… así, linda
Armando x female!reader
#smut with plot. Armando speaks Spanish • wc: ~4k This is written in English…Spanish/Español here Childhood Friends, Friends with Benefits, Blurred Boundaries, Mutual Attraction, Jealousy, Possessiveness, Feelings Left Unsaid..
You and Armando had been friends long before sleeping together complicated things. What started as one night neither of you planned became an unspoken arrangement: no commitment, no expectations, and no questions about what happens when you’re apart… what happens between you is still completely casual.
_____
Sleeping with Armando had changed things. Not enough to ruin the friendship, really, but enough that you noticed things you hadn’t before.
You’d known him long before any of this, long before the first night you’d both stopped pretending there wasn’t something there. He’d been easy to be around then, familiar and safe in the uncomplicated way a friend was supposed to be. You could sit beside him without thinking about the space between your bodies, watch him come home from training flushed and exhausted without letting your eyes linger, let him put an arm around you or lean against him, even fall asleep beside him without thinking twice about it.
Now you knew too much.
You knew there was another version of Armando beneath the one everyone else got to see, one whose eyes went dark and stayed on you until your heartbeat climbed into your throat. You knew how quickly his voice could lose its warmth, dropping low enough that a few words in Spanish could make your stomach tighten before he’d even moved toward you. You knew what his hands felt like when they stopped touching you like a friend, and somehow knowing that had made the normal version of him dangerous too.
Armando had gotten back only a few hours ago. You hadn’t seen him in weeks, but sitting in his apartment again should’ve felt normal. His bag was still abandoned by the door, his training gear somewhere inside it, and the television played quietly in the background. You were curled into your usual corner of his couch while he sat at the opposite end. There was nothing unusual about any of it except neither of you had touched the food sitting on the table.
You could feel him looking at you, but you kept your eyes on the television for another few seconds, trying to ignore the weight of his stare until your pulse started climbing anyway. Finally, you looked over.
“What?”
He didn’t answer.
“Armando.”
His gaze dropped briefly to your mouth before returning to your eyes.
“Ven.”
There he was. That version of him, the one you never would’ve known existed if you’d just stayed friends.
You got up and crossed the space between you, stopping close enough that his knees nearly touched your legs. Armando looked up at you but did absolutely nothing. He simply made you stand there while his eyes moved slowly over your face, making you feel every one of the three weeks you’d spent apart.
“¿Qué?” you finally whispered.
His hand settled against your hip, and your breath caught before you could hide it. Of course he noticed. His thumb moved once against your side.
“¿Me extrañaste?”
It was something a friend could ask, but he wasn’t looking at you like a friend. Armando’s gaze stayed on yours as his fingers pressed a little deeper into your hip.
“¿Tres semanas y todavía me vas a hacer esperar?”
Your eyes closed for half a second.
“Cállate.”
His gaze dropped to your mouth.
“Hazme.”
Something shifted in Armando’s expression. His eyes lifted slowly back to yours, darker now, but he stayed exactly where he was, settled into the couch with you standing between his legs. He didn’t need to move. That was what made it worse. His hand remained on your hip, his thumb pressing into your side while he looked up at you, waiting for you to be the one who gave in. You expected him to pull you closer, to kiss you, to do anything that would end the unbearable silence between you, but he didn’t.
“Armando.”
“¿Qué?”
You knew exactly what he was doing. He was making you close the last bit of distance yourself.
Your hand found his shoulder as you stepped farther between his knees, and Armando’s legs opened easily for you. His eyes followed every movement as you lowered yourself onto his lap, one knee settling on either side of his hips. Only then did his hands move, settling heavily on your waist as his fingers tightened around you. Suddenly you were aware of everything at once, his chest against yours, the warmth of his body beneath you, his face only inches away. Three weeks without him felt much longer from here.
“¿Así me extrañaste?” he murmured.
You didn’t answer. You caught the front of his shirt and kissed him instead, and whatever control Armando had been holding onto disappeared. His mouth met yours harder, one hand sliding around your waist to pull you flush against him while the other moved into your hair. His breathing changed when your fingers found the back of his neck, the restraint finally slipping from him now that you were exactly where he’d wanted you.
Your hips shifted against his lap, and Armando went still for half a second, his eyes opening against the kiss. There was that dark stare you knew too well now. You held his gaze and moved against him a second time, slower, feeling his jaw tighten as his hands traveled down your body and slipped beneath the hem of your shorts to settle against your ass. His palms squeezed firmly, pulling you tighter into his lap as your hips continued to move.
You could feel his body responding beneath you, unmistakable now through the thin layers separating you, and the sensation sent your pulse racing. Armando’s eyes stayed fixed on yours as if he wanted to watch you realize exactly what you were doing to him. This was what sleeping with Armando had ruined. You knew what that look meant now, what his silence meant, what the tightening of his hands meant, what it felt like when his body stopped responding to you like you were only the girl he’d known for years.
And you knew exactly what came next, because the first time you’d felt him like this, neither of you had planned for it to happen.
It had been dark then, with Armando pressed against you in his bed and years of friendship still sitting safely between you. Your ex had broken your heart, and Armando had done what he’d always done when something in your life fell apart. He showed up.
You’d fallen asleep together watching television in his bed and woken sometime later with his chest against your back and his arm wrapped around your waist. You remembered lying there in the darkness, perfectly still, because something about being held by him suddenly didn’t feel as innocent as it had every other time.
Armando was barely awake when his fingertips began moving lazily over your arm. His face shifted closer, his breath warm against your neck, and then you felt the soft press of his lips against your skin, once almost absentmindedly, followed by another kiss that lingered just long enough to make your breathing change. His arm tightened around your waist and pulled your hips back against him.
That was when you felt him.
Your entire body went still. For a few seconds neither of you moved, and you wondered whether Armando was awake enough to realize exactly how closely he was holding you. Then his hips shifted behind yours, slow enough that you could’ve convinced yourself it was accidental if he hadn’t done it again.
You should’ve moved, but instead, you pressed back against him.
It was barely a movement, but Armando felt it. His breathing changed against your neck, his hand tightening at your waist as you moved against each other again. There was something almost surreal about grinding against the boy you’d spent years treating like an extension of yourself and feeling the unmistakable proof that he wasn’t thinking about you like a friend anymore.
When Armando finally woke enough to understand what was happening, you both stopped. His heartbeat was hard against your back, his mouth remained close to your neck, and his hand was still holding your waist. For one suspended moment, you were sure he was going to pull away and apologize.
He didn’t.
He pulled you closer, and that was the moment everything changed.
You’d seen his face thousands of times before that night, but never like that, never hovering over you in the dark with his eyes moving over you as though he was trying to reconcile the girl he’d known forever with the woman suddenly beneath him. There was hesitation at first, almost disbelief, and then something heavier when neither of you stopped.
You discovered that night that the shy boy you’d grown up with wasn’t shy with you anymore. Maybe that was what stayed with you afterward. Not simply that you’d crossed the line, but that you’d been allowed to see a version of Armando you hadn’t known existed, the lowered voice, the intensity in his eyes, the confidence in hands you’d only ever known through friendly hugs and thoughtless touches. Once you’d felt his hips moving against yours in the dark and heard the change in his breathing when you pushed back into him, there was no going back to pretending his body was just another familiar thing about your best friend.
Now, weeks later, you were doing it again.
The memory dissolved beneath the pressure of Armando’s hands squeezing your ass. You were still on his couch, still straddling his lap and moving against him, his mouth against yours and his body hard beneath you, the exact sensation that had dragged the memory out of you in the first place. Only now there was nothing accidental about it. You both knew exactly what you were doing.
His hands tightened around you as your hips moved against him again, pulling you closer instead of stopping you. The kiss grew heavier and needier, weeks apart finally catching up with both of you at once. His breathing was no longer as controlled as it had been when he was sitting across the couch watching you. Each breath came warmer and heavier against your mouth, occasionally breaking into a quiet murmur when you moved against him just right.
You felt it everywhere, the tension in his body beneath yours, the way his fingers dug into your skin whenever you pressed yourself closer, the heat gathering between your thighs until the slow friction had you wet enough to make every movement feel more intense. A moan slipped out against his mouth before you could swallow it, and Armando’s grip tightened immediately.
“Mm.”
The sound was low against your lips, more something you felt than heard. It made you move again, and this time his breath caught.
There was something intoxicating about watching the composure he’d been wearing all night begin to fracture. His grip had gone from controlled to hungry, his fingers flexing against your body like he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to slow you down or pull you even closer.
Armando’s hand eventually left your ass and traveled slowly up your waist, slipping beneath your shirt. His palm was hot against your bare skin as it moved higher, and you shivered when his fingertips dragged along your side. He felt it, of course he did. His mouth moved from yours to your jaw, his breath warm against your skin as he murmured something too low for you to catch.
You lifted your arms when his fingers caught the hem of your shirt. He pulled it over your head and tossed it aside without looking away from you, then simply stared. His eyes moved over you slowly enough to make your skin burn. There was something different about being looked at by someone who already knew what was underneath your clothes. He wasn’t discovering anything. He was remembering.
You shifted against him again, and a quiet sound escaped you when the movement pressed you harder against his lap. Armando’s jaw tightened.
“Fuck.”
His hand returned to your bare waist and traveled upward over your side until his fingers settled around your neck. The other stayed firmly beneath your arm, holding you against him while his thumb rested beneath your jaw. His chest rose against yours with every heavier breath, and when you moved your hips again, his grip instinctively tightened.
“Armando, please.”
His eyes stayed on yours.
“¿Qué, bebé?”
“Don’t call me baby.”
Something flickered in his expression. His fingers tightened slightly around your neck as he pulled you forward until your forehead rested against his. His breath washed over your lips, hot and uneven now, and for a second neither of you moved before he kissed you again, hard enough to pull a moan from you.
Your fingers disappeared into his hair, his answering breath rough against your lips. His arms closed around you, grip tightening beneath your body, and before you had time to register the change, Armando stood with you still wrapped around him. Your legs tightened instinctively around his waist, his hands supporting you as he carried you away from the couch.
You knew exactly where he was taking you.
His bedroom had once been one of the most ordinary places in your life. You’d spent hours there doing absolutely nothing, stretched across his bed while he played on his phone, watching television together or talking until one of you fell asleep. You knew the smell of his sheets, where he threw his clothes, which side of the bed he automatically chose.
Now you knew entirely different things about that room.
Armando carried you through the doorway with your mouth still against his, his breathing heavy between kisses, and that familiar bed came into view behind him. It was the same bed where friendship had stopped being enough the first time, and somehow, despite everything neither of you said afterward, you kept finding your way back to it.
Armando lowered you onto the bed, but you barely had time to settle before he was over you again. His mouth found yours while your hands reached for his shirt, dragging it upward until he finally pulled away long enough to take it off himself. You watched him toss it aside, your eyes lingering shamelessly on his chest before traveling back up to his face, and of course, he caught you looking.
His breathing was still heavy from the couch, his chest rising and falling as he climbed over you. The mattress dipped beneath his weight, and then his mouth was on you again, leaving a slow trail of kisses down your body. Your fingers slipped into his hair as his lips moved lower, occasionally lingering long enough to pull another quiet sound from you, and Armando seemed to notice every one.
By the time he sat back on his knees, your breathing had become uneven too. He looked down at you for a moment, taking in the sight of you spread across the same bed you’d once fallen asleep beside him in without a second thought. There was nothing innocent about the way he looked at you now.
His finger hooked beneath the edge of your panties and pulled them aside.
“¿Qué quieres, amor?”
“Que no me llames así.”
His eyes lifted to yours, completely unbothered.
“¿Qué quieres, mi vida?”
“Armando…”
His hand moved between your thighs, his palm pressing against you before two fingers slid inside. Your breath caught sharply, your hips reacting before you could stop them.
“Armando…”
“Mm.”
His eyes stayed fixed on your face, watching the reaction he’d pulled from you.
“Cómo te extrañaba.”
The words hit differently than they should have.
He didn’t continue. His fingers withdrew almost as quickly as they’d entered, leaving you frustrated and aching as Armando reached for his pants instead. He pushed them down with his underwear, and your eyes closed for a second as every other time you’d been here with him came rushing back at once.
The first time had felt almost unreal. Every time afterward had only made him more familiar, and that familiarity was dangerous.
You hated knowing there had been other women between those nights. Armando hadn’t done anything wrong. You weren’t together or exclusive, and neither of you had ever pretended otherwise. You had no claim over what he did when soccer took him somewhere else, just as he had no claim over you, but jealousy didn’t particularly care about technicalities.
Other women might know Armando like this now, but you had known him before any of it. You knew the boy who used to get shy around girls, when kissing someone was still important enough that he’d tell you about it afterward. You remembered his first crushes, the awkward years, the dreams he’d talked about before soccer became something bigger than either of you had imagined. You knew what embarrassed him and what made him laugh until he couldn’t breathe. You knew the version of Armando who existed before confidence came so easily to him, and you had watched him become the man kneeling between your thighs.
Maybe that was why seeing him like this never became entirely casual, no matter how many times you told yourself it was. There was something almost obscene about knowing both versions of him so intimately, the friend who had spent half his life beside you and the man whose dark eyes were moving over your body now.
Armando’s gaze returned to yours.
“Siempre terminamos así.”
Your stomach tightened because there wasn’t anything to argue with. You always did.
He leaned forward, close enough that his breath warmed your skin.
“¿Lo quieres?”
“Yes.”
“Dímelo.”
Your eyes stayed on his.
“I want you.”
“¿A quién?”
The question made your breath catch. You knew exactly what he wanted to hear.
“You.”
Armando’s jaw tightened.
“Así me gusta.”
He positioned himself against you, dragging himself slowly against your clit instead of giving you what you wanted immediately. The contact sent a shiver through you, your hips lifting instinctively toward him as a moan slipped from your mouth. Armando watched every second of it.
“Así es, bebé.”
His voice was rougher now.
“Mírate.”
You opened your eyes and found him staring down at you. His chest rose and fell slowly, but the control he’d had on the couch was almost gone now. You could see it in the tension across his shoulders, in the way his hand gripped your thigh, in the hunger sitting heavy behind his eyes.
For a second, though, he didn’t move. There you were, naked beneath someone you’d known before either of you really understood what wanting another person felt like. His eyes traveled over your body before returning to your face, and underneath the hunger was that same flicker of hesitation you’d felt yourself.
Every time you did this, it became easier to end up in his bed and harder to remember where the line between friendship and whatever this was had originally been. No strings, no promises, no questions afterward. It worked because neither of you looked too closely at it.
Armando swallowed, his hand tightening beneath your thigh.
“Dime que pare.”
Your heartbeat hammered. You could have, but instead, you reached for him and pulled him closer.
That was all the answer he needed.
Whatever hesitation had crossed Armando’s face disappeared. He pushed into you fast, and the sudden fullness pulled a broken moan from your throat. Your thighs instinctively spread farther around him, but Armando caught them from underneath, gripping you firmly and pulling you closer as he sank deeper.
“Armando…”
His name barely made it out before your voice failed you. His head dipped, his breathing heavier now, and for a moment he stayed there with his body pressed close to yours. You could feel the control he’d carried all night finally slipping in the way his fingers tightened around your thighs.
When he pulled out, you sucked in a breath. Armando’s eyes dropped between your bodies, and a string of spit fell from his lips onto your pussy.
“Amor.”
His gaze lifted back to your face.
“Qué bonita te ves así.”
The word landed somewhere it wasn’t supposed to. You’d spent so much time telling him not to call you that, treating every pet name like something too intimate for whatever arrangement the two of you had made, but looking at him now, you had the sudden, dangerous thought that maybe he should be calling you that. Maybe that was exactly what made it feel so good coming from him.
You pushed the thought away almost as quickly as it came.
Armando’s hand tightened beneath your thigh as he leaned over you again, his chest hovering close enough that you could feel the heat coming off his skin.
“¿Ves cómo siempre acabamos?”
His voice was quieter now, almost against your mouth. You swallowed, still trying to catch your breath, and his gaze dropped between you again.
“Y luego quieres hacer como que no me extrañas.”
There was something especially filthy about hearing it from him when you were like this because he wasn’t really asking. He knew. He’d known from the moment he’d looked across the couch and told you to come to him.
Armando buried himself into you again, slower this time, his eyes fixed on your face. Your mouth fell open as he filled you, and something in his expression shifted when he caught the reaction. He liked slowing down just enough to watch you lose your composure. His gaze dropped between your bodies before one hand settled against your lower abdomen, pressing down as he moved.
“Tus otros amigos no te tienen así.”
Your eyes snapped back to his. There it was, that little possessive streak neither of you had any right to.
“You don’t know what I do when you’re away.”
Armando let out a low chuckle, almost conceding the point. You weren’t his, and he knew better than anyone that the arrangement worked both ways. Still, his hands caught your legs and brought them higher, resting them against his shoulders as he leaned forward. His mouth brushed along your calf and then the inside of your ankle, strangely soft compared to everything else about the way he was handling you.
“Entonces no me cuentes.”
His eyes returned to yours.
“Déjame pensar que nadie te conoce como yo.”
Fuck. That was worse.
His hands returned to your waist, gripping you firmly as his pace quickened, pulling your hips into him with every thrust. The effort was beginning to show on him now. Sweat gathered across his chest and along his hairline, leaving the dark strands slightly damp while his breathing came heavier than before. His attention moved constantly between your face and the slick mess between your thighs, like he couldn’t decide which sight he wanted more.
He shifted one of your legs forward, changing the angle between you, and whatever he saw or felt made his composure finally crack.
“Dios.”
It came out low and breathless.
His hand moved between your bodies, and the added pressure made a moan escape you before you could stop it. There was something dizzying about the whole thing, being touched like this by the same person who knew what you looked like at ten years old, who knew your family and your heartbreaks and every embarrassing version of you that had existed between then and now. He was still your friend, and getting fucked and touched by your friend shouldn’t have made your mind wander toward forever, but sometimes it did.
Not because you secretly wanted some dramatic declaration from Armando. You liked what you had, and so did he. There was freedom in never having to explain yourselves, in being able to miss each other without demanding anything from it. Still, moments like this occasionally let the thought slip through.
What would it have been like if you’d chosen each other differently?
Armando’s damp fingers found your mouth before you could follow the thought any further. You opened for him instinctively, and he pushed them between your lips while his eyes stayed locked on yours. You sucked lightly, and his body reacted immediately, his eyes closing for half a second as a rough groan escaped him.
When he looked at you again, whatever thought you’d been having about forever disappeared. For now, this was what you had, and judging by the way Armando was looking at you, neither of you was ready to give it up.
Something about your reaction seemed to push Armando past whatever restraint he had left. His hands moved to your waist and, with an ease that made your stomach flip, he scooped you up and pulled you over him until you were straddling his lap. He shifted back onto his knees beneath you, taking your weight like it was nothing.
The new position should have given you some control, but it didn’t. Armando was too strong for that. His hands slid down to your ass and took over the pace completely, guiding your body up and down exactly how he wanted while keeping you tight against him. His mouth hovered beneath your chin, his breath hot against your skin, and every time you tried to move on your own, his grip tightened as though reminding you that he had you.
A broken whimper slipped from your throat, and Armando looked up immediately. You could barely hold his gaze. Your head tipped back, eyes rolling closed as another helpless sound escaped you, and his mouth found the underside of your jaw. There was no resistance left between your bodies now, nothing interrupting the rhythm he’d set. Every movement came easily, your body slick enough that he could guide you exactly where he wanted without slowing down.
“Así, linda.”
His fingers dug more firmly into your ass, pulling you down against him again.
“Así.”
The praise sounded different coming from him like this, low, breathless, almost possessive. You opened your eyes and found Armando still looking up at you, his hair damp against his forehead and his lips parted as he breathed. For once, he wasn’t wearing that impossible control he’d had on the couch. You could see exactly how affected he was, and somehow that made you feel even less in control.
His grip tightened around you as the rhythm between you grew more urgent, less controlled than it had been only moments before. Your head fell back, another broken sound escaping your throat as Armando’s breathing turned rough beneath you.
“Así… eso es.”
“Armando…”
“Sí, así.”
You could hear the change in him now. His voice was lower, strained between uneven breaths, the words coming less carefully as the tension between you continued to build.
“Armando…”
Your voice barely sounded like your own anymore. His forehead pressed against you, his breath hot against your skin.
“Sí, preciosa… así.”
Armando thrust into you again, one arm wrapping tightly around your waist while his other hand held you firmly by the ass, keeping you against him. Whatever careful control had survived the night was disappearing now, his breathing breaking against your skin as his grip tightened around you.
Everything else started to disappear with it, the room, the familiar bed, every thought about what the two of you were supposed to be once this was over. There was only Armando, his uneven breathing, the strength of his arms around you and his voice.
“Armando—“
“Así, mami.”
——————
shhhhheeeeeeeeesssssshhh. I had to stop it was getting long. I’m sweatin though. Brian is one thing for me… armando…. he’s. another. love him. writing the Spanish version now. send me requests :)
-loni
