Pairing: nerdmin x reader
Synopsis: you’re the loud, outgoing president of the university anime club—always organizing events, hyping cosplay shoots, and dragging everyone into late-night chaos. nerd!Armin—quiet club treasurer, glasses perpetually sliding down his nose, Attack on Titan lore expert who blushes if you even say his name too loud—has been secretly crushing on you for an entire semester. tonight the whole club is pulling an all-nighter to finish the massive convention booth setup. when everyone else finally leaves at 2 AM, it’s just you and him in the messy club room surrounded by half-finished posters, glowing LED strips, scattered manga pages, and the faint smell of instant ramen. what starts as innocent planning turns filthy the second you catch him staring at the secret sketch of you in your Levi cosplay that he’s been hiding in his notebook for weeks.
Content: nsfw, smut, mdni, intense dry humping/grinding, fingering, nipple play, handjob, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, riding, subby pathetic armin, university au, anime club setting, lots of whimpering/begging, detailed slow build-up, multiple orgasms, fluffy shy aftercare
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Part 1: The Anime Club Room (2 AM All-Nighter)
The anime club room on the fourth floor of the arts building feels like a different world at 2:07 AM. The overhead fluorescent lights are off; only the soft purple and blue LED strips you strung up last month are glowing, casting everything in a dreamy, hazy light. Half-finished convention posters lean against the walls—giant Survey Corps emblems, printed manga panels of Eren, Mikasa, and Levi taped everywhere, foam board cutouts of titans scattered across the carpet like fallen soldiers. Empty ramen cups, energy drink cans, and glitter glue sticks litter the floor. The faint hum of the old air-conditioning unit mixes with the distant sound of rain tapping against the window.
Everyone else had given up and gone home around midnight, groaning about exams and sleep. Now it’s just you and Armin.
He’s sitting cross-legged on the worn grey carpet in the middle of the room, exactly where the big “Welcome to the Booth” banner is supposed to go. His oversized beige hoodie (the one with the tiny embroidered Colossal Titan on the left sleeve that he thinks nobody notices) is rumpled, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. His blond hair is a complete mess from running his fingers through it every time he gets stressed about alignment. Wire-rimmed glasses sit crooked on his nose, sliding down every few seconds as he leans over his laptop, carefully adjusting the Canva template for the final poster layout. A mechanical pencil is tucked behind his ear, and there’s a smudge of silver glitter on his cheek that he hasn’t noticed yet.
You’re sprawled on the carpet across from him, legs stretched out so your bare thigh keeps brushing his knee every time you reach for supplies. You’re wearing your usual club uniform: an old cropped black hoodie that keeps riding up to show a strip of skin, tiny grey shorts, and fuzzy socks with little Attack on Titan logos on them. Your hair is messy from hours of work, and you can feel the exhaustion in your shoulders—but the way Armin keeps stealing glances at you is keeping you wide awake.
“Armin,” you say softly, voice teasing as you wave the glue gun at him, “you’ve been staring at the same spot on that poster for like fifteen minutes straight. Is the text really that hard to center, or am I just that distracting?”
He jumps like you shocked him, cheeks flushing that pretty pink all the way up to his ears. His glasses fog up instantly. “N-no! I swear I was just— the kerning on the font is off and I was calculating the perfect pixel spacing so it looks professional for the con and—”
You crawl closer on your knees, deliberately letting your chest brush against his arm as you lean over to “help” look at his screen. That’s when you spot it: tucked halfway under his laptop, a loose sheet of sketch paper. It’s clearly his work—clean lines, perfect shading, the same style he uses for club flyers. But this one isn’t for the booth.
Drawn in full detail wearing the Levi cosplay you rocked last month for the club photoshoot. The straps of the harness are pulled tight across your chest, jacket open just enough to show cleavage, hair styled exactly like Levi’s undercut, one hand on your hip in that signature glare. But the way he drew your thighs, the curve of your ass, the way the uniform clings to your body… it’s not club-appropriate at all. It’s filthy. Private. Like he spent hours imagining exactly how the fabric would look stretched over your skin.
Your eyes go wide. Armin realizes a half-second too late and lunges for the paper, but you snatch it first, holding it up to the LED lights.
“Armin Arlert,” you whisper, voice low and delighted, “you drew me? Like this?”
He looks like he wants the floor to open up and swallow him whole. His hands fly up to cover his burning face, shoulders curling in as he shrinks into his hoodie. “I-I’m so sorry— I didn’t mean for you to see that— please don’t hate me— I just— you looked so cool and powerful in the cosplay that day and every time I close my eyes I see you and I’m pathetic, I know, I’ve been drawing you for weeks and I jerk off to this sketch almost every single night and I’m so embarrassed I could die—”
His voice cracks into the tiniest, most broken whimper you’ve ever heard. The sound goes straight between your legs.
You set the sketch down carefully on the carpet and crawl the rest of the way into his lap, straddling his thighs right there in the middle of the glitter-covered floor. The LED lights above you sway gently, casting soft purple glows across his face. His breath hitches so hard his whole body trembles.
“You’re not pathetic,” you murmur, rolling your hips once—slow, deliberate, pressing right against the obvious, rock-hard bulge straining his grey sweatpants. “You’re really fucking hot when you get all shy and desperate like this.”
Armin’s head falls back against the low couch behind him with a soft thud. A shaky, broken moan spills from his lips before he can slap a hand over his mouth. His hands hover at your waist like he’s terrified to touch you, fingers trembling in the air. But when you grind down again—harder this time, feeling every thick inch of him twitch against you—his palms finally land on your hips, digging in desperately, pulling you closer like he’ll fall apart if you stop.
“Hah— oh god— please— I’ve wanted this for so long,” he gasps, voice wrecked and barely above a whisper. “You have no idea how many nights I stayed late in this exact room after club meetings… thinking about you… imagining you riding me right here on the carpet while everyone else was gone—”
You lean in and kiss him to shut him up. He melts instantly—soft, eager lips parting for you, shy tongue that quickly turns hungry the second you lick into his mouth. The kiss is messy, desperate, full of months of pent-up longing. While your tongues slide together you keep rolling your hips in slow, filthy circles, feeling him leak through the fabric until the front of his sweatpants is soaked with a huge wet spot.
Armin whimpers into your mouth with every grind, hips bucking up involuntarily, chasing the friction like he can’t control himself. His glasses are completely fogged up now, sliding down his nose. You reach up and gently pull them off, setting them aside on the carpet so you can see those wide, glassy blue eyes staring up at you like you’re the only thing in the universe.
Clothes start coming off in a clumsy, heated rush between kisses. You tug his hoodie up and over his head, revealing pale skin and a surprisingly toned chest from all the anxious late-night pacing he does. He’s surprisingly gentle when he peels your cropped hoodie off, hands shaking as he cups your tits like they’re something precious. The second he sees your nipples he leans in and latches onto one, sucking softly at first, then harder when you moan and arch into his mouth. His tongue swirls, teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp.
“F-fuck… they’re even prettier than I imagined,” he mumbles against your skin, voice hoarse. One hand slides down between your bodies, trembling fingers slipping under the waistband of your shorts. Two long fingers push inside you easily—you’re already dripping—and he curls them perfectly, thumb rubbing slow circles on your clit while he keeps sucking on your other nipple.
You ride his fingers shamelessly, grinding down on his hand while he whimpers and pants against your chest. His cock is throbbing so hard against your thigh you can feel it twitching every time you moan his name.
“W-want to make you feel good first,” he begs, voice cracking. “Please— I’ve dreamed about this exact moment for months— let me— let me make you cum on my fingers before I—”
You let him. He works you until your thighs are shaking, until you’re dripping down his wrist and the carpet underneath you is getting wet. Only then do you push him flat onto his back, yank his sweatpants and boxers down in one go, and sink down onto his cock in one smooth, deep motion.
Armin’s back arches off the carpet so hard his spine cracks. A loud, broken cry tears from his throat—raw and overwhelmed—as you take every inch of him. “Too tight— too warm— oh my god— I’m gonna cum already— I can’t— I can’t hold it—”
You brace your hands on his chest and start riding him slow and deep, hips rolling in that perfect rhythm that has him seeing stars. The LED lights above sway with every bounce, casting moving shadows across his flushed face. His hands grip your hips like a lifeline, fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks, but he never tries to control you—just holds on while he whimpers and moans your name like a prayer.
Every time you clench around him he sobs a little, glasses-less eyes glassy and wet with pleasure. “S-so good— you feel so perfect— been fantasizing about this for so long— please don’t stop— please let me stay inside you forever—”
You lean down and kiss him again, messy and deep, while you ride him harder. His cock hits that perfect spot inside you over and over until you’re both trembling. When he finally cums it’s with a broken, pathetic cry—hips stuttering up into you, flooding you with hot, thick spurts while his whole body shakes underneath you. He keeps grinding through it, whimpering “thank you— thank you— thank you—” against your lips even as he fills you completely.
You stay seated on him, both of you panting hard in the quiet club room, the only sounds your breathing and the distant rain outside. Armin’s arms wrap around your waist, pulling you down against his chest like he never wants to let go. His face is buried in your neck, glasses still somewhere on the carpet, blond hair sticking to his sweaty forehead.
After a long moment his soft, shy voice mumbles against your skin:
“…Can we… maybe stay like this a little longer? Before we finish the posters?”
You laugh quietly and kiss the top of his head, feeling him twitch inside you again already.
Wanna keep reading? (comment down below if you want Part 2)
