꩜ synopsis: a harmless campus interview turns your best friend into an overnight internet sensation—and suddenly, every thirsty TikTok comment feels like it’s whispering your secret.
☆ art cred: @/juvianism on instagram :3
You nearly spill your coffee all over your Political Theory textbook when you unlock your phone. Another two hundred comments on that TikTok. You know you shouldn't check—you probably watched it about a million times yesterday alone—but your fingers move before your brain can scream at you to stop.
@/bookslvt01: ok but the way he talks about virginia woolf??? NEED HIM CARNALLY
@/colossalthighs: i’d let him annotate my entire body fr
@/arlertmeout: he looks like he apologises before choking you
You bite your lip, half-entertained and half-horrified, scrolling through the endless comments under what was supposed to be an innocent campus interview. The video has 2.3 million views now, completely insane for something filmed outside the modest main library—the same one you find yourself in at the moment—on a random Tuesday.
"Ugh, don’t tell me. You're watching it again, aren't you?"
Your head snaps up comically quick, caught red-handed, to find Sasha sliding into the seat across from you at your usual table, eyeing your phone screen with knowing amusement.
"What? No."
"You are! You have that weird, glazed look in your eyes. The same one you get when Professor Ackerman extends the deadline for our research papers." Sasha unwraps what appears to be her third sandwich of the day. You don't mention how it’s only twelve in the afternoon. "You know you could just talk to him about it, right? He's literally one of your best friends."
"And say what exactly?" you finally close the godforsaken app, trying to ignore how your screen time report is definitely going to be embarrassing this week. "Hey Armin, I've watched your viral video more times than I can remember and I'm having very inappropriate thoughts about your tongue piercing that I absolutely shouldn't be having about my friend?"
Sasha snickers, a piece of lettuce tumbling to the table from her mouth. "Well, when you put it like that... actually, yes. One hundred percent that."
"Sasha, I can't just—" you frown in frustration, inhaling deeply. "It's complicated."
"How is it complicated? You've had a crush on him since freshman year."
"That was different. That was before we became friends. Before I knew him." You lean back in your chair, staring at the ceiling as fond memories overwhelm you. "Back then he was just this cute, nerdy guy in my intro psych class who got excited about statistical analysis and always smelled like that vanilla body wash I love. I used to sit behind him just to watch him get all animated during discussions about cognitive behavioural theory, you know?"
Sasha merely rolls her eyes. "Jesus, and you call me demented. Well, what about now?"
"Now? Now, he's Armin. He's my friend who stays up until 3 A.M. to help me with my assignments, who brings me soup when I'm sick, who texts me the dumbest memes about historical figures," you slump forward, close to pouting. "He's the guy who spent six hours teaching me how to play that MMO he's obsessed with just because I mentioned being bored over winter break. He's..."
"He's the guy you're infatuated with," Sasha supplies helpfully.
"I'm not," you start to protest, then wisely opt to give up instead. "Okay, maybe. But that's exactly the problem. I can't risk blowing up our friendship just because some stupid interview made me realise I want to climb him like a tree."
"A tree with a tongue piercing," Sasha adds with a cheeky grin.
"Fuck’s sake, don't remind me," you let your head rest against the table. "Do you know how many times I've replayed that two-second clip where he licks his lips? It's pathetic."
"It's not pathetic, it's kind of sweet. There's a difference." Sasha takes another bite of her sandwich, her eyes evidently lighting up. "Besides, you don't know that he doesn't feel the same way. Have you seen how he looks at you during our study sessions? Boy's got it bad."
"He looks at me like a friend, Sasha. Because that's what we are."
"Believe me, friends don't look at friends the way he looked at you last Friday when you were explaining your thesis argument. I thought he was going to combust from sexual tension."
Before you can blatantly disagree, you hear an all too familiar voice behind you.
"Sexual tension about what now?"
Your stomach drops directly through the floor. You turn around carefully, and there he is—Armin Arlert, campus's newest digital sensation, standing there with that signature bemused expression he gets when he catches you and Sasha gossiping. His blonde hair is mussed like he's been running his hands through it, and he's wearing that adorable blue sweater that brings out his eyes deliciously.
"Oh, um..." You scramble for an explanation, panicking on the inside. "We were just talking about... about..."
"About how Professor Ackerman's lectures are basically academic foreplay," Sasha jumps in smoothly. "All that tension and buildup with no satisfying conclusion. I mean, hello?"
Armin laughs, the sound warm and comforting. "That's fascinatingly accurate, I’ll admit." He shifts his weight, and you only then notice he's carrying his laptop bag and what seems to be a bag of takeout. "Mind if I join you? I brought Thai food and figured you might be hungry since you've been here since—," he checks his phone, "—9 A.M., according to the text you sent complaining about how it’s criminal that the library opens so early on weekends."
Your heart does a little flip at his consideration. "You didn't have to do that."
"I wanted to." He slides into the chair next to you, close enough that you can smell his cologne—a rich blend of velvety caramel and toasted cinnamon that positively makes you want to lick him all over.
Stop. None of that, you horny bastard.
"Besides, I figured you might want to hear about the latest developments in my accidental internet fame."
Sasha perks up at once. "Hell, yeah. Have you been recognised on campus yet?"
"Five times yesterday," Armin appears to lament, pulling containers out of the bag. "Including once in the bathroom, which was... awkward, to say the least." He hands you your usual order without asking what you want. "But the weirdest part is definitely the DMs."
"DMs?" you pipe up, failing to ignore how domestic this feels what with him knowing exactly what you like. Typical, precious Armin.
"You have no idea," he opens his laptop and turns it toward you two with a nervous twitch. "I've gotten marriage proposals, offers to 'show me a good time,' and at least a hundred messages asking about my tongue piercing specifically."
Your face burns as you push away the thought that you've been mentally composing similar messages. "That's... wow."
"The worst part is, most of them are asking if I'd be interested in demonstrating its uses." He fidgets with his glasses, coming across as embarrassed but also endearing. "I had no idea that thing would cause such a reaction."
"Well, it is pretty noticeable," Sasha remarks with a meaningful peek at you. "Very... attention-grabbing."
"I guess." Armin glances at you pointedly. "What do you think? You've seen the video, right?"
The question is innocent enough, but something in his tone makes you look at him more carefully. There's an out-of-the-ordinary implication that you can't quite put your finger on. "Uh... yeah, I've seen it," you manage to croak out. Terrific. Could you get any stiffer?
"And?"
"And what?"
"What did you think?"
You stare at him blankly, trying to figure out if this is a normal friend question or if you’re incorrectly perceiving the foreign edge of curiosity behind it. "I thought... I mean, your book recommendations were really good. Very passionate."
"Passionate," he repeats, the fleeting flash of understanding across his face confirming your earlier weariness. "That's interesting."
Sasha's phone cuts through the uneasiness with its incessant buzzing, and she scans it with obviously fake surprise. "Oh no, would you look at that. I have to go... meet... someone... about... a... very real thing... I have." She begins gathering her stuff with awfully suspicious speed. "You two have fun talking about books. And passion. And tongue piercings."
"Huh? Wait. Sasha—" you squeak out, but she's already dashing out of the private study room you had booked for the both of you until late afternoon (traitor). Which leaves you alone with Armin, who's scrutinising you with an expression you can't quite read.
"Alright," he speaks after a moment, closing his laptop and leaning back in his chair. "Want to tell me what you actually thought about the video?"
"I already told you."
"No, you gave me the safe answer." He tilts his head slightly, studying you with purpose. "Come on, we've been friends for two years. I know when you're holding back."
You hastily shove some noodles in your mouth, avoiding his gaze. "I'm not holding back."
"Really? Because Sasha seemed to think you had some important opinions about it."
You make a mental note to start drafting your plan for the girl’s well-deserved comeuppance. "Sasha talks too much."
"She does," Armin agrees. "But she's usually right about things. Especially when it comes to you."
The rarely there confidence in his tone makes you look up and, when you meet his gaze, the intensity catches you off guard. "What do you want me to say?"
"Did you know," he continues conversationally, "that TikTok shows you analytics about who's viewed your videos?"
Almost instantly, your heart stops. "What?"
"Mhm. Very detailed analytics. Including multiple views from the same account." His lips quirk up in a small smile. "Want to guess how many times your account shows up in my viewer list?"
You feel heat creeping up your neck. "I don't know what you're talking about." You briefly consider denying reality, blaming a technical issue, or claiming a glitch in the matrix—but none of it sticks.
"Seventy-seven times," he announces, the metaphorical checkmate hitting you straight in the chest. "As of this morning."
Oh god. Oh god, oh god, oh god. He knows. "I can explain—"
"Can you?" He angles himself forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Because I've been trying to figure out why my very good friend has watched a boring thirty-second video of me talking about books seventy-seven times."
You want to run away, mouth opening and closing like a fish. "I... the algorithm is weird sometimes?"
Armin chuckles, low and warm, absent of any malice. "Try again."
"I was checking to see if the view count was going up?"
"Nope."
You're quiet for a long moment, trying to figure out how to get out of this without completely humiliating yourself. You don't suppose it's too late to jump out of a window? Ultimately, you sigh in defeat. "Okay, fine. Maybe I watched it a few times."
"A few?"
You narrow your eyes, crossing your arms in defiance at the unsolicited endless interrogation. "More than a few."
"How many more?"
You want to strangle him, and not in the sexy way. "You’re being annoying."
"Come on." His voice has dropped slightly lower, and there's something almost akin to teasing in it. "I told you about the marriage proposals. Fair's fair."
You mutter a profanity under your breath, groaning. "Fine. I watched it a lot. Happy?"
"No. We’re getting there, though. Why?"
"Why what?"
Armin’s glee sharpens into something ravenous, a flicker of desperation lurking beneath his carefree demeanour—like he’s itching for you to say exactly what he needs. "Why did you watch it seventy-seven times?"
Your lungs feel too tight, too exposed. "Because..."
"Because?"
"Because you looked really good, okay?" The words come out in a rush. "Because watching you talk about literally anything is incredibly attractive, and because that frustrating part where your tongue piercing shows has been tormenting me ever since the video came out."
The silence that follows is eerily deafening. Armin simply stares at you, and you wish the ground would swallow you whole.
"Shit," you grumble, burying your face in your hands. "I'm sorry. That was completely out of line. I know we're friends and I shouldn't have—"
"Hey. Look at me."
The way he asks convinces you to peep through your fingers, reluctant but unable to look away. His expression is attentive and focused—definitely not one of disgust.
"You think I'm attractive?" he questions softly.
"I... yes?"
He blinks, his usual calm shattered by the raw vulnerability in your voice. His fingers tremble, revealing the fierce hope inside that there’s a potential chance that someone sees him as more than the sum of his quirks. "Even though I'm just a loser who gets excited about obscure paranormal documentaries and spends too much time playing video games?"
"Especially because of that," you admit, having never been more sure of yourself.
His answering smile is slow and devastating. "Good to know."
"Good to know?"
He hums, reaching across the table, and gently pulls your hands away from your face. "I've been wondering if you'd ever see me as more than just your friend who helps you with your homework."
Your brain, without a doubt, malfunctions. "What?"
"Did you really think I started bringing you food and staying up late just because I'm a good friend?"
The words disarm you. You’re trapped between incredulity and the dawning comprehension of what he might be suggesting. "I…"
"And did you think I learned how to play your favourite songs on guitar just because I had time to spare?"
"Y-you said you wanted to practice—"
"And I presume you thought I got this piercing because I was feeling rebellious?"
That stops you short, confusion apparent in the furrow of your brows. "You didn't?"
Armin's grin turns almost predatory. "I got it because I overheard you and Sasha talking about how cool you find them. This was back in October, after you'd been dating that guy with the lip ring."
You feel like a kettle left on the stove too long. "You... what?"
"You said, and I quote, 'There's something about tongue piercings that's beyond exciting.’ Something along the lines of how the person has to be bold enough to get it, but there's the simultaneous insinuation of what they can do with it."
"I’m going to kill myself," you gape at him in horror. "You heard all of that?"
"I was sitting right behind you in the campus coffee shop. You weren’t exactly shy about it." He shifts closer, and you can spot the hint of silver when he speaks, "I made an appointment that very afternoon."
"You got a tongue piercing because of something I said about another guy?"
"I got a tongue piercing because I wanted to be the guy you were talking about."
The confession hangs in the air between you, charged and electric. You stare at him, trying to process this complete change in everything you thought you knew about your friendship.
"I've been trying to get your attention for months. I was starting to think I'd have to do something drastic."
In spite of being made to face terrifying revelation after revelation, you manage to stutter out a breathless laugh. "More drastic than getting a tongue piercing for me?"
"I was considering learning to play your favourite video game."
You snort despite yourself. "You hate that game."
He shrugs casually, as if the lengths to which he would go for you knew no bounds. "I know. That's how desperate I was getting."
The atmosphere between you feels tense now, full of possibility and two years of unspoken tension. Armin traces your knuckles and the simple touch sends heat shooting up your arm.
"So," you say, trying to stay as composed as you possibly can. "What happens now?"
"Now," he starts, standing up, "you tell me what exactly you were thinking about during those seventy-seven views."
He's close enough that you have to tilt your head back to look at him, and the unwavering want in the blue of his eyes makes your breath catch. "I was thinking..." you trail off, feeling timid with his attention on you.
"You can do it. Use your words for me?" his voice has gotten rougher, huskier, and it sends delightful shivers down your spine.
"I was thinking about what it would feel like."
"What would feel like?"
"Your piercing. When you..." You gesture vaguely, cheeks burning. Armin's hand comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing across your bottom lip. "When I what?"
"When you kiss me," you whisper.
"Just kissing?" The question is loaded with underlying intentions, and you shake your head slowly.
"Tell me what else you were thinking about."
"Armin..."
"Please." The plea is hushed but insistent. "I want to know what's been going through your head."
You swallow, your throat suddenly dry as you let go of the entirety of your self-restraint. "I was thinking about what it would feel like on my body. What it would feel like when you use your mouth on me."
His pupils immediately dilate at your words. "Fuck."
"Is that... is that okay?"
Instead of verbally affirming, he leans down and kisses you. It's gentle at first, tentative, but when you react by fisting your hands in his sweater and pulling him closer, he deepens it. The first brush of his tongue against yours has you gasping, and when you feel the metal of his piercing, it sends intoxicating pleasure shooting through you.
You break apart, breathing heavily, and Armin rests his forehead against yours.
"How was that?" he asks earnestly, voice raspy.
"Good," you breathe. "Really good."
His smile is full of care but there's primal desire behind it. "And the piercing?"
"Want more of it."
He brushes his thumb across your lip again. Truth be told, it’s plain torture. "You know, we're in public right now."
Every wall you built is crumbling under the weight of him, and all you can do is let it. "I know."
"Anyone could walk by and see us."
"I know."
"And you don't care?"
You drag your hand up his thigh, stopping just shy of where he clearly wants it, "Not even a little bit."
He kisses you again, harder this time, and you can't help the soft moan that escapes when his tongue meets yours in another dance of display. The sound seems to flip a switch in him, because his hands are tangling in your hair and he's pressing you back against your chair.
"God, you have no idea how long I've wanted to do this," he murmurs against your lips.
"Tell me ‘Min."
"Since freshman year. Since that first day in psych class when you argued with Professor Smith about the ethics of behavioural modification."
You draw away just barely, shaking under the intimacy of his declaration. "That long?"
"That long." He doesn’t think twice before trailing his teeth along your jaw, and when the metal of his piercing digs into your flushed skin, you whimper needily.
"You were so assertive, so brilliant. I was completely and utterly gone."
"Why didn't you say anything?"
"Because you were dating that business major asshole, and then when you broke up, we became friends,” he hesitantly halts his ministrations to flutter his eyelashes at you, “I-I didn't want to ruin it."
Good heavens, you didn’t stand a chance from the beginning.
"But then you kept looking at me like... like you wanted me too, and I started hoping..."
"I did want you. I do want you." The admission comes out whinier than intended, but you can’t bring yourself to be bothered at this point. "So much."
His hands tighten in your hair. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
You’re unaware of how many minutes pass as you lose yourself in the sensation of his mouth on yours, and the way he tastes like mint and something uniquely him. You dig your nails lightly into his sides, claiming him in an act of fervent possession. His breaths mingle with yours and the world outside your tangled bodies fades until there’s nothing but lust burning between you. By the end of it, your chests rise and fall in tandem.
"We should probably get out of here," he mumbles, peeking around the library.
Craving Armin has left you dazed, vision glassy as you attempt to make sense of your surroundings. "Right. Um, your place or mine?"
He pecks your nose, full of affection, tenderly guiding you. "Mine. My roommate's gone for the weekend."
You start gathering your things with shaky hands, hyperaware of the way Armin is observing you. When you bend over to pick up your bag, you hear his sharp intake of breath.
"Something wrong?" you ask innocently.
"N-nothing," he mutters, skittishly pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
The walk to his dorm feels like it takes forever, full of stolen glances and the kind of anticipation that makes your skin feel too tight. When you reach his room, he fumbles with his keys for a moment—so fucking cute—before getting the door open.
You haven’t had a lot of time this semester to crash at his dorm—neat and organised, with anime posters on the walls and stacks of books and manga everywhere. But you barely have time to take it in before he's pressing you against the closed door, urgency lacing his actions.
This time, there's nothing apprehensive about it. His hands are everywhere—your waist, your back, squeezing your ass—and when you arch against him, he makes a low sound of approval.
"You taste so good," he shudders against you. "Everything I’ve imagined and so much more."
"You imagined this?"
"Every night for two years." His mouth moves to your neck, nibbling along your throat. "What you'd look like, what you'd sound like when I made you come."
The words send heat pooling low in your belly, prompting you to press your thighs together instinctively. "Fuck, don’t say shit like that.”
"Why not? I’ve been longing for you. All of you," he whispers, pulling back to look at you with dark, lidded eyes. "You’re not getting away until I’ve had my fill."
It would be an understatement to say that you hadn’t foreseen this when you woke up today. That you'd be spending hours with your legs over Armin's shoulders, forgetting your own name; the compassionate, stammering genius the internet drooled over. Too bad he’s not on the market. It would be a treat if his fans could see him like this—flushed and breathless, fingers gripping your hips like he’d die without you. Armin Arlert, golden boy of TikTok, practically begging to let him ruin you.
You grow dizzy at the promise in his voice. "Please."
He lets his hand trail lower, indecently tranquil, and just as you think he’ll do something reckless—he pauses, smirking wickedly.
"Want to find out what this piercing really feels like when I eat you out?"
“baby-” his voice catches, breaking into a breathy, helpless sound as your hips settle back down, “please… just-let me-”
his grip tightens on your hips, fingers digging in like he’s trying to ground himself, like it’s the only thing keeping him from completely falling apart
you’re being a little mean
every time his expression tightens, every time his breath stutters like he’s right on the edge-you stop. letting your walls slowly drag up, pausing when only his tip rests inside you
His head tips back, throat exposed, a loud, broken whimper slipping out while you latch onto his throat, teeth and tongue making a mess of his pretty, milky skin
“god-” he exhales, tossing his head side to side like he’s trying to convince himself to hold out, “you’re-you’re doing this on-nngh-on purpose…”
you hum softly, dropping your hips back down, quietly giggling when his breath stutters and his back arches off the bed
“I can’t-” his voice drops into a whine, chest rising and falling in rapid breaths, “i-ah-im gonna cum baby-please”
he looks so pretty like this, fucked out and desperate. you decide you’ve tortured him enough, lifting your hips and dropping them back down in a steady slap, slap, slap that picks up in pace
his words cut off completely, replaced by a sharp inhale that breaks into a loud moan. his hands squeezing you tighter against his body as he lifts one to back of your head, dragging your lips to his in a messy kiss
you keep the same quick rhythm for all of 10 seconds before he lets out a wrecked moan, burying his face into your neck as he fills you
you keep going, teetering him on the edge of too much as his groans break into whimpers, hands squeezing and pushing like he isn’t sure if he wants you closer or farther away
you finally slow your movements to a complete stop, armin’s still hard cock resting inside of you, cum slowly leaking out around the sides of him
you lean down to kiss him, and he melts into it, breath still uneven, hands sliding up your back to keep you on him
a quiet, shaky sound slips out of him when you pull away, and he leans forward to press slow, dragging kisses across your shoulder
you shift just enough to look at him, catching the way his face flushes deeper, the way he won’t meet your eyes
he looks wrecked, lashes damp, lips parted, chest still rising too fast
you go to pull off of him, and his hands holding your waist tighten
“…don’t stop,” he breathes, the words slipping out before he can think better of it
“want more, baby?” you tease, lips ticking up in a mean smile
a look you’ve never seen before passes over his face, and before you have time to think about what it means he’s flipping you onto your back
your mouth parts in shock as his hand comes up to rest next to your head while the other one reached down to thumb at your clit
“m-min!” your breath hitching as he pulls his cock out, just enough to rest his tip inside of you, and then pushes back in, hips flush with yours, tip pressing into your cervix
it’s his turn for a faint smirk to slide across his face
“c’monnnn, cabo tan” you groan, exasperation laced in your voice.
you're sprawled on your stomach across one of eren's absurdly expensive lounge chairs, the kind with cushions so plush you almost feel guilty lying on them.
almost.
your baby pink bikini is barely there, a tiny triangle number eren picked out himself at some boutique in the bahamas last weekend. the top's ties are loose between your shoulder blades, because why bother tying them when you're just tanning?
your bottoms disappear completely where they're meant to, swallowed by the plush curve of your ass. you've got one cheek pressed against the warm cushion, arms folded under your chin, and closed eyes behind sunglasses.
the lemon drop sweats condensation on your manicured hand, droplets dripping from the crystal glass. you made it yourself at his personal bar….three tries before you got it right and you're pretty sure you still used too much simple syrup. but it tastes good and that's what matters!
from the second floor bedroom balcony, eren watches you.
he's leaning against the iron railing, one elbow propped with a cigarette burning slow between his ring clad fingers. a thin curl of smoke drifts up past his face but his eyes never leave you. the way your spine dips into your waist. the way those pink bottoms cling to the full swell of your cheeks like they're holding on for dear life. the way one strap of your bikini top has already slipped down your shoulder, the fabric barely covering anything anymore.
he takes a long drag and exhales as he smiles to himself.
fuck.
he doesn't even remember what he was doing before this; some email, some invoice, or some client bitching about a firewall. but none of it matters when he's got you down there, tanning in his pool area like you own the place.
he pulls out his phone and zooms in just slightly, not too much, he wants the whole view. the glittering water, the pink bikini, and the way the sun shines on the cocoa oil rubbed into your skin. once he snaps a picture, he texts it to you.
your phone dings from the small table beside your lounge chair as you groan softly, reaching blindly without lifting your head. probably a package notification from you ordering three new lingerie sets last night because eren mentioned wanting to take you to cabo for your birthday. but when you squint at the screen through your lenses, your stomach flips.
it's a picture of you from above.
your bikini top completely undone, straps pooled around your elbows. your bottoms eaten up by the round globes of your ass and your legs parted just slightly, feet dangling off the edge of the chair.
you crane your neck slowly and there he is.
leaning against the balcony railing, cigarette still burning, and phone still in hand. his hair's pulled back in a messy man bun, a few loose strands falling around his sharp jaw. he's shirtless already, probably stripping off his hoodie the second he stepped outside, and the afternoon light carves shadows into the lines of his tattoo peeking out from his ribs.
he doesn't wave nor does he call out. eren just stares down at you with that half lidded look that makes your thighs press together.
you smile slowly and sweetly shout up at him, "you like the view or what, ren?"
his smirk is visible even from here as he nods his head.
"come down and see for yourself," you add while wiggling your hips just enough to make the fat of your ass jiggle.
eren flicks the cigarette over the balcony and disappears back inside. it takes him less than three minutes to change before you hear the glass door slide open and the soft pad of bare feet on warm stone.
when you look up again, he's walking toward you in black swim trunks hanging low on his hips, chest bare, and hair still in that messy bun. a crystal tumbler dangles from his fingers— something amber, probably whiskey, because he never drinks anything fruity unless you beg him to share yours.
in his other hand: a bottle of sunscreen. you giggle while pressing your cheek back into your folded arms. "you're so predictable."
"am i?" he asks as he sets the tumbler down on the table next to your lemon drop and crouches beside the lounge chair. the bottle clicks open as cool lotion drips onto your shoulder blades and you shiver. "i just don't want you to burn."
"uh-huh…whatever you say."
his hands land on your shoulders and he starts working the sunscreen into your skin. his palms glide down your spine, over your ribs, and his thumbs press into the small of your back as you melt into the cushion with a soft sigh.
he leans down, lips brushing your ear. "you left your top untied."
"did i?"
"you did." his hands slide lower, palms curving over the swell of your ass, thumbs dragging along the edge of your bikini bottoms. "careless girl."
you hum while arching your back just enough to press into his touch. "that's why i have you, smart man. to take care of me."
he squeezes both of your cheeks firmly and you feel him smile against your shoulder. "yeah," he murmurs, voice low and thick like the whiskey in his glass. "that's why you have me."
you feel his fingers find the loose strings of your bikini top before you even realize what he's doing as he gathers the strings, tying them carefully into a small bow between your shoulders.
his hands linger a moment longer than necessary as they smooths down your spine, tracing the dip of your waist. then he straightens and you hear the soft swish of liquid against glass as he picks up whatever liquor he brought down with him.
"jacuzzi," he says and you know it's not a question.
you push yourself up on your elbows while twisting to look at him over your shoulder as he's already walking toward the bubbling water.
"coming, baby?" he doesn't turn around but you can hear the smirk in his voice.
you scramble off the lounge chair quickly, nearly tripping over your own feet, and he chuckles as you pad barefoot across the warm stone to join him.
the jacuzzi bubbles softly in the corner of the pool area, steam curling up into the evening air. you climb in first, the hot water lapping at your thighs as you fix your hair clip, not wanting to mess up your freshly done hair. eren sets his glass down on the edge and steps in after you, water sloshing gently as he settles onto the submerged bench seat.
you don't hesitate as you climb right into his lap, knees pressing into the bench on either side of his hips, straddling him like you belong there. his hands find your waist immediately as his thumbs stroke lazy circles against your wet skin just above the hem of your bikini bottoms.
now you're nose to nose with him, his damp hair half fallen from the bun, loose strands sticking to his temple and his jaw. a few pieces cling to the column of his throat and you push them away gently just for an excuse to touch him.
"how was your day?" you ask softly, acrylics dragging down his chest.
he snorts. "you mean before or after i watched you tanning half naked in my backyard?"
"both." you press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "tell me everything."
eren's hands slide up your back to pull you closer until your chests are pressed together. his skin is cool despite the warm water and you can feel his steady heartbeat against your chest. he's always so calm and controlled as his fingers dig into your waist lightly.
"dealt with a client who didn't know the difference between ram and storage," he murmurs against your temple. "had to explain it three times."
you kiss his cheeks as you watch his lashes flutter over them. "poor baby."
"then i had to call my accountant because someone-" he says as he pinches your side lightly, "spent five hundred dollars on bathing suits last week."
"that was for the bahamas and now, cabo!" you protest while grinning. "you said pack cute things."
"i said pack a suitcase, not bankrupt me."
you laugh and kiss his nose, then his jaw, then the spot just below his ear that makes his breath hitch. he lets you because he loves the way you spoil him with affection. his hands roam your back, tracing your spine, the dip of your waist, and the swell of your hips above the waterline.
and as you pepper his face with kisses, eren finds himself thinking how different this is and how different you are.
the babies before you were a little older and poised. they faked their laughs and forced their touches like affection was a transaction with them. they would've never climbed into his lap in broad daylight or kiss him in a jacuzzi like no one was watching.
but it’s also the way you kissed him breathless on that balcony in the bahamas with the ocean below and the way you giggled when he bent you over the railing, moaning loud enough for the whole resort to hear.
no one had ever been like that with him. no one had ever been so unafraid to want him but he doesn't say any of that out loud. he just pulls you tighter against his chest, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head.
"cabo's gonna be good," you say between kisses, pulling back just enough to look at him. his green eyes soft in a way he'd never admit to. "right?"
"yeah." his thumb traces your bottom lip. "fly out the morning of your birthday. private villa with a beachfront. and that backless dress you like, i wanna see you in it."
"you're so good to me."
"i know."
you smack his chest lightly and he catches your wrist, pressing a kiss to your palm. his rings are cold against your skin, a stark contrast to the warm water and the heat building between your bodies.
"you're different, you know that?" he says quietly, almost like he didn't mean to say it out loud.
you tilt your head. "different how?"
eren just shakes his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "just different."
he doesn't elaborate but instead, his hands slide down to grip your ass, pulling you flush against him under the water. the bubbles hide the way his hips roll up into yours but you feel it and you gasp as your fingers curl into his damp hair.
"yeah?" his voice is rough now, the controlled mask slipping. "you gonna let me show everyone in cabo who you belong to?"
"mhm." you kiss him again, deeper this time, tongue sliding against his. he tastes like whiskey and something sweet from your lemon drop he stole a sip of earlier.
when you finally break for air, he's breathing hard as his forehead presses against yours.
"twenty three," he murmurs. "gonna be a good year for you."
"for us," you correct and the way his lips twitch makes your heart ache in the best way.
he pulls you tighter against his chest, one hand rubbing slow, soothing circles into your lower back. the jacuzzi bubbles around you both, and the city sprawls out below the penthouse, glittering and distant.
"you're gonna be the death of me," he says into your hair.
you grin against his neck. "but what a way to go, right?"
he laughs and you feel it rumble through his chest and into your bones. "yeah, baby," he says, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, your collarbone, and the hollow of your throat. "what a way to go."
Levi's road to confessing was arduous (to him) and full of longing
contains: angsty fluff. canon universe, reader joined the survey corps a little before Levi became Captain. mentions of canon typical events and minor character death. mostly focused on Levi's view of things. Miche and Erwin are rooting for the two of you, and they gossip about your relationship in their minuscule free time. slow burn ish. no smut.
wc: 6.2k
To Levi, meeting you felt like further proof that the world wanted to consistently push him to the edge of insanity, even if at a smaller scale than every unfortunate event of his past. It was the first time he felt completely weakened by something so harmless, idiotic infatuation.
He realized very early on, during your first week as a new member of the Corps, that he had an unparalleled interest in you. It appalled him.
For the first couple of months he refused to admit to himself that what he felt when you were around meant anything beyond idle curiosity.
He chalked up his harsh treatment of you during training to simply proving you were a good soldier; instead of what it actually was, a weak attempt to make you give up, because he felt someone like you shouldn’t have to deal with the horrors of the world.
He convinced himself the headaches he would get when you were called on for patrols or expeditions were just a result of his lack of sleep. And that the constant thoughts of you swirling in his mind every damn night would dissipate the longer you were around. He was very wrong about that.
He made it a point to not interact with you outside of training, missions, or briefings. Nonetheless, that didn’t mean he didn’t feed into his curiosity. As subtly as he could.
He watched you a lot. Enough to know that you were always late for breakfast, trained yourself to the bones even on your off days, volunteered to help around with anything you could, and were particularly good at mending clothes. He knew you liked eating with Hange almost every night, and it was the part of your day he enjoyed the most. On each of those nights he followed the two of you into the mess hall, sitting far enough that Hange wouldn’t get the idea of asking him to join, but still giving himself the appropriate distance to observe you. To commit to memory every little detail he could, how you ate, how you sat, what you talked about, if your nose also scrunched up at the disgusting taste of the tea everyone but him was subjected to; any information he could gather before the sound of your laugh warmed his chest enough to make him leave.
Truthfully, he could have kept that stalker-ish routine going for ages, and he fully intended to; being able to keep his distance while still getting the smallest doses of you seemed like an ideal arrangement in his mind.
It wasn’t until one damning night that he decided this restrictive mindset had to change. He saw you walking with another recruit, late, and alone. He couldn’t properly hear whatever wildly amusing conversation you were having from where he stood; regardless of that, he could still clearly make out the faint sound of your laugh accompanying it.
The small scene was enough to break him from his ridiculous self-imposed prison. Levi didn’t want to allow himself to indulge in his desires for you. He didn’t feel he deserved to be with you in any capacity further than working alongside each other. Despite that, the idea that someone else could come in and take from him the possibility of a chance with you was much more mortifying than his own insecurities and concerns.
From that alone, he made the decision to allow himself a sliver of your time. And so, the very next day you were graced with your first private conversation with the captain, if you could even call it that.
He approached you after you were done with training, standing against a wooden beam trying to steady your breathing, hair messy, and sweat coating your forehead.
“Your stance was horrible today.” The abruptness of his presence and his comment caught you off guard.
“What?” You looked at him with a puzzled look, processing whether he was actually addressing you or not.
“During training. You were terrible.” He explained, his tone maintaining its harshness despite your confusion.
“Oh. Yeah, I guess so, I’m out of my element today.” You explained plainly, a half-smile tugging on your lips both at the bluntness, and the fact this was probably the first time he came up to you alone.
“And yesterday as well.”
“Right.”
“You’re not sleeping well.” More of a statement than a question, the dark circles you've been sporting this week probably gave it away.
“I've been having a hard time with it, yes.”
He gave you a firm nod, pursing his lips together in thought.
“I’ll come find you tonight, I have a tea for that.” He turned around the moment he finished without a second look, not giving you an actual chance to accept or refuse.
Since then, the two of you started a small routine. He’d look for you after dinner and guide you on a brief walk to the top floor of the main building. A teapot and two cups already placed on the window ledge in the back of the room, with a singular candle lit close by; he hoped that the minimal amount of light would make his intense gaze less noticeable.
It was supposed to last only for however long you were struggling to sleep but continued far past those days. Most times he wouldn’t talk, only listened; he’d let you rattle on about the day if you pleased, indulging you by participating in idle gossip.
“I can reprimand them for that. I trust you’re aware.” He’d slip in when you shared a little too much about the escapades of some recruits, forgetting for a moment he had recently become your superior.
“Well, this is all alleged. Maybe I didn’t hear it right. This tea is great by the way; is it a different kind?" A blush creeping up your cheeks while you attempted to change the subject, looking at him with a sheepish smile that begged him to forget your prior information.
It took a few weeks, but he started contributing with topics of his own little by little. An opinion, a small anecdote, a complaint. Slowly chipping away at the facade of mystery and harshness that used to be all you got from him before. A part of Levi worried that the more you learnt about him, the less interested you’ll be, but the enjoyment he got from your small interactions vastly outweighed that concern.
A year into meeting you, Levi had grown accustomed to having you near him, even if for brief moments. He enjoyed your company and physically couldn't continue hiding it from you. He still kept enough distance to make his ever-growing feelings unknown to everyone else, and didn’t properly confess anything to you, but his advances grew slightly bolder.
Your nightly routine changed a lot from how it originally started. Moving from ten minutes of sipping tea in a semipublic space to secluded meetings in the dead of night. Going as far as sneaking you in his private quarters when he came back from travels you were not part of.
Being away from you became the key that pushed your connection forward. Every time he came back, he wanted to have you around for the night, and he needed the certainty that you wouldn’t be interrupted; the reassurance of it enabled him to make these encounters last for hours.
He sat in a wooden chair next to his desk, beckoning you closer with a simple command. “Show me what happened.”
“You can’t see the bruise with my uniform on.” You argued with a stifled laugh; you had complained to him about a minor injury you sustained recently, something insignificant that happened while he was gone.
“Then change.”
You stared at him bewildered.
“Do I have to do it for you?” His stern tone didn’t falter; it would’ve seemed like an order more than playful teasing, if it wasn’t for how relaxed he looked.
“You returned as tactful as ever, I see.” You laughed, amused at his actions. You made your way to the bedroom, missing the smirk on his face.
You returned to the room in a thin nightgown that made Levi tense at the sight, hands tucking into fists on his lap before relaxing again. His hand sprawled on the back of your right thigh without question once you stood in front of him, pulling it closer to properly view the wide bruise on the outer side of it; purplish hues going from your mid-thigh to the bottom of your glute.
“This is nothing to you?” It came out softer than he intended. Thinking of you being hurt when he wasn’t around, no matter how little, lowered his guard.
“It looks worse than it is.”
His hand carefully grazed the bruise, hiking up the edge of your gown in the process. You shivered at the touch. Goosebumps covered your skin, and it did not go unnoticed by him. “Does it hurt?”
“No. I think this helps.” You humored, not bothering to hide your enjoyment of his treatment.
“I’m sure it does, brat.” He smiled, small, but enough for you to notice. His hand still caressing your leg despite his response.
It took Levi five years to make his feelings for you properly known. But it’s not like you, or others, hadn’t suspected them before that. Despite keeping the matter private, much like most things about him, sometimes he struggled to adequately hide that he had a soft spot for you.
He never outright said he cared about you, never properly held you, but all the things he did do, they proved to be more intimate and sweeter than any regular courting could ever be.
For your first birthday after joining the Corps he went out of his way to gift you a treat from a bakery in your home district. It became a tradition that he fulfilled every year since; he’d go as far as getting it for you in advance if an expedition took place around the date, just in case one of you didn't make it back after.
In your second year, after an expedition where two members of your graduating class were tragically lost, he sneaked you into his quarters every night for a week—Both Erwin and Hange knew but they didn’t say word of it—he’d lay you down next to him, let you cry out your grieve for as long as you needed to, and patiently waited until you grew tired enough to sleep to get some shut-eye of his own.
“I’ll never get used to it, will I?” Your voice was barely above a whisper.
“No.” While your eyes were glued to the ceiling, Levi’s gaze was fixed on you. His expression was unreadable as usual, but he was completely tormented, wishing he could take this hurt away from you.
“Am I being weak?”
“You’re being human.”
“That’s a yes.” You smiled, attempting to joke, yet the humor in your voice didn’t reach your eyes. Tears fell down in a stream, and Levi had to try his hardest not to reach out and wipe them off your cheeks. “I just—” Your voice broke. To him, the sound evoked a feeling adjacent to being stabbed. “I feel I should be stronger than this. I shouldn’t be surprised over what I signed up for.”
“You’re not surprised; you’re hurt.” Levi chastised, shifting his position to look at you properly. “You did your job, you don’t have to be strong now. Now stop this nonsense of acting like it's shameful to grieve. At least don't do it with me.”
You didn’t say anything—instead looking back at the ceiling while your hand found his arm, curling up to his side when the tears started burning your eyes once again.
He didn’t try to hold you, but he didn’t pull away. Even after you fell asleep.
In your third year, when Erwin told him he’d be pulling you out of his team to make you a squad leader, he became sick almost immediately. The notion that you would no longer be under his supervision, that even if you went on the same expeditions as he did, he’d have to wait until the very end before he could know if you were still alive. It circled his head all morning and gave him a headache so outstanding he had to dismiss himself from training that afternoon.
“What do you think?” Erwin ended the silence that persisted since he broke the news.
Levi stared absentmindedly. “I think she’ll be a fantastic leader.”
“Is that it?”
“Are you asking for my permission?”
“No, I simply respect you enough to ask for your opinion.”
“Unless you’re willing to put my preferences above what’s best for humanity, don't ask for my opinion on what you should do with her.”
“Because your preference would be to retire her immediately?” Erwin prodded, with no real expectation for Levi to speak up. It wasn’t the first time he brought you up, and it wouldn’t be the last if Levi kept refusing to trust him with this information. “You don’t have to answer that. I understand you want to avoid telling me what I already know.”
Following your change in rank, the order of retreating met Levi with a wave of asphyxiating dread rather than relief, one that didn’t dissipate until he was able to spot you on your horse, still breathing and in one piece. These concerns were never brought up to you or anyone else for that matter—despite Erwin being aware and willing to speak with him about it if he could just be honest—even if his fear of losing you and not being able to do anything about it grew stronger with every expedition, he kept his worries regarding your well-being private. You always returned; he had no reason to discuss anything he felt. If you were alive and well, he’d be able to mask his love for you for a while longer.
It wasn’t until your fifth year as a member of the Survey Corps when his ‘while longer’ ended. When he had to come to terms with his fears, and his feelings.
He kept his composure as best as he could while going through the list of those dead and missing with Erwin, watching other scouts load bodies into carriages, though he’s sure it did not go unnoticed how tightly he was gripping his gear while he waited for every name to be read. Even then, after all bodies were loaded, the trek to the walls started, and confirmation that you were not one of those lost received; his heartbeat did not return to a healthy rhythm. He needed to see you.
This was the most stressed he ever felt trying to find you after an expedition. Deep down, he could feel something about today was different, as if you not being okay was something he could physically feel. And it didn’t help the fact that it took him so long to spot you; carriages and horses already on the move to safety without him being able to catch a single glimpse of you.
Every second that passed he could feel his body tense further, cold sweat reaching his palms, a knot tight in his throat that only got tighter the moment he saw you. That sickening feeling of dread he thought he had grown used to crashed down on him and threatened to finish him right then and there. He spotted you being carried by Miche when he made it past the wall. Your body limp in his hold, your inability to even keep your head up made Levi assume the worst and had him rush in your direction before he even realized it.
He got off the horse calm and collected, as if his heart wasn’t threatening to rip itself out of his chest. His relief upon seeing you were still breathing was immediate, yet short-lived as he paid more attention to your injuries. Your left thigh and arm were bandaged. There was blood all over you, dripping from your nose, your mouth, and the seams of the binds on your wounded limbs; you must’ve been hurt close before the order to retreat was given.
It made him sick and brought a vile sting to his eyes, a sensation he had long forgotten.
“She’s okay.” Miche assured him, smiling lightly at how Levi was frowning at you as though telepathically reprimanding you for getting to this state. “Nothing’s broken, but she’s weak. She couldn’t keep riding.”
Levi nodded firmly, not trusting himself to speak right away. He reached under your body, taking you in his arms with little protest from the other man. “I’ll take her. I don’t want her in a carriage.”
“She’d be laying down.” Miche pointed out yet still took a step back once Levi had a solid hold on you, not really wanting to interfere.
“She’d be alone.”
Miche nodded, holding back his reaction at what the captain was displaying, and promptly retreating to his horse; more than ready to get back and tell Erwin about this little interaction.
You were conscious enough to hear the conversation, although far too drained to register the worry behind Levi’s tone let alone comment on it. You had half a mind to realize he carried you back to his horse, helping you on it before getting behind you. He took a hold of the handle and took off in a slow ride, while his left arm went around your waist, keeping you tucked back against him.
One of your hands went to his forearm, giving it a small squeeze to show your acknowledgement before relaxing again.
“Are you okay?” He questioned quietly. Not that anyone would be able to hear him past the sound of hooves against the ground and the many murmurs of civilians watching them pass by.
You turned your head enough to look at him out of the corner of your eye. The concern written all over his face almost made you forget the waves of pain crashing through you. You nodded, small, before letting the back of your head rest on his shoulder; the tiny action having wasted the remainder of your energy.
“Liar.” He murmured against your hair, the touch of his lips against your scalp so fleeting you could only assume you imagined it.
That night Levi had been more consumed in his own thoughts than he would have appreciated. You were out most of the ride back to the base; the only thing keeping you upright was his firm hold on you that didn’t falter once. He spent that time wondering what happened, how did you injure yourself, did somebody help you, did you have to drag yourself all the way to your horse and pretend you didn’t feel so bad until it was inevitable?
He imagined every single heartbreaking scenario his brain could come up with, images of you crying out while you bled in the woods flashed through his mind, torturing himself with the idea that maybe you had been near him, maybe you even called out for him and he didn’t hear it, trying to find ways to blame himself for your poor state.
He woke you gently once you made it to the base, helping you off the horse and onto your feet, guiding you to wrap an arm over his shoulder to steady yourself when you were unable to suppress your limping. Everything was a blur for you, every step you took forgotten when the next one happened.
You could remember briefly smiling at Hange when she approached the two of you, catching some of their conversation, and Levi whisking you away before you could manage a goodbye.
“You really busted yourself out there.” You chuckled at her comment and winced immediately after, a stabbing pain reaching your ribs, the mixed noise making her laugh. “You’re okay?”
You nodded, not getting the time to answer before Levi interjected. “She is.” He stated, adjusting his grasp on your hip when you clutched your side.
“Right… I’ll get one of the scouts to take her to the infirmary. Erwin wants to talk to us.”
“No.” Levi spoke up before Hange could even attempt turning on her heel. “I will take care of it, and I’ll go to his office after. Tell him I’ll only be a moment.” He kept walking without another word, not giving her any time to make a comment on his behavior.
He took you to his quarters, helping you out of your stained cloak and muddied boots before starting to undo the soaked bandages on your limbs. He seemed unaffected by the sight he was met with, the gashes and lacerations covered in dried blood were nothing he hadn’t seen before; but the fact that they were on your body, it brought a shake to his hands he was completely unfamiliar with and he thanked the heavens you were too busy scrunching your eyes together at the stinging feel of him cleaning the open wounds to notice it.
You don’t know if you talked, if he asked you anything, you don’t think so. The only thing you committed to memory was the feel of hardened hands touching you in the softest ways imaginable, guiding you to his bed when he was done and easing you into laying down. He caressed your face before he moved away; the way he looked at you a mixture of longing and thinly veiled restraint.
He left almost as soon as he laid you down, knowing that if you said anything, if you made even the slightest sound, he’d discard his meeting altogether to lay next to you.
Levi came back less than an hour after with a thick bag under his arm, having raided your room before coming to gather anything you might need. He was being exceedingly obvious today; he knew more than well his friends no longer needed a heartfelt confession to know exactly why he had been so special to you in the past five years with how he's behaved, but for once he couldn’t care less about that matter.
He found you just as he had left you, now asleep with your mouth slightly agape. Your messy hair tussled all around was the only indication that you moved while he was gone. He pulled a chair next to the bed, not wanting to risk waking you up; ready to patiently wait until he could get you out of your filthy, blood-stained uniform. Your change of clothes and a clean set of sheets awaiting next to him already.
He doesn’t know how long you were asleep for, but it continued through enough hours for him to follow suit at some point.
He vaulted out of the chair when you woke up with a loud cry; the sound was completely gut-wrenching.
“What happened? What’s wrong?!” He grabbed you by the shoulders with a desperate pull, his eyes searching for yours. The sting of tears threatening to break free he felt earlier returned with a vengeance when you coughed up blood, tears streaming down your face.
“Talk to me, angel. Please.” He begged, hands reaching for your face, wiping your tears. You didn’t speak, didn’t explain what was ailing you, instead your cries became louder, deafening.
Levi could feel his heartbeat hammering in his chest, and before he could do anything, more blood came out of your mouth, then your nose, then from your wounds, white bandages drowned in the crimson red liquid. He couldn’t find the words; he didn’t even know what to do. He frantically moved around the room, searching for anything to wipe the blood with, to apply pressure and stop this someway.
Before he knew it, his own eyes were welled up with tears as he desperately tried to stop you from bleeding out, the sound of your crying overwhelming him completely.
“You’re going to be okay. You’re okay.” He repeated like a mantra, the room spinning around him when he looked at the pool of blood under you. He wiped his tears with his forearm. His heartbeat grew louder, and the sound of it seemed to echo through the room.
You wouldn’t stop crying, and God, you wouldn’t stop bleeding, it was futile to try. Your hands went to his shoulders, bringing him closer to you while you sobbed hysterically.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do.” He wrapped his arms around you tightly, crying onto your hair, hopelessly clinging to you. “I can’t do anything. Please forgive me, angel. Please.” He wept, his grip tightening the quieter your cries became; your energy depleted the longer you kept bleeding.
“Don’t leave me.” It became uncontrollable; he felt completely out of himself, the sound of his thunderous heartbeat, the feel of your blood on his hands, the pain in his chest crushing him further and further. “Please don’t leave me.”
“Levi?... Levi.” He woke up with a jolt to see you standing above him, mind completely fogged by the images his brain came up with. His eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness of the room, looking around the now empty bed then back to your fragile frame.
The glow of the moon coming from the window was the only source of light, but it was enough to see you properly; not in tears, and not bleeding out. Instead, you were looking at him with a puzzled expression, an arm cradling your midsection as you tried your best to stand upright.
“Are you okay? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“I’m—” He closed his mouth before continuing, rubbing his eyes before he looked at you again, a slight wet feeling coating his fingertips—was he crying?—it was just a dream. “Don’t worry. Is something wrong?”
“I wanted to get out of all this blood. But I could barely make it a few steps past the bed.”
He hummed, burying his face in his hands for a moment, trying to regain his composure. “I’ll help you.” His eyes found you again, narrowed. Going over every inch of your body to make sure nothing was out of the ordinary, to prove to himself that you wouldn’t randomly start bleeding out in front of him. He debated telling you about his dream, telling you about how worried he was earlier and how the stress of his concerns was swallowing him whole right now, but that would mean delving into a conversation he’s unsure he’d be good at. Maybe he’ll need to practice it.
He walked you to the bathroom, arm stretched out for you to hold onto through every step. “You look terrible.” He murmured, helping you stand in front of the small tub.
“Aren’t you sweet.” You laughed dryly, slowly loosening your grip on his forearm to let him stand back.
You and Levi stared at each other willfully, both waiting for the other to take the next step.
“Can you do it alone?” He asked while reaching for the top button of your shirt, undoing it slowly, waiting for you to form a response, groggy and restless voice adding something new to his usual stoic tone.
You wanted to object, tell him he didn’t need to continue. But you were sure you’d end up falling face first on the floor at some point if he wasn’t holding onto you. “Maybe I could.”
“Sure.” He muttered, gaze focused on where his hands started to undo the rest of your shirt, a deep frown covering his features at the side of fresh red bruises covering your left side.
He carefully undid the bandages on your arm to slowly slide off the shirt. You didn’t care to watch his movements; you couldn’t look away from his face, how concentrated he was, how troubled he seemed over your wounds. It made you smile, both that and the pink tint of his cheeks when he exposed you further.
If you knew him less, you would’ve asked him to kiss you right then and there, but by now you knew well his only answer to that would be questioning if you were concussed.
Levi kept himself from speaking. Too focused on the crushing weight in his heart over the sight of your bruised and battered frame, a weight that grew more draining the more of your clothes he got rid off.
His mind also trotted over the idea of kissing you. He thought about it every single day, but now more than ever he wished he had done so before. That way he could pepper every single inch of your body with small soothing kisses now and it wouldn’t be strange, there wouldn’t be a possibility of you freaking out, because by now you would’ve been used to his affections.
If only he had been braver about it before.
He desperately wished to hold you tenderly in his arms, to caress your skin and kiss you senselessly, trusting that every bit of his devotion would help you forget about the pain you must be feeling.
“What happened?” He helped you stand above the drain, squeezing your hand before letting you stand on your own. He soaked a cloth before he started carefully scrubbing your arms, trying his best to not pressure the slash on your left arm into bleeding again.
“It was my stupidity. One of my scouts was kicked off his horse, and a titan was going to grab him, and I— It was impulsive. I threw myself at them and I didn’t realize another titan was coming. It was a big mess and I wasn’t thinking clearly.” You yawned between your sentences, watching him with tired eyes, following his hands whenever he bent to dampen the cloth and settling back on his face when he returned; his eyebrows furrowed at your anecdote. “I couldn’t tell you exactly what happened, I just know I flew through more trees than I would like, and when I finally got my cables to stick to something I was hanging two inches from the floor and looked like this.”
Levi stayed silent for a moment, trying to picture the situation, as if that helped him in any way. “How did you get on your horse?”
“Miche found me. I would have only been able to drag myself until I found someone. It’s hard to lift this leg.” His grip on your waist tightened at the notion, his eyes now meeting yours to avoid staring at where he scrubbed on your chest, ever-present frown adorning his features.
Levi saw the images of your explanation vividly in his mind; he could clearly see you dragging yourself out of the woods in fear that you wouldn’t make it, as if it actually happened, as if he had been present. It was completely nauseating. “I’m sorry.” His hands stopped, both settled firmly on your hips, indifferent to his proximity and your bare skin.
“For what?”
“I could’ve been there.”
One of your hands reached his bicep, tentatively caressing him. “Don’t do that.”
He pursed his lips together; he knew it was ridiculous to upset himself over something he had no control over, and yet he couldn’t stop. He stayed silent, instead opting to watch you get closer, your hands rubbing up and down his arms to ease him. The delicate body he’s grown to yearn for standing less than an inch away from him, laid bare for his eyes only.
“I’m supposed to be taking care of you.” He murmured, tense muscles taut under your touch as it rose up to his shoulders then back down to the front of his chest.
“I know, but you seem to be more troubled than I am. I may need help getting up, but you’re looking at me like I’m dying.”
“I just don’t know what to do with myself.” Levi let himself get closer, his hands hesitantly moving to your back. “Seeing you like this.”
“I’ve been hurt before.” Your tone was confused, and he hated that it urged him to continue.
“Not like this. Not when I’m not around.”
“I thought you didn’t care if I was not by your side.”
“I lied.”
You couldn’t help the weak laugh that left your lips, looking away from him as you tried to retrieve your composure.
“Are my worries amusing to you?” His gaze narrowed, not in his usual scowl—in dismay.
You shook your head, a hand coming up to caress his face, looking at him with nothing but utter reverence. “I’m more than appreciative of your worries. But I do find it humorous that I have to come back like this for you to say these things.”
The time seemed to stand still between you. Patient, as always, you waited; letting him find the words he’s been struggling to muster. He hated how difficult this was; to expose feelings he has been certain of for years. “Sit, we need to wash your hair.”
You sighed, hands dropping from him with a small nod. He helped you sit in the middle of the tub, kneeling down on the floor next to you, holding onto a small water pitcher with trembling hands.
You closed your eyes at the feeling of water slowly dripping onto your scalp, finally relishing in a soothing feeling. “Don’t look at me when I say this." His voice was low, unusually unsteady, despite being completely certain of his words. "I’m terrified of losing you.”
Your lips pursed together, trying your best to keep yourself from turning your head; wanting to indulge him if it meant being able to hear what he had to confess. “Why?” You asked quietly, eyes stuck to the water falling from your shoulders, bloody and muddy dark streaks slowly disappearing, becoming clearer the more his fingers helped brush water through the thick locks of hair.
Silence lingered for a moment. The only sound being the slow rush of water, and Levi’s deep breaths. He could do this, if there’s someone he could say anything to, it was you. So why did his chest ache this much?
“I’ve belonged to you from the moment I met you.” Levi’s voice came out ragged, broken. His hands softly brushed through your hair, moving back the strands that fell on your face. He cleared his throat, trying to regain some semblance of control. “And I don’t know what will be of me if the only reason I hold any hope for the future is no longer with me.”
You couldn’t help meeting his gaze, lips parting and closing with suppressed praises. To hear something that gentle, romantic, out of the very lips you’ve wished had graced yours long before today; it could’ve been enough to push you through every day of your life from now on.
The way you were looking at him was his undoing, a softness he did not deserve, and that he could only ever receive from you. He watched you uneasy, his throat running dry, unsure of what he was even waiting for. “Please say something.”
Words evaded you completely, too stuck on repeating that sweet confession over and over again in your head. Instead of coming up with some clever poetry of your equal feelings, you did the one thing you knew no amount of prodding would make him do.
Your hands slowly reached for him, cupping his face to bring him closer to you. And you waited, for a moment; not wanting to miss how he relaxed, how he gave in. Only then did your lips meet his with a tenderness that made Levi’s stomach flutter.
One of his hands went to the back of your neck, long fingers twisting into your hair, keeping your lips flush against his while he inched closer to you. His free hand gripped the back edge of the tub, his body looming above yours, completely trapping you under him.
The kiss was searing and all consuming. As if you were trying to pour into him every unsaid word; as if Levi was trying to make up for every single moment he wished your lips had been on his. It grew desperate within seconds, teeth clashing and noses bumping while both of you tried to absorb each other’s oxygen.
It’s only when you tried to wrap your arms around his neck to drag him down did you break away, wincing at the sting from a gash on your bicep.
Levi immediately tensed when you stopped. “I’m sorry.” His voice was breathless, a small whisper followed by him pulling back, softened gaze raking over you to make sure he didn’t hurt you.
“It’s my fault, I should’ve waited until we were laying down.” You quipped, instinctively reaching out for his arm to keep him somewhat close.
He laughed, openly, warm. “That might’ve ended worse.”
A comfortable silence fell in the room after your chuckles died down. Both of you staring at each other with the sweetness of two madly in love idiots. All flushed lips, red cheeks, and stupid smiles.
—
“And then what happened?” Erwin asked while flipping through pages of planning, the words he had written already mixing together from how long he had been staring at them, and how late it already was.
Miche stood by the window, looking out to the empty grounds below them. “I told him she’d be lying down in the carriage, probably more comfortable.”
“Mhm.”
“And he argued she’d be alone, very solemnly.”
“He did not.” Erwin dropped the papers, turning on his chair to meet Miche’s gaze, the other man already snickering to himself.
“He did, and then he just took her away. And I’m completely certain he kissed her hair when they got on the horse.” Miche whispered the last part, as if he was sharing the most confidential work information he could ever manage to get his hands on.
“In front of everyone?” Erwin stared at him dumbfounded, imagining the scene he described before letting out a quiet laugh.
“If they remain nothing but friends after tonight I fear we might have to send Hange in.”
There's something cute about Levi taking care of your baby while he is working. The meeting was mostly boring except for the little bundle in his lap, currently she was calm. Her eyes looked around, probably trying to find something to gawn on. It was that period, she was teething and all those sleepless nights tired both you and Levi out. He never let you take care of her on your own, never. Levi notices the baby getting restless in his lap, he gently runs his fingers through the tuffs of her soft black hair, same as his. The baby gurgles, enjoying the attention but its quickly distracted as her chubby fingers grab hold of Levi's paperwork. "No you don't, brat." He quickly replaced the papers with his tea spoon, sure he could've given her a toy but she found anything interesting especially when it was shiny. She coos happily showing off the new item to her father as she looks at him. "Yes that's very nice, princess." Just a slight smile grazes his lips as he watches her play.
The reaction of the rest of the room almost escaps Levi, almost. He notices how Hange keeps making faces at the baby and Erwin keeps getting distracted by the cuteness. Nifa trying to bribe the baby with some bright pencils doesn't miss him either. They got used to it by now, Levi didn't want to have you working but he also didn't stop you when you told him you wanted to come back to work. Both of you didn't trust random strangers with your daughter, so brining her to work was what you settled on. And it weirdly worked, the baby's innocence helped with the usual grim mood of the soldiers and Levi's workdays now were fun even if he had to finish three stacks of paperwork. The meeting is almost up to a close when you appear, the baby squeals loudly as she sees you making grabby hands. "Hi mama's bunny." You take her kissing her chubby cheek. "Did she behave?" You ask your husband who scoffs. "As well as a baby can. The shitty gums are bothering her." He hated seeing his kid in pain and if he could someone transfer it on himself, he would. Levi never wanted children but seeing you with your daughter and seeing his little girl smile, he wouldn't change it for anything in the world.
✩ nerd!armin, college AU, armin is a creative writing major, infatuation at first sight, SO MUCH yearning, like so much, obsession, porn with plot, drunk fingering, disgustingly sweet mushy intimacy, no penetration (yet ;P), dirty talk, nipple play, so much praise.
⋆⭒˚｡⋆ author’s note: this is my first time publishing any kind of fanfic since my one direction days back in 8th grade LMFAO. Please spare me if I'm rusty, and if you have a req hit that button on my page!!! Enjoy :3
MINORS DNI PLS AND THANKS
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Sweaty bodies clashed and ground into one another, the air palpable and damp. The scent of cheap liquor and salty sweat covered foreheads filled your nose. You had no idea how you wound up in the middle of a packed dance floor, your friends had practically drug you out of your bed to get you here. When they got the invite for an infamous ‘Yeager party’, they made it pretty much impossible for you to say no. Telling you how it was gonna be the “craziest night of your life”
“You’re fucking insane if you don’t go”.
“Y/n you really need to loosen up more”.
blah blah blah.
As much as you loved your friends, the idea of drinking in a frat house with bodies cluttered mindlessly over each other made your stomach dip in the worst way imaginable. You’d much rather stay home and delve head first into the fictional worlds you indulged in through your favorite books, your almost comically large t-shirt on and a glass of wine filled far too close to the brim on your nightstand. You never judged them for their interests in partying and finding a decently not ugly guy to hook up with for the night. You had no room to judge. You stayed home and read books about gay fairies fucking each other, you and your friends were just two opposite sides of the same wanting coin.
You wished you had their confidence, their ability to talk freely to even the furthest of strangers. Maybe it was liquor induced, or maybe it was a concept just beyond your grasp of understanding. Regardless, you found yourself shuffling around Eren Yeager’s crowded living room anyways, the music so loud you could feel the bass in your toes through the rubber soles of your shoes. You’d lost sight of your friends, the unfamiliarity of the faces around you making your heart rate quicken and your vision feel slightly disoriented.
You caught a glimpse of the kitchen just beyond the sea of bodies, looking significantly less inhabited than the living room. You made a break for it, quickly ducking under raised arms and squeezing in between dancing pairs. The flickering light of the poorly hung neon sign that was for some reason in the kitchen, felt like a light at the end of a tunnel of agony. You finally broke through the crowd, the air that wafted around you significantly cooler than the air just feet prior. You made it to the entryway of the kitchen, and in your rushed desperation, you didn’t notice the person you were about to hurl yourself into until it was too late.
Your nose slammed into their rigid chest, their arms reaching out instinctively to steady you. You looked up to see the person you’ve fully embarrassed yourself in front of, your stomach twisted even harder when your gaze landed on him. Armin Arlert. The lanky, quiet best friend of Eren Yeager.
Now, just because you didn’t go to these parties, doesn’t mean you didn’t know who he was. Of course you did, his essays had been published over and over in the student papers, his academic status seemingly the complete opposite of his best friend. You actually found yourself a fan of his writing style, which made this interaction all the more gut wrenching.
“Shit, you okay?” He asked, his hands still wrapped around your biceps, his fingers so long the tips of them met with room to spare. You nodded and grasped at your nose, having felt something wet hit the palm of your hand. You already knew it was blood from the way you could feel your pulse throbbing between your nostrils.
“No yeah, I'm good. Sorry…” you rushed out. Your unsteady legs carried you over to the kitchen counter to grab a fistful of paper towels to press to your nose. He turned around to watch you, his eyes widening in a panic as he saw the red drip down your wrist. He rushed over and grabbed a few paper towels himself, dabbing the blood trailing down onto your forearm. His movements were so gentle you could barely feel them, his voice earnest and clearly concerned. “Holy shit, no you’re not….fuck—did I break your nose?”
You shook your head quickly, still applying pressure with the paper towels. Your voice coming out muffled and nasally and deeply embarrassed. “No, no. I don't think so…seriously, it's fine.”
He continued to dab and wipe at the remnants of blood on your arm, letting out a troubled huff at your words and gently shaking his head in protest. He glanced down the hallway attached to the kitchen for a moment, and then returned his gaze to you, his pupils so dilated you could barely see the pale blue that sat there. He placed one of his hands on the small of your back, sweeping you gently towards the hallway. You could feel his fingers trembling.
“Here, at least let me help you fix this. I think we might have something in the bathroom that will help….maybe…” he said anxiously, using his body as some kind of shield as you weaved your way through the people that walked freely through the house as if it were their own.
The two of you made your way to the bathroom. You sat on the closed seat of the toilet, still clutching the now red stained paper towels to your nose firmly as he closed the bathroom door behind him. Your shoulders dropped a little at the way the loud music became significantly muffled, the loudest sound in the room became Armin frantically rummaging through the medicine cabinet above the sink. “Tilt your head up…” he said softly as he grabbed an instant ice pack from the cabinet, his eyes flooded with unease as he hesitantly pattered over to you.
You tilted your head up, grimacing at the feeling of clotted blood sliding down the back of your throat. Armin took the cold pack in his hands, cracking it swiftly for the chemical reaction to take effect. Despite your mind having been quite preoccupied with the burning ache of your nose, you still couldn’t help but notice the way the tendons in his hand flexed when he cracked the ice pack. You cursed yourself for being even the slightest bit perverted while he’s damn near having an anxiety attack.
The ice pack soon began to freeze, and Armin placed it gently on the bridge of your nose, the soothing sensation dulling the burning pulse. “Keep that there with your head tilted up, try and pinch it in place.” He said quickly before he turned around to grab you a wad of clean toilet paper to replace your dampening handful of paper towel.
You couldn’t even speak, too horrified by your own fuck up. You just nodded silently, pinching the ice pack against the bridge of your nose. Armin handed you the toilet paper and you brought it to your bleeding nostrils, tossing the old paper towel into the trash can next to the toilet.
Armin sat down on the edge of the bathtub next to the toilet, his long legs made his knees come up to his chest from sitting so low to the ground. He ran a hand through his well kept hair, dropping his forehead to his palm. “Leave it to me to break someone’s nose without even trying…” he said softly, a self-deprecating tone laced in his words.
You continued to hold the ice pack to your bridge, your head tilted upwards so you’re not able to make eye contact with him as you spoke. Not that you’d’ve been able to anyways. “I seriously don’t think it's broken, the ice pack is helping.” You breathed out. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye and watched the way his shoulders visibly relaxed at your reassurance. “Good, good. I’m really sorry.” He muttered quietly, his voice forced itself into a kind tone despite the inefficiency he felt humming in his chest.
You shook your head as much as you could with the ice pack still pressed to your bridge. “It’s not your fault, i was the one who ran into you at full speed like a fucking lunatic.”
Armin let out a breath of a laugh, shaking his head back softly in protest. “I mean you were clearly on a mission, it's my fault for standing there.” He said with the slightest curl of a smile forming. You let out a nasally giggle back, cringing at the way you feel a small gush of blood come out of your left nostril. You tried to think of something lighthearted to say to ease the stress that pooled in the air, but Armin spoke up again. “I’m uh… I’m Armin. I don't think I’ve ever seen you here before…”
You nodded your head softly, leaning your head forward a little bit now to get the last drops of blood out of your nose, the bleeding subsiding. “Yeah, I know.” You spit out, rebuking yourself for sounding so eager.
You prayed that he took it as you acknowledging the way he’s never seen you instead of you admitting you knew his name already. “I um, yeah I’ve never been here before. My friends were invited and kinda insisted I tag along…” you said in an attempt to recover, trying to make your tone more nonchalant.
Armin's eyes widened as you spoke. “Oh, were you looking for them? Should we go try and find them for you?” He asked, genuine concern in his tone. You quickly shook your head, waving your hand lazily in protest. You desperately tried to ignore the way your stomach warmed simply from him saying ‘we’. God, you seriously cannot be this down and out.
“No, no. I mean, I don't know where they are…but I wasn’t looking for them, I'm sure they’re making themselves at home.” You began, a huff escaping you at the end. “I was actually trying to get into the kitchen to get some air. Crowded parties aren't necessarily my thing, if you couldn’t tell…” You said jokingly, motioning your hands over yourself in the state you were in. Armin let out a friendly chuckle, nodding his head in agreement. “I feel that, I don’t think I’d go to these things if they weren't in my literal house—how’s your nose?” He cut himself off to ask.
You took the ice pack off of your nose and set it on the edge of the sink. The wad of toilet paper he’d handed you was barely stained in comparison to the paper towels you’d had previously. The ache in between your eyes had seemed to subside for the most part, your head finding its way back to its resting state.
You blinked a few times, wiggling your face a little to see if there’s any pain. That elicited a snort from Armin, a nauseously sweet smile creeping onto his face. “It’s fine….I think. Definitely the most interesting thing that’ll happen to me tonight, that's for sure. Maybe even the most interesting thing to happen during this party as a whole. ”
Armin let out a humorous groan as he stretched his arms above his head. The way he was sitting on the edge of the bathtub was undoubtedly straining his back. “They’re so boring, aren’t they? I mean, it's just the same shit over and over. The same songs every time, same drinks, same people hooking up in the same corners.” He said with undisputed authenticity, an intrigued smile flashing on your face for a moment.
You let out a hum of understanding, leaning back slightly against the back of the toilet. You were unable to help the way your thoughts started to spill out of you. “I know right? I read this one book a few years back, and it made the mundane cycles of human life almost painfully obvious..the way we all tend to relive the same moments over and over again…”
Armin sat and watched you speak, his eyes flashed with excitement when he realized that you must be well read. He noticed the way your throat bobbed when you’d pause mid sentence, the way you spoke with real intention and poise. He soaked in every word, digesting them like the most comforting of meals, tasting your sincerity on his own tongue.
After a while, you realized that you’d been basically vomiting your opinions of the human experience all over someone who just wanted to help you with a bloody nose. An insecure twinge budded in between your ribs, making you look around the bathroom for anything to exchange small talk about instead. Armin wasn’t interested in that in the slightest, your eloquently spoken words oozed with merit, the depth of the conversation felt almost sacred to him.
Like you, he didn’t experience conversations like this often. I mean, he lived in a frat house for fucks sake. The deepest conversation he’d get here is an argument over what liquor is the easiest to drink copious amounts of without ending your night in a hospital, or community bitching about a certain professor's excruciating deadlines.
Your gaze was snapped back to him when he began to speak, reflecting the same passion you had in your tone back to you. The most full-hearted of smiles present when he did. “No you’re so right, it does change something in you once you see it. I’m just…I hope I don't come across offensive when I say this, but I wasn’t expecting that. I can’t say that I’ve ever had a conversation at any of these parties that was anything below surface level, it's…..nice. Nice to feel like someone else is speaking a language that I actually understand.”
Your gaze shifted to the way he used his hands to speak alongside his voice, the clear zeal he felt while talking about his interests made your eyes brighten at him. The somewhat stiff and jittery conversation quickly transformed into something thoroughly fruitful, despite it taking place under the eerily flickering light of the shivery bathroom. Your voices colliding made the space warm and inviting nonetheless.
You talked about psychology, poetry, fiction, beaming at each other over your shared interests. The conversation flowed so organically that you completely forgot why you even came to the bathroom to begin with, the barely there throb of your nose not even beginning to cross your mind. It’d been very congenial thus far, Armin was far too scared to ruin the depth he felt by attempting to flirt with you poorly. Although, he did want to. Very badly, actually.
Your ability to remain completely open-minded, the syrupy warmth you have when you laugh. The way you began to reflect his own thoughts back to him before he even got to speak them himself. All of these being things he found painfully attractive. He found himself having to rip his gaze from your bottom lip while you were pondering a question he’d ask, not wanting to seem too forward by keeping it there. He didn't want to be delusional, he didn't want to assume anything. But what he absolutely did want was to continue to talk to you in that bathroom for as long as you’d allow him to, that he knew very clearly.
And it's not like the attraction was one-sided. No, not at all. You found yourself drawn deep into the way he spoke, the attention to detail he had when describing something. His words breathed life into every topic. He was clearly deeply intelligent, but mind blowingly humble at the same time. Not a single word rolling off of his tongue with pompous intention. You felt your stomach pool with a sort of dramatic nervousness when he would lean his chin on his hand while you spoke, his thumb toying under his bottom lip while he drank your words in completely.
You couldn’t help but wonder if the way you felt glued to your seat was reciprocated, if his fingers twitched at the thought of running them against the skin of your knuckles like yours did for him.
You felt crazy for wondering those things since you’d only just met him tonight. You told yourself that you clearly have been reading far too many romance novels, that those fictional scenes were fictional for a reason. Despite the doubt, you didn't try to ignore the magnetism you felt. You let your bones hum from him moving any part of himself even slightly closer to you. You knew the feeling would be fleeting anyways, you weren’t gonna ruin the blip of time where it’s present just to forsake yourself.
The two of you tumbled between topics for what felt like brief hours, the essay he had recently published in the newspaper being one of them. You had to pretend that you hadn’t already read it, your eyebrows raising a little as a facade when he’d explained it to you. “That must’ve taken you a long time, no? I know if it were me I'd have a million rough drafts before I trusted my abilities enough to actually publish anything.”
Armin let out a heavy chuckle, shaking his head as if in disbelief. “You wanna see something crazy?”
His question was met with your quickly nodding head and he swiftly stood up from the edge of the bathtub, stretching his legs out a little. He waved his hand towards himself, motioning for you to follow him. Excitement pooled in your gut as you stood up from your spot in the bathroom that the two of you had made into some kind of absurd sanctuary over the past two hours. You followed him as he walked deeper down the length of the hallway, grabbing the knob of the very last door on the right and turning it.
You walked into the room that you quickly realized was his bedroom, a schoolgirl-esque giddiness arose in you at the mere thought of being there. You quickly scanned the room, noticing the way his bed was neatly made. A plethora of soft blankets laid out across the comforter in a way that made the bed look just as inviting as he seemed to be. Your eyes flickered to the bookshelf that leaned up against the wall next to the desk in the corner, the shelves of it blooming with literature. The only light in the room comes from a large overhead lamp. It stood over his desk that was littered with piles and piles of copy paper printed top to bottom with various sized paragraphs. Each stack stood at least an inch thick, some even double that. Armin let out a breathy chuff as he pointed at the papers all over the desk. “Those are all of my rough drafts. Every last paper on that desk is me trying to prepare for that essay.”
You walked over to the desk and ran your thumb up the side of one of the stacks, the sound of the papers fluttering against each lasting for at least 10 full seconds. Your chest warmed at the visual representation of his dedication, though his passion was clear even before. Armin walked over to the end of his bed and plopped down, a sigh escaping him as he landed. He watched you examine his room, noticing how your eyes almost glowed when you ran your forefinger over the spines of his books that sat neatly on his shelf.
You had recognized a good chunk of the titles, although he was unfortunately missing the borderline pornographic fantasy books that ran rampant on your shelf at home. You wondered to yourself if he had any romance novels hidden under his bed like the average man's playboy magazine, the idea made you giggle under your breath.
“What’s the laugh about? Is my collection not impressive enough for you?” He teased, his fingers tapping nervously at his knees as he watched you walk around his room like you should’ve always been there. You shook your head as you turned around to face him, not making direct eye contact but still noticing the way his eyes trailed even your smallest of movements. “It’s very impressive, actually…” you said honestly, a candied smile on your lips.
You walked over to the edge of the bed and sat down next to him, leaving an arms length of space between the two of you so you didn’t come off presuming. You let out a deep sigh, closing your eyes and letting the cozy silence of his room soothe you into the ease you’d been craving since the moment you stepped foot in the house. “Why would someone ever pick that over this…” you said softly as you nodded your head once towards the door, referencing the party that began to thump down the hallway. Armin cocked a brow, smiling boyishly at you. “What’s this?”
You let out a breathy chuckle, keeping your eyes closed as you spoke. “Silence….ease. Meaningful conversation that doesn’t have any destination.” You began, subconsciously leaning back and laying your spine flat against the plush of his blanket covered mattress. Your eyes remained closed as you continued to talk, the loss of the sense making it easier to speak in the way you’d wanted to. “I mean, don't get me wrong… I enjoy getting drunk as much as the next college student. I’d never frown upon anyone who really loves the energy out there, I'm sure it brings the right people a sense of community almost…”. A deep breath.
“All anyone wants at the end of the day is to be seen without reprimand, to be accepted down to their bones. If dancing your heart out next to someone you’ll maybe never see again makes them feel that, having that glimpse of each other's most raw forms… then all the power to you.”
Armin gazed at you in an almost awe-like state as you spoke, eyeing the way your hair pooled effortlessly around you as you laid back onto his bed. He found himself physically having to sit on his hand to keep himself from reaching out and running his fingers through it. Your honeyed voice thrummed through the realest parts of him. He was completely unable to tear his eyes away from the soft swells of your cheeks or the long lines of your neck, his eyes glimmered as they drank in your presence. He cursed himself for having such a beautiful breath of a woman in his bed but still being too self-loathing to do anything about it. He hummed in understanding as he laid back against the bed next to you, still an arms length apart.
“I think that’s a pretty beautiful observation to make…you’re— um, you’re very well spoken. I'll have to consult with you for my next essay instead of creating another shit show like whatever that is” he choked out as he aimlessly pointed towards his desk.
He’d hoped cracking a joke would lead you away from the way he’d almost said something that could possibly make you uncomfortable. You were none the wiser, your eyes finally fluttered open as you turned your head to look at him. “You got it.”
He had to wipe his hands on his sweatpants to get rid of the film of sweat that grew there the moment you peeked out at him under the curls of your lashes.
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Two weeks have passed since that night, and you hate how it seemed to always present itself in the forefront of your mind. Armin’s soft gaze and the way his words reflected your inner monologue when he spoke hung heavy in you, just around every corner. You felt completely delusional, the way the night had ended made you sure of your former idea of it just being a fleeting moment. He didn't kiss you, or ask for your number, nothing of the sort was even mentioned.
You two had spent the entire night talking, laughing, spilling your guts out to each other and not thinking twice about how strange it was to do that with someone you had just met. It was unlike anything you’d ever experienced. You remember having to leave abruptly when you noticed the sun rising beyond his curtained windows, neither of you noticing how the bass had stopped humming between the floorboards of the house a few hours prior, or how heavy your lids hung over your eyes as the time went on.
You had spent the past two weeks dissecting every part of the conversation that you could remember, scrounging for some reason that would lead you to believe he felt the same pull you did. He had taken over, staking his claim during the night and causing you to clench your thighs together when you’d remember the way the soft features of his face looked as he laughed. You felt perverted and overly crass, sure that you’d never be able to show your face to him ever again after the countless fantasies you’d had.
You had imagined what his lips would look like covered in you, what his fingers would surely be able to accomplish due to the length of them. You wondered if he was a passionate lover, slow and deliberate. Or was he the opposite, grabby and rushed to touch you in as many places as he could like a man starved. It didn’t matter what type he really was, you’d imagined him in every possible way already. No version of him could be a shock to you.
And despite the embarrassment that swallowed you whole when you actually imagined seeing him face to face again, you found yourself walking into the house he shared with his fraternity brothers anyways.
Your friends had received another invite to Eren’s next party, the invite being extended to you this time even though you and Eren had never met. You had told yourself that if you did see him, you’d just put an end to the warm torture he’d instilled upon you. You’d be unable to embarrass yourself any further at that point. If you didn’t see him, your plan b was to get as drunk as you could off of drinks that you didn't pay for to try and dull the thoughts of him, even a little would be enough.
You and your friends entered the party and began to mingle, the heavy blow of thickened air choking you already. You scanned the room over and over again for a glimpse of him, a deep twinge in your gut every time you came up short.
You quickly made your way to the kitchen, pouring an obscene amount of vodka into a cheap plastic cup and mindlessly splashing some orange juice in it like it'd even out somehow. It felt like your actions were coming before your thoughts, uncontrollable and erratic in a way that made you unrecognizable to yourself.
You were always in control, always centered. That night with Armin threw you completely off kilter. You knew you were acting out of pocket. You really didn’t care. You just needed some relief.
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Armin’s POV:
Armin let out a choked groan, cum ribboning into the air as his hips jutted forward desperately into his own wanting hand. He rested his forehead against the cold tile wall of the shower, his breathing rapid and his legs trembling in aftershock. All it took was a very small handful of thoughts about you in this exact bathroom two weeks ago to unravel him completely.
He physically could not get you out of his mind since he’d met you. The way you said his name, the shine of your hair as it splayed over his bed when you laid on it. The way you’d looked at him that night as if you saw the rawest parts of him. He couldn’t help himself, despite how disrespectful and deeply disappointed in himself he felt about jerking off to the thought of a woman he’d met only once.
And this wasn’t the first instance, no no. He found himself crumpling paper after paper into his trashcan when he would sit down at his desk, the only thing written on any of them being some type of saccharine fifth grade love letter to you. He’d wind up with nothing to show for the hours he’d spent sitting there other than a painful boner suffocating itself in his pants.
His first waking thought was you, the way you walked around his room like some kind of enchantress, your movements slow and enticing. He’d rub the sleep out of his eyes with his dick pressed firm against his stomach, his slender hand reaching down to relieve himself with the image of your head bobbing on him whirling recklessly in his mind.
He really felt like he was going insane, to be honest. Sure, he was a normal human with urges like anyone else. But this was different. He had never, never behaved like this before. You had completely captivated him.
And it wasn't just some creepy sexual obsession, his thoughts seemed to find a way to reel back to you in everything he did. Every mindless conversation he had with a peer or coworker, he’d imagine how much better it would be if you were a part of it. He doesn’t ever remember being able to hold a conversation with anyone for even an hour without finding himself wanting to retreat to solitary, but he felt like the many hours that the two of you shared talking wasn't nearly enough. He would’ve stayed there on that bed until the room surrounding the two of you dissolved back into the earth, and even then he would probably still have another question to ask.
You ripped past barriers in him in one night that took his closest friends years. And yet, he still didn't even muster up the courage to ask you for your number. He had explained his darkest days to you, and what scents made him the most nostalgic, but asking for your number would surely be too much.
When Eren mentioned throwing another party this weekend, Armin had asked to put you and your friends on the invite list again. Doing so obviously elicited a wild smirk and rushing fist bumps from him, which Armin hated. He’d play into the douchey frat antics as much as he needed to if it meant you’d show up again.
He finished getting ready, listening to the party begin to swell through the house as he combed his fingers through his hair over and over again, as if you’d notice a stray hair out of place and run away. He knew getting an invite to you had the chance of being a lost cause due to your disinterest in parties, but he’d hoped that your friends would drag you here again, that they would bring you back to him.
He walked out of his room and down the long hallway, the beat of the nauseatingly familiar song (that would surely play at least six more times tonight) getting louder with each step. He made his way out to the kitchen, eyes gazing over the ever growing crowd of people to find you. He bit anxiously at his cheek when he toyed with the idea of you not showing up. He almost turned on his heels to go back to his room when he saw a blink of you, gone just as fast as you appeared.
He tried to trail your movements, walking deeper into the kitchen and leaning against the counter to get a better look. He started to actually believe he’d gone insane, there’s no way he’s beginning to hallucinate your presence now. He scoffed at himself under his breath, in disbelief that he was so desperate to see you that he resorted to playing pretend.
But then, his eyes snapped to your familiar form. Your smile hesitant but there nonetheless. He squinted his eyes slightly to get a better look at you, his jaw instinctively tightening when he saw the man standing behind you. Jean Kirstein. One of his fellow frat brothers, with his arm drunkenly slung over your shoulder, his mouth inches away from your ear. Armin despised the way his teeth grinded and the way his eyebrows lowered at the sight, jealousy not being a feeling he’s necessarily used to. Regardless of whether it's a familiar feeling or not, he found it crawling its way into every rift of him as he watched you from across the house.
He watched the way your smile waivered, your movements looking a little too loose to be those of a sober person. When his gaze landed on Jean’s hand placed strategically on your hip, he felt his nostrils flare and his heartbeat thrash wildly in his chest. He thought about approaching you, saying something or maybe just grabbing you and whisking you away from Jean. But he couldn’t. His feet were unmoving and cowardly, self-contempt bubbling deep in his stomach.
Armin turned to grab a bottle of whiskey from the counter, pouring himself a shot and throwing it back hastily, grimacing at the burn that slid down his throat and landed hard in his chest. He’s decided that he’s just going to take the whole bottle back to his room, drink himself into a slumber so deep he’ll hopefully wake up tomorrow with no recollection of tonight as a whole.
He grabbed the neck of the bottle and turned back to walk down to his room, his grip on it loosened as he glanced back at the sea of bodies and realized you aren’t where you were just moments ago… neither is Jean.
He let out a disappointed huff, his footsteps heavy against the hard wood of the hallway. You deserved someone who wasn't so cowardly, he can’t even fault you for choosing Jean. He oozed a certain kind of confidence that Armin couldn’t even fathom, his tone always charming and smooth. Armin opened the door to his bedroom, and his self-deprecating tantrum was cut short when he saw you sitting on the ground next to the foot of his bed, your head buried into your knees.
“Y/n?”
ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻
Your pulse rose into your throat when you felt Jean’s sweaty hand find its way to your hip. He rested it there as if he was claiming his territory like some kind of pissing dog. You had clearly drank too much, you would’ve never gotten yourself into this miserable position if you hadn’t.
To your credit though, the drinking had made Armin’s silhouette stop flashing behind your eyes every time you’d blink. You were thankful for that, you were beginning to seriously concern yourself with the grasp he had on you.
You tried your hardest to sway your hips to the music, but your movements just came out forced and rigid no matter how fluid the liquor made you feel. You felt lost, stranded, and also on the verge of projectile vomiting. Whether it was from the alcohol or the way Jeans thumb started to rub small circles on your hip, it didn't matter. You needed to find a way out.
Jean's head leaned into the crook of your neck, his breath torrid and sticky against your ear as he spoke. The scent of his damp, sweat slicked hair wafted into your nostrils. You were absolutely sure you were going to puke now.
He said something about letting him take you home, you couldn’t really make out exactly what he was saying. Your hearing was deafened from the music blasting through the speaker on your other side. You also didn’t care enough to know exactly what was said, too focused on how your vision warped in a way that felt like your head was stuck on sideways.
You forced out a compliant smile, your eyes void of anything at all. You leaned in to tell him that you had to go to the bathroom, the smell of his plasticy cologne glueing your nose shut. He said something about coming with you, but you were gone from his line of vision before the sentence could be finished.
The tile of the kitchen swirled and pulsed as you practically sprinted over it. You drunkenly bounced your shoulder off of someone’s back as you started for the hallway, too confused to even be able to apologize. You grabbed at the door handle, missing it completely on your first try. The door shut behind you and you sank to the floor as soon as the noise became distant and stifled, closing your eyes and tucking your forehead to your knees.
You didn’t know how long you stayed like that, the concept of time becoming far too complex to even begin to think about. But what wasn't complex was sloshing around in your inebriated mind, fast and loose. You had been acting so fucking stupid. One night with someone you’d enjoyed your time with and all the sudden you're acting like a ludicrous middle schooler.
Except, it wasn't just that. It never was. It was something you couldn’t explain, couldn't understand no matter how many times you replayed it in your head. The way you’d felt that night with Armin was absorbing in every way. You felt so fucking stupid.
A soft voice ripped you away from your conviction, your head heavy as you hesitantly lifted it from your knees.
“Y/n?”
You were sure you’d croak any second now, the feeling in your body indescribable. The lights were off and the cold flatness of the ground beneath you had felt like it made sense enough to be the bathroom that you’d wanted to find. The light that spilled in through the newly opened door made you realize you were absolutely not in the room that you thought. You flickered your gaze between the edge of the bed next to you and the desk that was still littered with papers, a lot of them crumpled now.
You finished with your eyes landing on the silhouette of Armin standing in the doorway, the light of the hallway behind him made the edges of him glow like some kind of heavenly liberator.
Your mouth went dry as he gently shut the door behind him. He hurriedly switched on the lamp above the desk and crouched down next to you, his expression clear with concern. “Are you okay? How’d you get in here?”
The ability to speak was amnestic, your voice coming out babbled and lost. “I don’t know…I thought I was in the bathroom. I— god, I’m sorry.”
You found your way to your feet, your legs wobbly and your head sharply throbbing from the change in pressure. You were sure that the embarrassment you’d subjected yourself to tonight would replace any fleeting fantasies that arose in the future. And you were certain he’d hope to never see you again after this.
As you began to stumble your way out of his room, Armin's lanky arm shot out in front of you. He held you steady with his hands in a very similar way to your first interaction. You felt the edge of the bed press against the back of your calves and you uncontrollably dropped down onto the plush mattress once again. The contrast between this moment and the last time you’d sat on his bed like this made you want to claw at your chest.
“Just… let me at least get you some water or something. Jesus, how much did you drink?” He said, his tone still able to remain kind in its bones somehow. The way he felt the need to help you regardless of the way you invaded his personal space made you want to bang your forehead into your fists. Your drunken stupor didn’t erase his humility. Of course it didn’t.
Armin reached into the small fridge that sat behind his desk, a handful of water bottles in it as well as the premade iced coffees he’d drink to get him through the copious late nights he’d spend dumping his mind onto paper. He grabbed one of the waters and walked over to hand it to you.
You reached out weakly to grab it. The cap twisted off and your sip slowly turned into a chug as you felt the coolness of it wash down your throat, soothing the burn you felt in every corner of yourself. Your voice came out a timid jumble, your words slurring together slightly. “I don't know… a lot. Way too much, obviously.” You paused to take another drink. “I was trying to uh… get away from that guy—“
”Jean.”
“Sure, I don't remember.” You answered defeatedly, not even questioning why Armin knew who you were referring to. He sat next to you on the bed in the same way he did two weeks ago, the same arms length between the two of you. “He said something about coming home with him or whatever so I just dipped. I seriously thought I was in the bathroom…” you admitted, still trying to rack your brain and figure out how you made such a severe misjudgment.
”I’m glad you're not…”
His words come out so quiet that you're not sure what he just said. “Huh?”
Armin cleared his throat, fixing his posture so he sat up a little taller next to your crumpled form. “I— uh… said that sounds about right.” he stuttered out before he continued. “Jean is kinda…forward, I guess. I’m sorry if he made you uncomfortable.”
He felt the need to apologize for his fraternity brother’s behavior, despite the way he would prefer to never bring him up again in front of you. You wave your hand lazily towards him, brushing off the apology.
“It’s not your fault, you apologize too much.” You spit out, your inhibition making you speak before your conscience even has a chance to stop you. Armin lets out a struggled chuff, his shoulders dropping a little in defeat. You’re right, he did apologize too much. Of course you saw that.
“He wasn’t being overly creepy or anything anyways… I just wasn't interested.” You continued, Armin's eyes sparking with something you couldn’t quite place.
”Why not?” He asked. His question came out casual enough, a facade of mindless curiosity. You shrugged your shoulders, a nervous giggle as you speak. “Just not my type I guess.”
Armin felt like he was going to explode. His heart lurched when he saw you sat on his floor, disoriented and filled with guilt. All he wanted was to see you again tonight, to feel your presence. Now that he had it, he felt like he was gonna be sick. His stomach dipped with every different expression you flashed at him. His legs physically ached from how badly he wanted to brush his knee up against yours. Why would you dance with Jean if he wasn't your type? He continues to beat the horse that’s been dead for at least a week now, wondering if you felt the same urge he did.
He can’t keep you here for hours again and not say anything about the thing he felt shattering every bone. You're drunk. His shame had layers now.
Armin chuckled under his breath. He’s the first one to lay back on the bed this time, feeling as though he might pass out if he stayed upright. He lets his toes bounce lightly against the floor, the back of his calves moving against the flat edge of the bed. “So what’s your type then?”
You felt every ounce of blood in your body seem to still from his question. As much as you tried not to, you couldn’t help but read into it front to back. You’d begun to fiddle with the loose threads of the blanket you sit on. Eye contact wasn’t even in the question. Shock began to sober you a little, your easy answers slipping away. ”What do you mean?”
Maybe the clueless drunk girl thing will work. You knew he was too insightful for it to work.
“Well… I don't know. Jean’s an attractive guy. He’s decently popular with women so he must be funny and nice enough to talk to.” Armin's hands rested intertwined on his chest, his thumbs circling each other.
”True… there’s just something missing.” You said as you thought through the maze that presented itself when you tried to think of the right thing to say without exposing yourself too much.
Armin shifted a little. His teeth picked and bit at his cheek and he tasted metal. He could feel his heart thumping in between his shoulder blades. “What’s missing?”
You let out a sigh as you laid back messily onto the bed, your body language beginning to show the bits of frustration that brewed in you. You assumed this is just one of his genuine curiosities, him wanting to know for his own archives of the human mind. You wanted him to let it go and pick something else so you could take a full breath.
”Does that really matter?”
”If it didn't you would’ve gone home with him.”
“I wouldn’t have.”
“Why not?”
“Because… he’s not who I want to go home with.” You felt like you were going to choke. Armin shifted again, turning onto his side. His eyes were on you and you knew it without looking to check. You were choking.
“So there was someone you wanted to go home with?” Armin didn’t even know what he was saying. He was trying to test the waters in his own beat around the bush way. He wanted you to say something that he could bend into perceived rejection, but each answer of yours seemed to confuse him further.
“I didn't say that.”
“So what were you trying to say then?”
You shifted yourself to face him, both of you laying on your sides on the bed. His elbow was propped up so he can hold himself up, you mirrored him. You felt like you were going insane.
His eyes flashed and whirled with something you couldn’t place, his tone was almost painful. You felt like he was holding something back, but the way his eyes and his words seemed to clash made you want to scream into the mattress and kick like a child.
You told yourself that if you did see him again tonight, you were one hundred percent going to say something. You were going to end the borderline obsession you’d formed one way or another. Yet here you were, face to face with the man you’d spent the last two weeks ogling over, and you’re dodging and ducking. ”What are you trying to say?”
Armin felt a ball of apprehension in the back of his throat, swallowing hard to try and get it down. He was at his breaking point, a place he can't say he’d ever been before in this context. Uncharted territory. As the two of you went back and forth, his eyes darted down the side of your body. Saliva began pooling on the back of his tongue when he got sight of the way your body curved, the way your hips rounded so perfectly. Fuck.
He let out a strangled sigh as he spoke, his eyes staring at the wall behind you to avoid your reaction. “Would you have let Jean kiss you if he tried?”
You paused for a moment so you didn’t scream. You let out a broken laugh instead. “No.”
Armin's next words came out so quiet like he’s trying to find his voice, but like he would die if he didn't say them. “Would you let me kiss you if I tried?”
A beat of silence fell between the foot of space between you and him, the foot of space that turned into six inches without either of you noticing. You felt like you needed to pinch yourself. Maybe this is just another one of his charged questions, or some kind of sick joke.
When your eyes snapped to his, you realized it was neither. He’s serious. His lids hung slightly lower, his brows slanted. You felt the tips of your toes start to tingle, your tongue subconsciously coming out to wet your bottom lip. Your voice came out more like a breath, just barely there. “Yes.”
That’s all it took for Armin to close the space between the two of you. You blink once and his forehead is pressed to yours, his hand cupping your face like you’re holy to him. His fingers splayed over your cheek, his thumb tracing your jaw over and over again. His words came out on a shaky breath, like he is using every ounce of his self control. “You have no idea how beautiful you look right now…”
“I’m half drunk…”
“You’re so fucking beautiful.”
The minuscule gap was closed as he pressed his lips to yours. His lips were indescribably plush and so, so warm. He kissed you almost hesitantly at first, not daring to move his lips or press them harder into yours. Once he felt you move your mouth against his that all went out the window, any shred of self control he had left vanished without a second thought.
He kissed you like he was starving, like your lips on his was the only thing keeping him alive. His fingertips curled around the beginning of your jaw just below your ear, tugging your mouth into his like he wanted to consume you. He swallowed a groan when he felt you sigh into his mouth, brushing his tongue against your bottom lip to see if you’ll take. You swiftly parted your lips to let him explore you deeper without hesitation.
And explore he did. His other hand came down to the belt loops of your jeans, sliding his fingers in them and tugging you flush to him with ease. His tongue brushed back and forth against yours, hands came to tangle in each other's hair. The way the two of you kissed was sanctified, like you had been wasting your time by spending it doing anything other than tasting each other.
You felt the clothed ridge of his dick press against your hip and you couldn’t help the way you squeezed your thighs together, your body already demanding some kind of friction.
He broke from the kiss, his lips swollen and flushed. His eyes pleaded as he spoke. “Tell me you’ll remember this tomorrow…that you’ve been thinking about this like I have, please.”
You let out a strangled chuckle, dropping your forehead to his shoulder. If only he knew. You began to leave a wet trail of kisses up his throat, sloppy and half-hazard in between your words. “…I’ve thinking about this since we met.”
A kiss.
“thinking about you…”
Another.
“I haven’t been able to get away from you, you're everywhere..”
Armin let out a sharp groan at your words, his hand grabbing for your face to pull you back up to his lips. He kissed you like he wanted to swallow you whole, like he'd been fantasizing about this just as relentlessly as you have the past two weeks.
“Fuck…you’ve made me lose my mind since that night. All I can think about is you.” He breathed out against your mouth, the confirmation made you exhale shakily as you felt anything that's not you and him in his bed completely disappear. Your leg hooked around the side of him and you pressed your body weight against him so he’d roll onto his back.
You barely had to force. Armin’s mouth went slightly agape as he watched you sit on top of him, his eyes deepening in a way that could hypnotize you if you let them. The weight of you on his lap was enough to make him twitch, but the way the soft lines of your curves pooled and dipped sent his brain into overdrive.
He grasped and clutched at your hips as you brought your mouth back down to his, a sharp exhale leaving him when you instinctively rolled your hips forward. Just once. Not enough but far too much.
“Y/n… you don't have to do… we can take things slow if you want. I don't want you to feel— oh fuck.” He began, but was quickly cut off by how you drew your tongue up the side of his neck, teeth dragging against the skin right below his pulse point. His shaky hands slid up your hips and landed just below your ribs, his fingertips curling around the bottom hem of your shirt.
“Do you want to take things slower?” You breathed into his ear, his head shaking rapidly in response. He was unable to get the words ‘fuck no’ out fast enough. “Good. Me neither.” You giggled as you grabbed his wrists and slid the palms of his hands under your shirt. His hands splayed over the skin of your stomach, wanting to cover as much surface area as he could.
He continued to slide his hands up further, studying you with an undying precision. He had imagined you like this so many times, and even the best of it didn't come close to the way you felt in his hands.
He began trailing them over the lace that covered the swells of your breasts. He brushed his thumb against your nipple over the thin mesh of your bra, grinning when he heard you let out a stifled whine into his mouth. His other hand went back down to tug and grip at the bottom of your shirt, his voice desperate and gravelly. “Take this off. Please, baby.”
The pet name had you complying immediately, sliding the shirt off with ease and tossing it across the room. His eyes darkened as he drank you in, his hands trailing up and down your bare skin as if he'd never seen anything this perfect.
He started to sit up, holding you against him as he shifted the two of you to the head of the bed, leaning his back against the headboard. You settled on top of his lap again and he grabbed at your ass like a rabid animal. His lips started to attack your neck, his kisses there being irreverent and famished.
You ground your hips down onto him again when you felt him trail his mouth down to your collarbones, and then to the pudge of your breasts that dared to spill over the edge of your bra. He let out a hiss against your skin, biting and sucking so a mark would be left there. He needed you to have a reminder of this that you’d see even if he escaped your mind. He needed you to remember him.
You started to wiggle against his lap as he stuck his tongue out to soothe the bruised skin. His hands came to grasp your hips, holding you still with unexpected strength. “Fucking hell, you gotta stop moving like that…” he mumbled into your soft skin. He wanted to worship you. He wasn’t going to let that be ruined by his own weakness.
You let out a breathy sound, the feeling of his fingertips pressing into your skin to keep your hips immobile made you yearn for something more. Armin kept his mouth on you the entire time his hand started to caress your stomach, landing low at the edge of your jeans. He fiddled with the buttons and looked up at you through ignited eyes, eliciting a gasp out of you as he toyed with the hem of your underwear.
“Wanna touch you some more before you make me cum in my pants…” he muttered out, low and sure. He touched you everywhere but where you needed him most. It was torture. It was so good.
He ran a single fingertip over your clothed core, groaning into your shoulder like a wounded animal when he felt how soaked you were. “Jesus Christ… you can't be real.”
Your hips bucked against his finger, your clit begging for something… anything. It was like he read your mind when he finally slid the crotch of your underwear to the side, taking that same finger and running it up your slit, collecting some of your slick and settling it on your swollen nub to rub painfully slow circles.
“Fuck, fuck Armin..” you moaned out, your hands reaching for his shoulders to steady yourself. Armin let out a stifled whimper at the sound of his name falling off your lips in such a perverted tone. He felt his dick pulse wildly in his pants, but his own release was the last thing on his mind.
He continued to work your clit with his finger, smiling against your skin when he felt you relax fully into his lap, every muscle in your body starting to become pliable. “Please, baby. Let me make you feel good…. let me take care of you in the way you deserve. God, you look so pretty. So fucking pretty.”
His muffled slew of words had you moaning profanities into the thick air around you, and he felt each one of them reverberate through his body and shoot straight to his crotch. He felt your heavy breaths on his skin, goosebumps trailing down his arms. He sped up his circles, watching the way you tilted your head back and rolled your hips into his palm.
The air was sucked out of his lungs every time he looked at you, it was almost painful how breathtaking you were. He was completely lost in you. You had him so deeply at your mercy, there wasn't anything he wouldn’t do if you asked for it.
A sharp gasp left you as he shifted his hand, using his thumb now to rub your clit while his middle finger toyed at your entrance. He tilted his head to look at you, his eyes dazed and on fire despite their cool hue. “Can I…?” He asked sweetly, so sweetly that you felt your chest swell. He was the kind of lover you’d hoped for most, devoted but deeply desperate. Once he felt the way your body responded to him, the only thing he thought about was how many different ways he could make you cum. His own pleasure was a distant afterthought.
You nodded furiously and a coy grin spread across his face. “I need you to tell me, y/n… need to hear you say it.” He teased as he dipped just the slightest bit of his fingertip into you. It took everything in him not to bury every last knuckle once he felt the tight band of muscle kiss his fingertip with a throb.
“God— please, baby. Need your fingers, don't you wanna feel me?” You pouted, your voice so erotic Armin thought he might die on the spot. He wasted no time, sliding his slender finger into you and cursing under his breath as he felt your walls immediately squeeze it.
“Hm— fuck, baby. You’re so tight… I’m gonna add another, okay?” He groaned, his question being met with a choked out ‘yes’ from you. He slid his ring finger into you to join his middle finger as his thumb continued to swirl around your clit. You whined into his neck, your body shuddering at the stretch.
You jutted your hips down onto his hand, and he took that as a green light. He started pumping his fingers in and out of you slowly, wanting to memorize the feel of you like this. He rolled his wrist against the inside seam of your jeans as he started fucking you faster with his fingers, looking down to see his hand stuffed desperately into your pants as you humped against it. He was done for.
Your face pressed up against his neck, drool threatening to leave your slightly agape mouth as he worked you out. His words were fucking filthy, his knack for writing showing even now.
“You feel so good… fuck— you have no idea how many times I’ve thought about making you moan like this.”
“I’m so fucking hooked on you, my god. Tell me what you want, I’ll do anything…”
”I can feel you squeezing, baby. You like it like this? I’ll give it to you over and over again.”
Your body hummed with rapture as he cooed his filth. Your mind was hazy, the only thing you could feel being his fingers working you out as if they were made for it. They started to nudge that spot deep inside of you that made spots appear in your vision. You choked out a moan, your voice wrecked and laced with pure bliss. “Shit— right there… don’t fucking stop.”
The way you demanded him made his chest flood with heat, his free hand coming up to toy with your nipple over the thin fabric of your bra. “I won't, baby. God, not when you sound like that… take this off, please.” He panted as he tugged at the underwire.
You reached your hands back behind you, your hips still grinding into his hand. You undid the clasp of your bra, your fingers trembling making it a little harder than it should’ve been. You let your bra slide down your arms and you tossed it aimlessly to the side.
Armin's eyes grew wide with desire at the sight of you. Topless, blissed out, bucking your hips to ride his hand. He let out a shaky whimper as he watched your tits bounce in his face. He grabbed one of your nipples between the thumb and forefinger of his free hand, rolling the sensitive bud.
“Oh god… baby I— shit. You’re gonna make me…” you cried out, the familiar bubble begging to swell deep in your stomach. Armin kept his movements steady, his voice dripping with desperation as he whispered into your ear. “Fuck, y/n. Let me make you cum… please. I need it. Need to know what you sound like when you cum, what you feel like…”
You sobbed out against him, a string of profanities falling from your lips. You felt yourself start to flutter around him, your eyes glued shut and your body thrumming with an indescribable pleasure. He lowered his head, using his free hand to hold your breast as he took your nipple into his mouth. You felt him swirl his tongue and bite down gently, and that sent you over the edge into oblivion.
You grabbed mindlessly at the hair at the base of his skull, tugging and letting out a ragged mewl. Your orgasm ripped through you like a bolt of lightning, all consuming and persistent. You shook wildly against him, and Armin's eyes were trailing your every movement. Every shiver felt sacred. Every moan made his dick spill a little more into his boxers.
His mouth found yours with fervor as he worked you down from your release, his kisses slow and tumultuous. The way you struggled to keep your mouth pressed to his made him want to drop to his knees. He wanted to make you cum so many times that he’d spoil the feeling for you for any lover after him.
You let out muffled cries into his mouth as he continued to pump his fingers slowly. He was still so greedy. He couldn't stop, his fingers would have to be ripped away from your pussy to make him stop.
You twitched harshly as his thumb brushed up against your overwhelmed clit. You croaked out a groan, grabbing his wrist to stop his movements as you collapsed into his lap, forehead falling to his chest. “B-baby… I c-can’t. Too much…”
Armin let out a stifled whine against your hair, but he reluctantly stopped his movements anyways. He was addicted to you, your smell, the feeling of your bare tits pressed up against him. He slid his fingers out of you and you shuddered from the loss.
He brought his fingers to his mouth with zero hesitation, sucking every last drop of you off of them. He let out a pathetic whine as the taste of you spread across his tongue, he would never get enough of you. “So perfect..” he muttered to himself as you finally began to catch your breath.
He shifted the both of you, holding your limp body against his like it was pure gold in his hands. He laid back and moved you to rest your head on his chest, his fingers tracing unrecognizable shapes onto your bare back. A few moments of bliss filled silence washed over the two of you before Armin broke it, his voice much mushier now. “…have you really been thinking about me too?”
You raised your head to look up at him, his eyes like a begging puppy. You let out a small giggle, your head falling back to his chest. “Armin, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. That's why I came here tonight in the first place.”
You felt his chest release, a deep exhale coming out of him like he was holding his breath that whole time. “I’m so glad you came tonight—“ he cuts off, bringing his hand up to his forehead and wincing when he realizes what he just said. “I mean, I’m glad you showed up. Yeah.”
You let out a stifled chuckle into his chest, him returning the favor as he continued. “Well I am glad you came too. You know, the other way. That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my whole life and I’m really glad you felt safe enough to share that with me and… okay im just gonna shut up now.”
You laughed at how easily he got flustered, but you still rubbed small circles into his chest as reassurance. A way to say ‘I see you’ without any words. Your gaze shifted down to his crotch and the tent that remained firmly pitched in his pants. You reached to toy with the waistband, his hands quickly coming down to stop you.
You shot him a concerned look, his face turning a bright shade of crimson. His voice came out stuttered and slow. “You… don't have to do anything. This was about you anyways…”
Your brows lowered as you ran your palm over the hard ridge of his dick through his pants, his hips twitching and his legs shaking a little. He let out a choked sigh, his face turning impossibly redder. “I—fuck. I already uh…”
You cocked a brow, the confusion in your expression softening when you noticed the wet patch leaking through the fabric. Oh my god. You had made Armin Arlert cum in his pants. Without even touching him.
A wild smirk spread across your face as you looked back up at him, his hands covering his face as he let out a defeated laugh. “I told you it was the hottest thing I’d ever seen… I wasn't lying.”
synopsis: a kid calls Jean your "husband" and that's all he can think of for the rest of the night.
pairing: jean kirschtein x fem! reader
word count: 3.6k
c.w: modern au!, trost is a modern city, fem! reader, making out outside, smut, shower s-x, p in v, lots of sweet talk, a little bit of dirty talk, disgusting fluff mixed with some smut.
Your heart was going was to burst out of your chest.
You’re not sure how to put it into words, the way he crouched down when you told him that your heels were hurting your feet, his big and warm hands working their way around your ankles to massage them. Or the way he looks up when you put your hand on top of his head, heat crawling up your neck when your eyes meet his.
Jean Kirtstein, the man who asked you to be his girlfriend a year and a half ago, was the text-book definition of the perfect man. An attentive lover, someone who pays attention to what you do or say — husband material. You would be lying if you said you didn’t think of marrying him six months into your relationship, but you knew it would be too soon to bring it up and you would hate to freak out the man.
Even then, what would you say? You treat me better than half of the men I have been with, and so now I need to marry you.
Yeah, that would sound absolutely insane.
Tonight was no different, you could feel the love pouring out of him with every move he made. The arm wrapped around your shoulders, the hand squeezing your arm to make sure that you were warm. Trost was known to be a rather cold city, especially at night, but it never stopped you from having your date nights.
“What are we watching next?” Jean leans down to stare at your phone with you. You were scrolling through the long movie list you had made together, reading carefully through the movie titles.
“We can do… Beautiful Boy? We haven’t watched it yet, surprisingly.” You look up at your boyfriend and he nods.
“Okay, Beautiful Boy.”
“Oh, I’m gonna ugly-cry though…”
Jean lets out a laugh before pressing his lips to the side of your head, pulling you closer to him. “Not the first time I’ve seen you cry.”
You roll your eyes before shoving your phone back in the pocket of your long coat. “You’re lucky I love you.”
“Oh you do?” Jean smirks, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “I would’ve never guessed.”
But before you could come up with your own smart retort, a rather loud bang interrupts your moment. It pulls you back to reality for a moment, and you find yourself holding onto your boyfriend’s arm.
“What was that?” You whisper, too nervous to step closer to the sound.
Jean immediately goes into protective mode, gently pushes you to hide behind him.
“Who is there?!” He yells out, all protective and serious as his eyes scan for potential danger. You would’ve run away, had it not been the alleyway that leads directly towards your apartment building.
Another soft, wet sound comes from the alleyway, but this time Jean squints as he takes a closer look at what was happening.
Orange, white, a little bit of black….white, and then orange again. Fur. There is fur everywhere, and multiple pairs of bright eyes stare directly into yours and Jean’s souls.
Cats were gathered around the dumpster, only distracted for a moment by your presence before diving back into their food. You step from around Jean and towards the animals, your voice careful and concerned.
“I hope they’re not eating something spoiled.”
And as if they could understand what you were saying, their gaze immediately shifts towards something in the sky.
Or more like someone.
“Miss! Watch out!” A child’s voice can be heard from above, and you look up at the third floor window.
Two kids — a boy and a girl, had their heads sticking out of the window. The light was very bright from where they were looking, and you assumed that they were probably in the kitchen.
“Oh,” you place a hand on your chest as you realize what was happening, and you turn to Jean with what he can only describe as the biggest smile on your face. “Look, I think they’re feeding them.”
Jean approaches you with a warm smile, reaching his hand towards your face where he gently holds your jaw before leaning down to kiss your forehead. His carefulness makes butterflies dance in your stomach, and you move closer to him as the two of you watch the cats eat.
“Mommy says we can’t go out and feed them at night.” It’s the boy who speaks up this time, his words laced with disappointment. Jean is quick to respond to him.
“Your mommy is right, it’s dangerous at night.”
“But you’re outside at night.” The pout is so evident in his voice that it makes you chuckle.
His sister hisses at him, quickly correcting him. “They’re grown ups, dummy! Grown ups can walk outside at night!”
“Then I wanna be a grown up some day!” The boy exclaims loudly, before tossing another piece of meat down to the cats.
It seems that this was a regular occurrence, as the cats look fairly healthy and are full after a couple of bites. The kids bid them goodbye very loudly, and then you hear a loud shush coming from inside their apartment.
“It’s way past your bedtime!”
“But mommy! It’s the weekend!”
“And I let you feed the cats, now it’s time to sleep.”
“I wanna say byebye to the nice lady and her husband!”
That elicits a chuckle from you and a surprised sound from Jean who looks down at you. “Am I just an accessory now?”
You wrap your arms around his middle. “A nice accessory.”
“Byebye!” Both kids wave at you, and you and Jean wave back as you watch them retreat inside.
“Goodnight!” You exclaim loud enough for both of them to hear, and their giggles echo through the night before the window closes and the rest of the conversation is muffled.
You stand there, your arms still wrapped around Jean before you feel his eyes on you, warm and adoring.
“What?” You can feel your cheeks warming up under his gaze, his firm body feeling extra nice against yours.
“Husband, huh?” He tucks a hair strand behind your ear, taking in your flustered look. “I like that. Do you?”
The question comes out soft, careful — this was Jean’s way of testing the waters, the relationship in itself. He wanted to make sure that you two were on the same page, that the past year and a half of you two being together has been just as amazing to you, as it has been fulfilling to him. He cradles your face with his hand, his thumb brushing against your warm cheek as you gaze at him lovingly.
“I love it.”
Your words hang in the air for a few moments, surrounded by the silence of the night and your mixed breaths. Your chest feels tight, eyes brimming with tears because this was so incredibly overwhelming yet steadying. Because this was Jean, this wasn’t the man who had stood you up or the one who made you pay despite being the one to invite you on a date, or the one who expected sex after one date.
This was Jean, and not your ex-boyfriend who had told you that he wasn’t ready for commitment after being in a relationship for a year, nor was he the man who ghosted you after three dates.
You tilt your head, melting against his touch and allowing him to take the lead from here.
And soon enough, he leans down and captures your lips with his in what starts out as a gentle kiss. A couple of pecks turned into deeper kisses, and in no time you were burying your hands in his hair, fingers pulling at his mullet. The action elicits a soft sound from the taller man who pushes you up against the nearest wall, not before stumbling a bit and giggling against each other’s lips.
“Would’ve been bad if you fell.” He whispers in between kisses, his hand resting on the back of your head whilst the other grips your hip. You can feel the self-restraint slipping with each kiss, and it makes your body feel warm as you smile against his lips.
“You would’ve fallen with me so I don’t get embarrassed.” You tease him, your finger poking at his cheek and he chuckles, his hand falling from your head. He was now fully gripping your hips, caging you between the wall and his body.
“Mmm, my girl knows me so well.” He nudges your nose with his, smiling at your euphoric giggles. His lips attach against your cheek, then your jaw and down to your neck as you gasp in between giggles.
“Jean!”
“My girl, my wife,” he says the petname with so much pride, so much possessiveness that you could’ve sworn you felt your heart was about to explode.
“I have a feeling you like the sound of that,” you tease the man, brushing his hair away from his face before holding it in your hands. “Your face feels warm.”
“I love it,” he kisses the palm of your hand, before melting against your touch. “You have no idea.”
“Oh I think I do.” You whisper with a shy smile, your thumb brushing against his cheek. “My husband.”
Jean’s eyes widen for a moment, a strong feeling washes over him before he squeezes his eyes shut. He takes the hand that is holding his face before kissing it — its palm, its knuckles, repeatedly and so lovesick that you could feel your heart in your throat.
And then he opens his eyes, and his stomach flips at the way you’re looking at him. All flushed, almost drunk off his love for you. You were breathing hard, chest heaving as you stared at him as if he held the key to all of your secrets. Like he was the answer to all of your problems, as if existing without him was the worst and most unforgivable sin.
He pauses. Because telling you what he was thinking would ruin it, saying out loud that he was thinking of a million ways to have a conversation with your family about proposing to you would ruin the surprise. Because revealing that he had been saving up for a ring for the past six months would make you worry about him, about whether or not he was using his own salary for himself.
Jean knows you like the back of his hand. And he knows that if he were to propose tomorrow, with a paper ring and a shoebox for a house, you would accept.
But he would never do that — you were his princess, his sweetheart, his love. He was going to make you live out the fairytale of your dreams.
—
It should be illegal to be this attracted to your partner.
Jean’s eyes have been devouring your body ever since you got home, watching you walk around your shared bedroom then head for the bathroom. He leans against the doorframe as you remove your make-up, getting ready for the night as you grab a towel and your skincare products. Sensing his presence, you look at your boyfriend and smile.
“What?” you step closer to the shower before turning on the faucet. Jean quietly moves behind you, wrapping his arms around your middle.
“I can scrub your back?” He whispers against your cheek, groaning loudly when the smell of your perfume hits his nostrils. You giggle, a bit taken aback by his boldness.
“You never just scrub my back.” You point out, and the taller man playfully bites down on your earlobe.
“Did I say just scrub your back?” His hands sneakily find their way on your bare thighs, traveling their way up and under the fabric of your dress. “Scrub your back, wash your hair—”
Your hands rest on his toned forearms, smiling to yourself when you feel him squeeze your thighs.
“Soap my body too?”
This elicits another groan from Jean, and he swiftly reaches for the zipper of your dress. “Alright, let’s take it off.”
You can’t help but laugh at the urgency in his voice, but you’re also deeply flustered by how easy it is to make his self control crumble.
“Don’t forget yourself,” you mutter as he finishes unzipping your dress, taking a step back so you can step out of it and stand in front of him wearing only panties. With deliberate slowness, you undo the clasp of his belt and let it slide free. You thread it carefully through your fingers before gently yanking Jean towards you.
You continue to lift the leather belt through its loops, your other hand undoing the buttons of his white blouse. You let the belt drop to the floor, the sound of metal clanking against the tiles echoing through the bathroom, then you move closer to the man until your boobs are pressed against his bare chest.
The air is charged as you wrap your arms around his neck, a bashful smile dancing on your lips. “I wanna see all of you as well.”
Whatever self-restraint Jean had is long gone the moment he feels your skin against his. His lips crash against yours, messy and hurried as he swallows your sounds with his mouth. His big, warm hands grope your ass cheeks as you press your groin against his, gasping against his lips when you feel the growing bulge against your stomach.
You open your eyes, half-lidded and glossed over as you pull away from the kiss to catch your breath. But Jean captures your lips again, and you gasp when he pushes you up against the cold shower glass.
“I know baby,” your stomach twists at his tone — teasing yet mocking, and you pout at the man when you notice his playful smile. “Look at your nipples, they’re hard.”
He wastes no time in touching you, his thumb roughly grazing over the sensitive bud. Your back arches at the touch, your hand resting on his chest to make a small distance between the two of you.
“The water’s running.”
With a soft push, you put a little distance between the two of you before easing the glass door aside, Jean’s gaze following you. You step under the running water, making sure that your back was facing Jean as your fingers slide under the edge of your underwear. Looking over your shoulder, you send Jean a smile as you gradually work your underwear down and over your hips.
Once fully naked, you hear rustling coming from outside of the shower and smile to yourself as you see Jean yanking his blouse off his body then practically jumping out of his pants and boxers.
“You’re fucking gorgeous, d’you know that?”
You gasp as you feel his hands on your boobs, shamelessly groping and fondling them as you reach for the body wash. You hum in response, pushing your ass back so that it grazes his now fully erect cock. Immediately, Jean folds against you as he rests his forehead against your shoulder.
“Are you okay baby?” you ask and Jean can tell you’re finding this way too amusing.
“Mmmm,” is all he can say as he pushes his cock against your ass, his hand sliding down from your boob down to your stomach. It rests on your pubic bone, and the tall man can tell that you’re slowly losing patience as well just from the way your body was reacting to him.
You shudder at the feeling, hips bucking up. You wish he could just fuck you stupid, but a part of you was enjoying the build up a little too much.
“Was just thinking,” his chin is now propped on your shoulder, eyes staring down at your boobs and the rest of your body. “About how bad I want to fuck you.”
You sigh, cheeks flaring up at his dirty confession. Your hand reaches behind you to cradle his face, and you turn your head to look at him. “How bad do you want to fuck me, Jean?”
Pressing his forehead against yours, Jean carefully nudges the tip of his cock against your wet folds. It’s a euphoric feeling despite the lack of penetration, and he basks in the way your face contorts and twists when he swipes the tip of his cock over your clit.
“Til you feel it in your stomach, baby.”
You bite down on your lip, sighing at his words. “Please.”
The first thrust feels like you have been sent to heaven and back. It feels good, comforting, your warm walls hugging his cock so tight that Jean curses under his breath and bites down on your shoulder to suppress his own noises.
“Fuuuck, you’re so tight. Don’t I fuck you enough, huh? How’s this pussy still so fucking tight?”
You can only moan in response as you start to fuck yourself back against him, a gutteral sound escaping Jean as he watches your ass recoil with each thrust. He only lets you do the work for a couple of moments before his hand hooks under your leg, lifting it up as he starts to fuck you hard.
You gasp, holding yourself up against the wall as your eyes roll back.
The obscene sound of his cock pumping in and out of you fills the bathroom, the large vein that wraps around his dick dragging against your folds with each thrust. And he reaches so deep inside you that it elicits an embarrassing moan out of you, one that has you covering your mouth.
“Don’t hide from me,” Jean quickly removes your hand from over your mouth, his pace quickening. The tip of his cock reaches spots inside you that your own fingers can’t, and you quickly figure out that holding up your leg allows him to reach even deeper if possible.
The light-brown-haired male can no longer hide his own sounds, as the lewd sound of his hips violently slamming against yours were the only thing to reach his ears. The feeling of your tight pussy is the one thing that he can feel in his entire body, and he makes it his mission to make you cum as hard as you can.
“Fuck, you’re taking me so well.”
He holds you up well, making sure that you were balancing yourself well as he continues to fuck you with your leg in the air. Your leg starts shaking when the tip of his cock grazes that spot, and so he frees your leg before wrapping his arms around your body. With embarrassing ease, Jean manhandles you so that you are pressed face first against the glass door of the shower.
“What I’d take to see what you look like right now,” he mumbles against your ear, his cock buried deep inside your pussy. He starts to fuck you again, this time going so deep that you could almost feel him in your stomach.
It makes your eyes roll back, your cheeks stinging from the heat as your body gives out and lets him take full control. You rest your forehead against the glass when the pleasure becomes mind-numbing, your hands reaching behind you to grip his forearms as he continues to fuck you so good.
“Oh my god Jean, oh my god—”
“Don’t stop?” His voice was strained, he was close too.
“Please!”
Saying the magic word always got you what you wanted. Jean’s hips are relentless as he continues to slam the tip of his cock exactly how you liked. Coupled with his hands gripping your hips so possessively, your orgasm hits you like a train.
Your body shakes, goosebumps forming all over your skin as your pussy gushes on his cock. And you can’t stop cumming, Jean’s cock keeps fucking into you as he chases his own release and mutters filthy words of praise against your hair.
“My perfect woman, my pretty wife taking my cock like a fucking champ.” His moan is long and drawn and you cry out even more when you feel his hand go around your body to rub at your poor and neglected clit. “You’re so fucking good for me, you’re gonna cum for me again. Right?” His teeth sink into your earlobe and you sigh, your body temperature rising as you nod.
“Yeah!”
“Good girl.”
Jean gives one final slam of his hips before he’s emptying himself inside your pussy, cock nestled between your tight and warm walls. You take a moment to catch your breath, your body still twitching and recovering from what just happened.
You tell your boyfriend that you two need to hurry and wash up before the warm water runs out, and he jumps in action as he scrubs both your body and his, rinsing with water before stepping out to grab towels for the two of you.
By the time he returns with a warm towel, you’re trembling from the cold.
“Sorry I took too long.” You shake your head, letting him wrap the towel around your body.
“It’s okay,” you smile as you kiss his cheek. “Cover yourself or you’ll get sick.”
Jean kisses your forehead before patting your butt. “Go get dressed, you look like a poodle.”
You feign being offended as you gasp. “Take it back!”
“Thought you liked me for my honesty!”
You shout from the bedroom. “No! I liked you because you were tall and handsome!”
You hear Jean make the same noise you made earlier. “My girlfriend is shallow?!”
“Better break up with me.” you say playfully and Jean pops his head from the bathroom, his face all serious.
