Both cars crossed it at the same moment— or close enough to the same moment that no one in the crowd could say otherwise. The roar of engines continued past the line as both drivers braked, tires shrieking, the cars fishtailing slightly before coming to a stop thirty yards past the mark.
Silence.....or rather, the absence of engine noise, which in this place felt like silence. Then the crowd erupted into argument and cheers. Half the people were calling it for Jean, the other half for Reiner. A few were shouting for a replay, as if there were cameras anywhere in this lot. Sasha looked at you. "Well….that's inconvenient."
You set down the water bottle and stepped off the loading platform, walking toward the two cars. Reiner was already out of his vehicle, standing beside the open door with his hands on his hips, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. His t-shirt was damp at the collar, and his amber eyes were fixed on Jean's car as the taller man unfolded himself from the driver's seat.
Jean stood, stretched, and cracked his neck with a sharp turn of his head. He looked at Reiner, then at the finish line behind them, then at Reiner again. "That was me who won, by the way," Jean said.
"Like hell it was," Reiner replied, his voice low but firm.
"I was closer, I was before you."
"No you weren't—"
They stood facing each other, the space between them thick with the residual heat of the engines and the challenge in their eyes. Reiner's broad frame cast a shadow over Jean in the floodlight, but Jean's height gave him an edge that kept them roughly eye to eye. Neither moved, and neither looked away.
You stopped a few paces from them. "It was a draw," you said simply.
Both men turned to look at you. The argument in the crowd continued behind you, but here, in this small triangle of space between two cooling cars, your voice carried clearly.
"A draw?" Jean repeated, raising an eyebrow.
"Both cars crossed the line at the same time. Nobody was ahead, so that makes it a draw."
Reiner's brow furrowed. He looked at the finish line, then back at you. "So what happens to the prize?"
You considered for a moment. The night air was cooling against your skin, and you could feel the goosebumps again along your arms and thighs. The adrenaline from the start had settled into a low, steady hum in your veins, and the arguments and noise of the crowd had faded into background static.
"Neither of you won," you said. "But neither of you lost, either. You both raced fair, and you both crossed the line." You paused, letting the words settle. "So I guess you both get the prize."
Jean's eyebrows rose quickly and Reiner's mouth opened slightly, then closed.
"You both get to take me out," you clarified. "You both get the drink. All three of us— right now."
Silence— not from the crowd, which was still debating, but from the two men in front of you. Jean looked at Reiner, and Reiner looked at Jean. Something passed between them— not agreement, exactly, but a mutual recognition that this outcome, while unexpected, was not one either of them was willing to refuse.
Jean broke first. He let out a short laugh, ran a hand through his hair, and shook his head. "Alright. I can live with that." He looked at you, and the grin returned, slower this time, more deliberate. "You pick the bar?"
"You pick the bar," you say firmly, with a smirk on your face. "I pick the time. And the time is now."
Reiner exhaled— a long, slow breath that loosened the tension in his shoulders. "Okay, but I'm driving," he said. It wasn't a question.
Jean glanced at his own car, then at Reiner's. "Fine. But I call shotgun."
"There's no shotgun," Reiner said. "It's—uh…a two-seater."
"Two seats," Jean repeated. He looked at the car, then at Reiner, then at you. "Then I guess she sits on me."
Reiner's hand paused on the door handle. His jaw worked, the muscles in his neck tightening, and he said nothing for a long moment. Then he opened the door and folded himself into the driver's seat, his broad frame filling the space.
You looked at Jean. He shrugged, that half-smire pulling at his mouth. "What? I'm not walking."
The car's passenger seat was narrow, bucketed, and designed for one. Jean lowered himself into it first, long legs angling to fit, and you climbed in after, settling across his lap, your back against his chest, your legs stretching toward Reiner's side of the car. Your skirt rode up as you settled, the fabric bunching at your hips, and you felt Jean's breath catch behind you— a quick, sharp intake as you shifted on him and stretched your legs further over Reiner’s lap.
Reiner started the engine. It turned over with that same deep growl, quieter now, idling. He reached for something in the door pocket— a pack of cigarettes, slightly crushed, with a lighter tucked inside. He pulled one out, lit it, and took a long drag. The tip flared orange in the dark interior, and smoke curled up toward the open window.
He passed it to you. You took it between your fingers, brought it to your lips, and inhaled. The smoke was sharp, scratching at the back of your throat— and you held it for a moment, then let it out through the window, where the night air caught it and pulled it apart.
Reiner's hand was on the wheel. His other hand was on the gearstick, and neither hand moved. But his eyes— amber, gold, and burning— dropped from the road to your legs in his lap, to the bare skin of your thighs where the skirt had ridden up, and stayed there for two full seconds before snapping back to the road. His breathing had changed, the exhales were visible in the cold air coming through the window, and they were faster, shallower.
Jean reached past you again, but instead of taking the cigarette, his hand landed on your bare stomach, just below the hem of your crop top. His fingers spread, the tips pressing into the soft skin above your hip. "You're cold," he said, and his mouth was close to your ear, his breath warm.
Reiner's grip on the steering wheel adjusted. His thumb tapped the leather once, twice, and he said nothing. But in the glow of the dashboard, you could see the muscle in his jaw working, the stubble along his chin catching the light, and the way his chest rose and fell had lost its rhythm. His hand left the gearstick— the car was in fifth now, cruising on the straight— and it hovered, for a moment, over your legs. Then it landed, his palm settled on your shin, just above the laces of your boot, and the heat of it— the size of hand— was startling. His fingers curled around the back of your calf, and his thumb traced a small circle on your skin, slow, almost unconscious, as though his hand had moved on its own and was only now catching up to what it was doing.
Jean's hand tightened on your stomach. You could feel the tension in his fingers, the way they pressed into your skin, and behind you, his breathing had gone shallow and warm against your neck. "So," he said, and his voice had dropped, the quick wit stripped away, leaving something rawer underneath. "Where are we going for this drink?"
You took the cigarette back from between his fingers. Brought it to your lips and inhaled. The smoke sat in your lungs, and you exhaled slowly, out the window, into the cold night air that rushed past the car and pulled the smoke away in a white ribbon.
Reiner's thumb was still tracing circles on your calf. His eyes were on the road, but his hand hadn't moved, and the circles were getting slower, wider, his fingers pressing harder into the muscle of your leg. His breathing was audible now— not loud, but present, each exhale a sound in the quiet, and the flush on his neck had spread to his jaw, the skin dark beneath the stubble.
You shifted your weight, and pushed back against Jean deliberately. You felt the groan properly this time— not in his throat, but in his chest, a vibration against your spine. His hand slid from your stomach to your hip, fingers hooking into the waistband of your skirt, and his mouth found the side of your neck. Not a kiss— just faint contact. His lips, dry and warm, pressed to the skin below your ear, and his breath came in a shudder that you felt in your teeth.
Reiner's hand tightened on your calf and his thumb stopped circling. The car drifted slightly, the wheels humming against the road edge, and he corrected it with a sharp tug of the wheel. His eyes were fixed forward, but his jaw was clenched so tight the muscle twitched visibly, and his chest was rising and falling in short, controlled bursts, like a man trying to hold something back with everything he had.
Jean's mouth found the curve of your neck again, and this time his lips parted. Not a graze this time— a deliberate, slow press of his mouth against the tendon running from your collar to your jaw. His breath came out hot and unsteady, damp against your skin, and his fingers tightened on your hips, pulling you back against him. You felt the hard ridge of him shift against your lower back through the thin layers of fabric separating you.
You didn't stop him. Your cigarette hand drifted to the open window, the ember tracing a faint orange arc in the cold air rushing past, and you let your head tilt sideways. Just slightly, just enough to bare more of your throat to him. The passenger seat's headrest pressed against the back of your skull as you let your weight sink into him.
His tongue touched your skin first— just the tip, tracing the line where your pulse beat beneath the surface. A small sound escaped your lips before you could catch it, a thin, breathy moan that the wind from the window almost stole. Almost. The car was too small, too enclosed, and Reiner heard it. His thumb, which had been resting motionless on your calf, twitched.
Jean heard it too. His mouth curved against your neck, and he pressed another kiss lower, just above the collar of your crop top, where the skin was warm and untouched. His stubble scraped a faint pink trail behind his lips. You ground your hips back into him without thinking— a slow, instinctive roll— and his breath broke into a ragged exhale against your collarbone.
You turned your head. Your nose brushed his cheek first, and then your mouth found his. The kiss started slow, his lower lip caught between yours, the taste of cigarette smoke and something minty underneath. His hand came up from your hip to the side of your face, fingers sliding into the hair behind your ear, holding you there as the kiss deepened. His tongue slid against yours— confident as you felt the vibration of a low groan in his chest through your back. The kiss was messy, open-mouthed, hungry, and you could feel him half-hard already beneath your thigh.
The car swerved. Just slightly— a tiny correction, the tires crunching over gravel at the road's edge before the wheels found tarmac again. You broke the kiss suddenly at the harsh movement and looked over at Reiner.
His hands were white-knuckled on the steering wheel, tendons standing out like cables along his forearms. The sleeves of his shirt were almost bursting, and every muscle in those thick arms was locked rigid. His jaw was clenched so hard you could see the muscle twitching beneath his stubble— and his eyes were fixed on the road ahead, but the headlights caught nothing but empty dark asphalt stretching into blackness. He hadn't looked at you, it seemed like he was refusing to look at you.
Jean leaned forward, chin resting on your shoulder, and his voice came low and amused, almost conspiratorial. "Careful, big guy. You're going to bend the wheel."
Reiner said nothing. His grip tightened, you could hear the leather of the steering wheel creak.
"Come on." Jean's hand was still in your hair, thumb tracing the line of your jaw. He addressed Reiner but his eyes were on you, watching the way your lips were still parted, the way your chest rose and fell a little too quickly. "We both won her, didn't we? Fair and square." His thumb brushed your lower lip. "Why don't we both just enjoy it?"
Silence followed as the engine hummed. The cold air through the window raised goosebumps along your bare thighs where your skirt had ridden up, and you could feel the heat of Jean's lap beneath you, the solid bulk of his thighs under yours.
Jean tilted his head, addressing you now, his voice dropping to something softer, almost intimate despite the audience. "What do you think? Hm?" His fingers traced down the side of your neck, following the path his mouth had taken. "You want us both?"
You looked at Reiner. His profile was carved from stone, all hard planes and clenched tension, but his eyes— his eyes flicked to you for the first time, just for a half-second, and in that amber flash you saw it. Not anger— but need. Raw, unguarded, desperate need, the kind that made his hands shake on the wheel and his breathing come shallow through his nose.
"I want both of you," you say softly,your voice steadier than you expected. "Just as much as each other."
Reiner's eyes closed. His head dropped forward, forehead almost touching the wheel, and the sound that came from him was like something breaking loose— a rough exhale, almost a laugh, almost a groan. "Fuck." He said it like a surrender, like the word had been sitting in his chest for miles and he'd finally let it out.
He pulled over quickly, the car rolling to a stop on the shoulder of the dark road, gravel popping under the tires, and the engine idled. The headlights carved a pale cone into the nothing ahead— no buildings, no streetlights, just the flat black of fields beyond the road and the distant orange glow of the city behind you. Reiner killed the engine. The silence that followed was enormous, broken only by the tick of cooling metal and the low whistle of wind through the cracked window.
Jean shifted beneath you, his hands sliding to your waist, thumbs pressing into the bare skin between your crop top and your skirt. "There we go." His voice was warm, easy, like he was settling a bet. He looked past you at Reiner. "She's practically on your lap already." His hand dropped to your thigh, gave it a squeeze, then lifted away— a gesture of offering. "You fuck her first, big guy. I'll watch."
Reiner's throat moved as he swallowed. He turned in the driver's seat, and his eyes found yours, and the question in them was so different from Jean's easy confidence— hesitant, almost careful, like he was asking something far bigger than what his mouth actually said. "Are you…okay with this?"
You reached for him. Your hand found the collar of his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric, and you pulled him toward you. "Yes." The word was barely out before your mouth met his.
Reiner kissed nothing like Jean. Where Jean had been greedy, all tongue and teeth, Reiner was slow. His hand came up to cradle the back of your head, fingers spreading through your hair, and his mouth moved against yours with an almost reverent attentiveness— like he was memorising the shape of your lips, the way you tasted, the exact pressure that made your breath catch. He kissed you the way he drove: controlled, precise— every movement deliberate. When his tongue finally touched yours, it was a question, not a demand, and the tenderness of it made something twist in your chest.
You shifted off Jean's lap, swinging your legs across the center console, and Reiner's hands caught your waist, lifting you onto him like you weighed nothing. His thighs were thick and hard beneath yours, and you could feel him through his jeans— hot and rigid and straining against the denim. His hands settled on your hips, thumbs tracing the curve of your hipbones, and he kissed you again, deeper this time, his head tilting to fit his mouth more fully against yours.
Behind you, Jean adjusted himself in the passenger seat. You heard the shift of fabric, the quiet rasp of his zipper, and when you glanced back over your shoulder, his hand was pressed flat against the front of his jeans, palming the thick outline of his cock through the dark denim. He caught you looking and grinned— that sharp, cocky grin— and leaned back, spreading his knees wider. "Don't mind me. Carry on."
Reiner's hand found the lever beside his seat and pulled. The driver's seat reclined with a mechanical clunk, tipping backward until he was nearly flat, and you settled against him, your knees on either side of his hips— your skirt riding up until it was bunched uselessly around your waist. You pulled your arms free of the leather jacket and shrugged it off, letting it drop into the footwell. The cold air hit your bare shoulders and then Reiner's hands were there, palms flat and warm against your skin, pulling you down against his chest.
You reached between you, fingers working the button of his jeans, and Reiner's breath stuttered against your mouth. His hips lifted when you tugged the denim down, and you felt him— hot, thick, the head of his cock slick already. You wrapped your hand around him and his whole body went taut, a shudder running through him like a current, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to leave marks.
"Jesus— " His voice broke on the word.
You pushed your panties to the side, lifted your hips and positioned him, then sank down. The angle was tight in the cramped coupe, your head almost touching the roof, but you didn't care. The stretch of him filling you inch by inch made your mouth fall open, a low groan pulling from your throat as your hips met his. He was buried to the hilt, and you could feel him throbbing inside you, feel the way his stomach tensed and flexed against yours with every controlled breath he tried to take.
"Fuck," Reiner whispered. His eyes were shut, his head tipped back against the headrest, the tendons in his neck pulled taut as his hands trembled on your hips. "You feel— " He couldn't finish the sentence.
You rolled your hips, and the sound he made was wrecked. A groan that came from somewhere deep in his chest, his fingers tightening, his hips bucking up into you involuntarily. You set a rhythm— slow, grinding, taking him as deep as the position allowed— and each downstroke dragged a sound from him that was somewhere between a moan and a whimper, his jaw clenching and unclenching, his breath coming in sharp punches.
Jean's hand moved behind you. You felt his fingers hook the neckline of your crop top, tugging it down, and the stretchy fabric gave way, pulling beneath your breasts. The cool air hit your skin for half a second before Jean's hands replaced it— one hand cupping your breast, fingers closing around your nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger while his other hand gripped the other, kneading. His palm cupped one breast, his thumb rolling your nipple, pinching it to a stiff peak, and you arched into his touch while Reiner thrust up into you.
You reached back—blindly, one hand leaving Reiner's chest— and your fingers found Jean's cock. Hot and thick in your grip. He hissed through his teeth when you wrapped your hand around him, your thumb smearing the precum over the head, and you started to stroke him in time with your hips. Reiner beneath you, Jean in your hand, the car rocking faintly on its suspension with every movement.
Reiner's rhythm stuttered. His hands clenched on your hips, pulling you down hard, and his cock throbbed inside you— a deep, pulsing heat. "I can't—" he gasped against your mouth. "I'm gonna—fuck, I'm—"
"Reiner— " His name came out of you like a plea.
He came with a sound that was almost painful— a strangled groan, his whole body arching up off the seat, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough that you'd see the bruises tomorrow. You felt him pulse inside you, hot and thick, his cock jerking as he spilled, and his hips kept moving through it, riding each wave, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He was still twitching inside you when his head fell back against the headrest, his eyes squeezed shut, his chest heaving, a sheen of sweat visible along his collarbones where his shirt had pulled open.
The car smelled like sex, smoke and the leather of the seats.
Jean's hands were still on your breasts, and he gave one last squeeze before letting go, leaning back in the passenger seat. His own hand returned to his cock, pressing as his voice came rough and low. "My turn, princess. Why don't you take me for a ride?"
You lifted yourself off Reiner's lap, feeling him slip out of you, warm wetness trailing down your inner thigh. Reiner made a quiet sound at the loss, his hand reaching for you instinctively before dropping back to the seat. You climbed over the center console, the cramped space forcing you to press against Jean— and he caught you, his hands gripping your thighs as you straddled him in the passenger seat.
His mouth found yours immediately— hard, demanding, nothing like Reiner's careful attention. Jean kissed like he raced: aggressive, precise, going for the win. His tongue pushed past your lips and his teeth caught your lower lip, tugging, and his hands were already working at his zipper, shoving his jeans down his thighs just far enough. His cock sprang free, thick and flushed, the head slick, and he gripped your hip with one hand while the other positioned himself.
You sank down onto him in one smooth motion, and the stretch made you both groan. He was bigger than you'd expected— longer than Reiner but not as thick, and the angle in the cramped passenger seat meant he hit deep, the head of his cock pressing against that spot inside you that made your thighs shake. His hips snapped up into you the moment you bottomed out, and the sound that came from your mouth was raw, half gasp, half moan, your nails digging into his shoulders through the black t-shirt.
"That's it," he growled against your ear. "Take it."
Your hands gripped the headrest behind his head, and you started to move, rolling your hips, finding the rhythm. Jean's hands gripped your ass, fingers digging into the flesh, and he started thrusting up into you. Hard. Each stroke was a punch, his hips snapping up to meet yours, and the force of it pushed you forward, your forehead almost touching the roof of the car. The sound of it— wet, slapping, obscene— filled the small space, and the windows were already starting to fog at the edges.
"Fuck, you're tight," Jean growled against your throat. His mouth found your collarbone, teeth scraping. "So fucking wet." His hips drove up into you again and you keened, your nails digging into the headrest. "Reiner did a good job getting you ready for me, didn't he?"
From the driver's seat, you heard Reiner's breath catch. You turned your head, just barely, and saw him watching. He'd turned in the reclined seat, his eyes dark and fixed on where Jean's cock disappeared into you with every thrust, and his hand was in his own lap now, palming himself through his jeans, his cock already half-hard again despite having just come.
Jean shifted beneath you. His hands moved to your waist, and in a move that shouldn't have been possible in the cramped hatchback, he twisted— pulling you with him, spinning your bodies until your back was against the passenger door and he was above you, your legs hooked over his shoulders. The gearshift dug into your hip and the window was cold against your shoulder, but you didn't care, because Jean was driving into you now, really driving, his hips snapping forward with a force that rocked the car on its suspension.
The windows were fully fogged now. The world outside had disappeared behind a layer of condensation, and the only light was the faint glow of the dashboard, casting everything in dim amber. The air inside the car was thick, humid, heavy with the scent of sweat and sex, and every breath you took was warm and damp.
Jean fucked like he did everything— with a cocky, precise intensity that left no room for anything but sensation. Each thrust was angled, deliberate, his cock dragging against that spot inside you until your vision blurred and your mouth fell open and sounds were coming out of you that you couldn't control— high, broken moans, gasps that broke in half when he drove particularly deep.
"Look at you," Jean panted, his rhythm never faltering. "Taking it so well. Such a good fucking girl." His hand came up to your breast, still exposed above the bunched crop top, and he pinched your nipple, hard, and your back arched off the door.
From the driver's seat, Reiner watched. His amber eyes had cleared, and his cock was hard again— straining against his thigh, thick and flushed, his hand wrapped around it, stroking slowly. He watched Jean fuck you with an expression that was equal parts hunger and something rawer, something that flickered in the gold of his irises every time you moaned. Then his hand moved. He reached across the console, and his fingers found your clit— swollen, slick with your own wetness and the cum leaking from your cunt—and he rubbed in tight, precise circles while Jean pounded into you. The contrast made you sob — Jean's hard, punishing thrusts and Reiner's careful, attentive circles, and your thighs began to shake, the orgasm building fast and heavy in your belly.
"She likes that," Jean observed, his voice rough. He didn't slow down. If anything, he sped up, his hips pistoning into you, the car rocking. "She's clenching so fucking tight around me."
Reiner's fingers pressed harder, two fingers rubbing your clit in steady, firm circles, and your hand shot out, grabbing his wrist— not to push him away but to hold him there, to keep him exactly where he was. Your other hand gripped Jean's shoulder, nails digging crescents into his skin through the t-shirt.
"I'm—" The words dissolved. The orgasm hit you like a wave, starting at your core and radiating outward, your whole body seizing, your back arching, your mouth open in a soundless cry that broke into a moan so loud it fogged the window beside your head. Your pussy clenched around Jean's cock in rhythmic pulses and he swore, his rhythm faltering for the first time, his head dropping to your shoulder.
"Fuck— fuck— " Jean's hips stuttered, and then he slammed into you, deep, one two, three more strokes, and you felt him come— pulsing inside you, his whole body rigid above you and his fingers bruising on your thigh. He groaned against your neck, long and low, and his hips kept moving, slower now, riding out the last of it.
The three of you stayed there, breathing. The car was completely steamed— every window opaque with condensation, the world outside erased, the small space a sealed pocket of heat and breath and the smell of sex. Water droplets ran down the inside of the windshield.
Jean's forehead rested against your collarbone. Reiner's fingers had gone still against your clit, his hand resting warm on your inner thigh. You could feel both of them inside and against you, their breath on your skin, the racing of their heartbeats slowing by degrees. Jean lifted his head first. He pressed a kiss to your jaw— almost gentle, a startling contrast to everything else— and pulled back, his cock sliding out of you with a wet sound that echoed in the small space.
"Not bad for a tiebreaker," he said. His voice was hoarse.
Reiner was still watching you from the driver's seat, his hand warm on your thigh, his amber eyes soft and dark in the dashboard glow. He didn't say anything. But his thumb traced a slow circle on your skin— the same spot, the same motion as before, when this all began— and you understood that for Reiner, that was enough.
