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lucidrmss · 3 days ago

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extra credit. I 3.3k armin arlet x reader

cw: 18+ explicit content minors dni, nerdmin x baddie reader, reader insert but no use of y/n, unprotected sex, female pronouns/afab reader, vaginal sex, oral sex, nipple piercing, possessive armin, bit of dirty talk. not all that in the first part tho

summary: No one saw it coming. Not your roommate. Not your on-and-off ex situationship. Not even the judgmental girl with a color-coded planner who’s clearly in love with him.

But somehow, the cardigan-wearing, note-taking, blushy boy wonder of your Comparative Politics class caught your attention. And that’s saying something, because you’re not exactly known for quiet crushes or gentle flirting — being a tattooed, sharp-tongued, braless baddie with a GPA just as high as your standards.

After a sketchy dude corners you at a party, Armin Arlert — the last person you expected — swoops in like a flannel-clad knight in awkward armor. That moment sparks a chaotic, and unexpectedly tender journey involving fake study sessions, thigh tattoos, jealous glances, and one painfully adorable nerd who may or may not be packing more than just a well-organized Google Drive.

Let them stare. Let them whisper. You’re not letting this one go.

notes: this is a repost from ao3 so if feels like you already read this before,, maybe u did,,,, just thought of posting here since tumblr is such a good community and as a reader many of my favorites fics and authors were here sooo.. heres my contribution. also english is not my first language and even tho i already read this so many times if u see a typo lmk. enjoy <33 extra note: i didn't have THAT NERDMIN in mind when i write this back in april but you can imagine him like this here or wtv but keep in mind it's a uni au.

You didn’t expect to end the night by almost punching someone in the throat. You also didn’t expect your knight in shining armor to wear glasses, a flannel, and smell vaguely like peppermint and academic pressure. But hey, life’s full of surprises.

The party is loud, the floor is sticky, and your ass looks amazing in these jeans. You know this because three different girls complimented you in the line for shots, and the guy you passed in the hallway nearly tripped over a beanbag trying to stare at it. Classic.

You're not drunk, not yet, but your buzz is kicking in nicely. Your hair is a little wild, eyeliner perfectly smudged, and your nipples might be piercing the air through your crop top. Not that you care — you didn’t come here to blend in.

"Tell me why the hell we're here again," you shout over the bass, dodging a shirtless freshman swinging a glowstick like he's summoning spirits.

Mikasa, holding her cup like it personally offended her, shrugs. “Connie said Jean might show up. I’m here to watch the drama unfound.”

“I’m not talking to Jean, I'm done with him” you scoff, because you are a woman of growth. Evolution. Maturity — and also because Jean ghosted you last week after asking for nudes. Again.

“Cool,” she says. “Then maybe flirt with someone else for once.”

As if on cue, your eyes wander — and catch on a very out-of-place figure near the kitchen.

Flannel. Glasses. Clean-shaven. Trying so hard to blend in and failing with Olympic-level dedication.

“Is that... Armin?”

Mikasa turns. Blinks. “No fucking way.”

Oh, but yes. It's Armin Arlert. the boy who sits three rows in front of you in Comparative Politics and types like the keyboard owes him money.

Armin who color-codes his notes and once offered you an extra pencil like he didn't get that you haven't brought one on purpose.

Armin who turned beet red when you answered a discussion question and said the word “penetrate” in a completely non-sexual context.

“Who dragged him here?” you ask with a little laugh, already sipping your drink like this is a nature documentary.

“Probably Connie,” Mikasa mutters. “He’s been trying to make Armin ‘social’ for weeks.”

And damn, you have to admit: it’s weirdly... working?

Okay, so the flannel’s still tucked too neatly, and his shoes are definitely orthopedic. But his jawline? Sharp. His hair? A little messy. And when he pushes his glasses up? you hate how hot you find that.

You're staring too long. you know it. Mikasa knows it.

“Oh no,” she says, grinning. “Don’t you dare.”

“Relax. I’m just admiring the academic aesthetic,” you say coolly.

Liar.

Ten minutes later, you’re separated from Mikasa, your drink is empty, and some dude with too much cologne and not enough social awareness is blocking your path to the kitchen.

“You come here a lot?” he asks, his breath hot with tequila and regret.

You smile politely. “Nope.”

“We should change that.”

Oh God.

You try stepping around him. He steps with you.

You’re mid eye-roll, about to hit him with your favorite line ("Do you come with an off switch?"), when a voice cuts in.

"Hey. there you are."

You blink.

The guy blinks.

Armin freaking Arlert slides up beside you like he’s done it a hundred times, placing a gentle but possessive hand on your waist like it belongs there. He turns to the guy with a smile so polite it might be a threat.

“She was looking for me. Thanks, though.”

The guy hesitates. Scowls. But Armin doesn’t budge — and something in those soft blue eyes says do not test me, I read about ancient wars for fun .

Creep backs off. Retreats. Gone.

Silence.

You turn slowly, Armin’s hand drops from your waist like it burned him. His ears are red. His pupils are wide.

“I’m sorry if that was weird,” he says in a rush. “You looked—he looked like—like you weren’t enjoying—uh—I thought—”

“You thought right.” you raise an eyebrow, letting your smirk play out slow. “Nice timing, Arlert.”

He laughs nervously, scratches the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean to, uh, interrupt. I was just passing by and—”

“You weren’t interrupting. you were rescuing. Big difference.” your eyes travel over him, curious. He’s still blushing, but something about him is... steady. Calm. Kind.

Maybe you’re still buzzed.

Or maybe you’ve just developed a thing for quiet boys who do the right thing without needing a reward. Either way, your next move surprises even you.

“So,” you say casually, leaning in just enough for him to smell your perfume — or notice your piercings. “Think you could help me with our next exam?”

He blinks, the song coming from the speakers ends and changes to a summer hit from last year, and the people on the makeshift dance floor cheers loudly.

“I... sure? I mean, yeah. Of course.” you pull your phone from your low-waist jeans, and stares as he types his number on it. shaking.

“Great,” you purr. “I’ll text you.”

And just like that, you turn and walk away, leaving him staring after you like you just recited the Constitution in a bikini.

Mission: Start Nerd Seduction — officially launched.

You don’t actually need help with the midterm. But you do need an excuse to sit across from Armin Arlert while licking the rim of your iced coffee like a menace to society.

so when he texts you back with a “Sure! I’m free Friday afternoon if that works?” you say

> Cool. I’ll bring my notes and wear something distracting.

You don’t expect a reply, and definitely don’t expect the little three-dot typing bubble to linger for two full minutes before he hits you with:

>Armin: Should I bring a calculator or holy water?

You giggle like a damn schoolgirl and toss your phone across the bed.

God help him. you’re gonna ruin that boy.

On Friday you’re in his room.

His actual dorm room, which smells like pinewood and clean laundry. There are three highlighters on his desk arranged by color, posters from Sci–Fi movies on the walls, little The Hobbits figures on some shelves and you swear the man owns more books than space on furniture to put it on.

“I like your room,” you say, setting down your iced coffee. “Very... untouched virgin energy.”

He pushes his glasses up. “Thanks?”

You’re already sprawling across his desk chair, legs crossed, skirt indecent. You watch his eyes flicker downward, then violently snap back up. Adorable.

“okay,” he says, pulling out a folder. “So, we’re reviewing chapter 5? The political theory section?”

You blink at him.

“Oh, right. Studying.” you lean forward, resting your chin on your palm, giving him your best wide-eyed innocent face.

Armin frowns like you’re a pop quiz he didn’t study for. “...did you even bring your notes?”

“Sure,” you lie, “they’re in my... bra.”

He looks like he might combust on the spot.

“Sorry,” you add sweetly. “too much?”

“Just a bit,” he mutters, already flipping open his book like it’s a shield. You let the moment hang in the air a bit too long — just enough for the tension to crackle — then settle back and pretend to pay attention.

But honestly? you’re watching him more than the textbook.

The way he twirls his pen. The way his voice softens when he explains a concept, you like how he ain't trying to mansplain it like you're actually stupid, just being patient. The way he blushes every time you hum in agreement.

You even catch him peeking at your tattoos when he thinks you’re not looking.

"So...” you say, leaning closer until your thigh brushes his. “Do you always tutor people like this?”

He freezes. “Like what?”

“Alone. In your room.”

His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. “N-no. I mean—no, I don’t. Usually it’s at the library. Or the lab. Or... never mind.”

“Cute,” you tease. “You're nervous.”

“I’m not nervous.”

“You’re literally shaking.”

“I’m fine.”

You pause. Smirk. “Want me to stop?”

He swallows hard. “...no.”

And there it is.

That glimmer. That tiny flash of something underneath the nerves — confidence? Want? Hunger?

You sit back, pretending not to notice your own racing pulse.

The game just got fun.

Ten minutes later, you both keep pretending to read the same paragraph while pretending not to feel the air buzzing between you.

That’s when the door creaks open.

“Yo, Armin—” a high voice cuts in, then stops. “Oh. Hey.”

You turn slowly.

She’s short. She’s wearing a pastel cardigan with two different shades of pink. A cute flower pin on her hair and an adorable smile that is slowly dropping. Terrifying.

“Mina,” Armin says, standing up so fast his chair almost flips. “Hey. sorry, I forgot to text—”

“It’s okay!” she chirps. “I just came to drop off the notes from last week.” Her eyes flick to you. To your skirt. To your thigh against his.

“Oh,” she adds, still trying to smile. “I didn’t know you had company.”

You smile back, a knowing smile while offering your name, “We’re studying.”

Her expression flickers. Just a second. Just enough.

“Nice,” she says. “Well... see you later?” trying to meet Armin’s eyes.

“Yeah,” Armin says, but he's distracted, his eyes trailing to you.

And when the door shuts behind her, he lets out a breath like he forgot how to.

“Friend of yours?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he says too fast. “We’ve known each other since orientation.”

“Huh.” You twirl your pen. “She likes you.”

He chokes on air. “What?! No, she—Mina doesn’t—why would you—”

“Because she looked at me like I’m a pop-up ad that gave her computer a virus,” you say, deadpan.

He groans. “She’s just friendly.”

"Mm-hm.” You tilt your head. “You like her?”

Silence.

Then “I don’t know,” he admits. “I guess I never really thought about it.”

Interesting.

Very interesting.

You smile, wider this time. “Good. Because I’m very distracting.”

You do not need this men.

You’re not bored. You’re not lonely. You’ve got enough situationships to form a goddamn Avengers team.

And yet — here you are.

In the library. Again.

Wearing lip gloss and zero academic intention.

Armin’s already at the table when you arrive, notes spread out, glasses sliding down his nose. Like he didn't leave you wanting after last week's study date. You consider greeting him like a normal person. You don’t. Instead, you drop your bag, plop into the chair beside him, and whisper in his ear:

“Miss me?”

He jumps.

“Jesus —” he says your name like a curse, while holding his chest to calm his heart.

“You didn’t answer the question.”

He blinks at you. “I—uh—yeah. I guess.”

You grin. “cute.”

He coughs. You cross your legs, showing off your thigh tattoo. Half the guys at the next table almost fall out of their chairs. Armin doesn’t notice — or he pretends not to — but the flush in his cheeks says otherwise.

“Let’s start with Hobbes today,” he mumbles, eyes glued to his page. “You read the assigned chapters, right?”

“Define ‘read’.”

Armin eyes you, saying your name almost in a reprimand way.

“Relax, I skimmed it.” you pull out a pen. “Ready when you are, Professor.”

You don't absorb much of what he’s saying. Because he’s doing that thing again — the voice drop, the hand gesture, the “lemme explain this real quick” lean-in that gets unreasonably close. And he smells good today. Like fresh laundry and—god—was that vanilla?

You’re not okay.

“So that’s why Hobbes believes in the absolute power of the sovereign,” Armin finishes, looking up. “Make sense?”

You’re not sure what Hobbes believes in, but you do believe in Armin ruining your life. You nod.

He beams. “See? You’re better at this than you think.”

Oh. That smile. That pure smile. like he hasn’t noticed the chaos you’ve been trying to throw at him for days. Like he doesn’t know half the campus is whispering:

“Why is Armin Arlert hanging out with her?

“Did she lose a bet?”

“No way he could ever handle her.”

They don’t know that Armin looked you in the eye last Tuesday, tilt his head and said, “You should really stop doing that if you want me to focus.”

They don’t know that you’re starting to forget what flirting is supposed to feel like. Because this? This is more dangerous than your usual games.

And just when you’re about to lean in and say something stupid, like — you’ve got really nice hands – a familiar voice interrupts:

“Hey, Armin!”

You turn. of course it’s Mina.

Carrying two matcha lattes and an entire Pinterest board’s worth of optimism. she slides into the seat on Armin’s other side, all teeth and pastel and absolutely no shame.

“I brought you a drink,” she says, ignoring your existence completely.

“Oh—thanks,” Armin replies, startled. “You didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to,” she chirps, and finally glances at you. “Hi”

You nod. “Mina.” A pause. You sip your coffee. She sips her matcha. Armin is sweating.

“So,” Mina says to him, voice syrup-sweet, “did you want to study together for the ethics quiz? We could—”

“He’s busy,” you say.

Mina blinks. “What?”

“With me,” you finish. Smile. “We’re reviewing Locke next. Very intense stuff.”

Armin opens his mouth. Close it. Prays for death.

“Oh,” Mina says, still smiling. “That’s... cool.”

You keep smiling. You’re both smiling so hard it might shatter the floor beneath you.

“I guess I’ll just see you tomorrow, Armin?” she tries again.

He looks between you. Her. Back to you. “Uh—sure. Yeah.”

When she finally walks away, you lean in close enough for him to smell your lip gloss.

“She’s in love with you.”

He rubs his face. “Don’t start.”

“I’m just saying,” you sing. “You could totally date her. She’s your type.”

He glances at you, then looks away. “You don’t know my type.”

“Don’t I?” You raise an eyebrow.

He hesitates. Swallows. look at you again. You hold the eye contact longer than necessary. Long enough to make him shift in his seat.

“I don’t think I like being studied,” he says softly.

“Then stop looking so interesting.”

—

On the weekend y'all at Jean’s apartment. Pizza boxes. Open textbooks. A Mario Kart tournament threatening to break a friendship or five.

Armin’s sitting on the floor, controller in hand. You’re on the couch, shamelessly watching him. the others are deep in a debate about which professor might be an alien, but you’re focused on the way Armin mutters when he loses a round.

“fuck,” he breathes under his breath. You almost drop your drink.

He catches you looking. smirks—just a little. and that is the moment you realize you’re in serious trouble.

because this boy? This nerd? With his quiet voice and his chaotic notes and his tragic sweaters? He might actually break your heart.

And worse — you might let him.

——

It's all fun and games until you start to have dreams about him. some very inappropriate dreams. involving library desks, a cardigan hitting the floor, and Armin’s voice in your ear saying “you asked for this study session.”

You always wake up hot and wet.

It’s barely 7 AM. You have a lecture in two hours. But your first conscious thought is ‘that mouth should be illegal’. Your second is to get it together. And your third?

You need to see him.

So you don’t bother with makeup. don't bother styling your hair. You pull on black sweats and a leather jacket and stomp onto campus with last night’s eyeliner and an agenda that has nothing to do with academic excellence.

Armin’s already at the student café, as usual — surrounded by books, headphones on, hoodie halfway swallowing his neck. He doesn’t notice you until you slide into the seat across from him.

“You look like you haven’t slept,” he says, blinking.

“That’s because I haven’t.” You point at your face. “Notice the sexy eye bags.”

Armin chuckles, soft and genuine. “You always show up like this?”

“Only for the people I’m trying to corrupt.”

He pauses. “So… just me?”

"Yup.”

There’s a flicker behind his glasses. You think it might be nerves. Or something darker.

You want to poke it. You will poke it.

“So,” you continue. “Tell me something nerdy.”

“...What?”

“Make me smarter. Ruin my street cred.”

Armin leans back. “Okay. Did you know sea otters hold hands when they sleep so they don’t drift apart?”

Your heart makes a weird thump. “That’s… aggressively adorable.”

“And that an octopus has three hearts and blue blood?”

“wait, for real?”

“Yeah.” He tilts his head. “Still feel like corrupting me?”

You grin. “Oh, absolutely.”

It’s raining. There’s only one couch cushion between you and Armin. Your Netflix “study break” has now turned into a two-hour true crime documentary, and at least once every ten minutes you feel his thigh shift next to yours.

Your laptop is open. Your notes are not.

Armin stretches, arms over his head, shirt riding up just enough to expose that his damn V line. The one that’s haunted your sleep since last week.

You don’t mean to stare.

You just… don’t not stare.

And Armin sees it.

He lowers his arms, clears his throat, then glances sideways at you. “You keep looking at me.”

“Do I?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe I’m studying your anatomy.”

He says your name in a soft breath of warning, with big eyes, dilated pupils, lips parted.

You shift to face him. He’s closer than you thought. Close enough that the space between you feels like static — thick with unsaid things and half-bitten thoughts.

You should back off. You should laugh it off.

You don’t.

Instead, you whisper, “You ever think about kissing me?”

The silence stretches.

“Yes.” It’s so quiet you almost miss it. But it’s there.

“Yes?” you echo.

He meets your gaze. Doesn’t blink. Doesn’t back down. “I’ve thought about it a lot.”

The air pulls tight between you. His lips are right there. He’s right there.

Your hand twitches, like maybe you’ll touch his cheek. Like maybe you’ll grab his collar and ruin every rule you’ve ever set for yourself. Because your mouth is five inches from his and it’s raining outside and—

A knock.

You jolt back like you’ve been slapped. Armin jumps up, flustered, knocking over a cup of pens. then race to the door before the moment can catch up to you.

“Oh, hey!” a feminine voice says too loudly. a voice you know well. How the fuck she always knows when you two are together. Mina has a fucking six senth for cock blocking or something? “I—I was just in the neighborhood and thought I’d drop your USB from the group project. I checked and it has all the lecture slides on it— you left it in the lab.”

Armin takes it with a shaking smile, you could see how red he is from the couch. “Oh! Cool. Thanks.”

She peers around, eyes narrowing. “Is she here?”

“Yes.”

“Studying?”

Your eyes meet and you hold her gaze, while grinning “Eventually.”

she blushes and apologizes, giving Armin a rushed and tiny ‘goodbye’.

The blonde man closes the door with a sigh, and when he comes back to the couch, pretending like nothing almost happened, you start to think the universe is actually laughing at you.

Why can't you make out with your nerdy man in peace?

——

Later that night you’re alone again, lying on your bed, phone face-up beside you. You keep replaying his voice.

“I’ve thought about it a lot.”

You don’t sleep well.

And neither does he.

Because two blocks away, Armin is staring at his ceiling, hand in his hair, wondering how close he came to losing control — to kissing the girl with stormcloud eyes and tattooed skin and a laugh that lives rent-free in his skull.

The girl nobody thinks would ever want him.

Except maybe — she does.

#aot #aot x reader #attack on titan #armin arlert #armin arlet x reader #nerd armin #armin x reader #armin aot #armin smut #attack on titan x reader #damn this was fucking tiring bye

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