sahmiarlert

[sahmiarlert]

Just One More Minute

You weren’t sure when mornings became your favorite time of day.

It used to be the worst—dragging yourself out of bed, cold floors, rushed routines, alarm clocks that made you groan. But now? Now mornings felt like warmth before the sun even reached the sky.

Because now… Armin was part of them.

A soft hand brushed a few curls from your forehead, gentle as a whisper.

“Time to wake up, angel,” Armin murmured, voice hoarse with sleep and thick with affection. You could feel his breath ghosting against your skin as he leaned over you, the faint smell of chamomile tea and honey clinging to his hoodie.

You hummed sleepily and burrowed deeper into the warmth of the blanket. “Too early…”

Armin chuckled—a low, sleepy sound you’d come to adore. “I let you snooze for fifteen extra minutes. If you sleep any longer, you’ll miss your train, remember?”

He always did that. Let you sleep in, but not enough to ruin your day. He'd time it perfectly, even if it meant getting up first just to make things easier for you.

Your eyelids fluttered open, greeted by soft golden morning light peeking through the curtains... and Armin’s face above you, bathed in it.

His eyes were impossibly blue this close. Like the sea. Like peace.

“Good morning,” he whispered, brushing the tip of his nose against yours. “I made you tea. And toast. And those strawberries you like are cut up in a little bowl. The sweet ones.”

Your heart ached in the way it only could when someone loved you that gently.

You stretched your arm out from under the blanket, eyes half-lidded, and lazily wrapped it around his neck, pulling him closer. “Just one more minute… Stay.”

He hesitated for only a second before sighing with a smile and crawling under the covers next to you. “One minute,” he agreed, laying on his side to face you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “But if we both fall asleep again, I’m not taking the blame when you miss your train.”

“Deal,” you whispered against his chest, heart slow and safe and full.

The clock ticked somewhere in the background, but it didn't matter. Not right now.

All that mattered was the way Armin held you in the quiet warmth of a morning meant just for the two of you—gentle, soft, and so full of love it made you wonder how you ever lived without this.

Without him.

[sahmiarlert]

Happiness

At first, Armin's grandfather hadn’t commented on his unusually cheerful mood over the past month or two. He simply observed, quietly, with a warmth in his eyes that hadn’t surfaced in years. It was the happiest he’d ever seen his grandson—genuinely radiant, like something inside him had finally begun to bloom after a long, harsh winter.

Of course, he knew why. Armin had told him, albeit shyly, his words fumbling, eyes darting anywhere but his grandfather’s face. The moment had been endearing—Armin, usually articulate and thoughtful, rendered bashful and flushed at the mere mention of her. Of you.

Still, as time went on, the older man’s curiosity only deepened. He was thrilled for Armin, truly. His grandson had endured so much—losing his parents too young, being shuffled from one school to another, facing relentless bullying, clinging tightly to the few friendships he managed to hold on to. He deserved happiness. And now, seeing him this cheerful since he started college, this content—for five whole months, not once catching him with even a shadow of a frown—well, he couldn't keep his curiosity at bay any longer.

So, over breakfast one quiet morning, he made it known. He wanted to meet the girl who’d brought the light back into Armin’s eyes. Over dinner. Nothing fancy, he said. Just something homey, something simple.

And now, here you were.

Walking side by side down a narrow street, the golden afternoon sun washing everything in a soft hue, you watched Armin fidget beside you, worry etched into his brow. His fingers kept twitching, either brushing back his bangs or tightening around the strap of his bag. You could feel the nervous energy radiating off him like heat.

“Armin,” you said, half-amused, half-exasperated, bumping your shoulder gently into his, “you’re going to wear a trench into the sidewalk if you keep pacing like that.”

He blinked, startled out of his spiral, and gave you a sheepish smile. “I just... I want everything to go well. My grandfather’s really important to me.”

“I know,” you murmured, your tone softening. “And I promise, I’ll be on my best behavior.”

He laughed at that—quiet and breathy, but real. “You don’t have to be anyone but yourself. He’ll love you, I just... I guess I want him to see what I see.”

You stopped walking for a second, reaching for his hand, threading your fingers through his. “Then I’ll do my best to make sure he does.”

His eyes flicked to yours—blue and wide with emotion—and for a moment, he just looked at you. As if you were the most grounding thing in his world.

When you arrived at his house, Armin hesitated at the gate, taking a deep breath. His grandfather was already on the porch, seated in his usual wooden chair, reading. When he noticed the two of you, he stood slowly, a kind smile spreading across his weathered face.

“You must be the girl I’ve heard so much about,” he said, walking over with a warmth that put some of your nerves at ease. “It’s good to finally meet you.”

You smiled, offering your hand politely. “It’s good to meet you too, sir. Armin’s told me a lot about you.”

“Only the good things, I hope?” he chuckled, glancing at his grandson.

Armin flushed again. “All good,” he mumbled.

You were led inside, where the dining table was already set—homemade stew, fresh bread, and the comforting scent of herbs and warmth that only family kitchens ever held.

Dinner began smoothly, with light conversation, questions about your studies, your interests. Armin was tense at first, clearly watching every exchange like a hawk, but as the minutes ticked by and laughter slipped into the conversation naturally, you saw him relax.

And then his grandfather smiled—a soft, knowing smile—and said, “You’ve made him so happy. I can see it. Thank you.”

You blinked, surprised by how earnestly he said it.

You glanced at Armin, who looked down at his bowl, cheeks pink, and then back at his grandfather.

“I haven’t done anything,” you said gently. “Armin is easy to love. I’m just glad he let me.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was full of emotion, understanding, and something that felt like belonging.

After dinner, Armin insisted on helping his grandfather with the dishes, but the old man waved him off with a teasing smirk.

“Go on. Spend some time with her. I’ve got this.”

You smiled softly as Armin led you outside to the little backyard, where the sky had dimmed into a canvas of navy and deep purples, the stars beginning to prick through like scattered flecks of hope. The air was cool, quiet except for the distant hum of crickets and the occasional creak of the old wooden swing hanging from the tree.

He sat down on it and tugged your hand gently, inviting you onto his lap. You hesitated only a moment before settling down, legs draped on either side of him, your forehead resting against his.

“Gosh,” he whispered, his breath shaky, “I thought I was going to pass out at least three times tonight.”

You giggled, brushing your fingers through his blond hair, tucking a strand behind his ear. “You were fine. He liked me.”

Armin nodded, a small smile curving on his lips, but he didn’t say anything right away. He just looked at you. Really looked. As if his whole world had narrowed down to the girl sitting in his lap, holding him like he was the most precious thing in the universe.

“I was scared,” he finally said, voice hushed. “Scared he wouldn’t see you the way I see you. That he wouldn’t understand why I’m so....”

Your heart ached—because even now, there was a small, vulnerable part of him that still didn’t believe he deserved this kind of joy.

You leaned in and kissed his cheek, slow and lingering. “I’m yours, Armin. That’s all he needed to see.”

He swallowed, then wrapped his arms around you, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You felt him exhale, his breath warm against your skin. “Thank you...for choosing me. Being with you... it feels like I was always meant to find you.”

You closed your eyes at that, pressing your forehead against his again. “I'll choose you again and again. Always.”

He smiled then—eyes a little glassy, but shining. And there, under the stars, in the quiet of a world that had so often been cruel to him, he found peace in your arms.

The swing creaked gently as you rocked together, hearts speaking in silences and starlight.

At that moment, he only thought about you.

And how, maybe, he was allowed to be this happy.

--------

Shout out to all my followers, I really appreciate you all for liking my posts that gives me extra encouragement everytime to keep posting. Armin is my favourite character of all fiction and I feel this boy deserves lots of love. However, I have been feeling the urge to write for more than just him but that's just a passing thought. Though, I might make a decision if I will or not at some point.

Again, thank you for reading and for the support especially!! I love you all!❤

[sahmiarlert]

"Would you leave with me?"

Armin has always been gentle, understanding, and patient with you. He knows about your family, your traditions, and the unspoken rule that binds you to their expectations. Loving him was never the plan—at least, not out loud, not in the way that would make your world collapse.

But love, real love, doesn't ask for permission. It blooms in quiet moments: in stolen glances, in the way his hand lingers just a second too long, in whispered conversations under the moon when no one is watching. And most painfully, in the way you both know it cannot last.

You try to distance yourself. You try to be practical. Armin deserves someone who can love him freely, who doesn’t have to weigh every moment against the consequences. But every time you look at him, see the unspoken devotion in his ocean-blue eyes, your resolve cracks just a little more.

One night, he finally asks.

"Would you leave with me?"

It’s not an impulsive question. Armin has thought about it endlessly, imagining a life where you don’t have to hide, where you don’t have to live in fear of disappointing anyone—except yourself, if you let this love slip away.

But leaving means breaking away from everything you’ve ever known. Your family. Your home. The life that was written for you before you ever had a say. And the worst part? You don’t know if they would ever forgive you.

The silence after his question feels like a living thing. Heavy. Waiting.

You stare at him, and for a moment, he looks almost afraid. Not of your answer—but of how much he wants it to be yes. He’s never asked you for anything. Not really. Armin gives without expecting. Loves without condition. But right now, he is asking.

Not to be chosen above everyone else.

Just to be chosen. Once.

Your throat tightens. You want to tell him that you’ve imagined it too—a life away from the weight of “should,” of “must,” of “you can’t.” You’ve imagined mornings without guilt. You’ve imagined waking up to the sound of his voice, not the echo of your parents’ expectations.

But dreaming is easy. Leaving isn’t.

“I—” you start, then stop. Your fingers clench at your side.

Armin doesn’t press. He waits, the way he always does. With patience. With kindness. Like he’s bracing for your no and will somehow love you through it anyway.

“I’d lose everything,” you whisper.

“You’d have me,” he says quietly.

It shouldn’t be enough. But it is.

And maybe that’s the problem.

Your eyes sting. “Armin, if I go… they’ll never forgive me.”

He exhales slowly. “Then I’ll forgive you twice as much.”

Your laugh is broken, choked by tears you didn’t realize were building. “That’s not how it works.”

He steps closer. Takes your hands. His touch is warm, grounding. “I know. But I also know that if you stay only for them, a part of you will always resent them for what they made you give up. And I’d rather live with the ache of maybe being wrong… than the certainty of watching you walk away.”

The moonlight catches on his lashes. He looks like a dream that’s already halfway out of reach.

You could still say no. Be the daughter they want. Be the version of yourself that fits neatly into the box they built for you. You’d still survive.

But you wouldn’t live.

Your voice is barely a whisper when it comes. “Okay.”

His brows lift, like he can’t believe what he heard.

You take a shaky breath, nod once—just enough to make it real. “I’ll go with you.”

And Armin… he doesn’t smile. Not yet. He pulls you into him, wraps his arms around you and kept you close.

He presses his lips to your hair. “Thank you. It will be okay.”

And for the first time, you relaxed and completely believed that it will be alright.

[sahmiarlert]

Heartbeats and hushed whispers

The room is dark, the only light coming from the TV screen as the movie plays softly in the background. You and Armin are sprawled out on the couch, a blanket tangled around both of you. At some point, the two of you stopped paying attention to the movie and just started talking, your voices quiet and sleepy.

Armin’s head is resting in your lap, his blonde hair tousled and soft against your thighs. His eyes are half-closed, and his breaths are slow and even, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. You can tell he’s close to drifting off, his hand resting on yours that was resting on his chest, right over his steady heartbeat

You shift slightly, intending to get more comfortable, but the movement makes Armin nuzzle closer to you and you feel the warmth of his cheek through the fabric of your shirt.

Your heart does a little flip. You stay completely still, suddenly hyper-aware of every point of contact between the two of you.

You don’t dare move away. You don’t want to.

Instead, your hand drifts to his hair almost on instinct, your fingers combing through the soft, golden strands. You feel him relax even more, a tiny, contented sigh escaping his lips.

You swallow, your chest tight and warm.

This is... nice. Too nice. You’re not even watching the movie anymore; all you can focus on is Armin’s peaceful expression, his long lashes resting against his cheeks, the way he’s completely relaxed, completely trusting as he sleeps on your lap.

And maybe it’s a little selfish, but you keep stroking his hair, letting yourself enjoy the moment for as long as it lasts.

[sahmiarlert]

Back Then, and Now

The first time you saw Armin Arlert, you were thirteen. He was that quiet boy in your middle school class, always sitting near the window with a paperback half-open on his desk and the softest voice you’d ever heard.

He never really talked much in front of others, but when called upon, he answered with a calm clarity that made you stop mid-sentence to listen for a moment. And maybe it was that — the way his voice gently wrapped around his words like he didn’t want to disturb the world around him — that made your heart thud with something you didn’t quite understand yet.

A crush. A silly, ridiculous, terrifying crush.

You never told anyone. Not your friends. And definitely not your siblings. The thought of your brothers finding out? You'd be mocked until the end of time. They’d mimic his soft voice, pretend to swoon in the hallways, poke fun at every glance you gave in his direction. No, no. This stayed locked up tightly — a secret you buried in diary pages and late-night thoughts.

But Armin noticed you, even then.

He noticed how you always chose the desk two rows over, just close enough to listen when he mumbled thoughts about history or the stars. He noticed how you bit your lip when you were nervous, how your eyes lit up when talking about what you loved, how you were always quiet around loud people but glowed around kind ones.

You weren’t close — not really. But sometimes, when he passed by you in the hall, he’d smile shyly. Sometimes, if you dropped a pen, he’d pick it up and offer it to you.

And sometimes… you would freeze. Stammer. Look away. Because liking someone — really liking someone — was scary when it felt like they could read your mind.

But that was middle school. And things changed.

---------------------‐--------------------------

By the time they entered high school, your heart didn’t skip when you saw him anymore. In fact, you’d trained it not to. It was a defense mechanism.

Everything changed the day your parents went to the school’s parent-teacher meeting.

You still remembered that evening vividly: your mother’s sharp eyes as she walked through the front door, your father’s heavy silence. They had seen him, listened to the praises the teachers had given to his grandfather.

“Armin Arlert,” her mother had said, like the name itself was something to be remembered for life. “Top of every class. The teachers adore him. Polite. Well-read. Said he wants to study international relations or literature or most especially marine biology. Do you know him?”

You did. All too well.

They didn’t wait for an answer.

“I wish you would take your studies as seriously. That boy is focused. Not wasting time on friends or silly distractions.”

From that day, Armin’s name became a knife. One they wielded every time you came home with a B+. Every time you hesitated over a math problem.

“Armin wouldn’t have needed help.”

“Armin probably studied ahead.”

“Why don’t you ask that boy for tutoring? Maybe he could teach you how to be focused.”

You hated it. Hated him.

No — not him. Armin was never cruel. Never arrogant. He never so much as bragged about his grades. He was soft-spoken, helpful, and still smiled the same way he did years ago.

But every time you saw him in the hallway, the disappointment on your parents’ faces echoed in your mind. You saw comparisons written in their eyes like flashing neon signs. And so, your smiles for him became nods. You kind words for him became silence.

He noticed that, too.

One spring afternoon, you stood by the vending machine near the library, waiting for it to drop the drink you'd just paid for. Your headphones dangled from one ear, music paused, eyes fixed on the stubborn can stuck inside.

“That one’s a pain, huh?”

You turned.

Armin stood beside you, a bit taller now, hair a little longer and pushed back from his face, but still him. The same calm blue eyes. The same warm tone.

You blinked. “Yeah.”

He gave a small chuckle and tapped the machine lightly with his palm. “It always gets stuck. I had to rock it once just to get a bag of chips out.”

You stayed quiet. Not cold exactly — but not warm either.

Armin hesitated. You could feel it in the way his weight shifted from foot to foot, his fingers fiddling with the strap of his backpack. “Um… I hope this isn’t weird, but—” he glanced at you — “have I… done something to upset you?”

You blinked, startled. “What?”

“I just—” he rubbed the back of his neck. “I remember in middle school you were always… well, I guess I thought you were nice. You’d always say hi. Smile. But these past couple years… you’ve been… distant. Cold, sometimes. And I don’t mean to pry. I just… wanted to ask. In case I did something.”

Your heart sank.

He looked genuinely concerned, and you wondered if he’d spent actual time wondering if he had hurt you. Like your silence had been a wound he didn’t know how to fix.

You looked away. The drink finally fell, hitting the bottom with a dull thud.

“You didn’t do anything,” you said quietly. “It’s not your fault.”

He tilted his head, confused.

You sighed and looked up at the ceiling as if the words you needed were written there. “You’re just… kind of a symbol of something. Of pressure. Of expectations I didn’t ask for.”

You didn’t mean to sound bitter. But it slipped out anyway.

Armin was silent for a moment. “Expectations?”

“My parents saw you at some meeting,” you said, finally looking at him. “They decided you were the standard I had to meet. I’ve been compared to you ever since. ‘Why aren’t you like Armin?’ ‘Armin’s probably studying.’ ‘Maybe you should learn from him.’”

His face fell. “I… I didn’t know.”

“You weren’t supposed to,” you mumbled. “You were never mean. Never did anything wrong. That’s probably what made it worse. You were nice. Brilliant. Polite. And all I could think was, great — now I have to compete with that.”

Silence.

Then, he said, voice barely above a whisper, “I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.”

Your eyes flicked to him. His expression wasn’t defensive. It was gentle — maybe even sad.

“I was just trying to survive school,” he said. “I studied a lot because… I didn’t feel good at anything else. I wasn’t popular. I wasn’t athletic. Others constantly teased me for that. I was just the quiet kid with books. It wasn’t about being better than anyone. I was just scared of being invisible.”

Your chest tightened.

“I didn’t know I made you feel lesser,” he added. “I wouldn’t have wanted that. Especially not from you.”

You let the silence settle between you like dust.

Then: “I had a crush on you once.”

He blinked. “What?”

You shrugged, looking down at your shoes. “Back in middle school. It was huge. But I never told anyone because my siblings would’ve tormented me.”

He flushed, completely caught off guard. “I… I didn’t know.”

“I got over it,” you said quickly, maybe too quickly. “By the time high school came around, everything felt different.”

He nodded slowly. “It usually does.”

The air between you was less tense now. Like the wires had untangled.

You reached for your drink. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for being cold.”

“And I’m sorry for being a reminder of something painful,” he replied softly.

They stood in silence again, but it wasn’t awkward anymore. Just quiet. Comfortable, even.

Before you turned to go, Armin spoke up.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“I never stopped noticing you,” he said, cheeks faintly red. “Even when you stopped looking at me.”

You stared at him, caught off-guard.

And maybe, in the faint light of that forgotten hallway, something stirred again.

Not a crush. Not like before. But the soft echo of something that had once been buried.

[sahmiarlert]

“Armin Day”

The war meetings were endless now—souls crumbling under the weight of responsibilities, the air in HQ always tense, never quite breathing freely. The war might’ve momentarily paused, but no one could feel peace. Especially not him.

Armin Arlert sat on the edge of a stone bench just outside the building, golden hair tousled by the soft wind, his jacket folded over his lap, his elbows resting on his knees as his tired eyes watched clouds drift past. He didn’t even flinch when he heard light footsteps behind him.

“Meeting done?” you asked gently, stopping beside him.

He turned slowly, blinking up at you—and even in that small moment, his entire expression softened. He always did that when he saw you. You were his comfort, even if he didn’t always say it out loud.

“Yeah,” he said, smiling faintly. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“You’re not keeping me,” you replied, walking in front of him and crossing your arms, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. “Today’s a special day, Armin.”

His brow furrowed slightly. “What do you mean?”

You extended your hand toward him. “Today is Armin Day. You’re not allowed to do anything for anyone else. You’re not allowed to stress. You’re not allowed to feel guilty, or take on the world’s problems, or second-guess your worth. You’re gonna be selfish, and I’m gonna make sure you have fun. That’s an order.”

His eyes widened at your declaration, surprise flickering through the blue. You rarely got assertive. But now you stood there, determined, hopeful, offering him something he hadn’t felt in months—freedom. A break from the burden of survival.

“You don’t have to—” he started, but you cut him off with a shake of your head.

“I want to. Let me do this for you. You do so much for everyone, Armin. Even when it hurts you. Even when it crushes you. Let me be selfish for you for once.”

And for a moment, he didn’t say anything. Then, slowly, a soft chuckle escaped his lips, and he slid his hand into yours, standing up. His fingers lingered, warm and tentative. You ignored the way your heart tripped over itself at the contact.

“Okay,” he said, voice lighter than it had been in weeks. “Where do we start?”

You brought him to the fields near the edge of the forest—the one you’d both sneaked off to four years ago when the world felt too heavy. The sky was clear, the sun shining down through the branches. He took his boots off first, and you followed, the grass soft underfoot. He let the wind tangle his hair and close his eyes, and for a while, you just walked quietly through the meadow.

You packed food. His favorites. And you spread it out on a blanket like a little picnic. You watched him laugh with his mouth full of bread, trying to keep berries from staining his shirt, and for the first time in so long, he didn’t look like a solider burdened with the colossal and the guilt. He looked like a boy again. A sweet, beautiful boy with a tired soul and the most selfless heart you'd ever known.

“You know,” he said at one point, glancing over at you, “I don’t remember the last time I just sat like this. With someone. Without thinking of what could go wrong next.”

“I do,” you replied softly. “That’s why I brought you here.”

He looked at you like he didn’t quite know how to respond to that. And you smiled. It ached inside your chest, how deeply you loved him. How much you wanted to tell him. But you didn’t. Not yet. Today wasn’t about your feelings—it was about his peace.

Later, you both lay on your backs in the grass, watching clouds roll across the sky. The sun was starting to dip, painting the sky with that golden hue that always looked good on him. He was close enough that your arms brushed, and when his hand found yours again—this time without looking—you didn’t pull away.

“You ever wonder what life would be like if none of this had happened?” he asked quietly. “If the world hadn’t been at war? If we were just… normal?”

“All the time,” you said honestly.

“What do you think you’d be doing?”

You turned your head to look at him. “Probably doing this. With you. Hopefully more often. No war. Just you being you. Happy.”

He blinked. Swallowed. “I don’t even know who ‘just me’ is anymore.”

“I do,” you whispered. “He’s gentle. He’s wise. He’s kind, so kind it hurts. He thinks about everyone but himself, even when he’s breaking. He’s the best person I’ve ever met.”

He stared at you. You didn’t look away. You meant every word.

And then, quietly—trembling, even—he asked, "This isn't the first time you've been there for me. I remember after the mission to retake wall maria. You were the only few who noticed what I was really feeling when I was pretending to be okay and you've done so much to-" He cut himself off, inhaling sharply, "Why do you care so much about me?”

You hesitated. The wind stilled. Your heart raced.

You could lie. You could laugh it off, joke, say because I’m your friend, dummy—but you couldn’t do it this time. Not when he looked like he needed to know.

So you let your voice come out soft and slow.

“Because you’re Armin. Because even when the world’s falling apart, you still find a way to hope. You still fight for what’s right, even when you’re terrified. You’re… everything good left in this world, Armin. And I… I care because I love you. Not just as a friend.”

He froze.

You looked away, feeling your stomach twist. “I didn’t mean to say that today. This was supposed to be about you. I’m sorry if that makes things weird.”

But his hand tightened around yours.

“I’m glad you did,” he murmured. “Because I think I’ve been in love with you, too. For a while now. I just… I didn’t think I was allowed to be. Not with everything going on.”

You turned your head, eyes wide.

“I didn’t want to be selfish,” he said, smiling softly, almost sheepishly. “But… if this is Armin Day… maybe I can be. Just for today.”

And then—slowly, sweetly—he leaned in, brushing his lips against your cheek. It was barely a kiss, more like a promise. But it made your heart swell until you felt like you could float.

You stayed like that until the stars came out—two souls tangled up in soft words, shared warmth, and the relief of finally letting go. Armin laughed more that day than he had in months. And every time he looked at you, you saw it in his eyes:

Gratitude. Wonder. And the beginnings of love that didn’t have to hide anymore.

Because maybe, you were the one thing in this world he wanted to hold onto more than anything else.

[sahmiarlert]

Part 2: The sound of silence

It had been nearly a month. Thirty days of pretending you didn’t see him, of pretending your heart didn’t still do that little jump every time you heard his name in passing. You told yourself it was fine—that you were fine. That maybe you’d just been another friendly face in a sea of many for him. Nothing more.

But late at night, when everything was still, you’d replay it all: the way he used to say your name, the soft way he’d tilt his head when listening to you, his fingers brushing his fringe back absentmindedly while you spoke. You remembered the way he looked at you—not with disinterest, not with annoyance, but with curiosity. With care.

That’s what made it all so confusing.

That’s what made it hurt more.

And to add on, you still caught him looking sometimes. His gaze would flicker toward you in class, linger for a second too long in the hallway before quickly darting away. But he never said anything. And neither did you.

Until one day, a note appeared in your locker.

A small, slightly crumpled piece of lined paper. No name. No decoration. Just simple, slanted handwriting you recognized far too well.

“Hey. I’m sorry.”

That was it.

You stared at the paper, fingers trembling. Your heart pounded as a million thoughts raced through your mind. Was it really him? Why now? What did he mean? Just… sorry?

You folded the note carefully, sliding it into the front pocket of your notebook. You didn’t respond—not right away.

But the next day, there was another.

“I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I was overwhelmed and stressed. It wasn’t fair to take it out on you.”

Then another.

“I’ve missed talking to you. I understand if you don’t want to talk back. I just wanted you to know.”

Each note chipped away at the wall you’d rebuilt. And it scared you—because you didn’t know if you were ready to feel all of that again.

But on the fourth day, he didn’t leave a note.

He was there. Waiting.

Standing near your locker, nervously shifting from foot to foot, backpack slung over one shoulder. His hair was messier than usual, and his eyes—those ocean-blue eyes—were filled with worry.

“Hi,” he said softly.

You froze.

“I—um—I didn’t know how else to do this. I figured… maybe it was time I stopped hiding behind notes.” He gave a small, sheepish smile, the kind that made your chest ache.

You looked at him, still unsure what to say.

“I meant everything I wrote,” he continued. “I messed up. I was frustrated that day, but it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t deserve that. And I hate that I made you feel like you were… bothering me.”

You lowered your gaze. “Weren’t I bothering you?”

“No,” he said quickly. “God, no. I—” He paused, exhaling shakily. “I liked our conversations. I looked forward to them. You made my days better. I was just... dealing with stuff, and I pushed you away when I shouldn't have.”

You stayed quiet for a moment, fingers clutching the strap of your bag.

“I thought I was annoying,” you whispered.

His eyes softened. “You’re not. You never were. I was the one being selfish. I didn’t realize how much I’d miss you until you stopped talking to me.”

You finally met his gaze.

“I missed you too.”

His paused. For a second, he just stood there, stunned. Then he smiled—soft, genuine and relieved.

“Would you… maybe want to start over?” he asked. “No pressure. Just… maybe walk home together or something. I’d really like to hear your voice again.”

Your heart, bruised and cautious, gave a small flutter of hope. And somehow, despite the fear still coiled in your chest… you nodded.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “I’d like that.”

And this time, when you walked beside him, the world didn’t feel quite so loud.

Just warm. And full.

[sahmiarlert]

"The Sound of Silence"

Shy sensitive reader

You weren’t invisible. People knew you. Your name appeared in group chats, roll calls, partner assignments—but that was as far as most got. You weren’t the one raising your hand in class or starting conversations in the hallway. You stayed close to your friends, your comfort zone. Being seen wasn’t the same as being known, and you liked it that way… most of the time.

Except when it came to him.

Armin Arlert.

Kind, gentle, golden-haired Armin. He had a softness in his voice that made your heart swell. His eyes lit up when he talked about things he loved—like books or history—and he always took time to help others, even when he looked like he could use help himself. You admired him from afar, noticing the little things others overlooked. The way he twirled his pen when he was deep in thought, or how he would ramble and blush when caught off-guard.

He was everything—flawed, brilliant, beautiful—and terrifyingly unreachable.

Your friends knew about your crush. Of course they did. They teased and nudged, whispered and plotted. “Just talk to him,” they’d urge. You’d always laugh nervously, brush it off with a, "Maybe later…"

But one day, “later” became now. Your friends cornered you during lunch with determined eyes and refused to let you retreat.

“Come on, he’s sitting alone,” Historia whispered, eyes flicking toward a bench beneath a tree where Armin was reading. “It’s the perfect chance!”

Your heart pounded so hard it echoed in your ears. Hands clammy, legs shaky, you hesitated. But you remembered his smile. That gentle smile that made you feel like maybe the world wasn’t so loud, so overwhelming.

So you walked.

And talked.

Stammered, really—but Armin listened. And he smiled. He said your name. He asked you questions in return.

The conversation was short but sweet. You barely remembered what you said, but your cheeks burned the whole walk home. That night, you screamed into your hands, kicking your legs with joy. The happiness was addicting.

Your friends saw the glow on your face and refused to let the momentum stop.

So you talked to Armin again. And again. Each time, you got braver. He was kind, gentle, curious about you. You shared music recs. Talked about your favorite books. He complimented your handwriting once, and you nearly melted into the floor.

Each time you saw him, your heart felt fuller.

Until the day everything changed.

You found him in the hallway after school. Backpack slung over your shoulder, you were already halfway into a smile, your nerves humming with excitement as you approached him.

“Hey Armin,” you said quietly.

He didn’t respond at first. Just rubbed his temples, muttering something to himself.

You hesitated. “Are you okay?”

He looked up, eyes slightly red and tired. “What?”

“I… just wanted to say hi. I—”

“Can you not right now?” he snapped, voice sharper than you’d ever heard it. “I’m just—God—can I have one minute without you-or anyone!- trying to talk to me?”

The words hit harder than they should’ve.

Your lips parted slightly, but nothing came out. You just stood there, blinking, stunned.

“I… I’m sorry,” you whispered.

And you left.

The walk home felt heavier than usual. Each step was leaden. You lied on your bed that night, staring up at the ceiling. At first you tried to think logically, 'maybe he was just stressed and you definitely werent helping by not giving him space.'. But soon, it didnt take long for you to start overthinking. 'You were being too annoying, persistent, he was just being too kind to push you away, you're annoying, constantly bothering him-'

You avoided him after that.

It wasn’t out of anger—it was fear. You didn’t want to be where you weren’t wanted. You’d gone back into your shell, but this time, it felt like home and prison.

Whenever you passed him in the hall, your eyes found the floor. You changed your path to avoid bumping into him. Skipped lunch in the courtyard, took longer routes to class. Your friends noticed, of course. They asked questions, but you couldn’t even bring yourself to explain. How could you, when it all felt so silly?

He probably didn’t even remember.

But you did. Every word. Every syllable. And it echoed.

The silence between you two stretched on for days. Weeks. It gnawed at you, eating at the joy you once felt from your small moments with him.

You missed him. Even if you were never really his to begin with. You missed his smile, his awkward little laugh, the warmth he brought into your day just by existing near you.

But you were too shy to reach out again.

Too scared he’d snap again.

Too scared he wouldn't care.

[sahmiarlert]

Enough

The wind howls outside the worn-down walls of the scout regiment’s barracks, rattling the wooden panels as though demanding entry. Inside, a dim candle flickers on the bedside table, casting wavering shadows across the cold stone walls. The room is quiet except for the occasional rustle of fabric and the heavy, measured breathing of the boy sitting at the edge of his bed, fingers trembling as they clutch the blanket draped over his lap.

Armin Arlert sits hunched over, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor as though it holds all the answers he so desperately seeks. His golden hair falls in disheveled strands over his eyes, concealing the storm of emotions swimming within the depths of his ocean-blue irises. He looks so small like this—so fragile, as if the weight of the world has finally crushed him into something brittle, something breakable.

You step forward, hesitant at first, watching him with concern from the doorway. He hasn’t spoken much today, barely lifting his head even when Eren and Mikasa called his name. But you noticed. You always notice. The way his hands clenched every time someone spoke of war and sacrifice. The way his eyes glistened, barely holding back the torrent of self-loathing that threatened to consume him whole.

And now, he sits in complete silence, locked away in a torment of his own making.

“Armin,” you call gently, stepping closer. He doesn’t look up, doesn’t react. It’s as if he’s lost somewhere far away, trapped in his mind where doubt and guilt whisper cruel things in his ear.

You don’t hesitate anymore. You close the space between you, lowering yourself onto the bed beside him, your warmth seeping into his cold skin. You reach for his hand, prying his fingers from the blanket, intertwining them with yours. He flinches slightly but doesn’t pull away.

“Talk to me,” you urge softly, squeezing his hand.

A shaky breath escapes his lips, and when he finally lifts his gaze to meet yours, your heart clenches painfully. His eyes are glassy, rimmed with red as though he’s been fighting back tears for hours.

“I…” His voice cracks, barely above a whisper. “I don’t— I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”

Your chest tightens. “Do what?”

His throat bobs as he swallows, fingers tightening around yours. “This. Fighting. Watching people die. Knowing I don’t deserve to be here when others—better people—are gone.” His voice wavers, filled with anguish. “I should’ve been the one to die that day, not Erwin.”

A sharp pang of sadness grips you. You knew he felt this way, but hearing it out loud makes it even more unbearable.

“Armin…” you whisper, your free hand reaching up to cup his cheek, thumb brushing against the softness of his skin. “Don’t say that.”

“But it’s true,” he insists, shaking his head. “I'm not strong like him. I'm not brave like him. I—” His breath hitches, and he looks away, ashamed. “I can’t stop thinking about it. About how much better off everyone would be if it was him instead of me.”

Your heart aches at his words. How could he not see? How could he not understand how much he matters?

“Armin, look at me,” you plead, voice steady but filled with emotion. Slowly, hesitantly, he turns back to you, eyes swimming with pain.

“You are brave,” you tell him, voice unwavering. “You are strong. Not because of the way you fight, but because of the way you think, the way you care. You save lives with your mind, with your heart. I know Erwin believed in you. We all do. And I—” Your voice catches, but you push forward. “I believe in you more than anyone.”

A single tear escapes down his cheek, and without thinking, you reach up, brushing it away with your fingertips. He leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut as though savoring the warmth, the comfort you offer so freely.

“You mean everything to me, Armin,” you continue, voice trembling with emotion. “I don’t ever want to hear you say that you should’ve died instead. Because this world—my world—would be unbearable without you in it.”

His lips part slightly, as if wanting to say something, but words fail him. Instead, he exhales a shaky breath, and before you can second-guess yourself, you lean in, pressing a feather-light kiss to his forehead.

His body stiffens at first, then he slumps against you. A soft, broken noise escapes his lips, and he clings to you, arms wrapping around your waist. His face buries into your shoulder, and you feel the dampness of his tears soaking into your shirt, but you don’t mind.

You hold him tighter, pressing a lingering kiss into his hair, whispering over and over again, “You are enough. You have always been enough.”

Minutes pass, and eventually, his breathing evens out, his trembling subsiding as he melts against you. You stay like that, wrapped in each other’s warmth, until the candle burns low, its light flickering softly against the quiet promise lingering between you.

A promise that, no matter how much he doubts himself, no matter how broken he feels, you will always be there to remind him just how deeply he is loved.

[sahmiarlert]

Too Late?

The rain tapped gently against the apartment window, a soft, persistent sound that filled the heavy silence between you and Armin. He sat across from you at the small kitchen table, his golden hair slightly disheveled, the blue in his eyes muted and tired — not the soft, shimmering ocean you used to get lost in, but a storm brewing quietly. His phone buzzed between you for the third time in five minutes, and though he silenced it quickly each time, it was impossible to ignore.

You traced the rim of your coffee mug with your finger, unable to meet his gaze. The words were already forming on your tongue, bitter and aching, but you hesitated. Maybe if you stayed quiet, if you just waited, the weight on your chest would lift on its own. Maybe he'd look up, truly look at you the way he used to — with warmth and wonder, as if you were the entire world folded into human form.

But he didn’t.

His eyes were glued to an open folder, half-heartedly flipping through papers, muttering something under his breath about deadlines and expectations. You wondered if he even remembered the promises he once whispered into your ear late at night, telling you you’d always come first.

The lump in your throat swelled until it threatened to choke you. "Armin," you whispered. It barely came out.

His head jerked up, startled. He blinked, as if remembering your presence only now. "Hm? Sorry. What were you saying, love?" He offered a small smile — distracted, forced, exhausted.

You closed your eyes briefly, inhaling slowly, trying to steady yourself. This is going to hurt.

"I can’t do this anymore."

The smile fell from his face in an instant, replaced by confusion. His brows knit together, and his hand fell from the papers onto the table. "What… what do you mean?" His voice trembled just slightly.

You finally looked at him, eyes burning with unshed tears. "I miss you."

"I'm right here," he said quickly, reaching for your hand across the table, but you pulled back. Although it hurt, you needed distance — if not physically, then emotionally.

"No. You’re not," you breathed, the words breaking apart as they left your mouth. "I miss the you who used to wake me up at two in the morning just because you wanted to go for a drive and talk about the stars. I miss the you who would sit with me in the park for hours, who’d hold my hand and listen — really listen. Now…" Your voice cracked, feeling your breath stutter. "Now I just sit here and watch you burn yourself out for everyone else but not even at least relax with me."

Armin’s eyes shimmered with something between panic and disbelief. He stood up so abruptly the chair scraped against the floor, harsh and jarring. "But I’m doing all this for us!" His voice was louder now, breaking from its usual softness. "Everything I’ve been working for — it’s for you, for our future! I thought you knew that!"

"At the cost of me?" you shot back, standing up as well. Your tears finally broke free, hot and relentless, sliding down your cheeks. "You think I need all of that? The job titles, the prestige, the perfect future on paper? I just wanted you, Armin! Just you! And you left me behind. I sit alone every night, waiting for you, convincing myself that it's temporary. But it’s not, is it? This is who you are now."

His face crumpled, and he looked so utterly heartbroken it almost made you falter. "I never meant to leave you behind," he whispered.

You laughed bitterly, wiping at your face with the sleeve of your jumper. "Meaning to or not, you did."

He took a step toward you. "Please… please don't do this." His voice cracked. "Please."

You shook your head, sobbing quietly. "I’m so tired of begging for scraps of your time. I'm tired of feeling like a second thought. I can’t keep doing this to myself, Armin. I love you, but I don’t even recognize who we are anymore."

He reached for you, but you stepped back again. That hurt him more than any words could have. He looked down at his feet, shoulders trembling.

"I can change," he whispered desperately. His voice sounded like a plea, a promise wrapped in panic. "I just… I didn’t realize. I didn’t see how far away I’d gotten. Give me time, I’ll fix it."

"I gave you time," you whispered, choking on the words. "So much time. I kept waiting for you to come back to me. But every day you drifted further." You swallowed hard. "I don’t want to leave, Armin. But I think if I stay… I’ll lose myself."

He broke then. His legs gave out, and he sank onto the floor, running his hands through his hair in a stressful manner. You had never seen him so fragile, so broken. His breaths came in ragged gasps, and guilt crashed over you like a tidal wave. But you couldn't undo this.

You knelt down in front of him, your hand hovering near his cheek but not touching. You knew if you touched him, you wouldn’t be able to go through with it. "I will always love you," you whispered, trembling. "But I need to love myself too."

Armin shook his head frantically, tears spilling freely. "No… no, don’t go. Please. I’ll make it right. I’ll make it better. I need you."

"I needed you too," you whispered, standing slowly.

The walk to the door felt impossible. Your legs were heavy, every step tearing you apart inside. You paused with your hand on the doorknob, breathing shallow and sharp.

"I hope one day… you find someone who doesn't have to ask for your time," you said softly.

Armin’s broken whisper followed you as you opened the door: "It was always supposed to be you."

You stepped out into the rain, the door closing softly behind you, and for the first time in forever — you let yourself fall apart.

[sahmiarlert]

The Rain Knows Our Secret

The rain had started as a soft drizzle, nothing more than a whisper against the roof. Armin had arrived just before it picked up, shaking out his umbrella as he stepped inside, his blond hair slightly damp from the misty air. He greeted your brother with the usual ease, exchanging a handshake, a casual smile. He barely glanced in your direction when he passed by, but you still felt the shift in the air when he did.

It wasn’t unusual. Armin came over often. He and your brother had been friends for a while now, and he treated your house like a second home. But despite how often he visited, you and him rarely talked.

Not because you didn’t want to.

And maybe not because he didn’t want to, either.

You weren’t sure what it was that kept you both in this quiet limbo, this space where you existed near each other but never quite reached out. Maybe it was because you were a little younger, because you were your brother’s little sister, because there were invisible lines neither of you wanted to cross. But sometimes, when he thought no one was looking, you caught him watching you.

And now, for the first time in a while, you were alone with him.

Your brother had left only a few minutes ago, needing to pick up something from a friend’s house down the street. It was supposed to be quick. Ten, fifteen minutes at most. But in those minutes, the rain had gone from a drizzle to a storm, hammering against the windows, sending streaks of water racing down the glass.

And you were both standing in the front hallway, silent, listening.

Armin cleared his throat. “It got bad fast,” he murmured, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets.

You nodded. “Yeah. My brother’s probably going to get soaked.”

He chuckled softly, shifting his weight. Another moment of silence stretched between you before he turned to the door, peering through the small window beside it. “I like the rain,” he admitted. “It’s… I don’t know. Calming.”

You hesitated before stepping closer, standing beside him, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him. “I like it too.”

Outside, the streetlights glowed against the slick pavement, reflecting off the puddles forming in the cracks. The night felt softer like this, wrapped in the sound of falling rain.

Neither of you spoke.

But then, before you could stop yourself, you said, “You dont talk to me much anymore.”

Armin inhaled sharply, and you immediately regretted it.

You weren’t even sure why you said it. Maybe because it had been bothering you for months now. Maybe because you wanted to hear what excuse he would give.

Or maybe because a small part of you hoped he’d say something else.

He was quiet for a long time before finally responding. “I don’t mean to avoid you,” he said carefully, his voice low, like he was choosing each word with too much care.

You turned your head to look at him. “Then why do you?”

He swallowed, still staring out at the rain. “Because if I don’t… I might look at you the way I shouldn’t.”

Your breath caught.

Slowly, he turned his head to face you. The warm glow from the porch light cast soft shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp cut of his jaw, the blue in his eyes that always reminded you of the ocean. But right now, they looked deeper, darker, like the storm outside.

“y/n, I uh...,” he murmured, barely above the sound of the rain.

You could feel it now—the space between you growing smaller, the air charged with something neither of you had acknowledged before. The way he was looking at you, like he had been holding back for too long.

And maybe you were tired of pretending, too.

A loud clap of thunder shook the house, making you flinch. Armin blinked, like the moment had been broken, and let out a nervous laugh. He took a small step back, running a hand through his hair.

“I should—I should check if he’s almost back,” he said quickly, pulling out his phone. His hands trembled slightly.

You watched him, your heart pounding. You wanted to say something. To reach out, to hold onto the moment before it slipped away completely.

But instead, you only nodded.

The rain continued to fall, whispering all the things you couldn’t say.

[sahmiarlert]

Drunken cries

The party had started off normal enough. A rare celebration—one of those nights where the weight of war was temporarily lifted from everyone's shoulders. The air smelled of burnt wood and cheap alcohol, laughter echoing under the dim glow of lanterns.

Armin hadn’t meant to drink so much. In fact, he hadn’t even planned to drink at all. But Jean had shoved a cup into his hands, Connie had egged him on, and one sip turned into two, turned into three, turned into—well, here you were now.

And Armin was crying.

Not just a single tear, not just a quiet sniffle. Full-on, uncontrollable sobbing.

You sat cross-legged on the floor beside him, his head resting in your lap as he hiccupped between pitiful little whimpers. His face was flushed, his eyes glassy, and his hands clutched onto your sleeve like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to the world.

You stroked his hair gently, voice soft. “Armin, what’s wrong?”

He took a shuddering breath, pressing his cheek into your thigh, completely unbothered by how vulnerable he looked. “It’s just… it’s just so sad,” he mumbled.

“What is?”

His lips wobbled. “Everything.”

You bit back a smile. “You’re gonna have to be a little more specific, Armin.”

He sniffled, taking a shaky breath. “Peace is so far away.”

Oh.

You softened instantly.

“I know,” you murmured, brushing a strand of golden hair away from his damp cheek. “But we’ll get there, Armin. I promise.”

But he just shook his head, scrubbing at his eyes with his sleeve. “What if I never get it? What if none of us do?” His voice cracked. “What if—what if I mess up and get us all k-killed before we ever get the chance—?”

His breath hitched, and a fresh wave of tears spilled down his face. Your heart clenched at the raw, unfiltered fear in his voice.

“You won’t,” you reassured, but he wasn’t listening.

His fingers curled tighter into your sleeve, like a child clinging to a lifeline. “I try so hard, I swear I do, but what if it’s not enough? What if I’m not enough?” His voice broke completely, shaking with exhaustion and something deeper—something years in the making.

And suddenly, he was sobbing about everything.

About the friends they’d lost. About how he wasn’t as strong as Mikasa, as brave as Eren-though you begged to differ. About how war was cruel and unfair and how he wished he could just be normal.

About how he hated killing. About how he hated himself for being able to do it.

And then—“I love your smile,” he whimpered.

You froze at such a random compliment.

Armin’s face was red, his bottom lip trembling. “It makes me feel like things might be okay. Even when I’m scared. Even when everything is terrible. Your smile makes me feel safe.”

The words hit you harder than they should have.

His gaze was bleary, unfocused, but honest. Painfully honest.

You exhaled softly, lifting a hand to his cheek, wiping away the damp streaks. “You’re enough, Armin,” you whispered. “You always have been.”

He hiccupped again, but his fingers loosened, his hold on your sleeve no longer desperate. Slowly, the exhaustion settled in, weighing down his body. His lashes fluttered, his sniffles slowing.

You stayed like that, cradling him gently, whispering reassurances until his breathing evened out and his body went slack.

Tomorrow, he’d wake up mortified.

But tonight? Tonight, you’d stay.

[sahmiarlert]

Thank you to everyone who got me to 250 likes!

[sahmiarlert]

Ocean-Themed Date

Aot au armin x modern au reader

You knew Armin loved the ocean—his dream of seeing it had always been something sacred, something untouchable. But since you couldn’t bring him to the sea just yet, you figured this was the next best thing.

"Where are we going?" Armin asked, his fingers laced with yours as you led him through the city streets.

"It’s a surprise," you said with a small smile, squeezing his hand. He glanced at you, curiosity and excitement lighting up his blue eyes.

When you finally arrived at the aquarium, Armin's breath caught in his throat. His grip on your hand tightened as he took in the massive glass walls filled with swirling blue water, fish drifting lazily through the currents.

"What- what is this?" His voice was soft, filled with wonder.

You nodded. "Its called an aquarium. It has sea animals like dolphins, sharks, penguins, seals etcetera just like I showed you online. I know it’s not the real ocean, but I thought you’d like it."

Armin looked at you as if you'd hung the stars in the sky just for him. "I love it."

Stepping inside, the two of you wandered through the dimly lit halls, surrounded by glowing tanks filled with sea creatures of every shape and color. Armin was completely entranced, stopping every few steps to observe the fish, pointing out details with an excited gleam in his eyes.

"Look at this one!" he exclaimed, tugging you toward a large tank where a stingray glided gracefully through the water. "I read that stingrays have electroreceptors that help them detect prey!"

You chuckled, resting your chin on his shoulder as you listened. "You’re so cute when you get excited like this."

Armin froze for a moment before slowly turning to look at you, his face already starting to turn pink. "I—I wasn’t expecting that," he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.

You smiled, tugging him toward the next exhibit—a massive tunnel where fish swam overhead, casting shifting blue light across your faces. Armin's eyes widened in awe as he stepped forward, spinning slowly to take it all in.

"This is incredible," he whispered. "It's like... being underwater."

You watched him quietly, your heart swelling at how much joy this brought him. After a moment, you reached for his hand again. "I’m really happy you like it."

Armin turned to you, and for a second, he just stared. His eyes were soft, full of something warm and unspoken. Then, slowly, he brought your intertwined hands up to his lips, pressing the gentlest kiss to your knuckles.

"I like it," he murmured. "But I love you more."

Your breath hitched slightly, heat rushing to your face. Armin looked just as flustered as you, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he let his forehead rest lightly against yours, his fingers tightening around yours.

In that quiet moment, surrounded by the shifting blue light of the aquarium, it almost felt like the two of you were floating—drifting together in a sea all your own. While you knew armin still has to go back to his home at some point, you would cherish every moment you have left with him.

[sahmiarlert]

Distracted by You

The sound of chatter from your family filled the air, but your attention wasn’t entirely there. The usual banter and laughter faded into the background as your phone vibrated in your pocket. You glanced at it, and there it was—his name.

Your heart fluttered as you carefully unlocked your phone and peeked at the message. A picture of Armin, his face bathed in golden sunlight, the sky behind him a soft blue that matched his eyes. And that smile. The smile that made your heart skip a beat. The one that could melt glaciers. It was so pure, so Armin.

You could already feel your cheeks flushing as you tried to focus on the conversation around you. Your mom was talking about something, but the words were lost to the haze of distraction. You smiled, looking back at the picture of Armin, then cursed yourself internally. I’m trying to pay attention to them... why does he have to do this?

With a groan, you typed back a quick response, trying to seem composed, but your fingers were shaking, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips that you couldn’t hide.

Moments later, another picture came through. Armin again, in front of the ocean, the waves crashing behind him, his hair ruffling in the breeze. And there it was again: that smile. Your breath hitched. You couldn’t hold it back any longer. You groaned quietly under your breath, feeling yourself slip deeper into the vortex of cuteness. The messages were making it impossible to focus!

“Are you okay?” your brother asked, his voice pulling you back to reality.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you mumbled, too distracted by the image to give a proper response. You couldn’t stop thinking about Armin’s innocent smile, the way his eyes sparkled as if the world was a little brighter whenever he was around.

The room felt stuffy. You needed to meet him in person. Just to get your bearings straight again.

A few hours passed, and the moment you arrived at the usual spot where you two liked to meet, there he was. Standing with that same adorable, radiant smile, as if he hadn’t just completely derailed your focus all afternoon. His eyes lit up when he saw you, and your heart did that little flip it always did.

“Hey,” he greeted you with that soft tone that made everything feel warm.

Before he could say anything else, you found yourself instinctively walking up to him, cupping his face, and squishing his cheeks. His eyes widened in surprise.

“Stop sending me those pictures,” you said with mock annoyance, even though your smile betrayed you. “You keep distracting me with how cute you look! I’m trying to have a conversation, but all I can think about is you and your adorable smile!”

Armin blinked, his cheeks turning pink at your touch. “Maybe... just don’t look at them? Wait until you’re ready?” he suggested, tilting his head slightly to the side, that innocent smile playing at the corners of his lips.

You stared at him for a moment, trying to hold onto the act of frustration. His innocent expression, paired with that smile, was enough to make you lose your composure. You couldn’t keep up the annoyed facade.

Instead, you gave him a blank look, only for him to give a soft laugh, that quiet chuckle that made your heart race.

And just like that, your heart melted, your hands gently releasing his cheeks. “You’re annoying sometimes,” you murmured, the softest smile curving your lips. “I just can’t win with you.”

Armin’s smile softened, and he took a step closer, placing a hand on your shoulder. “It’s not about winning or losing. It’s just... me trying to make you smile,” he said gently, his eyes full of sincerity.

You let out a breath, completely charmed by his words and the warmth radiating from him. "You do that better than anyone else."

“Good,” he said, his voice low and soothing, “because I’ll always try.”

You gazed into his eyes and the world felt like it was a little brighter, just like it always did when he was around.

[sahmiarlert]

Unspoken Envy

Armin wasn’t sure when it started. Maybe it had always been there, a quiet ache buried beneath logic and self-restraint, something he could ignore until it became unbearable.

He sat at the edge of the training grounds, hands curled into the fabric of his uniform as his gaze flickered toward you and Jean.

The two of you stood near the stables, engaged in an easy conversation that had Jean throwing his head back in laughter. You nudged him with your elbow, rolling your eyes, but there was no mistaking the warmth behind the gesture.

Armin knew that look. That familiarity. That ease.

He had seen it and worn it himself with Eren and Mikasa for years—a closeness that was effortless, unshaken by the horrors around them. It was the kind of bond that didn’t need constant reaffirmation because it was simply there.

And yet, when Armin was with you, it was different. He knew you cared about him; that wasn’t the problem. You understood each other, had deep conversations, and could spend hours talking about books or the world beyond the walls. But there was always a hesitation on his part, a carefulness in his words, a fear that if he said the wrong thing, you’d look at him differently.

Jean didn’t seem to have that problem.

Jean could tease you, argue with you, and even if the words were sharp, there was no sting. There was no fear that one wrong word would push the other away. You could tell him anything, and Armin wondered if you ever hesitated with Jean the way you did with him.

He hated that it bothered him.

“Armin?”

He blinked, suddenly aware that Mikasa was watching him. Her eyes, always perceptive, followed his line of sight toward you.

He swallowed. “It’s nothing.”

Eren scoffed. “Doesn’t look like nothing.”

Armin bit his lip. He should say something, anything to brush it off, but the words didn’t come. Instead, his fingers curled tighter against his sleeve as Jean joked with you playfully, and you laughed—really laughed.

And Armin wished, selfishly, that you looked at him like that.

[sahmiarlert]

You're My World (obsessive/unhealthy)

Armin loves you more than anything. More than the ocean, more than his books, more than his own life. And at first, it's beautiful. The way he prioritizes you, how he listens so intently when you speak, how he makes you feel like the most important person in the world.

But over time, something shifts.

You notice how he stops talking about his dreams of living by the ocean. How he stops making plans with his friends unless you’re involved. How his books gather dust on the shelf because the only thing he wants to study now is you.

"You're my world," he tells you one night, his voice soft but heavy with something you can’t name. His hands cradle yours like they’re something sacred, like they’re the only thing anchoring him to reality. "I don’t need anything else."

It should be romantic. It is romantic. But why does it feel like a weight pressing down on your chest?

At first, you try to ignore it. You tell yourself it’s just love, that Armin simply loves you deeply, wholly. But then you start noticing the way he looks at you whenever you mention doing things on your own. The subtle shift in his expression when you make plans that don’t involve him.

And then one day, you casually suggest that he should spend time with Eren and Mikasa again—without you.

He stiffens. His fingers tighten around yours, just for a second, before loosening again. "Why would I do that?" he asks, smiling in that gentle, disarming way of his. "You're the only person I want to be with."

His words should make you happy. They don’t.

You start to test it—mentioning books he used to love, places he used to want to visit, people he used to be close to. But every time, he dismisses it.

"I don’t care about those things anymore."

"I only want to be where you are."

"If I have you, nothing else matters."

And it hits you then. He isn’t living anymore. Not for himself. Not for his dreams. Not for anything other than you.

He’s made you his entire world. And if you ever left… you don’t know what would happen.

So now, you’re trapped. Not because Armin is cruel. Not because he threatens you. But because you realise that if you leave, you won’t just be breaking up with him.

You’ll be destroying him.

And no matter how much this love suffocates you… you don’t think you have the heart to do that.