cw for implied public sex, lots of biting, + tongue piercing, somnophilia NONCON(nsfw)
-
the type of guy to wait when your classes are over. he would loiter in the hallways , the jocks and popular kids brushing past him as he fixes his glasses, holding science books to his chest as he fiddled with his phone - checking your schedule.
he's a creeper, a stalker. as far as you were concerned, you always saw him hangout with his two friends, eren, mikasa and some other folks, jean..sasha?...connor? wait no, connie!
you would sometimes catch him staring way too long, eyes always on you and when you finally notice, he would blink and fix his glasses, a knuckle raising to arrange it on his face.
he would "accidentally" drop something on the ground if he was ever randomly beside you, and he knows how nice of a person you are, so you pick up whatever he dropped and he just smiles inwardly, checking you out from the back with zero to no shame.
the type to literally take pictures of you secretly and masturbate the fuck out of them the moment he's home.
"o...ohh...ahnn.." his hand fists his cock aggressively, throwing his head back as he whimpers, thighs shaking as he finally comes down, cum dribbling down his fingers.
-
another thing about him is he owns porn magazines, he stashes them away under his bed and fantasizes all the girls on the pages are you.
he would full on hump the covers, his pillow just to imagine some type of body underneath his, squeezing and moaning like a dog in heat, his brain can only think of one thing and that's you.
other times when he's not ejaculating, he talks about you to his other online friends when he games.
"they're so...h-hot..like.." he says in the microphone, grinning ear to ear as he talks about you in excruciating detail.
the guys on the other side would either cheer him on or snicker at his desperation, "woah..dude, did you like, jack off to them or something??" typical. they wouldn't get it.
"s-something like that." armin bites his lip, finishing the game and logging off.
obsessive crush behavior
this man is always on his phone/laptop so for sure he's got some online stalking habits you're not aware of at all.
he analyzes all of your old posts, every story and event you've been to, and even have them memorized in case you ever talked to him.
+ he's probably the type to over intercept basic kindness as 'romantic interest', "they smiled at me! they must want me!"
-
random stuff he does
• compliments you in an awkward, creepy sort of way, "hey....y-your collarbones are pretty.." then he'd mentally face palm thinking about how miserably bad he is at flirting.
• stares at you wayyy too long for any normal person, a hand on his chin as his eyes hyper-analyze your movements, then panics when he gets caught.
• brings up painfully niche hyperfixations and info dump people about it, (comics, anime, gaming) and they would have NO clue what he would be talking about LMFAOO
• does that nervous push glasses thing, how? uses his middle finger to nudge the bridge of his glasses up. he's particularly nervous when you finally speak to him or is around him suddenly.
if you're in a relationship
he's actually ecstatic, finally having you all to himself, that means he could do whatever he wanted right?
he's willing to share and do everything with you, from sharing his clothes, to showering, sleeping in the same bed. all of it.
the type to just touch you all over. hugs and cuddles you, kisses your neck and bites the same spot he touched with his mouth.
only for you to have tons of red bruises littering your skin the next day.
• doesn't let you go until you really beg him to let you go.
"i won't even be that long... seriously." you say, waiting for a response , only for your boyfriend to glare at you albeit a little pouty.
"...f...fuck. you can't just leave me here, i want your attention too."
he nervously plays with the ends of his sleeves, drawing the cloth over his knuckles and fiddling with it.
sometimes you couldn't help but feel bad, even though there was nothing to feel bad about.
"...fine. i'll stay.. okay?" you nod defeated, reaching out for him to hug his head to your tummy.
he immediately reciprocates, pressing his face into your torso and inhaling deep.
-
sometimes in public, he would drag you to a small spot where he swears no one goes to, and just grinds his body over yours, just to get some friction.
making out with you is his favorite activity, besides fucking the shit outta you at home.
he grinds and grabs your everything, hands all over your ass, squeezing as he bites the inner corner of your neck, sucking the skin until he's satisfied with the new colour.
you feel the cool metal of his piercing lave over your hot skin and you whine for him to stick it in you already.
• WOULD make you suck him off under the seat of his desktop space WHILE gaming.
he's so nasty he doesn't even hide it, "hey?! can i get an assist? cmon!" someone online yells into the microphone , he's pretty skilled with using the keyboard with only one hand, so he easily guides your head with his fingers rooted into your scalp and helps bob your mouth just right until he feels his cock twitch, eventually cumming inside and you have to swallow it.
he tries so hard to hide his little huffs of satisfaction, wryly grinning as he sees your cum painted face under the seat.
-
has this 'habit' he's never told you about.
whenever you would sleep before him in your shared bed , he would climb over you and just go to town. removing each layer of your clothes, and leaves you vulnerable in your underwear, spreads your legs open and makes you cum in your sleep.
you involuntary shiver when you feel his tongue lave over your hole, his fingers playing over where you're most sensitive and coat his tongue in your juices.
'how are you not waking up?' a few sleeping pills dumped into your drink earlier must've did the trick. he wouldn't tell you though, or you'll probably, seriously hate him.
and that was the last thing he wanted. besides..he's got you all to himself now!
-
+ note this fanart literally revived the aot fandom idc i had to write something. link to the art! link 2
cw: recreational drug use (yknow me), umm greening out, reader is a loser sorry self indulgent, reader is fem + black coded, kys is used lightheartedly, reader is a perv, finger sucking, fingering,
starting track…
↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺
holy fuck, this bad.
like. really bad.
you should’ve just gone straight home like you planned. maybe grabbed some discount sushi from the place next door that always tastes faintly of fridge, taken a shower that was maybe a little too hot and a little too long, put on the new season of bridgerton you’re not even that invested in, not finished your coursework, and fallen asleep facedown with your laptop open next to your pillow.
but you can’t help yourself. you know that.
and eren definitely fucking knew that.
out of everyone who’s cycled through the store, the gap-year kids, the christmas temps, the mums picking up extra shifts, the summer temps, the guy who got fired for stealing phone chargers. eren yeager is easily one of your favourite coworkers.
he’s kinda like you, in a way.
underpaid overworked college student. unserious to a fault. hitting your vape in the stockroom while you’re both “checking if we have that item in stock.” always showing up ten minutes late and clocking out exactly on time even if there’s a fattass line to the register circling the store.
but you like eren. he’s a bit of you, yknow.
you get on stupidly well, same music, same humor, same mutual understanding that if he takes the trash out you’ll cover for him when he disappears for twenty minutes.
he’s cool.
but you’re rarely ever scheduled together. in fact, you haven’t seen him in like three weeks. so when you dragged yourself into the store that morning, only five minutes late, already dreading this fucking shift, and you see eren fucking yeager clocking in, and he's already grinning from ear to ear because you both have the same clock out time.
oh.
we’re so back.
and you, you and your energy drink for breakfast. you and you’re low blood sugar, and your empty bank account, and your pathological inability to decline bad ideas, you should’ve said no.
but you didn’t.
of course you didn't.
and now you’re in eren’s garden, cross-legged in a plastic chair that sinks slightly to one side, passing a joint back into the rotation, already stoned as fuck. the grass is a little too long. the air smells like weed and damp soil and whatever his next door neighbour is cooking.
you thought your tolerance was better than this.
clearly you overestimated yourself.
fuuuuck.
and this guy, connie?, yeah, that’s his name, one of eren’s roommates, has been talking your fucking ear off for what genuinely feels like a geological era. he’s crouched in front of you, elbows on his knees, hands moving while he talks, animated as hell, like he’s telling the funniest story ever recorded in human history.
it's like, you can hear his voice, i'm sure the whole block can hear his voice, but you have no fucking clue what he's actually saying.
it’s like sound through water. syllables bending. vowels stretching. you catch fragments — bro, and then, no way — but the meaning slides off your brain before it can stick.
you’re nodding anyway. because your mind feels like its about to slip right outta your ears, and your brain is screaming act normal act normal act normal.
and, ugh, mikasa is sitting to your left on the low brick ledge edging the patio, posture perfect even while faded, dark hair tucked behind one ear. she's insanely beautiful, it makes you wonder why she's dating a freak with no brains like eren. and eren himself is sprawled in a lawn chair opposite you, ankle hooked over knee, joint dangling between his fingers, looking insufferably pleased with himself for orchestrating this entire situation.
and you, well... you are not in your body correctly.
everything feels both too far away and too close. your limbs are heavy but also floating slightly off delay, like there’s a half-second lag between thought and movement. the world has that soft, rounded blur at the edges, porch light halos smeared gold across your vision.
also everything is spinning. but also squeezing. it's weird to describe and it makes your head hurt.
and there’s an eyelash in the corner of your left eye. you can feel it. a microscopic needle of irritation. normally you’d just rub it out but your motor skills are out the window. your hand lifts, misses, drops back to your thigh. tragic. and connie is still talking.
and that’s when you see him.
armin.
warm porch light pours over him from above, catching in pale strands of hair that fall across his forehead. shorter than you expected, soft and neat around his ears, but still light enough that it glows. he looks like an angel. he leans his head out the back door like he’s just checking the weather, one hand braced on the frame, and says something to eren, you don’t know what.
all you know is he is the most beautiful creature you’ve ever seen.
and you have to have him.
the next thing you know everyone’s standing up. chairs scraping, joints stubbed, connie clapping his hands once like a fucking transition cue. you scramble to follow, dignity hanging by a thread. walking requires active concentration now and you are manually placing each foot. heel, toe. heel, toe.
the kitchen is darker than outside, which feels illegal. your pupils are still porch-dilated, so everything inside is murky shapes and motion. voices overlap, eren, connie, cabinet doors, the fridge seal suction-popping open.
your stomach reacts before your nose has registered the smell.
a deep growl that cuts through the noise of eren and his roommates. silence drops for half a second. and every turns to look, at what? something behind you. you turn as well. there’s nothing there. only door. oh. they’re looking at you. oh lol. okay. okay. social protocol. smile? laugh? you bare your teeth in what you hope is a human expression. nice. cool. normal. what was —PIZZA???
god bless eren yeager. he appears at your elbow and wordlessly hands you a slice. deep pan. obscene thickness. stuffed crust swollen with molten cheese. oh, the sweet love you would make to him.
once you've eaten you actually feel… better?
isn’t that funny. the weed wasn’t making you crazy. you just needed food.
good to know.
you swallow, wipe your thumb across the corner of your mouth.
but back to business—
“who was that?” you say, you’re voice still slurred but you can blame it on the fact that you’re talking through a mouth of cheese and tomato.
luckily, eren has even less manners than you.
“huh? who? ohhh — uhh, armin?” burp. he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand (see, no manners). “yeah. remember i was telling you, my roommate who’s also my best friend,” another burp building, unstoppable, “who’s also like super duper smart and shit—”
yes, that's it. you do remember.
yeah, yeahhhh — you’ve seen him. not just on instagram, but around campus too, pretty sure. library steps once. outside the engineering building another time, backpack slung over one shoulder, talking with his hands, hair catching sun. you clocked him then, in that idle, cataloguing way you clock attractive people you will never interact with.
but eren keeps going.
“…but you’ve met before, right? on my birthday…”
eren’s birthday.
maybe you’re still a little greened out, because the second he says it you don’t remember. you get mentally yanked backwards, your brain trips over a cable and suddenly you’re there again.
because eren’s birthday party was fucking insane.
like, chemically altered reality insane. music so loud it vibrated your ribs. bottles clinking, glass sweating onto every surface. girls fully twerking on the kitchen counter while someone held their drink so it wouldn’t spill. there was a fight at some point, you’re almost sure, shouting, a chair scraping, people chanting, but the timeline is soup.
and you were outside most of the night.
back against the fence, hoodie smelling like ten different people’s smoke, stealing cigarettes from strangers with the confidence of someone who knows they're never gonna see these people again. passing lighters. laughing at jokes you only half heard. head tilted up at the cold air, nicotine buzz threading through the alcohol.
and then you were in eren’s room.
right, yeah, that part sharpens. door closed, bass thumping through the wall. you and this same connie, cross-legged on the floor, taking catastrophic bong rips, smoke hanging blue in the desk lamp glow. someone’s jacket under your head at some point. your shoes kicked off. the room spinning gently, pleasantly.
and then you were horizontal.
fully passed out on eren’s bed. starfished. lights still on. party still raging somewhere else in the house.
but someone found you.
that part comes back in pieces first, sensation before image. the mattress dipping. a hand, warm and careful, on your shoulder.
“hey,” a voice said, soft, almost apologetic. “you okay?”
him.
blonde. tall, or maybe he just felt tall because you were flat on your back and the room was tilting. hair falling into his eyes. lashes stupidly long. a small silver bar catching light when he spoke.... tongue piercing.
and his voice. god.
gentle in that precise, controlled way that nerdy guys sometimes have when they’re trying very hard not to startle you. low, careful, like he was approaching a nervous animal.
“do you… want some water?”
he was so hot.
you remember staring at him. actually staring. zero shame. full heart eyes. you remember trying to sit up and failing halfway, limbs syrupy and uncooperative. him steadying you automatically, one hand at your upper arm, the other braced on the mattress near your hip so he wouldn’t crush you.
“sorry,” he said, like you were inconveniencing him.
insane.
and then, uhhhh, honestly, the memory fuzzes again. water happened, probably. you think he moved your shoes. you definitely fell back asleep while he was still there. but the feeling stayed. soft voice. warm hand. silver flash when he smiled.
your eyes snap back to eren now, kitchen light too bright after the flashback haze, pizza halfway to your mouth.
you are suddenly extremely alert for someone who was non-functional thirty seconds ago.
“you remember that?” you say, incredulous, grease on your fingers, heart doing a weird little stutter you refuse to examine.
because if eren remembers....
then that means armin definitely remembers.
and oh my god.
you met him while you were passed out, drooling, cross-faded beyond medical recommendation.
oh wow, you might have to die. like actually.
“yeah?” eren says, blinking at you like this is not a catastrophic revelation. “you were like, dead. bro, i thought you died in my bed.”
“oh my god,” you mutter, pressing greasy fingers to your forehead. the kitchen light is still too sharp, halos forming around everything. “shut up.”
“nah, yeah, armin found you,” eren continues cheerfully, asshole, mouth full again. “gave you water. moved you so you didn’t, like, choke or whatever.”
you make a small, strangled sound into your pizza.
connie is still talking. he has not stopped talking this entire time. something about a class, or a gym membership, or crypto, you have no idea. his voice is a radio in another room. mikasa is leaning against the counter beside him, silent, watchful, occasionally giving you that quick assessing glance like she’s checking you’re not about to tip over.
you’re fine. you’re normal.
“—and then i told him, bro, that’s not even how macros work,” connie is saying, gesturing with both hands.
you nod at him. you do not know why.
but your eyes keep drifting. kitchen doorway. hall. back door.
like if you look enough times he might just appear again, summoned by sheer horny humiliation.
and then...
there.
movement in the hallway.
you feel him before you properly see him, which is deeply embarrassing but also scientifically real. your brain just goes him in big glowing letters.
armin steps into the kitchen like he’s unsure he’s allowed to take up space in it.
tall. god, he’s tall. you weren’t imagining that. he has to duck slightly under the stupid low light fixture, one hand automatically coming up to brush his hair back. it’s shorter than it used to be, clean at the nape, longer on top, soft blond falling forward again immediately because physics loves him personally.
grey hoodie. sleeves pushed to his forearms. veins faint under the skin there. dark sweatpants. socks. domestic. dangerous. sexy. you might die.
he pauses when he notices you. and you watch recognition happen.
it’s subtle. a tiny stilling, eyes focusing, head tilting just slightly. but it’s there. he knows exactly who you are.
oh no. no, no, no, no, no.
“hey,” he says.
same voice.
you actually might pass out again, which would be thematically consistent but socially unrecoverable.
“h—” you try. your mouth is still full of pizza. incredible work. flawless execution. you swallow too fast and cough once. “hi.”
eren points at you with his crust like a presenter unveiling a corpse. “this is who i was telling you about. my coworker.”
i know, his face very clearly says.
“we’ve met,” armin says gently.
KILL YOURSELF.
you make a noise that is meant to be a laugh and comes out like a dying engine. “yeah. yeah i, uh. apparently.”
his mouth twitches. he remembers everything. every single drooling second. you can see it.
“you were asleep,” he says, immediately, like he senses the spiral. “it wasn’t— you were fine.”
you stare at him.
this man is trying to protect your dignity retroactively.
you are going to marry him.
“she was not fine,” eren says.
you kick him in the shin without looking.
“OW—”
“shut up,” you hiss.
connie finally clocks the vibe shift and looks between you two, squinting. “wait, you guys know each other?”
“she died in my bed,” eren says helpfully.
“EREN.”
mikasa sighs, long-suffering. “he means she fell asleep.”
“like dead,” eren insists.
you cover your face with both hands. there is a beat of silence. and then, warm, close. a plate appears in front of you on the counter. you peek through your fingers.
armin has slid the pizza box closer to you. opened the lid properly. even turned it so the intact slices face your side. and given you a warm plate.
you've never been more turned on in your life.
“you should probably eat more,” he says quietly. “you look… a little green.”
he noticed.
of course he fuckin' noticed. you are vibrating like a temu rose toy and blinking like a broken animatronic.
“i’m good,” you say instantly, grabbing another slice. “i’m great. amazing. never been better.”
you take an aggressive bite to prove stability.
he watches you chew like you are a delicate lab experiment. and there’s a tiny smile there now. soft. private. like he finds you… endearing.
oh, this is terminal.
“i’m armin, by the way,” he says after a second, offering his hand like you’re meeting at a networking event instead of over grease and weed stink.
you stare at it.
long fingers. clean nails. faint ink smudge on the side of his index finger. student. nerd. god. the things you could do with those hands—
you wipe your hand frantically on your jeans and take it.
his grip is careful. warm. brief.
“i know,” you blurt.
everyone goes quiet.
abort.
“i mean — eren. he says your name. a lot. not like— weird. just like. normal amount. of name saying.”
kill yourself kill yourself kill yourself.
connie barks a laugh. eren wheezes. mikasa presses her lips together.
armin just nods once, eyes crinkling slightly.
“good,” he says.
and he means: i’m glad you know me.
you are so unbelievably fucked.
he disappears after that, which is honestly a good thing because you're not sure how much more of his genuineness you could've taken before you climbed over the kitchen counter and begged him to let you bounce on his dick.
and you don't see him again, except for a few dreams, until about two weeks later.
it’s been raining all day.
not cute drizzle rain either. heavy, grey, relentless rain that makes the windows look like they’re crying and turns the backyard into a swamp. so eren’s “kinda chill kickback” is now crammed fully inside the house. damp shoes by the door. hoodies slung over chairs. the whole place smells like wet denim, cheap cologne, and weed.
music hums low from the speakers in the living room.
and you, you are not participating correctly.
which is impressive, because for once, you actually look good.
like, intentionally good.
cropped top that shows a strip of stomach when you move. baggy jeans slung low enough that the elastic waistband of your boxers peeks out, Calvin Klein logo flashing every time you shift. fresh sneakers. rings on your fingers. hat pulled low but in a deliberate way. you even lined your lips.
so naturally, instead of mingling like a normal person, you’re currently under the dining table in the corner of the living room.
knees pulled to your chest. back against one of the legs. tablecloth draped down like a little privacy curtain. your modded PSP glowing in your hands, Street Fighter running smooth as hell because you spent three days watching YouTube tutorials to jailbreak the stupid thing.
your THC vape is tucked between your thigh and the wall. you take small hits between rounds.
you can hear everything happening above you. voices overlapping. someone laughing too loud. connie trying to explain something again. eren arguing about music. the thud of someone dropping onto the couch.
you’ve almost forgotten you’re technically at a party when, a pair of sneakers stops in front of the table.
clean. white. slightly rain-specked at the toes.
you freeze mid-combo.
the tablecloth lifts. light floods in. and there he is.
armin (cue dreamy sigh), crouched slightly, one hand holding the fabric up, peering at you as if he’s discovered a rare woodland creature.
he blinks once.
“…are you under the table?”
you stare up at him.
he’s dressed simple but unfairly effective. black tee that fits too well. chain at his neck. hair slightly damp from earlier rain, pushed back messily like he’d run a hand through it one too many times.
you forget how to speak for a full two seconds.
“uhhh, yeah, it's um, strategic positioning?” you say finally, cringing at yourself, god why are you such a loser, pushing your hat back a little. “...better... airflow....?”
his eyes flick to the PSP in your hands.
“…is that a modded 3000?”
oh, yes. oh, no.
you light up immediately. of course, traitor body. you're such a nerd sometim—
“yeah!” you scoot forward without thinking, enthusiasm overriding dignity. “i swapped the firmware, it runs emulators now. i’ve got like, everything on here. ps1, gameboy advance, some old arcade ports—”
you are rambling. and you are so high.
“the stock memory is trash so i had to replace it, and the battery life sucks but i found this workaround online and— look—” you tilt the screen toward him. “i main chun-li but only because her frame data is stupidly good if you actually know how to use her.”
you glance up.
he looks… delighted.
“that’s actually impressive,” he says, crouching properly now. his knee brushes yours under the table. the contact is small but you feel your stomach turn. “most people just download ROMs and call it a day.”
“losers,” you scoff automatically. ironic.
he laughs softly.
you take a quick hit of your vape to stabilize. mistake. the exhale fogs the tiny space between you.
he watches the smoke curl.
“can i?” he asks, gesturing toward the PSP.
you hand it over immediately.
and armin sits down. under the table. with you.
the world above continues. feet moving. bass thudding. someone yelling for more cups. but down here it’s dim and warm and weirdly intimate, just the glow of the screen lighting up his face.
he’s focused instantly. thumbs precise. posture relaxed but intent.
“you’re holding the joystick wrong,” you blurt.
he glances at you and you feel your brain short circuit.
“i mean— not wrong. just, like. uhhh, if you angle it more you can buffer inputs faster.”
you lean in without thinking, reaching to adjust his hand.
your fingers wrap lightly over his.
oh.
his skin is warm. slightly calloused at the tips. you can feel the faint vibration of the game through both of you. you realize what you’re doing. you do not move away.
“like that,” you say, voice suddenly softer.
above you, someone knocks into the table slightly. it shifts. the tablecloth falls a little lower, closing you in further.
you and armin are practically knee-to-knee now, screen glow flickering across his face.
“so,” he says, eyes dropping briefly to your cleavage (SCORE), then snapping back up like he’s trying to behave. “is this what you normally do at parties?”
you grin, unable to help it. “only when the company’s good.”
you are so unbelievably doomed.
he’s locked in now. fully invested. tongue pressing lightly against the inside of his cheek when he concentrates, which you absolutely do not notice in a normal way, and absolutely does NOT make your pussy flutter. your knee is still touching his. neither of you have addressed it.
you’re explaining hitboxes. he’s actually listening. it’s intimate in the nerdiest, most sexiest way possible.
but then of course. a shadow passes the tablecloth. slow. deliberate. you ignore it.
something metallic swings down in front of the fabric. back and forth. back and forth. you squint at it. it’s a lighter. blue. scuffed. unmistakably eren’s. it dangles there like bait.
you stare at it for two full seconds.
you do not move. you are strong. the lighter swings closer.
you reach out on instinct and snatch it.
“AHAA!”
the tablecloth rips up dramatically. light floods in again and eren’s face is there, victorious.
“found you, asshole.”
you blink up at him, his lighter already in your fist. “i was not hiding.”
“you’re literally under a table.”
“strategic positioning,” you repeat.
his eyes flick between you and armin.
armin, still seated cross-legged, PSP in hand, looks… suspiciously comfortable down here.
“rain stopped,” eren says, waggling his eyebrows. “backyard’s not a swamp anymore.”
your brain processes that instantly. outside. air. smoke.
you shift, crawling out from under the table like you’ve been summoned (you kinda have). your hat almost knocks against the underside on the way up.
you stand, brushing imaginary dust off your jeans like you haven’t just been living feral for twenty minutes.
“finally,” you mutter.
eren snorts. “i knew you’d come out for fire.”
you flip him off affectionately.
as you turn, you feel it. armin’s eyes. on you. you glance down and remember. right. you’re dressed. like you actually properly put effort into the fit for once.
cropped top. exposed waist. the boxers waistband peeking over your jeans when you stretch slightly to adjust your hat. the chain at your neck catching the warm lamplight.
his gaze drops. just for a second. to the strip of skin between your top and jeans. then to your back pocket when you reach behind yourself and pull out the small metal case. it clicks open with a neat little sound. inside, two perfectly rolled joints. tidy. symmetrical. artisanal, honestly.
eren whistles. “you came prepared.”
“i don’t leave the house unarmed,” you say.
you hold the case out toward armin without thinking.
his brows lift slightly. “you rolled those?”
“yeah,” you say, suddenly self-conscious in a way that makes no sense. “i mean. it’s not hard.”
he takes one carefully, examining it like it’s something delicate.
“they’re… really clean,” he says, impressed. “mine always canoe.”
you feel your ego inflate instantly.
“that’s because you’re probably packing it unevenly,” you say, stepping closer. “you have to distribute it first. like this—”
you take it back for a second, tapping it lightly, demonstrating with your fingers.
he watches your hands. not the joint. your hands. (oh she fluttered again.)
“you’re very precise,” he says quietly.
you glance up and he’s closer than you thought.
eren makes a gagging noise. “okay, smoke nerds, go outside before you hotbox my living room by accident.”
he heads toward the back door.
you hesitate half a second, then jerk your head at armin. “you coming?”
he doesn’t answer immediately.
just stands, brushing his hands on his sweatpants, stepping closer until there’s barely space between you in the hallway bottleneck.
“yeah,” he says. simple. low.
you step out into the backyard.
the rain really has stopped. everything smells clean and electric. pavement still damp, reflecting the warm yellow light spilling from the house. a few people are already out there, huddled under the overhang, talking in low voices.
you lean against the railing, pop the lighter open. flick. it sparks once. twice.
you cup your hand around it, bringing the flame to the tip of the joint.
you inhale slowly, practiced. the ember glows bright. you exhale toward the cool night air. and then you turn, holding it out toward armin. he steps closer to take it. instead of grabbing it immediately, his fingers brush yours first.
on purpose. (?????)
he takes a drag, less confident but not clueless.
coughs once, lightly, embarrassed.
“newbie.”
“i’m out of practice,” he says, eyes watering slightly, laughing under his breath.
you lean in, lowering your voice.
“good thing i’m patient.”
the rain smell is fading now. the backyard’s warmer, humid from bodies and smoke. someone’s laughing too loud near the fence. there’s noise behind you. eren yelling at someone about tracking mud inside. connie arguing with sasha about something pointless. but it all feels distant. it’s just the damp night air. shared smoke. his shoulder brushing yours when he hands the joint back.
and the very clear, very sudden realization that he did, in fact, come looking for you first.
the joint’s almost done. he’s looking at you like he’s debating something. you clock on immediately.
“what,” you say, squinting at him.
“when you passed out,” he starts, for fuck sake, your stomach drops.
“i didn’t pass out,” you correct automatically on defence, “i was just... rebooting?” shut up, shut up, shut up.
he smiles faintly. “right. rebooting.”
you wait.
he rubs the back of his neck, almost shy. almost.
“you said something,” he says.
oh god.
“people talk in their sleep all the time,” you wave off. change the subject quickly—
“you said,” he continues, ignoring you now, “that i was ‘objectively hot.’”
there it is. your brain goes white noise. because, damn, did you really say that? you do not react. externally.
“did i?” you say, voice flat. casual. bored. you take the last drag, exhale slowly. “well. i stand by it.”
his brows lift slightly.
you flick the roach away, grind it under your sneaker.
“you are,” you continue, like you’re discussing the weather. “objectively attractive. good bone structure. symmetrical. clear skin. tall. statistically, you’re doing well.” stop talking, stop talking, now.
you shrug. “i just appreciate aesthetics.”
he’s staring at you now. not laughing. not brushing it off.
“objectively,” he repeats.
“yeah,” you nod. “it’s not personal.” liar, liar, liar, liar.
he steps closer. just slightly.
“so you weren’t flirting,” he says.
you tilt your head. “i was unconscious.”
“you just… evaluated me.”
“correct.”
he studies you for a second, like he’s trying to see through the performance.
you refuse to blink first. you are cool. you are detached. you are absolutely not thinking about his hands or his mouth or the fact that he smells clean even in a backyard full of smoke.
“you also said,” he adds quietly, “that my voice was ‘dangerous.’”
you almost choke on air.
“did i.” did you????
“yeah.”
you click your tongue thoughtfully, “that tracks.”
“does it?”
“low register,” you say calmly. “soft delivery. good cadence. it’s a lethal combination.”
he huffs a laugh, but it’s shakier than before.
“you’re very clinical about this.”
“it’s important to stay grounded.”
grounded. hah. funny
he steps closer again. there’s barely a foot between you now.
“so if i said,” he begins slowly, “that i think you’re hot—”
your heart punches your ribcage. you raise a brow. “objectively?”
“no,” he says. and he doesn’t look away. “personally.”
your mouth goes dry. you refuse to crumble.
“that would be your subjective experience,” you say evenly.
he smiles, but there’s tension in it now. curiosity. challenge.
“and if i told you,” he continues, voice lowering just slightly, “that i've seen you around campus before then, and i thought you were intimidating because you always looked like you knew exactly what you wanted.”
your stomach flips violently. you lean back against the railing to compensate.
“maybe i do,” you say. no you don’t.
you absolutely do not.
except right now.
right now you do.
and it’s him.
he glances at your mouth, quick, but you catch it, your pulse goes crazy.
“so,” he says softly, “was i wrong?”
you hold his gaze and let the silence stretch just enough to feel intentional. then you shrug. “guess you should’ve tried.”
it’s light, teasing, but there’s an opening in it. a real one. and his jaw tightens slightly, like he’s processing that, like he might actually do something about it.
from behind you, eren (fucking cockblock) yells your name loudly for absolutely no reason.
“don’t let it go to your head,” you say as you brush past him, shoulder grazing his chest on purpose. “being objectively hot isn’t a personality.”
you make it three steps toward the back door before you feel it. him. still behind you.
you turn around slowly.
“you following me?” you ask.
“maybe,” he says.
the backyard’s thinned out. most people drifted back inside when the music got louder. it’s just a couple silhouettes near the fence now, the yellow porch light casting long shadows across the damp ground.
you lean back against the wooden railing again. you’re trying to look relaxed. you are not relaxed.
“you never answered me,” he says.
“about what.”
“whether i should’ve tried.”
oh. uhhhhh, you've run out of flirty lines and you genuinely don't know what to say to this guy, and he definitely knows that.
you cross your arms.
bad move. it draws attention to your cropped top. you feel his eyes flick down again before he catches himself. he’s not slick. it’s cute.
“you’re smart,” you say. “you figure it out.”
“that’s not how data works,” he replies immediately.
you grin despite yourself. “don’t start.”
“no, seriously,” he steps closer, leaning one elbow on the railing near you. not touching. just close enough that you can feel the heat off him. “if the variable is ‘intimidating girl on campus,’ and the hypothesis is ‘she will reject me,’ the only way to test that is—”
“to collect evidence,” you finish.
he smiles. “exactly.”
“so you’re saying this is research.”
“i’m saying,” he says, voice dipping just slightly, “i miscalculated.”
your stomach flips. you try to stay cool. “what part.”
“i thought you wouldn’t talk to me,” he says. “but you’re actually—” he gestures vaguely. “—like this.”
“like what,” you press.
“excited,” he says.
you scoff. “i’m not excited.”
“you ramble when you’re excited.”
you freeze.
he clocks it instantly. “see?” he adds softly.
fucking traitor body. you push off the railing and step closer instead of retreating.
“i ramble when someone’s worth explaining things to,” you counter.
his eyes sharpen a little at that. “so i’m worth explaining things to?”
“don’t fish,” you say.
“i’m not.”
“you are.”
he laughs under his breath. the air feels thicker now. not from smoke. from proximity.
“teach me something then,” he says suddenly.
you blink. what? “what.”
“anything. you like teaching. i’ll be your student.”
that should not sound like that.
you narrow your eyes suspiciously. “you’re being weird.”
“i’m being curious.”
you hesitate. then your brain lights up with the worst possible idea.
“okay,” you say slowly. “Street Fighter.”
he exhales a small amused breath. “we don’t have the PSP.”
“we don’t need it,” you step even closer, so now you’re almost chest to chest. you can see the faint freckles across the bridge of his nose. you are holding it together with tape. “frame advantage.”
his gaze drops to your mouth again (gotcha). then back to your eyes.
“explain.”
“when you make a move,” you say, lifting your hand between you, “there’s recovery time. if you recover faster than your opponent, you have advantage.”
“so you can move first.”
“exactly.”
he nods slowly.
“so right now,” he says, “who has advantage?”
oh. you swallow.
“depends,” you say lightly. “who committed first.”
“you called me hot.”
“objectively.”
“you lingered when you handed me the joint.”
you did. you absolutely did. observant bastard.
“you followed me,” you shoot back.
“because you told me to try.”
your breath catches, that was not supposed to land like that. he steps closer, this time, you don’t step back. there is barely space between you now. your chest rises. his does too. you can feel the warmth of him through the thin fabric of your top.
“so,” he murmurs, voice low enough that it barely carries past you, “who has frame advantage?”
you are so gone.
“i do,” you say.
he waits, you don’t move, neither does he. you’re both waiting. testing. and then, you reach up and lightly adjust the chain at his neck. just two fingers hooking it, straightening it. slow. intentional. his breath stutters, tiny, but you feel it.
“see,” you say quietly. “you reacted.”
his jaw tightens.
“that’s not an advantage,” he says. “that’s bait.”
you grin. “maybe.”
his hand comes up then, not to grab you, not to pull you in, just to mirror you. he brushes his thumb lightly along the waistband peeking over your jeans. not under, just there, barely touching. electric. erotic.
you inhale sharply despite yourself.
“you reacted too,” he says.
your brain is melting, you are folding, catastrophically, and he knows it.
he leans in slightly, close enough that his breath ghosts near your ear.
“so maybe,” he murmurs, “it’s a tie.”
your hands find the front of his hoodie without thinking. fist loosely curling in the fabric.
“temporary stalemate,” you whisper back.
“can i ask you something,” he says.
your pulse spikes again. “you’re asking a lot tonight.”
“i’m collecting data.”
you roll your eyes but your grip tightens slightly in his hoodie. “what.”
his thumb slides away from your waistband, but his hand doesn’t drop. it rests lightly at your hip now. not squeezing. just there.
“do you want to keep pretending this is theoretical,” he says quietly, “or do you want to continue this experiment somewhere less… public.”
your brain short circuits.
“define public,” you manage.
he glances toward the house where silhouettes move past the windows.
“somewhere with fewer variables,” he clarifies.
oh. oh that’s smooth.
you try to keep your voice steady, but you are kicking your feet. “and where would that be, professor.”
his mouth twitches. “my room.”
“what’s in it for me?”
his hand at your hip shifts just barely closer.
“privacy,” he says.
your stomach flips.
“and?” you press.
his eyes drop to your mouth again. then back up.
“undivided attention.”
safe to say you went up to his room.
armin doesn’t rush you. that might be the worst part. he kisses you slowly, deliberately, like he’s mapping something out instead of losing control. his weight settles more fully over you, one knee pressing into the mattress beside your thigh, his hand sliding from your waist up along your ribs until it rests just under your chest.
you are absolutely not calm.
you kiss him harder to compensate. your fingers curl in the front of his shirt and pull him down closer, your mouth parting against his. you’re trying to look like you’ve done this a thousand times, like you’re not seconds away from combusting. but your breathing keeps giving you away. every time his tongue brushes yours, your grip tightens involuntarily.
he notices. of course he notices.
he pulls back just enough to look at you, his lips barely a breath from yours. his thumb drifts up from your ribs, tracing slowly along your collarbone, then down the centre of your chest, light enough to make you shiver.
“you’re trying so hard,” he murmurs.
“to what,” you shoot back, though your voice comes out softer than intended.
“to act like this isn’t affecting you.”
you roll your eyes, but your pulse is hammering and there's a pool slick growing in your underwear. “you’re not exactly neutral.”
“that’s not what i said.”
his hand shifts lower again, thumb hooking briefly at the waistband of your jeans before sliding back up. the movement is slow, controlled, and it makes your stomach flip in a way that feels unfair. you need something to ground yourself, something to prove you’re not the only one unravelling.
so you grab his wrist.
he stills immediately, watching you.
you bring his hand up between you. his fingers brush your mouth as you guide them there, your eyes stay locked on his as you part your lips and press a soft kiss to the pad of his index finger.
his breathing changes.
you feel it before you hear it.
you drag your tongue slowly along the side of his finger, then close your lips around it, warm and deliberate.
your gaze doesn’t drop. you want him to see exactly what you’re doing.
his shoulders tense. his jaw tightens. his free hand grips your hip harder, fingers digging into the fabric of your jeans.
you suck gently, then a little deeper, your tongue pressing against him. you can feel the way his breathing stutters, the way his body shifts instinctively closer without him even realizing it. when you pull back, you let your lips slide slowly over his knuckle, leaving his skin warm and damp.
the room is very quiet.
“that,” he says, voice lower now, rougher, “was not subtle.”
“i wasn’t aiming for subtle.”
he exhales through his nose, a quiet, almost disbelieving sound, and then he leans down and kisses you again, but it’s different this time. hungrier. dirtier. less measured. his hand that you just had in your mouth moves to your jaw, tilting your head so he can deepen the kiss. you feel the shift in him. the control slipping just a little.
you slide your hands under the hem of his shirt now, palms against warm skin, fingers splaying over his back. he reacts instantly, a quiet groan escaping him when your nails drag lightly across his lower spine. his hips press forward before he catches himself, and that tiny loss of composure makes heat rush straight through you.
“you’re impossible,” he murmurs against your mouth.
“and you invited me up here,” you reply, breathless.
those same fingers you had in your mouth slide from your jaw, down your neck, tracing the centre of your chest slowly. he doesn’t rush. he’s watching you the entire time, tracking every flicker of your expression.
his hand drifts lower. down your stomach. over the curve of your hip. his thumb hooks into your waistband again, slower this time. intentional. he doesn’t break eye contact when he slips his hand just beneath the fabric.
your stomach tightens.
he leans down and kisses you while his fingers slide further, testing, careful at first. you inhale sharply into his mouth when he finally presses his palm fully against you through the thin fabric. the heat of his touch sends a pulse straight through your spine.
“still a stalemate?” he asks quietly against your lips.
you try to answer coolly, but your voice comes out breathless. “maybe.”
"maybe?" he hums softly, like he doesn’t believe you for a second. "you're dripping."
those same fingers you had wrapped around your tongue move slowly, deliberately. he takes his time, brushing, learning, watching how your body reacts. when he finally presses with more purpose, you grip his shirt again, the composure you were clinging to slipping through your fingers.
he notices immediately.
"fuck you're so wet, is this all for me?"
god, he sounds so smug, but the way your walls clench at the sound of his voice makes him suck in a deep breath.
your head falls back against the mattress as his hand moves more confidently now, guided by every sharp inhale and involuntary shift of your hips. he keeps kissing you between murmured comments that are far too calm for what he’s doing.
you grab his wrist again, but this time it’s not to redirect. it’s because you need something to hold onto. your nails press into his skin as he continues, slow and steady. it's torture but, fuck, it's everything you've ever wanted.
he leans down to your ear. “you tasted good on my fingers,” he murmurs. “thought it was only fair they return the favour.”
that does something dangerous to you.
your confidence finally cracks completely, replaced by open, needy heat. you arch into his hand without meaning to, and he exhales sharply at the movement, control slipping further.
“temporary,” he breathes, as your composure dissolves under his touch. “right?”
he groans into your mouth, low and wrecked, hips shifting forward before he even thinks about it. the fact that you react so quickly, so sensitively, makes his control snap in real time. you feel it in the way his hand tightens, the way his fingers move with sudden urgency instead of patience.
“you’re—ngh,” he exhales, voice breaking slightly. “you’re so responsive.”
his forehead drops to yours for a second as he keeps moving his hand, breathing uneven, like he’s trying to keep up with you and failing. every twitch of your hips, every sharp inhale, every squelch of your pussy, every little involuntary movement feeds him.
“you have no idea what that does to me,” he mutters, almost frustrated.
the fact that you’re this affected, this undone, clearly flips something in him. his hips roll forward instinctively, seeking friction against your thigh, and he exhales sharply when he gets it.
“you react so easily,” he says, voice low and strained. “it’s driving me insane
he drops his mouth to your neck, biting lightly. his hand keeps working, less measured now, scissoring in and out of you, responding to every noise you make. the mattress shifts beneath you as he adjusts closer, pressing into you without thinking.
you can feel how turned on he is.
your hips jerk forward. your breath stutters. and you make a mess all over his fingers while he’s still murmuring against your mouth.
his hand tightens reflexively and he exhales sharply, hips rocking forward against your thigh again because he can’t help himself. the physical proof of what he did to you clearly hits him somewhere deep
“jesus,” he mutters, he looks worse than you.
his hair’s a mess. his lips are swollen from kissing you. his breathing is uneven and he hasn’t even tried to pretend otherwise. he studies his hand for half a second like he’s processing what just happened, then looks back at you with something dangerously intent in his eyes.
and then, those same fingers that were in your mouth, then your pussy, he pops them into his mouth with a deep groan. god he's such a freak, he licks your essence off his digits as his eyes roll back. hips still humping your thigh.
...end of playback
↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺
i used to bang out sf alpha 3 max before i mashed up my psp but yeah i wrote this cos armins been stuck in my head so hopefully now ive written him he can leave me alone no tag list because idk if yall followed me bcos of my writing style or bcos of sero so yh idk
Tears Run Down My Thighs (when did you get hot?) | Armin Arlert x Reader
18+ only!! Minors do not interact!!
Ao3 Version, Wattpad Version
Divider from @/firefly-graphics!
Pairing: college AU, Nerd!Armin x Pervert!Reader (AFAB, gender-neutral pronouns)
Wordcount: 23k (oops)
Summary: You've always liked your best friend Armin, and you did a pretty good at hiding it. Any time you thought of him sexually, you would simply reset and erase the thoughts from memory.
But when he comes back from the summer looking ... nerdier, you can't seem to get him out of your head. Surely, your methods will still work, right?
Warnings: lots of sexual fantasies and female masturbation, multiple orgasms, reader is down bad for nerdmin, oral sex (m and f receiving), nipple play/licking, motorboating(?), unprotected sex, creampie, come eating and swallowing, mentions of alcohol and partying
A/N: I seem to have a theme of writing sexual fantasies, but this is my first time actually writing a sex scene. Yippee!
I tried to keep this fic as inclusive as I could, so while the reader has female anatomy, their pronouns are gender-neutral. I also did not include Y/N or nicknames in this story, as I'm not a personal fan of either. Please let me know if I made any mistakes regarding this.
This story was inspired by fanart made by @mochikuyo on Twitter. For some reason the specific order of short-haired Armin to nerdy Armin sparked something in my brain, and here we are a month and half later. Links should also be included where referenced in the story if you want to check it out! Also peep the double Sabrina song title lol
You're a disgusting pervert.
…
Okay, that sounds like you need to be put on some government watch list. Technically, you weren't doing anything outwardly creepy, let alone illegal.
The context is this: You were crushing on your best friend, Armin. Hard.
Technically, you always had feelings for him. It was difficult not to, honestly. One day he was your partner for a class project, the next your study buddy, and now you could barely remember him as anything other than your best friend.
However, somewhere along the way, between stolen glances and late night conversations masked under the guise of study sessions, you started to become aware of the fluttering in your chest.
For the longest time, it was a harmless crush: the type that wasn't worth pursuing and risking your friendship over. Unless Armin made it ridiculously obvious that he had similar feelings, any infatuation you had was quickly buried. You eventually grew used to it, and life went on as normal.
That's not to say the want for more didn't sometimes gnaw at you.
Last year, when you first met Armin, he had finished his summer internship in California, and the beach environment was evident in his look. He had a glowing tan for months, which paired wonderfully with his short, blond hair and his open button-ups that flowed in the breeze (you especially liked his blue one; it made his eyes sparkle and look like the ocean he had grown so fond of). One time, his white undershirt was a bit on the thin side, and you caught a faint outline of his abs every time he stretched. You distinctly remember how warm you felt at the sight, and the impulsive urge to risk it all and kiss him silly afterward.
You also remember stomping out the compulsion like an ember. At the time, you had just become friends. This was the second hangout you had that wasn't at some school building or coffee shop. The last thing you wanted Armin to think was that you've been lusting over him this whole time, especially if he saw your relationship as purely platonic.
From then on, any time you caught yourself thinking about him for too long, you immediately stopped your fantasies then and there. These lapses were few and far in between, so you didn't worry very much over your lack of judgment. A quick reset, and it was like the thought never occurred.
But then summer came and went again, and you soon realized how utterly fucked you were.
During the long break, rather than spend another hot summer in California, Armin got an opportunity to study marine biology in the South Pole. He was fascinated with the extremophiles found in the area, and was over the moon when he got accepted to intern at one of the research centers there.
There were some downsides, however. Namely, the difficulties in communication. While he wasn't going completely silent, between the lack of reception and busy schedule, his replies were likely to be on the sparse side. Armin profusely apologized for this, but you laughed it off and reassured him that it was fine.
"Seriously, Min, don't feel sorry. This is literally your dream. You'll probably be enjoying yourself too much to even worry about that. We'll see each other soon enough, alright?"
"Yeah, I know that," he sighs, a shy smile forming. "The opportunity is great and all, I just think— I just think I'll miss you a lot."
You smile back , ignoring the way your heart skipped a beat.
As expected, contact over those twelve weeks were limited. You shared the major events, like when you visited your family or when Armin stumbled upon a waddle of penguins while working, but even those messages felt bittersweet, distorted due to the separation.
The whole break, a part of you was itching to go back to school. Stressful as it is, at least your friend wouldn't be in another continent. One by one, as the summer came to a close, your friends started arriving and coming back to campus, the college town growing louder by the day. Hangouts and bar outings were back on the docket, but they felt lackluster when the person you wanted most wasn't at any of them.
Why did there have to be limited transportation out of Antarctica? Do you have to promote this place as the next big tourist spot just so you could make them have a regular flight schedule?
Eventually, when everyone was mostly accounted for, your friends decided to throw a party the weekend before classes. Connie, Jean, and Marco were the only group that had a townhouse rather than an apartment, and were more than willing to use their space to welcome everyone back.
You were also very much looking forward to the party too: not only could you catch up with everyone, but this would be your first time seeing Armin since the spring. His flight arrived only a few hours ago, so tonight was the perfect opportunity to talk about your summers, no longer constricted to texts and awkward emails.
However, what you didn't think to consider is how much a person can change in twelve weeks. Specifically, how much a person can physically change in that time.
If your messages with Armin were scarce, photos and videos were practically nonexistent, so when he first walks into the house party, you don't fully comprehend that it's him. Rather than hair that cuts cleanly in the back, you're met with long hair that covers his ears and brushes his neck, and small, rectangular-framed glasses that draw you into a pair of familiar, blue eyes. It's a moment of confusion, followed by a moment of recognition, and finally a moment of realization.
You liked this look. A lot. Maybe even too much.
You don't notice that you're staring, not until Eren swoops Armin into a bro hug and drags him to the kitchen. You keep watching him until he rounds the corner, unsure if he notices you and your hot stare.
How would his long hair feel in your fingers? To play with it while you kiss—
Nope. Reset.
You don't give yourself the chance to finish the thought, ejecting yourself from whatever fantasy you were about to have. You take several gulps of your cup, letting out a slow exhale after you swallow. The drink burns the whole way down. While you originally scolded Sasha and her habit of overpouring, you were grateful for the buzz you were surely going to feel soon.
Something you failed to consider, however, was the amount of drinking games you would get roped into, and apparently how bad you were at all of them. If you thought your drink was bad, the last two losing cups were borderline stomach-churning. You're ninety percent sure someone added pickle juice in that last cup.
Luckily, you're still sensible enough to tap out of the next round, only stumbling a few times while walking out towards the patio. For the most part, the backyard looks empty. There must have been a group out here earlier though, judging by the dying flames in the fire pit.
You close your eyes and focus on the smoke wafting in the air. Compared to the drinks you were having, it smelled like heaven. With a sigh of relief, you open your eyes and slump onto the nearest lawn chair. It's comfortable enough, for the most part. If you were drunker, you could easily fall asleep here for an hour or two, though the last time someone (Reiner) did that, someone else (Ymir) drew a penis on their face, so maybe it was for the best.
It doesn't take long for your solitude to be broken. You barely register the footsteps creeping up behind you, too lost watching the fire in front of you.
"Hey," a voice you knew all too well says. You look up to see Armin smiling as he slides into the seat next to you. "Mikasa told me I'd find you here. Heard you lost the last two rounds of boom cup." You can hear the smirk in his words as he takes a sip from his cup.
"Their table sucks. Ping pong balls wouldn't bounce for shit," you grumble.
"Well, you probably just kept bouncing them into puddles of beer like last time."
"… maybe." Definitely.
"At least you quit while you were ahead," he offers. "I saw Connie pour soy sauce into last round's cup."
The image makes you swallow back a gag. The alcohol in your stomach sloshes around, a wave of nausea overtaking you. Armin must catch the grimace on your face, because he quickly apologizes and extends his cup to you. You shake your head, declining the idea of having more to drink.
A hand grabs your wrist and you stop your motions. You're suddenly aware of how close Armin has gotten, his body leaning into yours. He pushes the cup into your open palm, and your fingers instinctively lace around the plastic.
"Don't worry, it's just water. I stopped drinking a while ago," Armin says. Once you have a firm hold, he takes his hands away and relaxes back into his chair. You try to ignore the feeling left behind on your wrist. "You seem like you need it more than me."
"Yeah, probably. Thanks," you croak.
You look down at Armin's (now yours, technically) drink, noticing a mark on the rim closest to your mouth. There's a faint shine to it when it catches the light from the fire, similar to a lip gloss stain. It was no doubt from Armin and the chapstick he always wore: he had a terrible habit of picking at his lips and licking them afterward. The waxy smudge probably had his spit mixed into it.
Without a second thought, you bring your lips to the cup, matching them to exactly where Armin's once were.
An indirect kiss.
Your sips are slow, to not upset your stomach or to keep your mouth on the cup for longer, you're not sure. The chapstick isn't flavored, but you wonder if it would taste different if you caught it from Armin's mouth directly. If his lips would feel rough underneath the greasy layer, and if his tongue would work into your mouth, licking with the same fervor he uses against his own. If your tongue met his, would you be able to taste the liquor that didn't get washed away?
Stop. Reset. What the hell is wrong with you?
You grip the drink, the plastic denting and making a loud pop noise. Tilting your head back, you proceed to chug the rest of the water, possible stomachache be damned. You finish the cup with a soft groan. Were you always this easily aroused when drunk?
Armin clears his throat. You snap your head back toward him, almost forgetting he was watching you the entire time. He's looking at you with slight worry and confusion.
Shit, how long did you space off for?
"Uh, guess I was thirstier than I realized. Sorry," you say.
"It's okay," he reassures. His stare feels more calculating than observing. You can't tell if he actually believes you. "I've been meaning to find you for a while. I was going to right when I came over, but Eren kept dragging me around."
You snort, the awkwardness quickly fading. "Sounds like he missed you." You knew the feeling. "How did you end up getting away?"
"He's currently arguing with Jean about whether you can make tea in a microwave. Got pretty heated, no pun intended, and I slipped away in the middle of it."
You weren't surprised at the news. The two of them always get into some weird debate at these things. Assuming that they're both drunk, and they probably are, you give it another ten minutes before they're crying into each other's arms and profusely apologizing. Their relationship was weird like that.
"And before that?" you ask. "Did you have a good time?"
Armin hums in consideration before answering, "I'd say so. Nice to see everyone before the school year starts. Reiner's pretty wasted, though. He thought I was Historia when I first said hi to him. That was … something." There's a wince at that particular memory. "I guess I do look a bit different, so I don't really blame him."
You let yourself look at him, your blinks slow and heavy in your inebriated state. His hair shines in the faint light and looks soft to the touch. Some strands look a bit wild, messy from the antics of the night. It was candid. Boyish.
Thoughts from earlier resurface, and your fingers twitch in want. You catch the action, and promptly dig your fists into your lap.
"I suppose being MIA all summer doesn't help either. Not that you could really do anything about that," you eventually respond. "Do you at least like it? The haircut?"
"No strong opinions, to be honest." He pauses, tilting his head and mulling it over. "It just kinda happened, really. There's not exactly any barbershops over there, and it was nice to have something to cover my ears so they wouldn't freeze." Armin tucks a piece of hair behind his ear at the memory, like he just figured out he doesn't need to worry about that anymore.
"Clothes were a similar story. Sweaters got a bit bulky under all the layers, so it was easier to wear a thermal and some vest over it." He motions down to his current outfit: a t-shirt for some punk band Mikasa probably got him into over a white, wrinkled long-sleeve. "This was my attempt at a summer-friendly version of it. I think it's growing on me though, what do you think?"
You look good, you think to yourself. You look so good. You were always attractive and handsome but right now you're making me go crazy and—
"It suits you." Images of you kissing Armin's neck and sucking bruises into his collarbones so they're barely peeking over his shirt now plague your mind. "You should keep the haircut too." Hopefully he doesn't catch your selfish intentions.
Armin smiles at your praise and looks away from you in slight embarrassment. It's short-lived as he catches the time on his watch and says, "It's getting late, do you want a ride home? I just had the one drink from earlier, so I'm good to head out."
A part of you wants to say no. Take a breather and properly reset your hormonal brain. On the other hand, a free ride is a free ride.
You quietly agree with a nod. Soon enough, you're sitting in the passenger seat, a mix of sleepy and tipsy settling in your bones. You watch Armin as he reverses out of the driveway and pulls onto the main road. A car from the opposite lane passes by, and the bright headlights shine through your window and send a glare across his glasses.
"I never realized you wore glasses," you murmur, almost like it's some secret between you two. "How long have you had them?"
Armin shrugs. "A while. Sometime in middle school, I think."
"So what? You just never wear them? Are you walking around blind all day?"
That makes him laugh. "Usually just wear contacts, but I can read most things if they're close. I see most things perfectly fine, if that's what you're worried about."
You huff at his teasing. "I guess I just don't see why you never wore them in the first place. Seems like it be easier to."
"It kind of depends, really. During the summer, my glasses would fog up outside, so I wore contacts. But the cold made my contacts dry out my eyes, so I wore glasses whenever I was working inside. I haven't gotten around to grabbing more contacts yet—"
"I like them. Your glasses." You turn away from him, too timid to look at him while you make your confession. "They … they look really good on you."
A blush creeps up Armin's neck. "Oh. Uh, thanks. That's nice … that's nice to know."
The rest of the ride is silent. Mortification sets in; curse your drunkenness and loose lips. You shouldn't have said anything, but your body must have panicked. An ugly, possessive part of you wanted him to know, to know how attractive he was with his glasses. That you would pray to some higher being for him to ditch the contacts altogether.
Would his glasses fog up if you kissed him? If your hot breaths met his needy pants? He would be blindsided as you dragged him closer into your face, moaning into his mouth as you gently pushed his bangs away from his eyes. You could peck the tips of his cheek before moving further back, nipping his earlobe and kissing the space behind, making him let out a whine. When you pull back, his glasses would be slightly askew, his face all the more flustered.
Stop. Eject. Abort. Literally anything. Just stop it.
You will your mind to turn off whatever sick television is playing up there. Your body doesn't get the same message, however. As you tense, physically trying to reset yourself, your legs press together and squeeze. The complete opposite effect happens and you ache from the pressure. You press your thighs together a tad harder and shift your weight forward, almost rocking into the pleasure. A particular bump in the road makes you clench down.
Fuck, what is wrong with you? Why can't you stop thinking about him?
The car thuds into a stop, and you hear the click of the door unlocking when Armin puts it into park. It makes you focus back into reality, a quiet gasp leaving your lips. Your legs relax and pull away from each other.
"You okay?" Armin asks.
You quickly nod. "Mhmm." A light cough escapes your throat. "Still a bit out of it, I guess."
"Right, yeah, of course. Here, I'll help walk you to your place," he offers, ever the gentleman. You should've known better.
"You know what? I suddenly feel a lot better. Fully sober, even." You sound like a frat guy being pulled over by a cop. Your hand is on the door handle and you're making a break for it before he can unbuckle his seatbelt. "I'll be okay. Thanks though."
You're only a few feet away before he calls your name, the window now rolled down. "Let me know when you're free. We should hang out and catch up … I've missed you," he says. Even when he's shouting out his car, there's something about his voice that's still so gentle. Almost fond. When you turn around to face him, you're met with wide eyes and an expectant smile.
Guilt hits you. At the end of the day, Armin was your friend. The long distance was just as evident for him as it was for you. He's trying to make up for lost time, the same as you before you started spiraling out. The least you can do is meet him halfway.
"I missed you too," you reply, voice just as affectionate. Armin looks relieved, his smile more relaxed. "Thanks again for the ride. I'll text you when I'm home."
He nods. You say your goodbyes and Armin watches you go inside before driving. A short walk up the stairs later, you enter your apartment, do a half-ass job of washing your face and brushing your teeth, and climb into the comfort of your bed.
It was an off night. A true reset with eight hours of uninterrupted sleep will do the trick, you think. Partying with all your friends that you haven't seen for months, combined with the buzz still circulating in your body, was bound to lead to heightened emotions. Now that you're home, you'll feel relaxed and refreshed in no time. You repeat these affirmations in your head as you let your eyes shut.
By what seems to be the hundredth repeat, you start to lose it. Checking the time on your phone, more than half an hour has passed, and you groan in frustration. Your body feels nowhere near relaxed.
At that exact moment, your phone buzzes in your hand. A text.
[Armin 🌊]
I'm guessing you're probably asleep or something, but I just wanted to say it was nice to see you tonight! Even if it was only for a little bit lol
Are you free Tuesday? I need to write a reflection paper on my internship this summer, so I was thinking of hanging at the library if you wanted to join. I know it's only the first week, but I figured the company would be nice. Let me know if you're free!
Have a good night :)))
God, was his texting always this cute? Of course you would say yes. Armin could ask you to help clean his bathroom, and you'd be ready with a bucket and scrubber in hand.
You text back a quick yes and goodnight before tossing your phone onto your nightstand and landing back into your pillow with a grunt. Why were you being so weird with him right now? Just because Armin looks different (hot), doesn't mean your relationship with him has changed. You were friends and nothing more.
The same heightened emotions from the party probably just made your feelings for him go into some weird overdrive. Prior to tonight, none of your daydreams have ever been so physical. So, well, freaky.
It wasn't fair of you to act like this. To push him away because you can't keep it in your pants. But your reset methods clearly aren't working, so you needed a new approach. At least right now.
…
Oh.
The answer is obvious, isn't it?
"Goddammit," you grumble to no one. Were you seriously considering masturbating to your best friend? That was completely invasive. Your friendship was built on mutual respect and appreciation of one another. It would be wrong to use their trust like that.
… Then again, wouldn't it be respectful to get your horniness out of the way before it affected your friendship?
Your counterargument, combined with the fact that it's two in the morning and your roommate is staying the night at her girlfriend's, is enough to get you to shimmy out of your shorts.
If you're going to actually go through with this, might as well let yourself indulge in some of your fantasies.
You think back to what would have happened if you stayed in the car, if you didn't panic and leave. Maybe in another world, if you were a bit more confident and you were sure that Armin felt the same way, you wouldn't have ran. Maybe you would have went toward him instead, climbing out of your seat and leaning over the car console.
Inches away from wide eyes and parted lips, you'd close the distance and offer a gentle kiss. Something to test the waters, to see if he wanted more. He lets you tip your weight onto him, steadying you with one hand on your shoulder blade and the other balancing the both of you on the seat of his chair. When he doesn't back away, you let yourself deepen the kiss, cupping his cheek as you work his mouth open.
Your other hand would trail down his body, starting from his slim shoulders down to his firm chest, finally stopping at his soft thighs. You rub the inner part of his leg and swallow the whimper that escapes his throat. It's all the assurance you need to bring your fingers higher up, grazing his crotch.
You let one of your hands travel under your shirt and cup your breast, the same hand that fantasy you is using to palm Armin's length. Your thumb brushes against your nipple, the bud quickly hardening under your attention. You switch to your other breast as you let your mind wander.
With your fingers skimming across his stirring cock, giving it the bare minimum pressure to work himself into a fuss, Armin's kisses start to grow slow and sloppy, barely keeping up with your hungry lips.
He pulls his face away from you with a soft moan and dips it into the crook of you neck. His breath warms your skin as he utters a whiny, "please," and lets his hand drag down your back and settle right above your ass. You give his now hard dick a sure squeeze, and you smoothly climb over the gearshift in the time it takes to let out a desperate groan.
Your fingers find the band of your underwear, stretching and playing with the elastic. You travel lower and cup the heat radiating through the fabric. The tip of your middle finger presses into your folds, making you hum at the sensation. You stroke the entrance of your slit and feel the dampness soaking your panties.
Guess you don't really need foreplay when you've been blue-balling yourself for more than a year.
You pull your underwear to the side, the air chilling on your exposed pussy. Taking your same finger from earlier, you pump your knuckles into the warm muscle. You clench hard on your digit as you whimper in desperation. You add another finger to relieve the ache, groaning at the fullness. A particular curl of your fingertips nearly knocks your knees together and you have to remind yourself to keep breathing.
With your legs settled on either side of Armin's, your cunt sits perfectly on top of his boner as you start a desperate, dirty grind against his length. The motion jostles his arm and makes his hand lower, hovering over the swell of your ass. His broken moans come out uncertain, unsure of what's happening and what he should be doing.
A forceful yank of his wrists pulls his hands right where you want them, and he grabs your ass with a needy squeeze.
It doesn't take long until Armin's practically shaking under you, gripping you like a lifeline as you continue to rock your hips to meet his. His attempts at kissing your collarbones are messy and consist mostly of licking the skin and the occasional light nip when the tip of his dick feels your movements.
You tilt his chin to sit below your sternum. A brush of his bangs exposes his forehead, and you leave a kiss on the skin before you push your shoulders and trap Armin's head between your chest. He shamelessly wails at the contact, letting himself be smothered by your tits.
A heat bubbles low in your stomach. You're so close already, your limit fast approaching. The emptiness when you pull out your slick fingers makes you whine, but when you start massaging your clit, the noise quickly dissipates into a choked-out gasp.
You cover your mouth with your palm, trapping the air escaping your lips. It's a futile attempt at silence: the sounds of you smearing your arousal are lewd, echoing in the quiet of your apartment. Even with no one else home, you're left feeling shameful and dirty. Yet that makes you all the more horny.
A particular flick against your clit makes you clench down hard. Everything felt like too much and not enough. You bring your fingers back down and give your needy cunt something to throb on. A tightness grows above your cervix after a few pumps, and you pull out to frantically rub your clit.
"Oh fuck—oh god. Please let me come, please, please, please," a voice rumbles against your heart.
The thought of Armin coming in his pants makes your eyes shut tight as you ride your high. You bite the skin of your palm that still covers your mouth and stutter out short pants, your body twitching under the waves of pleasure.
You don't think you've ever came so hard so fast before. Several seconds are lost from your memory as your vision turns white, and your lower body jerks at the aftershocks. When you move your fingers away from your abused clit, you wince, the area now sensitive.
Clarity comes after your pulse slows down, the realization of what you just did sinking deep in your gut. You grimace when you can feel the stain your wetness left on the bedsheets when you shift your body, and it takes you longer than it should to clean yourself and change your underwear. Your motions are hesitant, embarrassed even if there's no one to see the events that transpired.
But again, this was a one-time thing.
Probably.
Hopefully.
When you're back in your bed, you hate how sated your body feels, and how quickly sleep finds you soon after.
The floor of the library vibrates under your foot. Your leg has been incessantly bouncing for the past ten minutes; you'd be surprised if you didn't leave a dent in the carpet.
A few days have passed since your … incident. That following morning, you woke up with a surge of energy and determination. You were drunk, had some pent up emotions, and masturbated them out. Things could be normal again.
Then again, you have yet to test this theory. Since the party, Armin's been busy unpacking or submitting papers to get class credit for his summer research. The texts you've sent one another in the meantime seemed normal enough. It may have taken twice the time for you to send them, double-checking each message before hitting send because you were paranoid you would say something along the lines of "I jerked off to the idea of us dry humping in your car", but still.
Today was the true test. The two of you agreed to meet at the library after your classes, with your last class ending a few minutes earlier than expected. You were hoping the extra time would give you a chance to steady yourself, but no matter how hard your leg bounces, the nerves can't seem to be shaken out. The end of your pen starts getting abused as your thumb continuously clicks against the spring, however it's short-lived when you notice the nasty side-eye from the grad student working the front desk.
"I don't think I've ever seen the library this empty before," a voice beside you says. Armin proceeds to slide into the seat across from you, ruffling his hair away from his face. You exercise restraint and look away, suddenly finding your notebook interesting. So far, so good.
"No one's exactly studying on the second day of classes. Unless you're, you know, a nerd," you smirk.
"Well you're the one who agreed to hang out with a nerd. So what does that make you?"
Fucking whipped. Some creep that's potentially edging themselves by being near you. "A good friend, obviously."
Armin hums. "Can't argue with that." He stares at the notebook in front of you, the page still freshly blank. "Do you have anything you're working on? I'd hate to bore you while I work."
"Not really, but it's okay, I could always look ahead. Or play minesweeper if I feel lazy," you shrug, both of you knowing the latter was more likely. "How's your work coming along?"
"It's just busy work, really. I just need to explain what I did over the summer and what I learned, so it shouldn't be too hard. They just need proof that I actually did something worth earning credit for."
He opens his laptop and starts settling into the space. His long, slender fingers rapidly type across his keyboard faster than your eyes can comprehend. The dexterity leaves you mildly impressed, wondering how they move against your clit.
Stop it. Get a grip.
"—uh, you know," you start, drawing a stop to Armin's motions. "You never really got to tell me what you did over there. At least not the specifics."
"Oh." His eyes widen, staring at you like a lost puppy. It's entirely too endearing. "I didn't think anyone would care that much."
That leaves a sour taste in your mouth. While you did have ulterior motives to your question, wanting to use it as a distraction from your impure thoughts, you also wanted to hear about his passions. In what world would Armin ever be boring?
"Of course I would care. You seemed really excited to go there, I could only imagine it was like a dream come true. I want to know everything."
"Okay. Well, if you're sure,"—Armin sits up, face relaxing into a soft smile—"So there's still a lot that's unknown regarding the world and its microbial diversity, but that's what makes it super cool. We can be one of the first to research it, which is also kind of frustrating, since there's so much information to look at and few references to compare it to, but it's crazy to see how these organisms thrive in climates that we find uninhabitable. If we can learn how they're able to survive, we can apply it to so many different things to improve people's lives. We could slow down the spoilage of food to aid starving communities; preserve stem cells and embryos; prevent hypothermia during medical procedures."
His hands are waving all over the place, words coming out a mile a minute. "And even if we can't apply these functions to our world, it's still really interesting. We also went along the peninsula to find these micro-animals called tardigrades in the moss cushions, they're honestly pretty cute. I mean, you have to see them through a microscope and then some special imaging to get a good illustration of them, but still cute nonetheless."
You always liked the way Armin explained things: passionate, never condescending, always detail-oriented. It was one of the main reasons why you wanted to keep studying with him: even as the semesters pass, and the two of you no longer have any shared classes, you still find yourself captivated in what he has to say.
But never had his words made your mouth water. That shouldn't have been as hot as it was, and have you been staring at his mouth this whole time? You nearly choke on your spit when you swallow.
"Oh! I could show them to you, if you want," Armin continues. "There was a section about them in this one biochemistry book I looked at before my internship. It had a cool visual of the types of environments they were found in too."
"Mhmm, sure." You had no idea what he just said. When he starts getting up from his chair and motions you to follow you, you move without a second thought.
Fucking whipped.
The science section is further back in the library than you expected. It seems like you pass every subject before Armin stops at a particular shelf. You can't tell if the old smell is coming from the wood of the shelf or the yellowing papers. Probably both.
It was so quiet in this section. Even when classes pick up, you doubt many students travel this deep into the building.
God, the things you could do to him here without anyone noticing.
No, fuck. Stop. Are you seriously going to get horny in the middle of the library?
You force yourself to read the titles on the shelves. You get to a textbook titled Supramolecular Chemistry: Fundamentals and Applications when Armin mutters to himself, "It's either on this shelf or the one above it ..." He's tracing his finger across the book spines, rapidly scanning each title on the shelf that's eye-level to him. "Not here …"
Armin proceeds to go one shelf up and start searching. Unbeknownst to him, his shirt rides up and exposes the lower half of his stomach.
Great. As if the repeat of the long sleeve and t-shirt combo wasn't torture enough.
Your eyes lock on to the bare skin like a Victorian man seeing ankles. His stomach looks muscular yet soft, you can almost see the faint divot of his belly button at the top. Looking further down, his jeans are slung low on his hips, the band of his green, plaid boxers peeking out of the denim. But what really gets you is the vertical line that connects the two.
Dark blond, nearly brown hair travels from his navel and disappears underneath his boxers. It's probably only a centimeter or two wide, the hairs straggly and zigzagging ever so slightly down. It's the sexiest thing you've ever seen in your life.
You want to push him against the shelf hard enough to make the near-rotting wood splinter. You want to give him a searing kiss to his parted lips and slacked jaw before getting on your knees for him. You want to yank the zipper of his pants down with such force that it nearly rips off the teeth. You want to follow the hair down and see if it darkens around the base of his cock.
Jesus Christ, what is happening to you? Look away. Now.
You don't listen. You're too far gone.
The show continues as you picture yourself nuzzling the happy trail while kissing the skin above his underwear. Armin's looking at you with wide eyes as he lets out a choked gasp. He looks like he wants to tell you to stop, but there's something about the way his eyes glaze over and how nostrils flare that makes you think he wants you to keep going.
A harsh pull on his clothes frees his growing cock. You savor the moment and give gentle kisses up his length, feeling him harden after each peck. A wet lick across his tip makes Armin groan and brace himself on the nearest books behind him. You swallow the bitterness of his precome and moan at the taste. Without warning, you suck his length into your mouth, letting your tongue drag against the underside.
Armin sinks into the shelf with a gasp as saliva pools and leaks past your lips. The messy sounds of your sucking grows, and a choking noise echoes loudly in the room. You're desperate to take every inch of Armin down your throat, and his poorly muffled moans only spur you on. His knuckles whiten as his grip on the shelf tightens, but it's a feeble attempt at restraint when he's subconsciously thrusting himself deeper into your mouth.
When you come up for a breather, you press a sweet kiss right below his belly button, letting the drool dripping down your chin soak the hair beneath it. It matches perfectly with the wet patch smeared around his base. Your hand jerks his slick cock and you can feel him twitch in your palm. You can't decide if you want to swallow his warm load or spit it into the mess you already created.
"Here it is, someone didn't shelve it right. How hard is it to follow the LCC system?" Armin pulls the book down with an exasperated sigh. "Give me a second to find the sect—are you okay?"
You look like a nervous chihuahua. Your shoulders are pulled tight toward your body and your eyes are bulging out of their sockets. You don't think you've been breathing for past twenty seconds.
You feel guilty. Wrong. You need to get out of here before you melt onto the floor.
"Sorry," you barely muscle out. "I just realized that I promised Sasha that I would help her with her uh … laundry."
Armin lowers the book down, closing it between his thumb. "Her laundry?"
"Yep. Poor Sash, sometimes she just doesn't know when to wash and when to … dry."
"… Huh?"
What the hell are you talking about?
"Anyway! I should really get going, don't want her to ruin her clothes and all that. Check out that book and I'll look at it next time, alright?"
"Uh, yeah sure—"
"—perfect! Amazing! I'll see you later!" You don't give Armin a chance to say goodbye before you're sprinting down the hallway. You pass the spot where you were sitting earlier and swipe your backpack off from the floor, ignoring your pens and paper that are scattered across the table.
The run to back to your apartment happens in a blur: all you can feel is the burning in your lungs and the blood pounding in your head. Your leg muscles feel like they're one wrong step away from tearing off the bone, but you still somehow make it to your place in half the time.
You immediately strip your clothes off and jump into a freezing shower. For the most part, the cold water soothes the burn in your body, no doubt helping whatever soreness you're bound to have. You stick your face directly into the spray, hoping the water can wash away your shame.
God, you feel like you're under some spell. Some crazy, twisted spell cast by some outcast pervert that wanted to watch the world endlessly fuck one another. You can't seem to flush out the mixture of adrenaline and arousal that scorches your gut. Drops of water hit your pebbled nipples in a way that makes you crave the chill rather than pull away. Everything feels like torture, but you can't do anything but want and want.
You support yourself with one hand on the wall in front of you while your other hand snakes down to your heat. A wetness that's definitely not from the shower coats the pad of your fingers, and you can't help but dip a knuckle inside you.
The relief, although small, makes you let out a shaky breath. It doesn't take long until you're grinding against the base of your palm and pumping your fingers into your tight hole. Your hand is cramping and you're leaning your forehead against the wall, moans airy and faint against the running water.
A curl of your fingers makes you come with a silent scream. The inside of your thighs are left a slippery mess and your bicep is still aching after you loosen your wrist from your cunt. You come back to your senses and remorse kicks in. Something deep inside you still simmers, and you have a feeling this was only the beginning.
"Fucking hell …" you whisper with a huff.
Grabbing the shower knob, you move the water to a reasonable temperature and clean yourself up.
… You can't stop masturbating.
If you weren't in class, you were in your room with your hand shoved down your pants, too pent up to even take them off. Even with your frequent showering (your water bill is going be insane this month) and wipe downs, you constantly felt damp and icky.
Your underwear was either wet with arousal or sticky with your come that somehow continues to leak out of you hours after touching yourself. The window in your room is permanently propped open and your candle is barely holding on, but you can't seem to waft out the smell of sex. You might as well wear a sign that says "World's Biggest Pervert" when you walk around campus.
One thought of Armin, and you feel a pulse between your legs. Your dreams were plagued with him and all the different ways you could make each other get off, making you wake up to a sopping mess in your shorts the following morning and filthy visions that you can't help but touch yourself to for real.
It was especially agonizing on the days you met up with Armin. Fortunately, logic hasn't completely escaped you yet, and you made sure all your hangouts have been in public spaces the past couple of weeks, using the library or coffee shops as buffers for your dirty mind. It worked, for the most part.
You ignore the time last week when Armin took his glasses off to clean them against his t-shirt, and how his tongue darted out between his lips when he buffed a particularly stubborn smudge, making you thankful for the thick seam in your jeans. It was enough to relieve the ache in your clit until you got home, where you immediately shoved a pillow underneath you and humped the thing within an inch of its life.
You also ignore the time two days ago, when he saved you from being taken out by some idiot student and their motorized scooter by grabbing your arm and pulling you away from the middle of the sidewalk and into his chest. Your face was surrounded by the earthy musk of his cologne, leaving you feeling warm and dizzy afterward. Later that night, you notice how the smell lingers on your shirt, and you ride your fingers while sniffing the fabric.
…
Okay, so maybe you weren't doing so great. At least you weren't doing this in public, which is … the bare minimum, technically, but it's still something.
Eventually, the weekend comes around, and it's both a blessing and a curse: you could stay at home and get yourself away from the source of your dirty fantasies, but now that you had no actual plans or obligations, you were left to your own devices, and you severely underestimated yourself.
When you wake up to a vivid dream of Armin's mouth between your legs, you try to match the sensation with your fingers until you're squirming under the covers. When you take a shower to clean yourself up, you use the pressure of your shower head on your clit and picture Armin with you, naked and kissing down your neck. When you try to distract yourself by reading a book on the couch, you imagine your head in Armin's lap and his fingers in your hair, and somehow that makes you horny enough to throw the book on the coffee table and grind against the armrest like a dog in heat.
Your afternoon passes in the haze left by your orgasms. You lost track after the fifth one, and your head feels like it's full of fog as you try to stay cognizant. Your pussy is spent and swollen from your constant abuse, but you know if you worm your hand back down it'll be aching for more.
You're in the bathroom cleaning up after yourself after your latest session (an ad for a cruise trip to the Bahamas played on your TV, and you couldn't stop picturing Armin shirtless afterward) when your phone vibrates on the sink counter.
[Armin 🌊]
Are you busy this weekend? I saw they released the new season of that one anime you told me about, did you want to watch it together? My place is free! :)))
The text makes you check your calendar in shock. You've been so frazzled from your new… interest? Habit? Addiction? You honestly forgot all about the show in the light of recent events, but you're more shocked that Armin somehow remembered this.
You told him about the news months ago, a few weeks before he left for the South Pole. It was a comment in passing, when you were searching the manga section of the bookstore to find your next read. You pointed out the series and mentioned you were excited to see them animate the next arc, since it was one of your favorites. From what you knew, he didn't watch the show, let alone read the manga, and you definitely didn't expect him to think twice about what you said.
Armin was attentive, you knew that for a fact. Quiet, but always paying attention. Yet experiencing it first-hand, at a time where you're nothing but self-destructive and avoidant, makes it especially touching. For the first time all day, your mind feels a bit clearer, and you text back that you'll be over in an hour before you change your mind.
A familiar rush of blood ripples through you. Unfortunately, the idea of seeing Armin excites you more than it should.
You put your phone back down by the sink, and with a frustrated groan, your hand finds its way to the eager spot between your thighs.
You're still waiting at Armin's door a couple minutes after you text him that you're here. Confused, you slowly knock on the wood, the rhythm choppy and awkward. Was he not home for some reason?
You're about to send another knock when the door swings open, an out-of-breath Armin on the other side.
Specifically, an Armin wearing gray sweats and his gaming headset around his neck. You're embarrassed at how attractive you find him right now, and how your breaths are just as heavy as his.
"Oh my god, I'm so sorry," he sputters out. "I ran as soon as I got the chance, I thought me and Eren would be done with this game before you got here. There's a couple seconds left until the last round starts, you cool just hanging out in my room while I finish up?"
You're not sure how he said all that in one breath, or if you caught most of that. "Hm? Uh, sure. Don't worry about me, I can wait."
Your agreement is enough for him to start jogging back to his room. "Great. Thanks." He brings his headset back to his ears and adjusts his mic. "Jesus, Eren, I'm heading back. You can literally hear me outside your door right now. Don't do anything stupid before I get to point ..." His voice grows quieter as you take your time to catch up to him. You let the initial shock subside and take a deep breath to slow your racing heart.
Armin doesn't pay you any mind when you enter his bedroom, already focused on catching up to the rest of his team in the game. His room looks the same as it always does, though you haven't been in here since the spring. You always thought the space was quite cozy, with his preference of using lamps over the fluorescent overhead light and his bookshelf that contained just as many mementos as it did books.
On the middle shelf, you spot his vintage camera that his grandpa gifted him, along with what looks like to be a vial of water. It's a new addition, probably from the Southern Ocean that he's been surrounded by for several weeks. You make a note to ask if he brought anything else back from his trip.
Your eyes eventually land on Armin's bed and you freeze. It's the same bed as it's always been, with slight chips in the headboard and those navy blue bedsheets that are so stereotypical and dude-ish that it's almost comical. You've sat on his bed plenty of times; it was your go-to spot whenever you came over to hang out. You even made the space your designated nap area when the two of you were studying for finals, the mattress the perfect balance of firm and soft that you couldn't help but shut your eyes for a few minutes.
Sitting on his bed right now, with everything you've been feeling lately, seems wrong. It somehow felt too intimate, an invasion of privacy despite your familiarity. But you're trying to be normal, and it's not like there's ample seating options in his room, so you bite the bullet and sit on the edge of the bed.
You're dragging your nails across the seam of his comforter, letting the mouse clicks and mumbles of Armin's voice drown in the space, when you hear a loud bang from Eren's room and an annoyed groan from across from you.
"Dammit, I told you, Eren, you have to back up. Their tank probably has ult, and we need to save our cooldowns if we don't want to topple over," Armin commands into his mic. "And I can't heal you if you're around a corner, so stop complaining."
Armin's shoulders are hunched over his desk, and his back curving into a position that he'll surely feel later tonight. His right hand whips his mouse in controlled, sporadic directions while his glasses slip down toward the bridge of his nose. He's deep in concentration, you're not sure if he would notice you if you did anything.
What could you get away with while he wasn't looking?
Ew, no. That's terrible, stop it.
You were curious about it, though. Horny, yes, but also curious. Like you mentioned earlier, he was often observant around other people. Is that the case when he's at home, relaxed and in his own world?
Were you part of that world?
Would he notice if you laid yourself down on the bed, your head nestled on his pillow that smelled of his shampoo? Would he be able to pick up on the sound of your pants slipping off your legs and onto the floor? The wet pop of your mouth after you suck on your fingers?
How long could you play with yourself before he turned around? Would he finish the rest of the game and chat with Eren before he even looked your way?
Did you want to distract him? To make him look at you and ruin his game?
You bite your lip at the idea, suddenly feeling hot all over. Out of all the fantasies you've had of Armin, and you were racking up a heavy amount, this seemed the most wrong. Like you were taking advantage of him at his most vulnerable.
But then Armin nearly growls at his monitor, and all rationale flies out the door.
"Fuck! Fall back, Eren! It's a 2v5 right now, we can't win this!"
God, could make that noise at you? Your daydream resumes, and now you're purposefully making noise in the background of Armin's game, letting the squelch of your cunt echo in his room as you let out a moan. You wouldn't stop when he turned around, indulging in the pleasure building in your stomach. You picture him and his eyes narrowing in on you, the look he often makes when he's starting to get irritated at something. Or in your imagination's case, someone.
He'll mumble something to Eren and mute his mic before he even gets the chance to respond. Just when you think he might actually be upset at you, he'll stand up and hover over the edge of his bed, and you'll notice the way his cock stirs in his sweatpants, already half-hard.
It would be all the reassurance you would need to whimper and say, "I'm sorry, I couldn't help it. Need you so bad." You would let your leg reach toward Armin, moving your foot up his thigh and grazing his dick, before stopping and playing with the top of his pants, signaling him to take them off.
You're acting coy, a smug smile playing on your lips. You think you have Armin right where you want him, but then you feel a tight grip around your ankle, the same one that hovers in front of his pants. In one quick motion, your whole body is dragged several feet closer to him, your feet now dangling off the bed.
The abrupt change makes you gasp and your cunt clench on nothing, your hands now at your sides as you prop yourself up. Your shock makes Armin smirk.
"Don't worry. I'll give you everything you need…"
Fuck, you're so horny. If you don't stand up soon, you're going to leave a wet spot on his bed.
You high-tail it for the bathroom across the hall, mumbling an excuse that Armin definitely didn't hear over the chaos happening on his screen. For the best, you think. It'll give you more time to put yourself together.
When you're in the bathroom, you hold yourself over his sink and stare at your reflection. Is this what your friendship with Armin is going to be like from now on? Getting turned-on by your best friend, then feeling guilty and avoiding him, only to jerk off to him anyway? Is he wasting his time on someone who's nothing but a complete pervert?
Your brain feels like it's being strung out in a million different directions, but it's still nothing compared to the throbbing deep in your cunt.
You double-check that you locked the bathroom door before you pull your pants to your feet, goosebumps raising on your exposed lower half. The wetness from your pussy sends a chill through your body, but you soon warm up when your fingers slink down and past your folds.
With perfect precision, you continuously hit the spot deep inside you that makes your toes curl. The knot in your belly tightens and a wave of pleasure starts creeping in. You're so close, putting more of your weight against the sink as you ride your hand to your orgasm—
There's a knock on the bathroom door.
"Sorry to bother you," Armin begins to say. "Eren and I finished our game, so I'm going to get the show set up in the living room. Do you want any snacks or anything?"
The noise startles you, making you nearly trip on your pants that are still on the floor. Your heart is pounding against your ribcage and your eyes are bulging, staring at the door like it's about to swing open and reveal your dark secret.
Armin calls your name when you don't answer right away. "Everything good?"
Shit. "I'm fine! Sorry, I was just thinking … maybe some popcorn? Or whatever you're having is fine … I'll be out in a minute!" You swear your heart is going to burst out of your chest.
"Alright, sounds good."
The sounds of footsteps fade away from the door and down the hallway. The beeping of the microwave confirms he's in the kitchen, and you quickly pull your pants up and wash your hands, ignoring the dampness in your underwear sticking to your skin.
What the hell is wrong with you? You're at Armin's apartment for crying out loud, you shouldn't be trying to get yourself off in his bathroom. Eren's in the damn room next to you right now. You should at least have the decency to pull it together until you got home.
You opt out of drying your hands and place your palms on your hot face, letting the cold water calm you down. When you feel like you're at a reasonable temperature, you open the door and head to the living room.
Armin's already sitting on the couch with the TV on and popcorn on the table in front of him, sending you a quick smile when you pop into view. Eren's sitting next to him, hunched forward and staring at his phone.
"Oh, hey Eren. Are you joining us?" you ask, relief starting to set in; he would be the perfect buffer between you and Armin.
"Nah, I'm just hanging around. I'm waiting for Mikasa to pick me up so we can get dinner together." He glances back down at your phone, not noticing how your body deflates at the news. Armin does, though. "Actually, it looks like she just parked, so I'll see you guys later." He stands up from his spot on the couch. "Have fun with whatever you're watching, I'm sure it'll be good. I'll be back later tonight, so could you leave the door unlocked for me?"
"You know you could make a copy of a key for like, three dollars, right?" Armin points out.
Eren shrugs, taking the comment as a yes. "Then I guess I'm three dollars richer. See ya guys."
You laugh at Eren's irresponsibility and wave him off. When he slams the door on his way out, you feel a weight land back on your shoulders as you're left standing awkwardly in the middle of the living room.
Armin scans you with concerned eyes before breaking the silence. "I saved a blanket for you, if you need it."
He points to the blanket lying on the back of the couch. It's the same blanket that you always use when you're over. No matter the weather and what you're wearing, your legs always got chilly whenever the two of you watched something. The sweet action stirs terribly in your insides, making you feel disgust for yourself. You don't deserve him.
You mumble a quick thanks, grabbing the blanket and sitting down. You make sure to put extra space between the two of you before bringing your knees to your chest and tucking the blanket under your feet. While you're trying to get comfortable (a task more difficult than it should be), Armin's doing the same, sitting cross-legged on the cushion while grabbing the popcorn and placing it in his lap.
He grabs a handful of popcorn, pointing to the bowl with his other hand and asking, "Want some? I added extra butter for you."
You stare at the sight at bit longer than acceptable. Luckily, Armin is already looking away from you, searching for the remote and hitting play. "Yeah. Thanks," you gulp, trying not to think of the implications of his actions just now as you grab a few pieces.
He was offering you popcorn, not asking you to grab his dick. Get your mind out of the gutter.
The first episode drags; not because it's bad, honestly you had no clue what was happening, despite having read the manga. No, you were more focused on looking like you were paying attention. Your eyes haven't left the screen once, and you haven't even made a grab for the popcorn bowl even though by this point, you usually would be debating if you should pop a second bag or not.
It's not until the outro song plays that you snap back into reality, the music playing several volumes louder than the rest of the show. Armin cringes at the loud noise, quickly turning the tv down to a reasonable level.
"Hate when that happens…" he mumbles, putting the popcorn back on the table and getting comfortable again.
First, Armin stretches his neck, extending his head back and forth with a low groan. Then, he stretches his legs and spreads them further out, his left knee almost knocking into your right foot. Finally, he settles back into the couch, and if you stare hard enough, you can see the print of his dick just barely outlined in his sweatpants.
The things you could do with him right here on this couch…
The sight makes drool pool in your mouth, and it reminds you just how soaked your panties are from earlier. Your cunt aches all over again, starving to be satiated after you stopped just before your release.
"So, what do you think so far? I know you mentioned something about a bus hijacking arc? Does that happen in the next episode?" Armin asks, reaching for a few more pieces of popcorn.
"Good. It was good." It feels like the blood has rushed away from your brain and toward your pussy. What are you saying 'good' to again?
Your lack of answer leaves Armin confused, mouth pursed and debating if he should repeat himself. For whatever reason, he leaves it at that. "Uh, alright. You cool to start the next episode then?"
You offer a gentle hum in agreement and he presses play, both of you now awkwardly staring straight ahead.
Great. Now you're horny frustrated and non-horny frustrated. Why can't you at least act normal around him? You need to do something to calm yourself down.
You need to come so bad.
…
No. Absolutely not. You are not going to masturbate in his bathroom again.
It would be obvious, even more so, that you're being weird. Even if it wasn't weird, he would probably think you had a stomach bug or something, which is just as embarrassing. If you went to the bathroom, he would pause the tv so you don't miss anything. You couldn't have Armin wait on you while you came to the thought of riding his thigh.
…
Although, you could just do it here on the couch.
Technically speaking, if you were subtle enough, he wouldn't notice anything under the blanket, especially if you left your legs pulled up toward your chest. It would also eliminate the issue of him waiting on you, since the show would just keep playing.
It was a crazy idea though, and way too risky. Just pay attention to the episode, make a couple comments about it, and everything will sort itself out.
Your pussy throbs, almost like it's fighting against your logic. Apparently, it wasn't taking no as answer, and in retaliation, you're flooded with dirty visions of Armin and his hand creeping under the covers and finding the spot you're trying so hard to ignore.
His middle fingers drags across the seam of your pants, making it dig between your folds and right on your clit. It's teasing, the pressure not enough for how wet you are, but it still makes your legs snap shut as you whine. With a firm hand, he moves away from your center and pushes on your inner thigh, forcing your leg back to where it was. Your other leg moves back too, taking the instruction.
"Don't move," Armin whispers, voice gravelly. "Just keep watching your show. I'll take care of you."
Your whole body feels hot. You want to kick away the blanket and let yourself cool down a bit, but something is stopping you. A part of you that wants to touch yourself and come till you see stars.
With slow, measured movements, you move your hand off the couch, moving it to the middle of your body. Your fingers inch further down, relaxing against your pants as you cup your heat. It's a small comfort as you continue to clench on nothing. Your legs form a tent shape with the blanket, making the action unnoticeable. You could easily move your hand away at any time, and no one would have to know.
Yet the risk to push further entices you.
Armin thumbs the edge of your pants, making your stomach tense at the gentle graze. He pushes the band away from your skin, letting his hand go past the barrier. The tips of his fingers trail down your body with deft precision before they're pushing past the side of your underwear and drawing circles over your entrance.
Your cunt pulses, desperately pleading for his fingers to fill you up. Your breathing comes out unevenly as you try to focus on the scene in front of you. You must be doing a decent job of paying attention, because he sinks a finger inside you, sopping up your arousal before pulling out and spreading it around the outside of your pussy. He was making a complete mess out of you, and you wanted to beg for more.
"I'm going to get some water real quick, do you want some?" Armin asks.
You blink, hand still cupping your mound. "Sure, that would be nice. Do you want me to pause the show?"
He shakes his head, already walking to the kitchen. "It's cool, I shouldn't be long. I'll still be able to hear it from over there."
The moment his body disappears, you spring into action. You bump the volume of the tv up a few notches, letting the noise muffle your own as the hand that's been cupping your clothed core slips fully under your pants. Your hips jerk at the coolness of your slick pussy no longer sticking to your underwear, and again when you finally touch your clit. With how pent up you are, you honestly might be able to come before he comes back.
You imagine your fingers are Armin's, rubbing the hard nub of your clit and making your eyes flutter shut and your head feel fuzzy. Everything is so sensitive under his controlled motions and your skin feels like it's on fire. You're ready to strip off your clothes and plead for Armin to fuck you so good, so deep right here on the couch.
The door opens, making Armin's fingers freeze.
"Hey guys, you still watching your one show?" Eren greets, taking off his shoes by the door. Your eyes are wide, panic thrumming through your body at being caught in the act.
Well, almost caught. Eren hasn't picked up on anything yet.
"Yeah, it's pretty good so far," Armin replies. He starts moving again, dragging a line from your slit up back up to your clit. It's as if he was testing you. Not to see if you would say no—he knew how badly you wanted his fingers. How badly you wanted him to keep going.
No, he was testing to see if you could be quiet enough.
The familiar ache right before you come is hitting you with full force as you continue to stroke yourself with fervor. You're about to let go and fall off the edge when footsteps grow louder.
"Looks like I didn't miss much," Armin mumbles, setting two glasses down. You haven't stopped your motions, going just slow enough to keep your orgasm at bay. He seems to be oblivious at the crude activities happening under your blanket, sitting back down like everything was normal.
Your breaths are heavy and your chest is nearly heaving under the covers. You just need to come at this point. Get everything out of your system, and you'll be back to normal.
Your fingers speed up, your brain on high alert for any suspicious movements that you make.
"You want to watch with us?" Armin asks Eren, barely dipping a knuckle into you. Your cunt tries to grip him, to suck him in deeper. He takes the hint, pushing another digit in and fully fingering you. You bite your lip so hard you nearly break skin, trapping your moans in your throat.
"Eh, sure, why not?" He shrugs, staring at the screen and slumping into the recliner next to you. If he turned a little to his right, he would be face-to-face with your dazed expression and Armin's arm snaking underneath your blanket. Yet Armin was unrelenting, continuing to work you open while his friend sits less than ten feet away.
You can feel the coil in your stomach ready to snap.
Armin angles his hand and lets the base of his palm grind against your clit, and you're creaming on his fingers with a shivering breath. Eren isn't fazed, not even noticing when Armin's hand leaves your body and the blanket, bringing his fingers to his lips and nonchalantly cleaning off your come with his tongue.
A flick of your clit sends you spiraling, your pleasure releasing in waves as you helplessly throb. You let out a deep sigh as you come, hoping that it passes off as a normal breath. There's a thrum of ecstasy that circulates through your veins, but it's nothing compared to the heavy shame that it comes with. Your muscles in your abdomen tighten until they cramp, and the comedown leaves you feeling utterly pathetic.
Your hands feel slimy when you wipe them off on your underwear, and you start to feel even worse. You can't believe you just did that. What the hell possessed you to make you think that this was okay? That you could pretend to be a normal friend after this?
You're an absolute monster. A total creep. You have completely ruined your friendship with Armin and you need to leave. You don't deserve his kindness, not after what you just did.
A layer of sweat clings onto you, and you're sticky with humiliation. "Actually, I'm getting a bit tired. I should get going," you say, moving off the couch and pulling the blanket off you. You're grateful you didn't leave some stain on the upholstery.
"Oh, really? I mean, you just got here, are you sure you don't want to stay a bit longer?" Armin pauses the tv, the second episode barely halfway through. He's looking at you with worry, but you can tell by the small pout of his lips that he's trying to hide his disappointment.
Your heart aches at the sight. It feels like every choice you make is the wrong one.
"Yeah, sorry. Just a long day and all that." Not technically wrong, you did masturbate about a dozen times today. "Plus, might as well walk home before the sun sets. No need to worry about me." You're making a dash to the exit, your shoes half-on before you swing the front door open.
"Wh—okay. Uh, have a good night then. I'll see you later?"
The door closes before he finishes the that last part. Your hand is still on the doorknob, and you're tempted to open the door again just to agree that yes, you'll hang out again. That everything was okay. But that would be a lie, and that would probably just make things worse.
You couldn't keep dragging him through this cycle of trying to be his friend and then pushing him away when you failed. Until you could get yourself in check, you were a burden.
You walk away from the door, unsure when you would let yourself see your best friend again.
"Alright, you're pissing me off," Eren says.
You look up from your spot in the coffee shop, confronted with irritation personified. "Uh … sorry?" You're not sure what's happening right now, and it doesn't help that Eren is just an intense person to begin with. He could be mad at anything. "… did I forget we made plans? Or like, forget to say 'bless you' or something?"
"What?—no. At least, I'm choosing to excuse your bad manners on that right now, but next time it wouldn't hurt you to say it at least once! Allergies are no joke! Ragweed could kill me. Do you want your lack of common courtesy to forever be stuck on your conscience?"
"Considering that ragweed is probably not deadly? I think I'll be fine," you reply with a blank stare.
"Ugh, whatever. I'm not having this argument again." Who else was he having this conversation with? "I meant what's going on between you and Armin?"
The mention of his name gets your attention, a pang of guilt hitting you like a freight train. Eren must notice how you tense, his eyes narrowing in on you.
"I don't know what you're talking about," you bluff, hoping he'll drop the conversation, even though you know he won't. Not only is he intense, but also freakishly determined — a dangerous combination. "Plus, why would I tell you of all people? You're his best friend. You'd either tell him about this or get mad at me and take his side. Or both."
"Well, maybe."
Eren stops.
"Probably."
Another pause.
"Okay, I would, but there's clearly something wrong between you two. Whenever you study here, Armin's usually with you. Instead, he's sulking in his room because you've been ignoring him all week, and I know you've been ignoring him all week because he looks at his phone all lost and disappointed, and you're the only other person he texts on a regular basis. So you better talk to him and fix whatever is wrong with you or I'll—"
"—you'll what? You don't have anything on me, Eren, and you definitely don't scare me."
"Told you," a voice behind you says.
"—fuck! Were you there this whole time?!" you shout, turning in your chair and locking eyes with Mikasa's.
She ignores your question and simply takes the seat next to you. "Look, we just want to help you. Both of you. Something clearly happened between you two. Or at least, something happened between you two that only you know about. I don't think it's fair to keep Armin in the dark. So if you don't want to tell him right now, I think you should at least tell someone what's bothering you."
You sigh. "Look, I appreciate it, but I promise you there's nothing—"
"—I'll tell Historia that you were the one that shrunk her favorite sweater in the dryer."
"Oh fuck you. I thought you were doing a good cop, bad cop thing," you scoff.
Ever since that night at his apartment, you went no contact with Armin. It might not have been the best strategy, if you can even call it that.
You ignored his text checking to see if you made it home okay, then his ones asking if you wanted to study at the library, followed by his ones where he linked a particularly interesting YouTube video defending fanfiction and asked for your thoughts. That one took a lot of strength to ignore, and you now have a saved paragraph in your notes regarding the topic.
But the worst messages were probably his last ones.
[Armin 🌊]
Is everything okay? Haven't heard from you in a while
Did I do something? Because I'm not sure what
I'm sorry for whatever I did, and for not knowing what I did :/
Can we at least talk about it?
I want to figure this out
I miss you
You had to shut your phone off after that last one, and when you turned it back hours later, you couldn't help but feel disappointed that he hasn't said anything since.
It was especially excruciating when you were on campus. Earlier in the week, you were leaving the lecture hall with Annie when you spotted Armin waiting for you by a nearby bench. Before he could spot you in the crowd, you grabbed Annie by the arm and dashed back into the building, mumbling something about forgetting your laptop charger inside.
A couple days after that, Connie caught you walking past the courtyard while he and Jean were tossing a frisbee across the lawn. While he was trying to convince you to check out his next DJ set at the local nightclub, Armin was walking your way, steps getting more urgent when he realized it was you.
In a panic, you told Connie to 'go long' and toss the frisbee to you in the opposite direction. Halfway through chasing the disc, you made a break for it and sprinted away, much to everyone's confusion.
("… I'm not sure they get this game," you heard Jean yell to the two.)
Since then, it was safe for Armin to say that you wanted nothing to do with him. You got exactly what you wanted, and you've never felt more horrible.
You honestly didn't expect anyone to notice the change, but you should've accounted for Eren and Mikasa's unwavering loyalty. They knew Armin better than you, being childhood friends and all. Like you, they would do anything for him, including interrogating and threatening you until you spilled your secret.
"Look, you're right," you sigh. "Armin doesn't know anything, and he definitely didn't do anything wrong." Other than get super attractive and make all your feelings toward him impossible to ignore. "Things between us just got … complicated, and it's just easier if we keep some distance. I swear, I'm doing this because I care about him."
Eren huffs, though he can tell that you're being honest. "I just don't get it." He crosses his arms and tilts his head, glare still as harsh as before. "If he didn't do anything wrong, and you supposedly didn't do anything wrong, what changed?"
Mikasa hums in thought, turning in her chair to stare you down as well. "For once, he actually makes a good point …"
"For once? What's that supposed to mean?"
"—do you not have feelings for him anymore? Is that why you're avoiding him?"
What?
"What?" you blurt out. "You knew?"
Mikasa leans away from you, brows furrowed. She shifts her gaze to Eren, who looks equally confused, then back to you. "Was that … not public knowledge?"
"No!" You're not sure your voice is an appropriate volume for the coffee shop anymore. "It is very much not public knowledge! It's not supposed to be anyone's knowledge! Especially you guys!" You're pinching the bridge of your nose and praying that this conversation can't get any worse. "Please tell me that at least Armin doesn't know I like him."
"Like him? As in, present tense?" Eren catches.
Dammit. The conversation was getting worse.
"Yes, as in present tense," you mutter under your breath, admitting defeat.
"Oh, well that's easy enough," Eren shrugs. "You like him. He likes you. Problem solved."
What?
Mikasa hums again, this time in disagreement before butting in and saying, "Not exactly. They've always liked each other. It still doesn't explain the change."
What?
"Ugh, you're right." Eren slumps back into his seat.
You wish you could melt onto the floor and get mopped up by an underpaid barista. You're frozen in place, helpless under their hot, blinding looks. A pounding thumps in your skull and your brain is trying to stay still and process the information Eren just told you.
"I'm sorry, can we go back to what you guys just said?" you somehow manage to squeak out.
Eren lets out a dramatic groan and an exaggerated eye roll. "You both like each other, keep up. All of us see how you two look at each other. Armin always has googly eyes and this stupid grin whenever he's around you." He then lazily motions to you. "And you … well you used to look at him like that too. Actually you still do sometimes, but now sometimes you look at him all spaced out. And you breath weird … like you're trying to stop yourself from having a panic attack or something … whatever the hell that's supposed to mean."
"—wait, oh my god! You have the hots for Armin!" Sasha yells behind you.
"Oh come on! You too?" you angrily shout. "Were you listening to us this whole time?"
"Well, I work here, so I was originally going to top off your coffee," she explains, gesturing to the coffee pot in her hand. "Then I got nosy. So I eavesdropped instead."
You look down at your cup. "… Sasha, I got a matcha."
"Oh. Guess I was just nosy then." She sets down the pot on the table. You're not sure if she realizes the damage the hot pot is going to do on the wood. "But just hear me out: Armin comes back from his summer of isolation looking like a total nerd, no offense, and now you're acting all weird around him. Eren just described the telltale signs of sexual attraction. Clearly, his new look is doing it for you, and now all these horny thoughts you're having is making your body go into overdrive because of your already strong feelings for him."
Sasha moves her hand in the air like she's solving equations in her head. "You liking him for a year or so, multiplied by the average horniness it takes to want to have sex with someone, divided by the three weeks he's been back …" Her eyes widen, cracking the code. "Oh wow, that's rough. Yeah you probably would have jumped his bones the next time you saw him, no wonder you're avoiding him now."
Your tongue feels like lead in your mouth. Any excuse you could possibly make dies before you can find the words. The three of you are looking at her with varying degrees of shock, disgust, and in your case, complete embarrassment. Someone should tell her never to do math again. But someone should also tell her she may be the next Sherlock Holmes.
"Wait what? What happened to you guys helping me out?"
"Listen, I love you and all, but that was before I knew you wanted to do … that with Armin," she shudders. "He's like my brother. And now I can't stop picturing him naked."
Sasha snorts in your direction. "Well neither can they."
"Please stop talking," you mumble back.
Mikasa grimaces and takes a deep breath before talking again. "Just talk to him, okay? And we can pretend this conversation never happened."
You quickly nod. "Gladly."
Mikasa can barely look at you as she heads for the door. Eren slowly starts to follow her, but before he leaves, he turns to you with pursed lips. "So ... that was probably my fault."
He then walks away, not elaborating.
"Wh—a sorry would have been nice," you stammer. Was that payback for his 'bless you' argument earlier? Maybe he had a point about the common courtesy thing after all, though you would never say that to his face.
You let your head drop onto the table and bury your face in your homework with a pained groan. Sasha still lingers behind you, unsure if she helped or not.
"Uh, want some coffee to go?"
You nod into your notebook. "… Yes please."
You let the idea of reaching out to Armin linger. For about a day, that is. Because the following morning, there's a pounding at your door.
Armin is already letting himself in before you register he was at the door.
"Is Historia home?" he asks.
"You know she never is." She practically lives at Ymir's ever since they started dating last spring. Thank god too. You couldn't imagine how much worse your situation would be if she was around.
"Cool. That means I can yell at you here."
The door closes with a quiet click, Armin already standing in the middle of your living room. You're taken aback by his fervor, only responding with a quiet "huh?"
"—look, I was going to let you have your space. I took the hint and left you alone. But yesterday, I said hi to Sasha on the way to class and she basically laughed in my face. And then Mikasa comes over later that night and barely says a word to me. Hell, she couldn't even be in the same room as me without getting war flashbacks or something. And when I finally decided to come over so we can talk things out, Eren tells me to 'have fun' and 'be safe'? Like what is that supposed to mean? Why are all of you being so weird around me?"
And yeah, okay. You kind of deserved this.
Armin's face is red, lungs heaving as he finally lets himself take a breath. He finally meets your gaze, and he deflates. Now that the initial anger has worn off, he looks incredibly hurt.
"I feel like a little kid all over again. Like there's some joke that I'm not in on," he whispers. "Did something happen over the summer?" He pauses, scared to ask the big question looming over his head. "Do you not like me? Are we not friends anymore?"
"What? No—no that's not it at all. Of course we're still friends." You finally snap out of it, walking towards Armin. You want to grab him by the shoulders, to reassure him that he has the completely wrong idea, but you resist the urge. If you got too close, you were worried you wouldn't be able to control yourself.
"Then why does it feel like I'm doing something wrong?"
"It's not like that. You're not—"
"—then explain why you're doing this! You have been weird with me ever since I came back. And now you're ignoring me? Clearly, you have some issue with me, and I seem to be the only one that doesn't know why. I don't want to bother you if that's what you want, but I just don't see what's changed between us." He looks down at himself, hand on his chest. "Do you not want to be seen with me?"
"What?" That's the idea he got from this?
"Were you just being nice to me after I came back? Do you think I look … bad?"
Definitely not. "Armin, please I—"
"—are you embarrassed to be my friend? Is it the hair?"
The complete opposite: you want to pull his hair and see if he moans at the pain. "Armin …"
"—the glasses? The shirt? I know it's goofy, but I thought the Minecraft reference would come off more ironic than serious …"
The shirt is more sexy than funny, actually. That's what the problem is. How is he not getting this?
His ramblings are utter nonsense. Your left eye twitches in irritation. There's an ache in between your legs. You want him to shut up, and you're debating between smacking him upside the head and kissing him to do so.
"—I want to fuck you."
Well. That works too.
"Wha— huh?!" Armin chokes out, jumping out of his skin. The sudden jerk of his body makes him lose his footing for a split second, and his glasses slip and balance themselves lower on his nose. If you weren't making a total fool of yourself, you would find the sight endearing.
"I want to fuck you. Or you fuck me. God, I'd let you do anything to me." The laugh you let out sounds pained and borderline psychotic. "Honestly, I've gone through a million different scenarios at this point, I've probably thought of it all." Your heart rate is going so fast it would probably break a monitor. "Yes, it's the hair. And the glasses. And your freaking clothes. But not liking them? That couldn't be further from the truth."
"I-I don't understand."
You bury your face in your hands and shake your head. Armin is looking at you like you're a stray dog, unable to decide if it's safe for him to help you with whatever is wrong with you. "I can't stop thinking about you, Armin. I've always liked you. I tried to ignore those feelings. I thought I was doing a good job of not letting it ruin our friendship. But then you show up after months away looking like that," you motion toward him, "and my mind starts playing a porno every time you're near me. Even when you're not around me, I'll dream up some perverted fantasy of us and jerk off to it."
Armin sputters. "Y-you what? To me?"
Shit. Did you not mention that?
"So that's why you've been acting off lately?"
You slowly nod. "Pretty much." No use hiding anything now.
Armin's jaw hasn't closed for a whole minute. His eyes keep flittering from one half of your face to the other, completely mystified. It's taking him longer than you expected to wrap his head around this. You're not sure if that's bad or beyond awful.
"So—so that night? At the party? You weren't sick, or—or drunk?"
"I mean, I technically was drunk. At least when you first found me," you begin to say, "really, I couldn't stop thinking of shoving my tongue down your throat."
He gulps. "And when I dropped you off? After you went home?"
"Tried to go bed right away and figure my shit out. Ended up masturbating to the thought of dry humping you in your car."
"Cool. That's uh … nice," he mumbles. His gaze feels darker, his breaths evening out and deepening. The room suddenly felt smaller. "Then what about the library? You didn't have to meet Sasha then?"
You shook your head. "Took a cold shower after I kept dreaming of sucking your dick. Didn't work, though. Actually, it just got worse after that."
He raises his eyebrow at the word 'worse'. The lamp next to you now burns bright like a spotlight. Why did it feel like the tables were turning on you? "So last time, when you came over …"
"Yeah … I tried to figure that out in the bathroom." You feel your throat dry up, and you let out short cough. "I had the urge to touch myself and distract you from your game, so I left to go try and take care of it … but you kinda knocked at a bad time." Your mouth presses into a flat line. "I was about to finish then you scared me off."
"Oh. Um, sorry? I guess?" Armin says. "Is that why you left so early? To go home and uh … finish?"
"Eh, not exactly …" Your body is so warm right now you could burst into flames. You let out an awkward laugh and tilt your head, considering your next words. "I left early because I already … did. Finish."
His face was still, but the blush gave him away. "When would you—but you were on the couch. You didn't get up, so when …" He's struggling to put the final piece of the puzzle together. All it takes is a look from you, and his eyes widen.
"The blanket," he whispers, like he discovered the secret to the universe. "I was right next to you? When you were …"
You give a small nod, keeping your chin down. "Kept thinking that it was your hand instead of mine. That Eren came back early, and you let him watch the tv while you secretly touched me." You scratch the back of your neck. "I guess that fantasy was a bit on the nose, now that I think about it …"
It's quiet after that. This conversation now feels like a trial, and Armin was the judge that decided your fate. All you could do was wait for his response, and pretend you weren't completely dreading it. You stare at the ceiling, sending a prayer to whoever is listening that you make it out of this with some dignity intact.
While you were wishing for a miracle, Armin clenches his jaw. He takes a moment to himself to consider his word, and puffs out his chest before speaking.
"What are you picturing right now?" Armin asks. He senses your confusion and explains himself further. More insistent this time. "Right now, when you're looking at me, what are you thinking about?"
The question makes your stomach tighten. "I'm thinking about how I'm scared out of my mind. That I ruined everything. How I should've looked into those culty celibacy classes more."
He shakes his head and takes a step forward. "You're thinking that way because you're assuming the worst."
"Can you blame me?" you scoff. This feels like a trick question, like you're the one not in on the joke now. Is he toying with you before he inevitably ends your friendship? "What should I be assuming, then?"
"Assume that I feel the same."
It's your turn to be in disbelief. It's like someone shook you like a soda can, you can feel the bubbles fizzing in your system. You're not sure if you like it or not.
"I don't—what do you mean?"
"You're assuming the worst right now, that everything you just said is going to scare me off. So assume the best instead," he says. "Assume that I feel the same. That I've had a crush on you ever since you hugged me after we got an A on that class project."
He takes another step forward. "Assume that I told Connie at the party that he could shave my head. Assume that I had to beg him the next day not to actually do it, after you told me you liked my hair. Assume that I binged the two seasons of that anime the week I came back so I could talk about it with you. Assume that I fall for you more every time you want to listen to my boring info dumps about the ocean."
"They're not boring," you say under your breath, looking away from Armin.
"Exactly," he mutters back, a smirk on his face as he takes another step. "Assume that you're hottest person I've ever met. That I wake up every day wondering why you let me hang around you, let alone be your friend."
His words make you stutter. You lower your head, fiddling with the hem of your top. He takes another step.
"Assume that I always make you take the stairs before me so I can stare at your ass. And that every time we go out to a bar, I'm purposefully sipping my drink all night and pretending I'm not looking down your shirt." A gentle finger nudges your chin up, Armin now inches away from you, cheeks rosy and radiating heat. When did he get so close? "Assume that I want to those all those things you thought about, and then some." He bites his lip, eyes darting across your face. "What are you thinking about?"
Armin's hand still sits under your chin, and it's the only thing stopping you from sinking into the carpet and letting the floor swallow you. You blink owlishly at him. Everything else in the world is frozen except for him.
While you could picture an infinite number of sexual situations with Armin, you only pictured this conversation going a few ways, all in varying degrees of bad. From asking for time away from you to giving you a number for a local therapist, the idea that he would confess his feelings (in such a rom-com way, at that) was nowhere near your perception of reality.
This was better than anything you could have come up with.
Eyes still wide, there's a pause before you finally say, "I guess what I'm thinking about is,"—you tuck some of his hair back, leaning toward his ear—"is if your shirt should stay on or off when I ride you."
"Christ," he chokes out, leaning into you. His face is an inch away from nuzzling against yours. "You're gonna kill me. Can we go back to a minute ago when you were about to have a panic attack?"
You giggle into his hair. "We could … but then we'd be further away from seeing each other naked. Hey though, if that's what you want—"
You don't get a chance to finish whatever shitty joke you were about to make, Armin quickly tilting your head to give you a bruising kiss on your lips. It takes you by surprise, but you soon fall into the rhythm of his mouth when his hand cradles your cheek. His other arm wraps around your waist, making you lean into him. You ground yourself by gripping the collar of his shirt and fuck, it looks so stupid, why does he make it so attractive?
The frame of his glasses presses against the tip of your nose, but neither of you budge at the obstacle. Armin kisses you like he's been waiting for you to tell him about your filthy desires; he kisses you like he's trying to convince you that he feels the same, and that if he stops, he'll never get this chance again. It's intoxicating and entirely mind-numbing, all you can do is go pliant in his arms and enjoy the feeling.
The thin layer of his chapstick smears onto your lips, and the flavorless wax does somehow taste better on him. A carnal craving awakens in you as you lick Armin's bottom lip, slipping your tongue in when his mouth opens in response, deepening the kiss even more. He meets you halfway and groans at the wetness of your tongue. It makes your core ache. You want everything he has to offer.
"My room," you mumble between kisses. A squeeze on your hip tells you he heard your request, and you tug him down the hallway, wet kisses trailing along his jaw and down his neck as you shuffle. Armin's breath hitches when you suck above the bump of his collarbone, and you smirk and make a mental note for future purposes.
In the rare chance you do forget, a red hickey is left as a friendly reminder.
By sheer luck, you make it to your bedroom without any issue. You lock the door behind you — on the rare chance Historia comes by, you would rather not scar her. And you were definitely not holding back on Armin now that you finally had him.
You're back to kissing him as you drag him toward your bed, laying yourself down across the mattress and pulling him on top of you. Armin tries to settle his weight on you as gracefully as he can, his arms on either side of you as he holds himself up. It only lasts for about a minute. You buck your hips to meet his and grind against the growing bulge in his pants, and he collapses his chest into yours with a choked whine.
"Oh fuck," he says, breath fanning the curve of your neck. He attempts to leave open-mouthed kisses on your skin, though they're nothing more than pitiful moans he matches the motion of your hips, hesitant at first, but overpowering now, his eagerness getting the better of him. "Can—can I touch you?"
If you weren't so turned on, you would find the ask a bit silly, considering you're dry humping one another already. But something about the neediness in his voice, and how hard he feels under his pants, makes you moan a yes. "Please, Min. Want you so bad."
"Fuck, okay." Leaning to one side of you and lifting himself up, Armin lets his opposite hand hover over your breast for a moment, waiting for you to stop him. When you don't, he pulls his lip between his teeth and lets his hand cup your chest, kneading you through the fabric of your shirt. You both take a deep breath, yours giving way to a moan as his thumb brushes over the peak of your nipple.
Armin gulps. "Are you not wearing a bra?"
You shake your head. "Never do when I'm home."
"Oh. Cool," he mumbles, "that's uh, good to know," he squeezes you again, "so if I took your shirt off, I would, um …"
"—you would see my tits?"
You're trying to hide your smile as Armin's ears turn red. "Don't laugh at me. I'm nervous, okay?" he jokingly pouts. "It's a lot to take in. This has been my wet dream since forever."
"I'm nervous too," you reassure. "My heart is going crazy right now. Want to feel it?"
"… is this your way of making me grab your other boob?"
You wrap your hand around his and guide him to the other side of your chest. "Can't it be both?"
Your hand curls, forcing Armin's to do the same. He must feel the way your heart thumps under his palm, judging by the way his shoulders lower and his eyes crinkle. Another soft squeeze later, this time on his own accord, he takes a deep breath and says, "Okay, think I'm a bit better now, thanks." He pecks the underside of your jaw, the spot tingling afterward. "Can you sit up a little for me?"
Nodding, you push yourself up as Armin sits up and leans back on his heels. His fingers lace around the hem of your shirt and slowly tugs the material up. When your shirt moves past your stomach, you raise your arms out and let the fabric slip off the rest of your torso. You lower yourself back down onto your bed, giving him a full view of your tits.
"Oh wow. Okay," he croaks out, "those are … really nice. Fuck, you're so hot."
You hide your face into your pillow. Armin was the perfect mix of hot, pathetic, and endearing. One second you're horny out of your mind, the next you're teasing and bantering, and now you're flustered at his honesty. It was a whiplash that you couldn't get enough of.
Familiar hands trace up your sides, holding you just below your breasts. You turn and stare down at Armin, who peppers kisses up your sternum. At the top of your chest, he meets your gaze and places a sweet kiss on your lips before moving to take his glasses off.
"Wait no, I like your glasses," you pout. "Why are you taking them off?"
Armin just smiles. "I appreciate your enthusiasm for them, but they'll just be in the way when I do this."
"Do what? Kissing earlier was fine with them, I don't see what—oh fuck."
The view below you was obscene: Armin firmly cups both of your tits and brings them closer to his face as he goes back to kissing the center of your chest. His thumbs skim over your nipples until they pebble under his touch, and a moan vibrates your ribs as he nuzzles your chest, suffocating himself between your tits.
You keen under his touch, holding his head down as your shoulders push forward and brings your chest closer to him. He moans again at the added pressure of you, kissing the center of your breastbone one more time before he lets himself breathe.
"Fuck, I love your tits. I'm never going to get these out of my head now."
The space between your legs starts to throb endlessly. He could take a picture of them for all you care, but one dream at a time. "Don't stop, please."
Armin eyes your hard nipples and kisses up one of your breasts. When he gets up to the center, his lips parts and he sucks on the hardened nub, making you cry out.
"Holy shit, Armin. That feels so good," you whine. He rubs your other nipple and continues to mouth at the other, his tongue occasionally flicking the bud. The warmth of his mouth sends shocks of pleasure through you, and you can do nothing but whimper under his touches as he switches from one breast to the next, wetting your other nipple with his tongue.
A light pinch at the base of the nub makes you gasp so loud you shock yourself. The barely-there pain makes your brain short-circuit, and you grab the sides of Armin's face and bring him up in a feverish kiss.
"Need more," you beg. "Want your fingers inside me."
Armin hums in agreement, moving his weight off you while you continue to kiss. Your hands fumble on the waistband of your pants and you awkwardly kick your legs to shimmy them off, leaving you in just your underwear.
He sits himself between your now spread legs, the wet spot in the middle of your underwear front and center of his vision. "You're so wet," he says in astonishment.
"Because of you," you mewl. "You always get me this wet, Armin."
He groans. "God, that's so hot."
His fingers graze up your thighs and draw closer to the center of your body. He pushes the pad of his middle finger onto the wetness of your underwear, nudging himself between your folds. The wet spot grows as more of your arousal floods the fabric. Armin swears you actually soak his fingers as you whine under his touch.
Every inch of you was buzzing. You were a horny mess whenever Armin was in the same room as you, the fact that he was touching you, however small, was driving you crazy. He starts drawing a line between your slit to the nub of your clit, and a sudden, but well-acquainted tightness pulls at your abdomen. It's too good, too fast. He draws another line, and you realize too late what's happening.
"Armin, wait. I think I'm—"
Your words die off as his finger skims over your clit. On instinct, your legs clamp together and wrap around Armin's hips and you shudder out a surprise orgasm, his hands snapping to your knees to hold you during the tremors. Shutting your eyes tight, you gasp out quiet, strained moans as a wave of euphoria washes through your body.
You let yourself ride through the quivers of your aftershock, your legs relaxing back onto the bed as you start to open your eyes. Once you adjust to the brightness of your room, you're met with a slack-jawed Armin.
"Did you—did you just come?"
"Ugh, yes. Sorry." You cover your eyes with your hands, cringing at yourself. "I don't know how that even happened, honestly. I guess it's been a while."
"Definitely don't be sorry. That was the best thing I've ever seen." He shakes his head, eyebrows drawing together. "I just didn't expect that to happen so fast. Or at all, really. I figured it would take another try or something …" He winces at that last part, then quickly clears his throat. "I guessing that you haven't … you know, all week then? Since we haven't seen each other for a while?"
"… Uh, yeah. More or less."
"More or less?" he asks.
"There may have been a … moment." You let out an awkward laugh and push on your palms until you feel the sockets of your eyes, "Do you remember that video Jean sent to the group chat? Of you and the guys at the gym?"
Armin does a double-take. "The one where I almost bounced a basketball into my face? Seriously? That did it for you?"
"I mean, it was the gym shorts too …" They were weirdly baggy and long on his lanky legs, like he borrowed them from Connie or Eren last minute. In the video, he was attempting a free-throw and messed up before he even tried for the shot, dribbling the basketball right underneath himself and nearly knocking his teeth in when it bounces straight up. It was equal parts pathetic and adorable, even in your time of sorrow.
Later that day, you found yourself lying in bed, crossing your thighs together and rocking into the pressure on your clit as you thought of licking the sweat off his neck and palming him through the mesh fabric of his shorts. Out of all your Armin-related orgasms, this one was probably the most subtle one, but also the most desperate.
Your strategy wasn't perfect, okay?
The mattress shifts, and there's a hold on your wrists. Not too tight, but firm enough to snap you back into the present as you let Armin move your hands away from your face. His fingers trace up and interlace with yours as he brings them close to him, twisting your wrists so he can kiss the tops of your knuckles.
"I think I need a redo," he mumbles on your skin. Even with your hands in the way, you can make out the shy grin on his face. "Need to see if that was a fluke or if I'm just that good."
You scoff, as if you're not dying for him to do more, for him to make you come so many times that your brain turns to mush. Joking or not, he can have this ego boost if it means he keeps touching you.
"Yeah, whatever," you eventually say, smiling back. "I'm all yours, Armin."
That makes his grin deepen. He kisses your knuckles one more time and lowers them down to your sides, his fingers starting to hook around your panties.
With a gentle nod of encouragement, you lift your hips and let Armin slowly drag your underwear down your hips. His fingers graze the middle of your thighs before the center of your underwear finally unsticks from your dripping cunt. A think, honeyed line of your come and arousal still connects the fabric to your core, and Armin groans.
"So messy …" he says to himself. He cuts off the connecting web with a pinch and scoops as much of your slick as he can, smearing it between the pads of his fingers. You see the pink of his tongue between his lips when he brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks. The action makes you whimper, but Armin isn't fazed, pulling back his now clean fingers and saying, "You taste good, too."
As flattering as that was, your cunt was aching for more. He must notice the way you're clenching on air, because he mumbles a quiet "sorry" and finishes pulling off your underwear, hooking it off one ankle then the other.
You can't tell if he's trying to be sneaky when he tucks your panties into the back pocket of his pants, but you don't comment on it. He could do whatever he wanted with them, it was only fair after all. Plus, it was incredibly sexy to see him stake a claim on you. You save the fantasy of him jerking off into them for future use.
Armin adjusts and moves further back on your bed. His eyes struggle to focus between your slick core and the rest of your naked body, but the fire behind them is evident, scorching you from head to toe. "You're so beautiful," he whispers.
You lightly kick his foot with yours. "Arminnn" you whine. "C'mon."
"I know I know, I'll hurry up now. Just needed you to know that."
His ears are red again, and you almost feel bad for being so needy and impatient when he was being so sweet with you. Almost. He slinks another couple feet down on the mattress, working himself into a lazy plank with his mouth fanning the spot you need him most.
"Tell me if I'm doing something wrong, okay?" You can practically hear his voice rattling your insides.
"Of course Min, just, please."
Without any other warning, Armin licks the same pattern as earlier, dragging his tongue from the bottom of your entrance to the tip of your sensitive clit. You let out a sigh of relief at the contact, but it soon turns into a desperate wail when he keeps his tongue around on the bud. From there, it's a steady pattern of languid strokes and soft sucks as he makes out with your clit. The wet kissing sounds echo in your room, and you can feel your arousal leak out of you at the sight of Armin between your legs.
"God, that's good," you keen. "Your tongue's so good, fuck. Please don't stop."
A moan vibrates against you at a particularly rough suck. He keeps the same force on your clit and grabs at your thighs, pulling them up toward his head and squeezing at the plush muscle. It was like the longer his mouth stayed on you, the hungrier he got.
You were rapidly starting to lose yourself in the pleasure, and you hold his hair to ground yourself. Your fingers thread through the strands until your nails gently dig into his scalp, and Armin hums at the new sensation.
His lips part from your clit and down to your slit as he licks the drooling mess on your cunt. A thick, slurp noise erupts from him when his tongue pushes past your folds and soaks his mouth with your juices. The noise you let out would put porn to shame, and you can't help but grip Armin's hair tighter as you ride his tongue until your thighs tremble under his hold.
"Close …" you trail off with a moan.
Armin continues to work you open with his tongue and kiss your folds, his eyes dark and hazy with lust as he stares up at you. Maybe it's the way his nose nudges your clit, or the fact that he's clutching the base of his length to calm himself down, but you topple over with a shaky exhale as your cunt spasms around his mouth. Your toes curl into your comforter as your thighs trap Armin, who's still tenderly sucking and swallowing the come spilling out of you.
Eventually, your hips start to writhe away in overstimulation, and he slowly pulls away from your core, looking as disheveled as you. His hair is messy from your death-grip and his eyes are glazed over, but what's the most damning is his bright pink, swollen mouth and the shine that glistens his chin. His chest is heaving, deep breaths syncing up with yours.
"I'm guessing I did alright then?" he asks.
"Something like that," you heave out, still reeling from your orgasm. Your eyes dart down to the lower part of his face. "Um, sorry for the mess."
"Hm?" He follows your gaze and blinks. "Oh, that's fine. I mean, it would probably look bad on my part if it wasn't." Armin wraps the bottom of his shirt into his fist and uses it to wipe off his chin, steeping the fabric with you. You don't think he realizes how attractive that is. "That reminds me, did you want the shirt on or off?"
Definitely doesn't realize.
"On for sure," you murmur, staring at the drying, white stain on the dark green of his shirt, "though I would definitely like to see it off next time."
"Hmm, I like that."
"What—being shirtless?"
"That there's going to be a 'next time'," he blushes. "I know we said we liked each other and all that, but I don't know, I guess it's nice to hear a confirmation of it."
You push on your hands and sit up, your face right under Armin's as you try (and fail) to smooth down his hair. "I like it too." You peck his cheek, watching his flush deepen. "Now, I'm going to need you to take off your pants. I'm dying to see your dick."
He chuckles, leaning into you for a chaste kiss. You can feel his grin against yours. "Hopefully you weren't picturing anything crazy in your fantasies. I'm pretty average."
"With how hot you are, I'm sure it'll be the prettiest, most average dick ever."
"Thanks? I think," he questions, fiddling with the button of his pants as he stands up. A sense of pride flows through you when you see the dark spot of precome on his plaid boxers, the light blue stripes looking shades darker under the stain. You already have a faint idea of what his dick would look like, based on how it was pressing against his clothes, but when he finally exposes himself to you, your brain freezes and has to reboot.
Armin wasn't being modest, he really was an average size, not that any of that mattered to you. But you too were honest earlier, because it really was the prettiest dick ever. You admired the way his hair around his base was neatly trimmed; it was also a tad darker than the happy trail above it, meaning your daydreams were both erotic and accurate.
As you made your way up his length, you could see how his tip was shiny from his precome, and how he looked so hard that it made you throb back in sympathy. With his size, you probably had a decent shot of deep throating all of him, and you were more than eager to try and find out.
You're an animal on the prowl as you start crawling toward the edge of your bed, staring at Armin with big, hungry eyes. "Need you in my mouth," you purr, and his cock twitches in response. Your wanting mouth is right in front of his tip, and just when you're about to revel in the salty taste of him, he winces and yanks you by your hair until you're at least a foot away from him.
"Shit—sorry." His hand clasps around his cock with such vigor, you're worried that's he going to pop a vein. He tightens his grip one more time before letting go with a relieved sigh. When he looks back at you, his whole body deflates and he hangs in head in embarrassment.
"Sorry, that was totally out of line," he says, shaking his head. "That sounds really hot, but I'm like, this close to coming." He winces again, as if the mere thought of coming was about to send him over the edge. "I think I got more worked up from eating you out than I realized, so I probably won't last much longer, and I really want to come while I'm inside you. Is—is that okay?"
You weren't sure if you should mention that you quite liked how hard he pulled at your hair, or how hearing how worked up he got from you was such a turn-on. It was white noise compared to him basically begging to fuck you.
"More than okay," is what you end up saying, a sly smirk forming. "Do you still want me to ride you?"
"God yes. Please do that, fuck," he rambles, frantically agreeing.
"Alright," you reply, your smile turning mischievous when you notice that how his cock is bobbing so close to your face. With Armin still in his daze, you couldn't help but send a quick kiss to the head of his dick. A sharp gasp escapes him as he nearly keels at the contact, gripping himself again.
"Jesus—fuck!" His face is as red as his tip, and his knees buckle so hard you're worried you completely broke him. "You're such a—oh god—I don't even know what to call you I'm so fucking horny. Please keep going before I blow my load on your floor," he begs, ignoring the amusement on your face.
Armin looks delirious when you guide him back to your bed, if he had his glasses on (and you'll be sure he does next time) they would probably be a fogged-up mess with how heavy he's breathing. Excitement courses through you thinking of how much worse he'll be when he actually feels you.
Without a second thought, you swing your hips over him and support yourself on the top of his chest. You lean forward and kiss his lips, the tangy taste of your come still lingering on him as he weakly kisses back. Your nose bumps against his as you mutter, "Is now a bad time to mention that I'm on birth control?"
His groan is borderline agonizing. "It is if you're trying to go for longer than a minute."
"Hey, give yourself some credit. I bet you can make it for at least two."
He wants to banter back, but the conversation soon ceases when he feels the wetness of your folds soaking his shaft, the two of you whimpering at the feeling. Armin feels velvety under your grasp, and when his head prods at your entrance, his stomach clenches and his hands fly to your hips. You feel his fingers dig into your flesh as he restrains himself from pushing into you, letting you take him at your own pace.
Even with how soaked you were, and how well his tongue worked you open, the stretch was still overwhelming. You have to pause halfway down his length and take a deep breath, your cunt giving Armin a small squeeze as you take a deep breath. He's staring in complete wonder at the sight of where you two meet, awestruck at the way your hole swallows his cock.
In all of your fantasies, this part was always the fuzziest: your fingers were never enough to replicate your visions, too short and too small to imagine as Armin. But now, as you're buried to the hilt and your heart is in your throat, you're realizing that even your dreams couldn't live up to the real deal.
Armin was the perfect length for you, and the thought makes you swell with fondness. The fullness stretches you so good. The longer you sit on him, the likeliness that you won't last much longer than him increases.
"—fuck, you're so tight," he sighs, "this is better than anything I could've imagined."
You laugh, though it comes off a bit strained. It was like he read your mind, which would have terrified you less than a day ago. Now you want nothing more than for him to know just how obsessed you are.
"I'm gonna start moving now," you say. Armin bites his lip and adjusts his hold on your waist, anticipating your next movements.
The wind is immediately knocked from him when you rock your hips, the drag of your cunt on his cock is all but torturous with how good it feels. Your rhythm is awkward for the first bit, angles varying a couple of degrees here and there while you try to find what feels best. Though to be honest, it all feels amazing. If Armin was able to focus on anything other than his breathing, he would probably agree.
The next roll draws a surprised moan from you, the new angle hitting a spongy spot that makes your eyes roll back. Chasing the feeling, you pick up your pace and start bouncing on Armin's cock, wet, smacking noises echoing where your ass meets his skin. It blends in wonderfully with the creaking of your bed frame and Armin's guttural groans.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, you take me so well. Your pussy is so perfect," he says in awe.
You whimper at his praise and your cunt throbs in response. It makes Armin curse under his breath. "It's so deep in me, Min," your voice comes out hoarse. "Your cock feels so good."
"Yeah?" he asks. His hands lower, his fingers pressing into the swell of your ass and helping your lift yourself up and down his length. "Fuck, don't stop then. Take what you want."
His words make you gasp, spurring you on. Your nails dig into his shirt like you're clawing for the pale skin underneath, and your movements become fervid as you relentlessly slam yourself down on his cock. When you feel a burn zip through your thighs as you start to lose stamina, you quickly switch your motions and grind hard against the base of Armin's length, circling and poking that delicious spot deep that sends sparks through your nerves.
Your drooling cunt soaks the hair around his cock up to the edge of his shirt. Armin looks down and moans, "You're making such a mess on me. Want you to come on my cock so bad. Can you do that?"
You nod so fast your head spins. The pit in your stomach tightens as your legs start to shake, your movements growing tired as you try to push through and find your peak. Armin catches your frustrated whines and shifts under you. Confused, you purposefully slow yourself down, ready to ask if he's okay, but any concern is erased from your consciousness when you feel a wet press of his thumb rub against your swollen clit.
"Oh fuck—right there. I'm gonna come, Min," you say with a hard clench. Your previous exhaustion is forgotten as adrenaline gives way, the added pleasure sending you into overdrive. His thumb flicks your clit the same time you slam down, and your mouth drops open in a silent scream, your cunt unrelenting as you come, holding Armin inside you like a vice.
"Shit—you're gripping me so tight. Come here," he pleads, but it's more of a demand when his hands slide to your back and push you into his chest. It's more teeth than mouth when he tries to kiss you, lips far too needy to properly meet, but it's satisfying all the same.
Armin's slowly rocking into you, your walls still trembling out the last of your orgasm, and his nails scrape into your sweaty skin as he hisses. "Fuck, I'm gonna come. I want to come so bad," he grunts against your lips.
"Want your come," you whimper back. "Fuck me until you come, please."
The next few moments are a bit cloudy, but somehow you end up rolled onto your back, legs wrapped around Armin as he thrusts into you with abandon. Your cunt feels like it's on the brick of overstimulation, but you welcome the sensitivity when Armin pants into your neck with such desperate determination.
His hips start to stutter and his whole body tenses as he comes with a shudder. You can feel Armin's cock pulse inside you, spurts of thick come covering your walls as he keeps coming and coming, just about crying from the satiation he's finally given in to.
After an especially hard jerk of his hips, he sighs and goes limp into your arms with a small oomph. "I—sorry, just give me a second. Fuck, that was so good. I think you killed me," he half-laughs, trying to catch his breath.
"I don't mind," you smile, sending a peck to the top of his head while you run your fingers through the ends of his hair that stick to his neck. "This is kind of comforting."
"Yeah, it's pretty nice. I just worry that if I stay inside you, I'll just have a permanent boner, and I'm not sure what the health risks are regarding that."
"Thank you?" you joke while Armin sits up with a grunt, his (still hard) cock slipping out of you. You whine at the loss.
He stares at the space where you separate, tongue darting to lick his lips as he looks at your cunt. "Fuck, I came so much inside you, it's starting to leak out," he mumbles. In a trance, his two fingers make its way to the dripping line of come down your slit, collecting the spill and delicately pushing it back inside you.
You're caught by surprise at first, and despite the puffiness of your folds and the near-pain sensation aching inside you, you found yourself craving the possessiveness and the fullness from his release. You don't think Armin fully registers what he's doing until you softly moan at a curl of his fingers inside you, making him quickly retreat out of you.
"Shit, sorry. Too much. That was weird of me," he cringes.
"No no, it's okay. Feels good," you mewl. "Keep going. I want to be stuffed with your come. Please."
Armin checks your face, and when he sees that you're being serious, his eyes darken and his fingers find you again, repeating the pattern of scooping and pumping his come deeper into you. You force your breathing to deepen as you push yourself through the slight sting, a pit of pleasure forming deep in your gut.
Your cunt starts to indulge in the tender feeling, subtly sucking Armin in deeper just when he's about to pull out. "Such a needy pussy …" he says, his words toeing the line between observing and taunting as he keeps moving. "You can't seem to get enough. Guess I have my work cut out for me. Need to make sure you're always full of me."
A chill goes down your spine at the unexpected dirty talk, making you shiver out a small orgasm. It goes as quickly as it comes, but the bliss it leaves still soothes your system. Your come mixes with Armin's and oozes out of you and past his knuckles. It's too much to push back in, much to your dismay, but Armin seems to have other plans.
He scoops your combined releases, but instead of bringing his digits to your entrance, they meet his tongue as he sucks himself clean. A puny noise from your throat escapes you as more of your come starts to leak out of you. Armin seems to understand, because his fingers massage your folds again and he asks, "Wanna taste?"
You don't trust yourself to speak, so you weakly nod and let your mouth loll. Creamy, white fingers dip past your teeth and sit on your tongue before your lips wrap around him. Your sucks are slow and unhurried, savoring the heady saltiness of Armin and the tanginess of you. You let out a sated hum as you swipe your tongue across the tips of his fingers, and out of the corner of your eye you see a twitch from his semi-hard cock. You also notice the ring of cream sitting on the base of his shaft, and you're both embarrassed and aroused at the mess.
"You're amazing," he admires. Armin moves his fingers out of you with a faint pop of your mouth and places them underneath your chin while he leans in. His kisses are different than before, not fiery like the first time, or quick like the ones in between your lewd actions, or even clumsy while he was on the brink of coming.
They're … precious. Loving, even. You hope you kiss him back the same way, despite your deep stupor.
He rolls off you without crushing you as best he can, the two of you lying side by side, looking up and focusing on the weird water stain on your ceiling. If you squint, it kind of resembles a man riding some titan-like creature. Weird.
"Are you okay?" Armin double-checks. "I didn't like, hurt you or anything, right? I know I got carried away at certain parts, and I hope you didn't say yes on my account or anything—"
You kiss the top of his shoulder, smushing the side of your face into your pillow. "I'm fine. Will definitely feel this later today, but fine. I wanted to do it. All of it," you reassure, and Armin relaxes, drawing his attention back to you.
"Okay, another serious question then," he starts, "what exactly about me makes you so …"
"—horny? Ready to fuck you at a moment's notice?"
"Uh, yeah. That," Armin blushes, as if he wasn't literally feeding you his come earlier.
"I don't know, you just look more … you? If that makes sense? I don't think your look necessarily changed how I felt about you romantically. You were always attractive, and you looked great before, don't get me wrong … there's just something about your 'nerdy' look that makes you look like a virgin that would come in his pants, and I guess I'm really into that?" You scowl. "Sorry, that sounds bad. I'm explaining this terribly."
Armin brushes it off with a wave. "It's alright, I think I kinda get it, plus I did almost come in my pants earlier, so you're not wrong there." He purses his lips, trying to think of an explanation. "It's like how certain styles or colors look better on some people compared to others, but more sexual? Everyone has their preferences at the end of the day—I always like those white pajama pants you wear around your place. The ones with the pink flowers on them? I could always see your underwear when you bent over, it drives me crazy."
You scoff in mock offense. "Creep. Why is this the first time I'm hearing this?" You wore those pants all the time, they were the softest pair you owned and a personal favorite of yours. Maybe all those wash cycles thinned out the material, though.
"Like I said, you're not the only one with a dirty mind. And who are you calling a creep?" He bumps your shoulder with his. "You came how many times? Once from me barely fingering them, might I add."
You cross your arms with a huff, wishing you were under your blanket so something could cover your naked body. "In my defense, I didn't expect to be so pent up, or for you to be so good at … everything." You grow warm recounting his skilled tongue and thick cock.
"Would it turn you on if I said I learned most of it from webtoons?" he smirks.
You cover your face in shame and let out a dramatic groan. "Ugh, yes. Why is that so hot?" The bed shakes as he laughs. At least he's entertained.
There's a stretch of comfortable silence afterward. You eventually pull your hands away from your eyes and bask in the afterglow. A part of you wants to scream in your pillow and kick your feet up like a schoolgirl. Another part of you wants to crawl into Armin's chest and slump your body into his. They're both silenced by the puddle forming underneath you. You're now extremely aware of how sticky you are, and you can't help but recoil a little.
"I should probably clean myself up." An idea forms in your head. "… would you want to take a shower with me? Might be easier that way, and I wouldn't mind seeing you shirtless a bit sooner."
He narrows his eyes at you. "Are you trying to wash yourself or check me out?"
"I can multitask. What, you don't want to shower with me?"
"Oh I definitely do," he clarifies, coming closer into your space. "I never got the chance to check out your butt. Without pants on, that is."
The back of your hand lazily smacks his chest. You start picturing the warm water of the shower and Armin's hands denting your skin as he takes you from behind, your chest and hands pushed against the steamy glass of the door as you leave imprints for future you to find. A memory of Armin's cock pounding into you until you saw stars. You wonder if he could leave another memory on your ass too, spanking you until your skin is sore and tingling.
"Oh wow, are you doing it? Are you having a fantasy right now?" Armin asks, sitting up on his arm to get a better look at you.
You tune back in, blinking away your dream. "Huh? What?"
"You just spaced off and started breathing weird," he points out. "Were you thinking about me just now?"
"Maybe …" A beat. "Yes."
You can't believe Eren actually made a correct observation about you. Were you really that obvious? Mortification takes over as you try to scrub out the dream from your head. You literally just had sex. Great sex, in fact. You should at least wait a few hours before you start conjuring up erotica in your mind.
In your spiral, Armin grabs your hand and traces circles on your wrists. "Well, if you want, we could turn it into a reality," he offers, sending a kiss to your knuckles.
"What—right now?"
"Sure, why not? I don't have much going on today," he shrugs.
"I mean, I don't either but … don't you think you might need a minute? You know. Down there."
Armin lets out an awkward laugh. "Yeah … I don't think you need to worry about that." He looks down at his cock. "I don't think it's gone down this entire time. I might need some more help."
Oh. You would very much like to help him with that.
You draw your hand back in and pull yourself up, trying your best to ignore the gush of come that spills out of you. "Alright, don't threaten me with a good time. I am going to need a food break or something afterward, though, so don't get your hopes up for round three." You pause, reconsidering. "At least not right away."
"Fair enough." He rubs the back of his neck as his skin flushes. "If that's the case, maybe I can take you to that bakery that opened up nearby? For a date?"
That shouldn't turn you on so much, but it does. It also makes your heart sing and your stomach flutter, and your cheeks are about to cramp with how hard you're beaming.
"I would love it if my boyfriend took me out on a date."
Armin's dick twitches and he gulps. "Okay, yeah, I'm definitely ready for whatever you're planning. Please call me your boyfriend again."
You barely get out the words, "I want my boyfriend to bend me over in the shower," before Armin is dragging you to your bathroom with a grin on his face.
synopsis — you just really love shy, nerdy, awkward armin arlert. not to mention how much you adore his tongue piercing.
wc — 5.4k
warnings — oral (f receiving), brief m receiving oral, unprotected sex, dom! kinda reader? armin is a loser virgin, tongue piercing fixation, mentions of drinking and getting high.
“Ah… I’m not sure if we should be— mmph!”
Armin downright whimpers when you silence his protest with a soft giggle and press your lips to his again, cupping his cheek like you’re trying to ease him into it. He kisses back, but it’s clumsy—his lips too hesitant, his breath shaky. The way his slightly clammy hands tremble as they slide awkwardly onto your waist gives him away completely. His fingers twitch like he’s unsure if he’s even allowed to touch you, like he’s expecting to be jolted awake from some perverse fever dream at any second.
You smile into it. He tastes a little like fruit punch and nerves.
How’d he even end up like this?
Honestly? He’s not entirely sure himself.
All he knows is that about an hour ago, he’d been forcibly dragged out of his safe, sacred little sanctuary—his room—by none other than Eren Jaeger, who’d called him a “shut-in loser” with all the affection of a lifelong best friend trying to get his social recluse ass to touch grass for once. “Just come out for one night,” Eren had said. “You never hang out anymore. You just rot in front of that stupid computer!”
That “stupid computer,” by the way, is the love of Armin’s life. A lovingly hand-built, high-performance rig that he’d spent months putting together with trembling excitement and a YouTube tab permanently open. The tower is pure art—transparent case with perfectly routed cable management, cool-toned RGB fans that change hues with each temperature spike, and a custom water-cooling loop that keeps everything running quieter than a whisper. The inside glows in a soft gradient from blue to violet, illuminating every pristine component like a spaceship console. His mechanical keyboard clicks satisfyingly under his fingers, each custom PBT keycap matte and worn in just enough. The desk is outfitted with dual curved monitors, a steelseries headset perched on a 3D-printed stand, and a carefully arranged line of anime figurines—each one dusted weekly.
He lives there. He thrives there. Not out here.
So when he’d first stepped foot into the frat house—blinking under dim purple lights, instantly accosted by the stench of sweat, alcohol, Axe body spray, and weed—he’d wanted to turn and run. Connie had looped an arm around his neck before he could so much as take a step back, dragging him further inside like a lamb to slaughter.
He would’ve given anything to be home. Back at his setup. Back where he could peacefully queue up for League of Legends or post a hot take on a message board about dungeon tier lists. His teammates were probably on Discord right now, wondering why his little green light hadn’t turned on tonight.
That was then.
Somehow– Somehow, in the haze of being drunk or high out of their minds— Eren was out of it, Connie was asleep on Sasha’s lap, whose head was on a knocked out Jean’s shoulder. Mikasa, for how composed she usually was, was slumped next to Eren, his hand wrapped around hers— you had managed to finally snag the shy boy to yourself.
You’d only recently started hanging out with the gang, weaving your way into their circle with a kind of natural confidence Armin found both mesmerizing and terrifying. You’re funny. Loud in a charming way. You speak your mind, talk to Eren and Mikasa like you’ve known them for years, and make sly little jokes that leave Connie wheezing. Even Sasha likes you—and she doesn’t like anyone new.
But around you, Armin turns into scrambled code. He avoids eye contact. Stumbles over his words. Does that thing where he pushes up his glasses like a reflex even when they’re already in place.
And it wasn’t hard to realize that Armin liked you.
He wasn’t subtle—not in the way he’d glance up from his phone screen when you laughed a little too loudly, or the way his ears would burn pink every time you plopped down next to him during hangouts, hips brushing, thighs touching just barely. He'd sit there stiffly, eyes wide behind his glasses, thumbs still tapping away at whatever gacha game or tactics RPG he was grinding, pretending not to notice how your perfume clung to the air between you like static.
You’d catch him staring sometimes—well, more than sometimes. Once when you bent over to grab a charger, and again when you wore that cropped shirt with the worn-out neckline, his gaze getting stuck right where your collarbone dipped into something just a bit more scandalous. But he’d always look away just in time, pretending to clean his glasses or scroll deeper into Reddit threads.
The boy was practically a walking Tumblr post from 2013. Always in those oversized hoodies with the sleeves too long, fingers tucked halfway into the cuffs, his laptop stickers flaking off from years of aggressive clicking. His room, as you’d come to discover later, was nothing short of a digital command center. Dual monitors—one vertical, one horizontal—cast a cold RGB glow over his unmade bed and tangle of charging cables. His mechanical keyboard clicked loud enough to echo through the dorm floor, each keystroke deliberate. Rows of Funko Pops lined the top of his bookshelf, mostly anime characters and one out-of-place Miku figurine he shyly claimed was "cute."
And that chair—God, that chair. It was one of those ridiculous ergonomic gaming thrones with a headrest, a lumbar support pillow, and armrests that he always adjusted like he was gearing up for war. You could tell it was his pride and joy, considering how he refused to let anyone else sit in it. Except, of course, for that one time you snuck in during a group hangout and plopped down in it just to see how far he’d go before breaking—he just stood there, mouth open, shifting awkwardly until he gave up and sat on the floor beside you. Pathetic. Adorable.
So yeah, it wasn’t hard to realize Armin liked you. He was just painfully obvious about it in a way that made you all the more obsessed.
Especially after that day Eren—loud-mouthed, smug Eren—dropped the most shocking bit of information mid-conversation over nachos and beer.
“Guess who finally let me bully him into getting a tongue piercing?”
Your head had snapped around so fast it almost gave you whiplash. "You're kidding."
Eren had just grinned like the devil himself. “Nope. Took him to the place on 8th. Cried like a bitch but hey, he’s got it now.”
You’d turned to look at Armin, who was red as a tomato, sipping his Sprite like he wished he could disappear behind the carbonation. He didn’t even deny it.
You haven't been able to stop thinking about it since.
Which brings you to now.
So when all of a sudden, you're sitting next to him on the too-small couch, murmuring something about there being something wrong with your phone, and desperately needing someone to fix it for you, and no, the dim lighting of the living room simply isn’t enough to inspect it properly—you somehow manage to drag him upstairs to one of the empty rooms, thigh pressed a little too close to his as you explain how glitchy your phone is, how you're so sure it must be some kind of weird virus, and wow, isn't that so crazy?
But cut the bullshit. Even Armin knew you were lying.
Phone glitching? Yeah, right. He’d seen your screen time stats by accident once—your camera roll was 95% front-facing selfies, memes, and blurry videos from nights out. He wasn’t stupid. But he was clueless—at least about your intentions.
You’d had a thing for him since day one, not that he knew, obviously. The first time Eren had pulled you into the fold, dragging you into their little friend group like some shiny new accessory, Armin had looked at you like you’d be gone by next week. He wasn’t good with new people—too shy, too stiff, too used to lurking in the background with his legs folded crisscross on the floor and his thumbs tapping away at his phone while everyone else drank and talked over each other.
Even now, when everyone hung out, Armin would be half-present—physically there, tucked into the corner of the room with his hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands, but mentally god knows where. Probably grinding a mobile RPG or replying to a fan theory thread. He liked games where he could build things, micromanage every stat. His phone battery was always draining because he never stopped playing. Long, elegant fingers constantly moving, tapping, swiping. Even when you sat next to him, he couldn’t seem to stop. You once made a joke about how he probably tapped faster during battles than he would during sex.
You remember the way he’d choked on his Redbull.
But now—now he’s stuck. Sitting next to you in a quiet upstairs room, your perfume in his lungs, your thigh pressed right up against his, and your phone held limply between you both like some half-hearted prop.
He keeps glancing at you, lips parted like he wants to say something—anything—but nothing comes out.
“You gonna fix it or just keep staring at my lockscreen?” you tease, your voice low, syrupy sweet.
He blinks, startled, fumbling to grab the phone from your hands with a stuttered apology. “S-Sorry, I—um—yeah, let me just… check the settings, I guess.”
His hands shake slightly as he scrolls, and you bite your lip watching him. The way his jaw tenses, his brows furrow in concentration—it’s endearing. You wonder if he knows how flushed his ears are. You wonder if he knows how loud his breathing is.
You lean in just slightly, enough that your breath brushes the shell of his ear.
“You know,” you murmur, “I still haven’t seen that piercing.”
His entire body jolts. His fingers fumble the phone, almost dropping it in his lap. “W-What?”
You smile innocently, like you don’t already know exactly what you’re doing. “Your tongue. Eren told me. Kinda wanna see it for myself.”
Armin swallows hard, eyes wide as he looks at you like you just asked him to strip naked. “I-I mean, it’s not—It’s nothing, really. I-it’s just… uh…”
“C’mon,” you coax, fingers brushing the side of his knee. “I’m curious.”
He hesitates. Then, shakily, he sticks his tongue out just a little—just enough for the cool glint of metal to catch the light. Your stomach flips.
God, you didn’t expect that to be so hot. On him, of all people.
“You’re full of surprises, Armin Arlert,” you whisper, eyes meeting his.
And you swear to god, if you didn’t know better, you’d say the look in his eyes shifts. Just a little. Like something in him snaps or gives in. Like he’s done pretending he doesn’t know what’s going on.
“…Is your phone actually broken?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.
You grin. “Not even a little.”
And for once—for once—Armin smirks.
It's crooked. Barely there. But it's smug in the quietest, most devastating way, because he knows now. You're not here because of some bullshit glitch or broken screen. You're here for him.
The second you lean in, brushing a strand of his blond hair out of his face, he freezes—like a deer caught in headlights. His breath hitches, lips parting just slightly, and his fingers tense where they’re still holding your phone like it’s a lifeline.
“You’ve never kissed anyone before,” you say softly, not a question. Just an observation.
His cheeks flush bright red. He doesn’t answer.
You cock your head, smiling. “That’s okay. I’ll teach you.”
His breath catches again, sharp and audible this time, and he shifts a little like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands—does he drop your phone? Hold it? Hold you?
You take the decision away for him, gently slipping it from his fingers and setting it down on the nightstand. Then, without breaking eye contact, you slowly slide onto his lap, one knee at a time, until you’re straddling his narrow hips, hands settling on his shoulders.
His whole body goes stiff. “Ah… I’m not sure if we should be— mmph!”
You kiss his lips again, silencing him effectively.
“Armin,” you say as you pull back, voice low and amused. “Relax.”
He doesn’t. Not entirely. But his hands hover awkwardly near your waist now, like he’s trying to be respectful, like he’s afraid if he touches you wrong, the moment will combust.
You lean forward, just enough that your noses nearly brush.
“Close your eyes,” you whisper. “Don’t think. Just feel.”
He obeys, lashes fluttering shut. You let your lips graze his, soft and tentative, barely a kiss at all—just enough for him to taste your breath, to feel the warmth of you against his mouth.
He shivers.
You pull back slightly, your voice like silk against his ear. “See? That wasn’t so bad.”
He exhales shakily. “It’s… it’s good. You’re… good.”
You smile. “You haven’t even gotten the full lesson yet.”
And then you kiss him.
Really kiss him.
You press your mouth against his fully this time, slow and confident, your lips moving gently over his like you’ve got all the time in the world. He kisses back clumsily at first, a little too much pressure, a little off with the rhythm, but it’s adorable, and you can feel the way his whole body trembles under you.
You guide him with quiet murmurs between kisses. “Slower… softer, yeah… there. Just like that.”
His hands finally land on your waist, unsure at first, then a little firmer when you deepen the kiss, your fingers threading into the hair at the nape of his neck. You part your lips slowly, and when he instinctively mimics you—nervous, but curious—you feel it.
The smooth, cool ball of metal.
You pause just barely, lips still brushing his, a grin curling at the corners of your mouth. “There it is.”
“Huh?” he whispers, dazed.
“That piercing,” you murmur, voice thick with heat. “Feels so fucking good.”
You kiss him again, and this time your tongue finds his. The sensation of the cold stud sliding against yours sends a sharp little jolt straight through your spine. It’s addictive. You roll your hips slightly against his, and he gasps into your mouth, fingers tightening on your waist like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to pull you closer or push you away.
He tastes like mint and nervous energy, and the little helpless noises he lets out when you suck on his bottom lip are enough to make your thighs clench around his lap.
You pull back for a second, just to look at him. His lips are flushed, slightly swollen, eyes glazed with something between awe and pure panic.
“You okay?” you whisper, thumb brushing across his cheek.
He nods, almost too fast. “Y-Yeah. I just—I didn’t know it could feel like that.”
You lean in again, lips ghosting over his jaw. “That’s just the beginning.”
He groans—actually groans—and it’s the hottest fucking sound you’ve ever heard from him. You swear you feel him twitch beneath you. His hips shift slightly, involuntarily, and the friction makes both of you gasp.
You grab a fistful of his hoodie, tugging him back into another kiss, messier this time. Less structured. All tongue and heat and shallow breaths. That piercing catches on your lip as you suck on his tongue, and you moan softly against his mouth.
He's kissing you like he wants to prove something now. Still hesitant, still learning, but eager. Hungry. His hands slide up under your shirt, still shy but bolder than before, fingertips ghosting over the bare skin of your waist.
You roll your hips against him again, deliberately this time, and the noise he makes—somewhere between a whimper and a curse—goes straight to your core.
You smile into the kiss, breathless. “You’re such a quick learner.”
He swallows thickly. “I—I wanna keep learning.”
“Yeah?” You rock against him again, and his eyes flutter shut. “You will.”
You dip your head to press a kiss to his neck, right below his jaw. He gasps, tilting his head back like it’s instinct, and you suck a slow, wet mark into the pale skin, making him jolt beneath you.
“You’re so sensitive,” you whisper. “Bet I could make you fall apart with just my mouth.”
He whimpers.
And fuck, that sound does something to you.
You're grinding against him now, fully, the heat between your legs pressing right against the growing bulge in his pants. The way his hips buck up helplessly, like he can’t stop himself, is intoxicating.
You mouth at his jaw, then his ear, letting your breath tickle the shell of it.
“Armin,” you purr, “do you want me to show you more?”
He looks up at you like he’s ready to beg.
“Yes,” he breathes. “Please. Show me everything.”
You don’t make him ask twice.
You kiss him again, deep and slow, feeling the way he melts into it now. No hesitation—just heat, want, and the softest desperation in how his mouth opens for you like he’s starving. You taste that metal ball again, glide your tongue along it, and the sound he makes—fuck, you’re obsessed.
Your hips move instinctively, grinding down on his lap, and you can feel him. Hard. Pressed right up against your core through his worn out jeans and your shorts. The friction draws a moan from your throat that has his eyes fluttering open, pupils blown wide.
“Fuck,” you whisper, forehead pressed to his. “You’re so hard already.”
He nods, frantic, breath stuttering. “I—yeah, I can’t—I didn’t mean to—”
“Shh.” You cup his jaw, tilt his face up. “Don’t be embarrassed. You think I didn’t want that?”
You shift just a little, rolling your hips down with purpose, dragging your clothed pussy against his cock. He chokes on a gasp, his fingers digging into your waist like he’s trying to stop himself from bucking up into you again. You grab his hand, beckoning him to slip his fingers under your shorts, under the waistband of your panties.
“Feel how wet I am for you?” you murmur, lips brushing his ear.
He nods again, helpless. “Yeah—yeah, I feel it—fuck—”
You smile wickedly and grab the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head in one motion. His mouth drops open.
He stares.
Hard.
Like he’s short-circuiting. Like he’s never seen anyone naked before and can’t figure out where to look. His hands twitch like he wants to touch you but doesn’t know if he’s allowed.
You guide them to your tits.
“Touch me, baby,” you say softly. “It’s okay. You can.”
He swallows hard and palms your breasts gently, reverently, like he’s afraid to squeeze too hard. His thumbs ghost over your nipples and you sigh, arching your back into his touch, giving him a show.
“God, you’re perfect,” he breathes.
“You’re cute,” you reply, pushing your hips down again. “And obedient.”
He whimpers at that.
You roll your hips slow and steady, grinding on him until you feel his thighs start to tremble beneath you.
Then you lean down, lips brushing his. “I want you to eat me out.”
His eyes widen. “I—what? I’ve never—”
“I’ll guide you. Just do what I say.”
You’re already sliding off his lap, standing between his legs and shimmying your shorts and underwear down in one motion. His breath stutters when he sees you like that, bare and dripping, your thighs glistening in the low light.
You make a move to lie back on the bed, but he stops you, pink in the face.
“S–Sorry, I– ah– Can you ride my face? Please?”
He looks like he wants to wipe his existence off the planet because why’d he say that in such a high pitched tone, why’d he stutter like that, why’d his voice crack when he said please, why'd he—
But you just giggle amusedly, pushing him back onto the bed, straddling his face.
His whole body tenses like he’s trying not to combust. “Are you sure you’re okay with thi—?”
You don’t answer. Just lower your hips slowly until you’re hovering just above his mouth.
“Open up.”
He does, and when your pussy presses against his lips, you sigh like it’s relief. He’s clumsy at first—licking too shallow, too soft—but you guide him. “Use your tongue. Flatten it—yeah, just like that. A little harder. Good. Fuck, Armin.”
The moment his tongue finds your clit, you moan, your hips jolting forward. And the pressure of that cold little ball dragging against your most sensitive spot?
It’s over.
You’re grinding on his face now, fingers buried in his soft blond hair, riding him through sloppy, wet licks and messy kisses that leave your thighs shaking. He moans beneath you, hands gripping your hips like he’s into it, like the taste of you is something he wants to memorize. His piercing continuously flicks against your clit, making you whine and shudder, thighs clamping around his head. And soon enough, you’re coming all over his tongue, his name leaving your mouth prettily.
He’s hard again—probably never stopped being hard—and when you finally can’t take it anymore, you slide down his body and palm him through his jeans.
“Fuck,” you breathe, eyes wide as you feel the outline of him. “You’ve been hiding this from me?”
He covers his face with one arm, flushed and overwhelmed. “I didn’t know I’d get like that so fast.”
“You’re adorable.” You lean down and press a kiss just above his waistband. “Let me take care of you.”
He whimpers again.
And when you tug his jeans down, his cock bounces free—hard, flushed, leaking at the tip. You stroke him once, slow and firm, and his whole body jolts.
“Oh my god,” he chokes, hands fisting the sheets. “I—I don’t think I can—”
“You can.” You kiss the head of his cock, swirl your tongue around it just once, and watch him squirm.
Then you straddle him again.
“Wait—” he gasps. “Are you—are we really—”
You line him up with your entrance, slow and steady, and you moan when the tip slips in.
“Fuck yes, baby,” you whisper, eyes fluttering shut as you sink down inch by inch. “You’re inside me.”
He’s panting, chest rising and falling like he’s about to pass out. “You feel… holy shit…”
“Tight?” you tease, grinding down once you’re seated fully.
He nods, eyes wide, mouth open. “I’m not gonna last—”
“You’ll learn,” you murmur, starting to move. “I’m gonna teach you everything.”
And as you ride him—slow, deliberate, dragging every sweet sound out of him—you know for a fact that this won’t be the last lesson. You bounce up and down on him, watching with a gaze full of lust and amusement as he croons your name, head thrown back, drool escaping the side of his lip, thick glasses askew.
He looks like he’s unraveling. Like his brain stopped functioning five minutes ago. Like all he can focus on is the way your cunt squeezes him every time you drop down.
“F-Fuck, you feel so good,” he whimpers, voice cracking with raw need. “I c-can’t… I’m not gonna last…”
You lean forward, letting your chest brush against his, your lips brushing his mouth as you whisper, “That’s okay. Just give it to me.”
His hands are shaking where they grip your hips, but he tries to match your rhythm anyway, pulling you down harder every time your ass slaps against his thighs. He’s trying so hard to keep it together for you—sweet, trembling thing, so eager to please despite how close he is.
“I–I’m gonna– I’m gonna– I don’t have a condom on, I—”
“Don’t worry,” you murmur, kissing the edge of his jaw, tongue flicking over his pulse point. “Just pull out, baby. I’ve got you.”
And it’s like your voice alone is enough to break him.
His grip tightens—frantic, bruising—and you barely have time to lift off before he comes, gasping your name like a prayer. Thick ropes spill over his stomach, twitching cock pulsing as he groans and writhes beneath you, flushed and utterly wrecked. His glasses have slid halfway down his nose, and he’s too dazed to fix them.
You exhale through a low laugh, trailing your fingers through his release before bringing them to your mouth and sucking them clean, just to tease him. His breath stutters at the sight, and his eyes roll slightly as he pants beneath you.
You collapse next to him, both of you catching your breath in the quiet, sticky air. The room smells like sweat and sex and faint body spray, and outside the door you can still hear the low thrum of party music, muffled now like the two of you are in a different world entirely.
He’s quiet. Still. Hands awkwardly covering himself, glasses pushed to the side. You catch the way his lashes flutter, how red his cheeks are, how he refuses to meet your eyes.
You turn on your side, resting your head on one hand. “What’s wrong?”
He swallows hard. “That was my first time,” he says softly. “Like… all of it. Kissing, sex, everything.”
You pause, the weight of his admission settling into the space between you. He glances up at you finally, face filled with anxiety.
“I… I hope I didn’t disappoint you.”
Your heart aches a little.
You reach out and gently remove his glasses, setting them on the nightstand, then cradle his face in your hand.
“Armin,” you say, voice low and sincere, “that was the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced. You have no idea.”
He blinks, surprised.
“You were perfect,” you say, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his forehead. “And I like that it was me. I like being the first.”
His face turns even redder, if that’s possible. “I–I didn’t even know what I was doing.”
“That’s the fun part.” You smile, brushing a strand of his hair off his forehead. “Means I get to teach you everything.”
He hides his face against your shoulder, groaning. “You’re gonna kill me.”
You laugh softly, wrapping your arm around his waist. “You’re such a cutie.”
You lay there together in the silence for a while, his head nestled against your chest, his arms tentatively curling around you like he’s not sure he’s allowed to hold you yet. You run your fingers through his hair, gently tugging here and there, and you feel him relax more and more under your touch.
“You still nervous?” you murmur after a while.
“A little,” he admits, voice muffled. “I just… I’ve never done this. Any of it. I don’t want to mess things up with you.”
You kiss the top of his head. “You’re not. I like you.”
He lifts his head to look at you, shy but hopeful. “Really?”
“Mhm.” You brush your lips against his again. “I’ve liked you since I saw you trailing behind Eren with your stupid oversized hoodie and your Switch in your hands like you were allergic to human interaction.”
He laughs, sheepish. “I kind of am.”
You grin. “And I kind of love that.”
He watches you for a moment, eyes soft and a little awestruck. Then he leans forward, kisses you with all the gentleness and hesitance of someone who’s just now realizing he might be falling for someone, and you smile into it, warm and full and smug.
Because you know you’ve got him.
—
It’s official now. You’re Armin’s girlfriend.
It had happened somewhere between all the blushing kisses and stolen glances and slow, breathy I like you’s whispered in the privacy of his bedroom. There was no dramatic confession, no rose petals or fireworks. Just him looking at you one afternoon with that overwhelmed, adoring gaze, thumb brushing over your knuckles while he mumbled, “Do you, um… want to be mine? Like… officially?”
And you’d kissed him stupid in response.
So now, two weeks later, you’re at his place again, perched sideways on his lap in his gaming chair, legs draped over one armrest while his are stretched beneath the desk, twitching slightly every time something exciting happens on screen.
You’re wearing one of his hoodies—big, soft, and smelling like fabric softener and his shampoo—and nothing else underneath. Which he hasn’t noticed. Yet.
His focus is laser-sharp, blue eyes narrowed behind his glasses, tongue pressed to the corner of his mouth like he’s fighting for his life on whatever boss battle he’s got going. You shift a little, trying to get comfortable in his lap, but he doesn’t even flinch—just grunts something about “just give me a second, babe, I’m in the middle of something.”
And yeah, it’s a little infuriating. But also?
Ridiculously hot.
Like, his headset is way too big on him. He keeps muttering things under his breath about cooldowns and mechanics and DPS output. His fingers are flying across the keys, long and elegant and twitchy, like they were built to type essays at the speed of sound or code random passion projects no one ever asked for.
At one point, he actually shushes you. A little breathy “waitwaitwait– babe, hold on, this guy’s cheesing—oh my god I swear to god if this fucking healer dies I’m gonna—”
You blink. Then snort.
“You’re so nerdy,” you murmur, voice laced with amusement, “I can’t believe this is my boyfriend.”
He doesn’t look up. “You knew what I was when you signed up.”
“Oh, I did.” You lean in, dragging your fingers up the nape of his neck, just under the headset. “And I like it.”
He shudders a little. “You’re distracting me.”
“I know.”
Still, he plays. Fidgety, intense, mouthing instructions to himself like some kind of adorable, socially anxious commander. You watch the screen for a bit, half-understanding what’s happening—some massive raid, particles flying everywhere, his team yelling in the Discord chat you can hear leaking through his headphones. Armin doesn’t talk much, but when he does, it’s surprisingly confident. Precise.
“No, back left! You kite, I’ll stun—good—shit, I got hit, that’s fine, I’ve got mana—”
You shift again. This time a little more deliberately.
His hands pause on the keyboard. “...Are you doing that on purpose?”
You blink at him innocently. “Doing what?”
“You’re… squirming.”
You tilt your head, smiling. “I’m just trying to sit comfortably, Armin. Your thighs are kinda bony.”
“I—what? I—”
He falters. And you know he’s starting to get flustered. Because his hand slips on his mouse, and he curses softly under his breath as his character takes a hit onscreen.
“Can’t believe I’m being insulted and sabotaged right now,” he mumbles.
“I’m your girlfriend,” you remind him, turning so you’re fully straddling him now, knees on either side of his hips, “it’s in the job description.”
He swallows thickly. You can feel him beneath you now—half-hard already, tension building the longer you stay in his lap.
“Please let me finish this fight,” he whispers, jaw tight.
You kiss the edge of it.
“Okay.”
So you wait. Sort of.
You shift again. Start pressing little kisses to his throat. Let your fingers toy with the edge of his shirt, lifting it just slightly. Not enough to distract him fully. Just enough to make him sweat.
By the time he finally mutters a breathless, “Got him, holy shit,” and slumps back in the chair, he’s panting and flushed—and not just from the game.
You lean in, both hands planted on his chest now, smiling sweetly.
“All done?”
He nods.
“Good.” And then you roll your hips once against his, slow and deliberate.
He makes a soft, broken sound in his throat. “Y-You’re evil.”
“Mmhm,” you hum, dipping down to kiss him again, this time deeper, tongue teasing the edge of that stupid metal piercing he still refuses to tell you the story behind.
It’s so easy to ruin him.
His hands flutter uselessly for a second before they land on your hips, gripping like he’s still not sure he’s allowed to touch you. You grind down harder, and he whines into your mouth, glasses fogging up, hips twitching like he’s not in control of his own body anymore.
“Fuck,” he breathes, voice high and shaking. “I’m—I was just trying to game.”
“You’ll live,” you whisper, licking into his mouth again. “Besides… I like seeing you like this. So desperate for me.”
He groans.
And you know right then, without a doubt, this little nerd is already obsessed with you. Completely and utterly whipped.
author's note: HELL YEAH I LOVE NERDIFYING ANIME MEN!!!! fantastic give me 14 more of them bzzzzz
seriously when i saw this fanart the first thing i did was open up google docs and get my ass to WORK i feel like by now its really obvious i have a thing for nerds :3
hope u guys #enjoyed i have a really bad tongue piercing fixation, not sure if it was obvious... (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ )
caught ya! | ★ nerd!armin arlert x roommate!reader pt. 2
cw/pairing: nerdy armin, virgin armin, glasses armin, you're literally touching armin, he cums in his pants, masturbation, oral m!receiving, nsfw, perverted? roommate armin x reader, f!reader implied
summary: you catch your roommate moaning your name during the act. now you're pulling out his cock in his bedroom.
part 1 here
"want me to help you out?"
armin swears if his face gets any redder, his body is going to combust. the itch in his pants is telling him to grab at the chance, to let you work your magic and ride him till his balls seize up from overstimulation.
but his conscience, his goddamn conscience, says he can't. you're his longtime friend, not to mention roommate, and doing things like this with you...he'd be an idiot to throw away your entire friendship for one night of fun.
...is what he says, but the moment your pretty little fingertips just graze against the tent in his pants, he caves.
he's putty.
he's putty, and you're on your knees, blinking up at him innocently with your cute, fluttery lashes, and he's struggling to hold himself up. he's leaning on his desk, palms gripping the wood as you poke and prod him playfully, unzipping his pants with glee.
the dreamiest sighs are leaving his throat, and he feels like all the power and self respect he's ever held for himself floats out of his body, through his balls, and into your hands.
his body temperature is rising so rapidly he swears he's going to get a nosebleed.
now, armin wouldn't call himself an inexperienced virgin. after all, the many, many times he pictured doing this with you in his head have to count for something, right?
but the stream of blood that starts dripping down his nose when you decide to shed your top, (revealing that you weren't wearing a bra), says otherwise.
he feels like your tits are bouncing in his face, and his cock strains impossibly harder against his slacks.
virgin! his body screams at him.
he's facepalming, groaning, hips stuttering as he mumbles incoherent curses, reaching for a tissue. it's almost a parody, maybe an ode to all those comedic pervert scenes in the anime he's been watching.
"okay, calm down," you say, not being able to wipe the stupid grin off your face as you laugh at his antics. "maybe you'd be more comfortable on the bed?"
with his back flat on the plush mattress and a soft pillow cradling his head, armin feels somewhat better. it feels like old times, when you guys would lie next to each other in the soft summer breeze. except now, you're topless, and his cock is out. and you're touching it.
god, you're touching it.
he has to cover his face with his palms out of sheer embarrassment.
you're palming his cock through his boxers, but the implication of skin against skin is driving him crazy. he can't help but buck his hips up every time you apply pressure to his sensitive area.
not only that, but it seems like your hands have some special effect that seem to set off all of his dick's nerves, 'cause the moment your index finger gives his hard-on a little squeeze, his fists are clenching—eyes squeeze shut, bottom lip pulled under his tooth hard enough to draw blood. with the tremors wracking his body and his hips bucking up into your hand like a wild animal...
...he cums.
he cums.
yes, he came. right in his pants.
now he's red in the face, chest heaving up and down while he wheezes like some mindless incel.
he can't believe this. his first sexual encounter, and he's panting and groaning like he just ran a marathon, when he's not even out of his boxers yet.
the darkening patch on his boxers has your jaw dropping, lashes fluttering in shock as you look at him incredulously.
of course, he's embarrassed. he turns impossibly redder, pushing your hand away with a, "don't look at me!" and covering his face with his elbow.
"armin, did you just cum?" you tease. "guess you really are a virgin."
"n-no!" he's swatting your curious hands away, which seek to reveal his face to you.
"don't be ashamed," you say, booping his nose. "it's natural."
it's not natural. he knows that, but he peeks through a gap in his fingers to ask anyways. "it is?"
"sure is." you assure. "and i bet...you can do it again."
he's bigger than you thought.
he's long and thin, pink and pretty. the precum leaking from the tip of his member is almost dreamlike; you're hesitant to touch. but you snap out of your daze, reaching out to smear the clear oozing liquid over the pretty, bulbous head. it’s already slightly damp and sensitive from his previous ejaculation. he hisses immediately at your touch, head shooting back into the pillow, mouth forming an "o" shape.
now you have him in your mouth, slurping on his cock like a popsicle. the lewd squelches of saliva on skin are causing his head to spin with lust, and he's nearly ripping the sheets off his bed with how tightly he's gripping the fabric. every stroke of your tongue is shooting pleasure up his spine, and he feels like he could erupt any second.
he doesn't want to cum. call it hubris, filthy pride, but he just can't bring himself to embarrassment in front of you for the second time today. but your mouth is so soft and squishy, and the plush of your lips on him feel like he’s ascending to the heavens.
"ah! fuck," he curses, tangling his fingers into your hair. you choke lightly, gagging as he pushes you down gently. the scene is erotic, and the slick, wet sounds of your tongue on his phallus are only turning him on more.
come on, armin, you trained for this...don't be a minute man... his silent pleas to himself are lost as his abs clench pathetically.
his eyes screw shut, a huff rolling off his tongue as his back arches up off the bed. but he refuses to let it out, opting to tangle his fist in your hair and lift your suction off of his member. it slides out of your mouth with a pop! and you're blinking at him with the sly eyes of a fox disguised as doe.
you tilt your head innocently. "armin?" gosh, your voice causes his cock to twitch. "something wrong?"
he groans at the loss of his high, but silently praises himself for holding back from temptation. "no, it's just..."
he lifts himself to sit, adjusting his thick-framed glasses so he can see better. you follow, plopping yourself to sit on your knees.
you had long since discarded your bottoms, the newly revealed, pink, lacy panties displaying a wet patch at the front from your rubbing on the mattress. he gulps, tongue darting out to lick the side of his lips. his eyes begin to trace the lush curve of your hips, but upon catching himself, armin immediately averts his gaze. damn perv. he scolds himself. pull yourself together.
he's nervous, rubbing his palms together to ease his anxiety. what if you said no? the edging has his abs still clenching from not finishing, but he's determined to do this the right way.
he knows what should come next. years of consuming josei hentai, rutting into his mattress alone at night, had prepared him (and raised his thirst) for this. of course, he'd never performed it on a real girl, but he's always been a quick learner.
he coughs, clearing his throat, though his voice still cracks at his next words.
"can i- uhm, eat you out?"
worry not children penetration is coming soon...armin isn't ready yet...pt. 3?
armin had dreams quite often. now, this was not a surprising thing; dreams are caused by the information stored in the depths of one’s mind, and it is well known that armin had a lot of that. it’s rare that he has a night completely dreamless, whether he be plagued by riddles concealed in a story or being chased down a corridor or something humiliating that leaves his face red for the rest of the morning.
recebtly, his subject had been you.
they would change. positions, places, you name it. sometimes he would be between your legs, putting the cool metal ball atop his tongue to work and feeling proud of his reckless decision for once. other times, you would be on your knees, taking care of him and cooing softly with every broken plea that left his lips. he’d take you from behind, in front—make you realize he was more than he seemed. he was useful. he could make you feel good. it was every sick fantasy he had pushed down and suppressed from the moment he first saw you coming back to haunt him in his sleep. occasionally, he would just be lying with you in the aftermath and the bliss of what you had just done. but that one was much more heavy than the rest, so he avoided confronting the meaning.
tonight was no different. he saw you, messy and disheveled and as beautiful as he always thought you were. bare, panting, whispering his name so softly he was sure it was a figment of his imagination (but this all was, so what did it matter?). he ran his hand over every plane and curve he was too shy to touch when he was conscious. his face was in your neck, nose pressing against your pulse as he desperately tried to convince himself this was real, I if only for a moment. you smelled sweet. he had to resist the urge to sink his teeth into you and mark that he was there.
you were with him, wanting him. his head was spinning and his throat raw from the pathetic whimpers bubbling from his throat. he remembers feeling so close, dick twitching desperately with every noise and move you made, but he tried to prolong it. he knew that he would wake the moment he let go and be reminded that this was fake, that he was sweating and panting and hard alone in his own dark room. he was desperate. he had long since accepted that he was nothing if not a loser, at least a bit, but even this had him shrinking on himself in shame.
your voice. it was beautiful, and even more so when broken and saying his name. “armin, ah, i’m-“
he awoke with a gasp. he blinked for a moment, chest heaving, head pounding as was the pulse between his legs. it only took a moment for him to process—he had grown more and more used to these occurrences. even with his less-than-great vision, he could make out the shape of his stiffness as well as the wet patch forming on his pyjama pants.
he was definitely not going to be able to look you in the eyes tomorrow, if not the rest of the week. he was pathetic, and he wanted you so badly. but he would not act on those desires, instead dealing with graphic dreams and radiosilence on the days after. it was not preferable, but he would survive.
his head fell back against the pillow, dragging a hand down his face. “shit.”
nerdmin headcanons as your brothers bestfriend
a/n: for the armin lovers (including me)
nerdmin who would say that he’s gonna help you with your studies, as an excuse to be alone with you
nerdmin who would study every feature you have from across the room, you’re just asking your brother to be less noisy and the only thing that he’s doing is staring so obviously at your face while you’re arguing with your brother
nerdmin who would get all flushed whenever you compliment him or smile at him
nerdmin who would listen to anything that you have to say, whether it’s about your day or your complains about your brother
nerdmin who would stay up all night to write a love letter to confess his feelings to you, he’d mention all the things in his sentences, like saying that he loves you just as much as how you love your favorite anime
nerdmin who would give the love letter to you the next day, his hands shaking, lower lip trembling because his way too nervous
nerdmin who would never leave your side after you said yes to his confession, he’s at your house cause he has plans with your brother but he’ll just slip inside your room and cuddle with you
nerdmin who would try to be intimate but fails when you match his energy, his cheeks end up getting pink, he tries to hide his face with both of his hands but you part his hands away with your own
nerdmin who tries to tell you something new that he learned, while he’s oblivious of you sleeping next to him instead of actually listening, he’ll continue talking about whatever smart thing that comes out of his mouth before he sees you taking a nap
nerdmin who says yes before you could even finish your question
nerdmin who would let you pepper him with a bunch of kisses, you’ll grab his face gently and kiss every spot on his face
nerdmin who loves everything you wear or how you style your hair, he won’t even hide how much he loves it, he’ll comment nicely about how you look at least once each hour
YOU HAVE A DATE ˚. ᵎᵎ with nerd!armin arlert (,,>ヮ<,,)
Words from our Hostess: Congratulations! You've been selected for our Host Club. After reading your application, we decided that your best pairing for you might be Armin Arlert. We created an scenario in a summer location of how you and him might've met
nerd!armin arlert x hopeless romantic!reader ╱ meeting the cute boy at a bookshop and spending all evening talking with him
art creds: latteoo16 on x
It’s the first time you go on vacation alone, a well deserved trip to treat yourself after a long year of working and heartbreaks. You pack your favorite dresses and your digital camera and get on a plane to the coast of Italy. It’d be a lie to say that you weren’t thinking about the cute people you might meet on this trip, you’ve always had a wandering eye, maybe being a little too flirty because it just comes natural to you.
Walking the streets of Florence after lunch, you find the perfect spot to rest a little, a tiny book shop with soft jazz music and blue painted walls. The bookshelves reached the ceiling, almost looking like the columns of the shop.
At the counter, there was a man that made you look twice. Pale skin, blue eyes and blond hair tied back on a half bun, he had glasses resting on the top of his head while he was scanning books. You couldn’t understand how a man can be that effortlessly pretty. He was wearing a flowy green t-shirt and some shorts, perfect for the summer heat.
He finally notices you when you get closer to the counter without thinking of it.
“Hi,” he says, smiling kindly. “Welcome. Let me know if you need help finding anything.”
You smile back, leaning against the counter a bit. “Thanks. I’m just browsing for now. This place is adorable. Do you get a lot of tourists in here?”
He nods, pushing his glasses down from the top of his head onto his nose. “Yeah, quite a few. Especially in summer, people come in looking for souvenirs or something light to read by the pool.” He pauses, then adds with a shy little laugh, “Though I always try to convince them to take something better than just a beach read.”
You tilt your head. “Oh? Like what?”
His eyes light up a little. “Depends on what you like. If you want something atmospheric, there’s this Italian author who writes these quiet stories about old families in Tuscany. Or if you’re into history, I just got some new translations of ancient Roman stuff. Super interesting, actually. Did you know the aqueducts they built are still functioning in some places?”
You can’t help grinning. He’s clearly passionate about it. “You sound like you know your stuff. Are you studying literature or something?”
Armin rubs the back of his neck, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks. “Yeah, actually. I’m doing a program here for a few months. History and literature double major back home.”
“Cute,” you say without thinking, then laugh softly when his eyes widen. “I mean, it’s nice. Most people don’t get that excited about books anymore.”
He smiles, looking down at the counter for a moment, after that, the conversation flows easily. You tell him you’re on your first solo vacation, trying to relax after a rough year. He listens so attentively, nodding along and asking gentle questions.
“What kind of work do you do?” he asks, leaning forward on his elbows.
You explain a bit about your job, keeping it light and he seems genuinely interested. In return he tells you about some of the books he’s been reading lately, a mix of classic philosophy and modern fantasy. “I just finished this one series about explorers in a fictional world. The world-building is insane. I stayed up way too late because I couldn’t stop.”
You laugh. “Total nerd, huh?”
“Just a little,” he says with a sheepish grin. “My friends tease me about it all the time.”
Time passes without you noticing. A couple of customers come and go, but he handles them quickly and comes right back to talk with you. You end up sitting on the little stool by the counter, flipping through books he recommends while he works. He points out passages he loves, reading them out loud in his softest voice, and you find yourself hanging on every word.
Eventually the clock on the wall hits closing time. He flips the sign on the door and lets out a small sigh. “Shift’s over. I didn’t mean to keep you here so long, sorry if I talked your ear off.”
“You didn’t,” you say honestly. “I had fun.”
He hesitates, fiddling with his fingers as his cheeks go a little pink again. “Um… this might be forward, but would you… maybe want to grab a drink? There’s a nice little place just around the corner. They do really good spritz. If you’re not busy, I mean. No pressure at all.”
You smile, feeling a warm flutter in your chest at how sweetly awkward he looks asking. “I’d love that, Armin.”
His face brightens instantly. “Really? Okay, cool. Let me just lock up.”
As you step back out into the golden evening light together, he walks beside you, already starting to ask what kind of drinks you usually like. The conversation picks up right where it left off and you think this might be the best decision you’ve made all trip.
a/n: i love a meet cute omg and armin is such a sweetheart to write i love him<33 this was for my girlie @antholoji i hope you liked it
