#armin arlert x y/n

[heliiacus]

to traverse this with you

tags: armin x reader, forced proximity, bathing together (technically), sexual tension, flower crowns & sentimentalities, love confessions, virgin!reader, loss of virginity, oral sex (f!receiving), penetrative sex, reader uses she/her pronouns

warnings: sexual content - MDNI!

words: 6.8k | masterlist

They used to love one another, long ago. Not loudly, nor ferociously, or even in a way that the other knew about, but they did. She knows that now. It could have stayed simple. They could have stayed apart. It has been years since she's been deployed to Marley, to live and work under a secret identity; and grieve as she may have for him, she could have lived with it. She really could have. They could have stayed star-crossed, torn away by war, but things just had to get difficult. Now, with tensions rising, she is forced to relocate – to trek through the lone mountains in the desolate Marleyan wilderness, in an attempt to clandestinely reach a port outside Liberio. And in another world it would have, perhaps, been a task of a casual undertaking. It could have been simple. Were it not for him, by her side: the man she has grieved for this entire time. Were it not for this one simple, stupid mistake.

It is the day before the night they would spend last in these mountains, and she does not think about it.

She does not.

When she wakes, she finds she is not the first. She finds him smiling faintly, his hand brushing at her temple as he wakes her. She laughs, or she tries to, chuckling weakly in the midst of the sleep that is pulling her back.

She does not think about it. Instead, she rises, chattering lightly about the upcoming hike. Instead, she keeps hold of the dream she had that night, wishing their endless, sheltering road into this waking world.

When they walk, she stays a step ahead, soles aching each time he would catch up. And still her mind feels burdened, swollen with the afterthoughts of the harbour in these mountains; of her time here, tied by the hip to the man who just keeps, incessantly, not letting her step be ahead.

It isn't until he takes another step forward that her mind clears. He steps in front of her, hand outstretched towards her, and she pauses – all of her does. She looks to him, and then she follows his gaze, and then she sees it: alive, murmurating – a bend of a river, its stream gentler than she remembers it. She hears it now, speaking softly.

"Is that the same one?" He asks her, eyes wide. He is laughing before she confirms it, the sound light and tittering.

"It is," she laughs with him, head shaking at the absurdity, and as soon as she feels his hand on hers, she takes off, running towards it. Armin's laughter echoes loudly, oscillating between the hills, and he follows her, step in step.

Her backpack thuds when she slings it off her shoulders. The jacket she wore follows swiftly, though much more gingerly this time around. It isn't until her shoes are off that Armin protests: "Wait," he tells her, loudly at first. "Wait," he repeats, weaker, and then he is at the foot of the river, hands in the water. "Won't you get cold? And we're so close to the city, what if someone passes by?"

"Armin," she says, her sternness so feeble in the wake of her snicker. "It has been days since we've been by a body of water. I don't care how close we are to the city, I am bathing, and I am bathing now."

"But what if–" and he turns around then, so swiftly she sees him stumble in his step, and his ears burst into a scarlet red; all because he'd peered at her hands, reaching to the top button of her shirt.

"Join me or take watch," she tells him, laughing as she sees him bristle at her words, his back tight and shoulders rising; she swears she can hear him mumble, right beneath his nose: not funny, she thinks he says, and she has the decency to let her shoulders shake quietly.

"Fine," he finally tells her, back turned to her. He points in the far-right direction of the river. "You go there. I'll bathe here."

Amused or not, now she finds herself undressing swiftly, feeling, with a tension in her stomach, that it is her turn to bristle. Though she turns away, she does not hear him undress – not until she wades into the water, bar of soap in hand. He'd waited for her, she realises, and she feels the skin of her throat heat at the thought.

Here, in the flowing water, she feels the cold within it bite her, but this, still, feels good – or she tells herself that, ears sharp at attention as she hears Armin join her in the water, several feet down the stream. Her breath hitches at the sound, chest contracting against her will; she hears him clearly, the water stirring at the disturbance of his body, and her hand nearly trembles as she drags the soap across her skin.

They wash in silence, her skin on pins and needles. She thinks he will say something; she thinks she should say something. Instead they stand, backs facing, bathing in the stream. It is cold, so cold, and yet the skin of her back heats inexplicably, muscles taut and tense. Her fingers dig into her scalp, begging her mind to clear with the soap, and it is when it flashes in her mind – urgent, tantalizing, the urge to turn around – that she sinks herself whole into the water, her hair feathering before her eyes.

She gasps when she rises, and she hears him – meek and startled, no doubt seeking to ask if she's okay. "I’m done," she says before he can, before her mind catches up to her again. "I’m getting out now."

He is quiet, for a moment. She knows he stands there, unmoving – turning, most likely, even further away from her. Eventually, he tells her: "Okay," and it sounds so horribly stiff.

She dries and dresses swiftly; too swiftly, hands shaking, buttons defiant. She nearly mixes up her shoes. Her hair drips down her back, rivulets running across the skin that is bare, and she thinks it should cool her, she thinks she should be cold – but each part of her heats, near blazing.

When she is done, she just stands there, hands in fists; curling, uncurling, over and over, breath difficult and strained in her chest. She hears, with an agonizing awareness, as Armin walks out the water, as he dries himself quietly, as he dresses. She keeps her eyes shut, as if in some sort of penance, and her breath does not still until she knows he is done.

Then he is by her side, and he touches her hair – and she gasps, startled by his proximity, his eyes wide as he steps back. He raises his hands, apology on the precipice. "I’m sorry," she says ahead of him. "You startled me."

"I was just.. Your hair," he says, gesturing in its direction. "Won't you get cold? Does it take long to dry?"

She gapes at him, momentarily. Then she bristles, taken aback by her own reaction. She takes a strand into her hands, the one he has touched. "Not too long," she says, and she is stricken as she feels this staggering urge for him to touch it again. "It's warm today. It'll take a few hours."

She looks back at him. He looks back at her. He seems to ease, a sort of relief coming over him, and yet still he seems tense, shoulders hunched as if in worry.

"Okay," he breathes, hands at his sides. "Okay, well, um – let's keep walking."

"Let's," she says, just as absently.

And they do. And the longer they do, the easier breathing becomes. The further the river is, the quieter it grows, so does her mind, and it seems like Armin's does, too – though slow, their chatter picks back up, and all the while, she watches him pick lone flowers on their path, weaving them into a wreath.

"Mikasa taught me," he tells her along the road, smiling fondly at his creation. She, in turn, watches with awe as his fingers weave at it with so little effort. "Back in Shiganshina."

"We didn't make these where I grew up," she tells him, keeping up her step with the man. "Is it difficult? You make it look effortless."

"It's easy," he tells her, turning to grin at her – that soft, private smile he seems to have reserved only for when she can look him in the eye. "I'll teach you. Here," the man stops, reaching the wreath out to her. His eyes glint in the mid-afternoon light, and the wind is still. "Put it on."

She blinks at him. "Put it on?"

He just chuckles at her. Then he steps closer, and she, so suddenly, becomes aware of the hair sticking to the nape of her neck. "It's a crown," he tells her softly, hands above her head. His hands don't touch her as he becrowns her, and yet it feels heavy on her head, heated from the ghost of his fingers on the stems. Then he looks down, and he grins wide, as if charmed. "There you go."

Her cheeks heat. "I feel ridiculous," she admits to him, and yet she can't help but begin to unravel beneath his look, so warm and attentive and, most oddly, proud; as if he'd really made it for her.

He laughs at her words, loud and unabashed, and he does not take a step back. "To be fair, it's for kids mostly," he admits, but they were kids no longer, she knows that now – standing pinned in front of him, she finds that the lightweight, feathering innocence of their childhood friendship has long since transformed, taking shape of something larger, something intricate and complex – something, she knows, now way out of her control. And even still, the chrysanthemums lay heavy and tight around her, and she can't help but feel her heart bloom with them, flowering under the sun within his gaze. "It looks good on you," he tells her then, and what is she to do? She smiles widely at him, hand touching at the petals.

"Let's go already," she says with no heft to the words, and he does so gladly, step in step.

They walk until evening, one that comes quicker than the rest, the sun now giving way to the coming colder, darker months. They make no stops until then, none except one – a time when she bounds for a growing sapling at the edge of their road, seeking, at Armin's advice, to hang the crown there. It would be no good to pull attention in Liberio, he mused with her sadly, and she'd told him then, she did – she will find a good place for it. With Armin ahead, waiting for her, she reaches upwards to lay the crown upon the budding tree, and there is only a moment, fleeting and precious, where she thinks to stuff the crown into her pack, to keep it safe and sound forever, crumpled or not, but then she decides to not. She leaves the crown where it shall be, somewhere growing, somewhere safe, and then she runs back to Armin, ready to soon set camp.

That same night, by the fire, he teaches her how to weave it – five blossoms in each of their hands, he teaches her, over and over, until hers looks just like his do, and she is laughing lightly, easily, triumphant for walls know what. It doesn't still until she feels his hand on her hair again, touching a strand – tentatively, this time; fearlessly. "It's dry now," he tells her, hand still on her hair; even though it has been dry for hours now.

And they sit closely, side by side, until the embers smolder weakly, giving in to the cold weather. They sit until they should tire, even if they don't – fuelled, she knows, by the second breath of the knowledge that this night will be the last.

They don't part, not really, when they go to sleep. They lay as close as they would, voices hushed with a faulty exhaustion, and though she feels her blood heat and her heart pump, though her mind burns with this feeling of his hands at her back, she can't help but think it: it is the last night. It is the last night. And she feels a sort of desperation surge through her, keening and clawing at her heart, and though she knows she won't be separated from him, she also knows something has changed between them, here, in-between these desolate hills – and she does not want it to end.

She finds herself, despite her own better judgement, clinging to him: she finds herself pulling herself closer, her hands twisting tightly into the back of his shirt, seeking, almost futilely, to close this horrid gap between them; and he makes this sound, thick and deep in his throat, and before she can even think anything of it, his hands pull at her, sinking into the flesh of her back. He pulls her closer, closer, as if tugged by the same kind of desperation, or as if, perhaps, he'd been waiting to do so, all these nights.

She's so close she can smell the soap on his skin, and she can smell the faint vanilla that follows him each day. She lays her head at his throat, nearly feeling the pulse that trembles within it, and her hands do so of their own accord as they sink into his hair, soft; far softer than she'd imagined, softer even than it used to be. And she sighs then, feeling him flush against herself; she feels as if some urge has been sated, as if some fear – soothed, and she barely notices her nails grazing at his scalp. She would not have, if it weren't for him – if it weren't for him, for this soft gasp at the crown of her head. If it weren't for the foreign hardness growing near her thigh.

All at once, his entire body stiffens, and his hold changes. She hears him inhale, sharp and stern, and she feels him try to rise, to move away – she hears him begin to apologise.

"Stop," she tells him, breathless, and he does; and all at once she makes the space – to look at him. To look right at him. She feels his heart thud dangerously hard beneath her palm. His eyes are wide, wild with a panic that seethes within his chest, and she looks at him, feeling his hold on her waver. Quietly, she finds the words; quietly, she asks him: "Is this how you feel?"

His eyes grow downcast, a blush so harsh crossing over his face. He takes a moment, or perhaps he doesn't – time stretches all the same, and then he replies with a simple: "Yes."

And it is the way he says it. Shy, and embarrassed, but so tight and so fierce that they just lay there, not speaking for a moment. She lay feeling the heart at her palm, thud, thud, thud. She finds herself, in an almost grotesque manner, wanting to reach for it – to soothe it, in any way she'd know how.

Instead, her hand slides upwards, soon reaching the skin of his throat, at which he holds his breath. Then her hand settles at his jaw, and he sighs, the sound rattled and forced. He says her name, softly, so softly, his voice so strained it almost sounds painful to her ears. Her hand splays across his jaw, and all the while, she can feel him so clearly against her thigh. He leans into the contact, as if pulled, as if magnetized, eyes closing and shut tight, his face near screwed. Her hand nearly shakes with the fervor that enters her, as if from him to her, as if it were made of the same material as the warmth they have shared all these nights.

Once more, he exhales harshly, and she feels it fan against the thin skin of her wrist.

"Look at me," she finds herself saying, as if dazed. And he does. His eyes rise as if on command, as if he were in a position where he would not deny her anything, and it twists at her heart. He looks at her as if he were stricken, a deer caught in a hunt, awed by the glint of the arrow. "Armin," she breathes, the name leaving her lips on instinct. "It's okay."

"I don't want you to feel.." he trails off, and then he gasps, as if the word were too heavy for him to even say it. His hands grow soft around her, more hesitant – but his hold does not, and neither do his eyes, steeled and focused and so, so conflicted,

"Obligated?" She finishes, her thumb so close to his lip. Her heart is rabid. He screws his eyes shut again, for a moment so short it seems meaningless, and then he opens them, and then he looks at her again, and her mind unravels at its seams when she sees the look in his eyes. In it, a craving grows, an unfiltered affection which burns high and deep within him – deep down, she knew it was there, she knew it, but now that she sees it, so clearly and so brazenly, she finds herself drowning, and sinking, and unmoored all at once.

"Tell me clearly," she nearly pleads with him, control melting at the edges. "Tell me clearly, Armin: do you want this?"

"I do," he chokes out, "I do. I..” And her palm, snuggled so flushly against his jaw, heats. Her thumb moves, almost of its own accord, and it brushes against his lower lip – and instead of finishing his sentence, Armin gasps. His hand, once so tentative, lists reflexively to her wrist, wrapping around it, holding it there, at his jaw. He looks at her with eyes wide and transfixed, nearly pleading – no, not nearly enough. He is pleading with her. He may not say it, but he is.

Her hand twitches in his hold. Her breath flutters. And then, once he sees something in her, he does plead with her. "Kiss me," he tells her, voice so low and thin it drives a punch straight through her core. "Please," he whispers when she begins to pull herself closer, and then again, as their lips are an inch apart: "Please." And there is no shock when she does. No all-encompassing jolt, unlike she expected. But he shifts. His entire being does. As if unwound by some oath, there is no breath shared between this and the moment she feels his lips on hers, and by then all else becomes moot point.

Her heart sings, unwound, at the feeling of his hand at her jaw. Her hands find his hair again, winding into it greedily, and she pulls him closer, closer, and he abides her – rolling over to press on top of her, breath hot as he kisses her back, as he kisses her first – as he sucks on her bottom lip, as he hums when she does the same. It is chaste, and gentle, and simple, and she feels drunk on the feeling of him kissing her, then parting, breathless, then kissing her again; of him holding her there, bereft of any hesitation, their kisses longing and heavy with yearning.

And it is she, then, who deepens the kiss, it is she who tugs at his shirt, she who brushes her tongue against his lip, and it is as if a second wind passes into him at it. His hands nestle into her hair with a fervor, and she lets him, angling her head back, letting him take hold of her. He deepens the kiss, jaw tight as their tongues brush against one another, and there's this sound that leaves her throat, low and quick and so desperate, and he pulls away at it, gasping for air. His forehead touches hers as the both of them heave, watching one another, and the gaze with which he looks upon her bursts with a longing, enveloping her whole. He pulls away, just a fraction, as if overwhelmed with the suddenness of their circumstance, and he takes her hand off his cheek, he pulls it tightly, flushly against his chest. He holds it there with an urgency that speaks to her before he does, and he looks pained for a moment, desperate; as if trying to tell her something through the gesture alone – as if he were looking for words that have lived in him for months, years.

"It's yours," he says, tone burnt with a passion that steals her breath. "Do you feel it?" He asks, her palm against his heart, loud – so loud. "I’m yours."

She blinks hard and ruthless, keeping back the tears that burn through her, and a fierce relief floods her. She tries to tell him, to say 'me too', but her tongue ties itself together, so instead she pulls at him, she leans into him, and she kisses him, and kisses him. "Armin," she whispers into him, "Armin." Hands in her hair, lips at her jaw, she feels weak in his hold, so carefully attentive. "I want you," leaves her mouth, feeble and desperate, and she repeats it, just as weakly, and he gasps against her lips.

"Do you know," he says in-between the pants, "do you know how long I've dreamt of you?" She tries to answer, she does, but his gaze, dark and blooming, has her pinned; his thumb brushes at her cheek, and it has her bewitched. "Every night," he continues, leaning to kiss her once the words pass, and he stops right before it. "Every night." He kisses her, brief and chaste. "Here," he angles her neck, and she lets him, feeling his lips at her throat; then his teeth, grazing gently. "When you left." His tongue follows, a wet line drawn across her clavicle. "Before you left."

Her breath shudders at his attention. It suffocates her. Her hands tremble in his hair, but so unlike they have ever before. "Please," she pleads, for what even she does not know, and he looks at her, he rises and he looks right at her, a sort of grief, an intensity settling in his eyes.

"I want you," he repeats. "I want you. Let me have you, Y/N. Please."

"Have me," she breathes, her palm cupping gently the skin of his cheek, and his eyes flutter shut, the entirety of him leaning desperately into the contact. "Make me yours."

It is as if it takes a moment to settle for him. As if he needs to decide if he truly believes what he's just heard. And then she sees it: a spark, a fire, and then a forest burning, all enchanted into his eyes, locked with hers.

Then his eyes are on her shirt, on the button he'd been so awfully shy about this morning, and he looks back at her, a question in his gaze. Her hands leave him, settling on the button, then reaching back to where they belong, curling around him lovingly – letting him decide what he wants.

And he does. Hands precise and gentle, her shirt is undone by them, and then he helps her out of it, the span of her upper body opening to him. He inhales, the sound trembling, and as he watches her so, so intently, his frame shudders when he touches the bare skin of her shoulder. He gasps, hand nearly twitching against her skin. Then he looks back up at her, meeting her gaze, and she sees a wildfire in them.

And with just a tinge of hesitation, he lowers himself to kiss her sternum, urged forward by the soft gasp that leaves her lips. He kisses lower, and lower, and then he kisses at her breast, tongue soon curling around her nipple; softly at first, then harder, spurred on by the whine that escapes her throat. And his kisses trail soon after, slow and steady and so meticulous in their exploration of her, and she sucks in a breath when she feels a hand of his settle on the buckle of her belt.

"Is this okay?" He asks her, pausing to look up at her, and her chest blooms with a warmth at the tentative care in his eyes.

"It is," she says, her hands joining his upon the buckle. "Armin," she calls, and he stays still, he stays looking at her. "I've never done this before," she admits, the gentle grasp he has on her hip now searing her from the inside out. She shifts beneath his gaze, which flutters, then steels in an odd, indecipherable way.

"That's okay," he breathes, and she feels his fingers ghost over the skin of her waist. "I have. I will.. I'll take care of you." And she feels it, his hand twitch lightly upon her skin – and she sees him bite the inside of his cheek. And then he asks her: "Are you sure you want to?"

"Yes," she tells him, quick and so desperate that it seems to spur a different kind of need in him, and she dare not feel embarrassed at being so open, so flayed before him. "Yes," she repeats, unbuckling her belt, and this time he does not hesitate. He drags her pants off her frame, gentle and decisive in a manner she has already learnt from him, and as she lay there with her knees pushed together, his hands nestle at the back of them, looking at her, once more, with a gentle question in his eyes.

And he won't do this himself, she knows this. Her thighs tremble visibly as she spreads them for him, and a heavy sigh leaves his chest, and then his eyes burn into her, at her – watching her naked before him, legs spread for him. He lays a cheek against the top of her thigh, gaze transfixed on her, his eyes heavy-lidded.

"You're so pretty," he tells her breathlessly, as if lost deeply in thought, as if he'd ached to tell her that for so, so long.

Her insides flip, watching him tower over her spread legs, and she has a distinct, mind-numbing realisation that it is him who watches her with those ravenous eyes. It is Armin who holds her thigh, who's pulled her closer to him. Him who seeks to please her; to have her to himself.

She fights to breathe in. Her chest caves beneath the feeling, leaving her breathless and utterly pliable in his fingers. All the while, he watches her, needy intent shimmering with something larger, stronger. Yearning roils in him, she sees it now. And then he leans down, forward, to kiss at her thigh, and her mind grows blank and empty. He kisses her again, and again, trailing a path closer to her core, pausing only to graze his teeth at her, only to nuzzle into her flesh.

Then, so, so close to her, he looks back up at her, and he asks, voice low: "Can I kiss you here?"

"Please," leaves her, and it is all she can muster, but he does not need more from her. He leans in, his tongue curling into her tentatively and so, so slowly, his palms gliding down her thighs as he settles comfortably between them. He licks a trail through her folds, centering around her clit, and she keens, whining pitifully. Her hips strain on reflex, pulled closer to him, and he pulls away for a moment, smiling up at her.

"So pretty," he repeats, and then his hands sink into the flesh of her thighs, holding her back in place with a strength she did not know he has. Then he closes his mouth around her, and the pleasure is so sudden and violent, she feels as if she caught on fire. She loses composure, far faster than she'd imagined she ever would with him, and soon, hips locked in his vice grip, she has nothing else but pleading, but tugging, desperately, at his shirt, or at his hair. He licks and sucks at her with a firm pace, humming into her core, smiling as he hears her slowly, slowly come undone at his attention. And he watches her as he pulls pleasure from her; eyes dark and heavy, sated in a way she knows a wolf only could be, and she can't do anything, she can't do anything but pray for his name as she comes with his tongue at her core, lapping at her as if he were a man parched.

He continues to lap at her, greedily at that, even when she tugs at him once more, eager to feel him against her, but he does not give in. Instead, he pleads with her to go easy, to let him be greedy. "Let me take my time with you," he tells her, kissing at her thigh, "please."

And so she does. It is only when she's trembling in his hands, wound tight with a different, insatiable pleasure building fiercely in her, that he finally rises to meet her lips, nestling flushly between her legs. Her hands are back on his shirt then, shaking, undoing his buttons, and he lets her, towering over her as he watches her. He says her name softly, and he repeats it when he lets her take it off him. Then he takes her hands, he collects them so gingerly into his hold, and he touches her cheek.

"Do you want to continue?" He asks her, his gaze so sweetly concerned. "Are you sure?"

Her hands shake in his. Her exhale trembles. Her voice fails her. She needs to tell him – how desperately she's dreamed of him. Of this. Instead, she frees her hands, and she settles them at his jaw. "I need you," she tells him with such an earnestness that she's sure, she's sure he knows. And he sighs then, body wracked as if in relief.

Her hands reach for the clasp of his belt tentatively, and he lets her, but then undresses himself. She watches him, an odd sort of impatience beginning to burn at her from the feet up, and her eyes rave over the span of his chest, her own burning at the sight of him: lean and muscled, a soft, light trail of hair growing down his stomach, one that she feels an urgency to touch. He catches her gaze as he takes off his pants, pausing for just the briefest moment, and she holds it there as he undresses himself whole.

Then he pauses on his knees, his hand on her thigh, and there, as he stand there, he seems overcome. She thinks she knows what he feels: bare before one another, open beyond she'd dared dream of, it is as if the years spent together and the years spent apart all come together, to a close, undulating and culminating into this one, singular moment. Then he leans towards her, hand at her waist, and he kisses her: so deeply, so fervently, it steals all breath from her.

"Are you sure?" The words ghost over her lips, and for a moment she is taken with his eyelashes, long and crowning along his eyes, so filled with an emotion that has her chest in knots.

"I am," she tells him, hands at his cheeks, and she nearly cries. "I am."

His breath wavers and shakes as he enters her, which he does slowly, carefully, with one hand at her thigh for purchase, the other finding hers, clasping them together tightly. He watches her attentively, almost hawkishly; looking, she realises, for a sign of pain, or of discomfort.

And she lets him. She lets him take his time with her. She drowns in his meticulousness, in the careful nature with which he holds her; with which he comes to a hilt inside her, a rattling sigh leaving his lips, so restrained and so overwhelmed that she knows. She knows: he doesn't even feel it, the pleasure. Not until he knows that she does, too.

And by the time he is fully inside her, there is a gentle, sudden piercing – and then, just like that, it is gone in a flash. She feels a stretching that is both foreign and right, and then he whispers her name, so delicately that it has her gasping. Suddenly, his hand leaves her thigh, and it is at her cheek, and he is looking her in the eye, he is asking her, with so much unrestrained care: "Does it hurt?"

"It does not," she tells him, and then she is pulling him closer, then she is kissing him, and her knees rise to meet his waist, her hips urging him to move. "Make love to me," she pleads with him, heart flipping three times over as she feels him smile into her lips, and he does.

He does so slowly, sinking in and out of her with a heedfullness that has her head spinning. He glides in and out, pressed so close to her body, holding her so carefully. She feels him so clearly, stretching her with a tenderness, pushing against delicate spot after delicate spot inside her, and each one has her reeling, and each one never, somehow, ever skips his attention. This pleasure is different, she knows this now; slower, encompassing, dizzying with the feeling of her love inside her. And just like he, she watches him, too; lips apart, eyes glistening, beautiful before her, breathtakingly so. She swallows greedily the small whines that leave his throat each time he thrusts back into her, so breathy and ardent, and soon, very soon, she begins to lose her composure.

She feels it rise in her, tempting and needy, almost harrowing in its intensity; desire, fervor, whatever the hell it is that the poets call it – it feels so much greedier, so much more powerful than she ever could have put to words or imagined, and soon she pleads with him to go faster, to give her more. And he does so, abiding, eager; raising her hips with the one hand at her thigh, and then he looks back at her, almost startled, at the wanton noise that leaves her throat. Instead of stopping, it seems to burst him into flames, too, and he finds that spot again, and again, claiming this newfound land for his own. He fucks into her with a precision, watching her steadfastly, with this greedy, satisfied glint in his eye – and with it, he slowly unravels her. He turns his head, just so, biting gently at the fingers she holds at his jaw, and with a fierce look in his eye, he speaks into the skin of her palm, words uttered in a reverence; sweet words, filthy ones, each one sending aftershocks into her core, and as he rocks into her with a mind-numbing languidness, he asks her: "Does that feel good, sweetheart?"

And it's the way he says it, lustful and needy as he sinks into her flesh – it has her thighs shaking at his waist; it has her whining his name, it nearly has her pleading, pleading for gods know what.

"It does," instead she tells him; "Don't stop," she tells him, and then: "Come closer. I need you. Please, Armin."

And he groans at it, at the way she says his name, pulling her with his hands by her hips, sinking deeper into her at this angle, and he kisses her as she moans, feeling out of control. There he pulls her thighs flushly over his hips, and her head spins from pleasure, and she finds her nails digging into his back, feeling the heat and steam rise from the broken skin. She cries his name out, again, and again, and again, and through it she hears her own name echo back to her, pulled from his lips between the groans and the soft whimpers that leave him. Then he kisses her fiercely, almost sloppily, whining into her throat.

"I want," he gasps, the sounds he makes soft and high–pitched and coiling deeply within her gut, "I want you to come. I want you to come on my cock, Y/N," he pleads into her lips. "Please," he says again, whimpering once more, composure cracking.

He kisses at her skin, her temple, her jaw, her throat, greedily, almost possessively, and she, in turns, pulls him closer to her, seeking to fill this space between them desperately. He lets her, he molds himself to her hold, pliant and eager. And there, there, fuelled by his mewls beside her ear, by the closeness, by that gods-damned vanilla permeating from him to her, she breaks. There, she tells him, finally, with her voice quivering to the last word: "I've wanted you for so long." And his hips stutter at this, and his hold on her thigh grows vice–like, and then his forehead is touching hers, his rhythm slowing, just so.

Then he is looking at her, gaze crested with a warmth so deep. "Say it again," he asks of her, he begs of her, his pace picking up with the words, as if inflamed by them. "Say it again, please, Y/N."

And she does. Again, and again. "I want you," she tells him, hands in his hair. "I've always wanted you," hands on his cheek. "Always."

It isn't until he's kissing her that she pauses, it isn't until she feels herself strain closer and closer as he whispers into her lips, soft things, unspoken things; it isn't until she hears his words that she finally, truly comes undone.

"My Y/N," he tells her, "mine. Mine."

And she cries out, hands seeking purchase at his shoulders, thighs so tight around his waist that it nearly hurts. She falls, and falls, careening rapidly into his hips meeting hers. For a moment, everything grows white, ceaseless and endless, and in that moment she thinks that this is how it should have been; in that moment, she thinks she was never meant to leave. Then Armin follows her, and he, too, cries out, desperately so, and she feels him slam into her harsh and uncoordinated. She kisses him fiercely, swallowing his climax with a greed that was unheard of to her before now, before Armin. They both shake in one another's arms, gasping, noses touching. They watch one another, eyes unwavering.

For a moment, she does not know what to say. She gasps and gasps, her tongue willing to curl only for the syllables of his name. Then he smiles at her. So gently, so brightly; the sight is so familiar that the words come tumbling out of her with an ease she had once almost forgotten. "I love you," she tells him, earnest from her heart.

"I know," he says, and he kisses her. I know, he repeats between kisses, I know; as if to himself, as if in relief, as if having waited, for so long, to hear it – if only just this once. "I love you," he tells her then, and she holds onto him, tightly and fiercely and unyieldingly.

They lay like this for what feels like ages, the mountains surrounding growing quieter, and quieter. She holds onto him, and he – onto her. They do not let go. She feels his heart beat against her own, and they kiss one another: small, fleeting kisses, borne not with shyness but with a gentle, permeating ardour. They lay like this until they are spread thin by exhaustion, hands weak, and here, in the dead of the night, she speaks to him so quietly; "Don't let me go," she pleads with him, hand at his chest. I won't, he tells her, his hand on hers. "Don't let me go," she repeats, "Don't ever. Not again."

"I won't. I promise. I promise."

And they sleep like this, nestled fondly within one another's crooks and edges, touching with their hearts. They do not move, or let go – even when they wake, they can't seem to let go of their hands, even when they ready. Even when they walk to the port, they do so hand in hand, talking little, but glancing often, with fleeting, earnest smiles unhidden from one another.

They feel tense and severe as they walk through the streets of Liberio, however; a goal reached, the end of their journey. It strains them, the hands with which they hold onto each other, but even that soon seems to patter out once they peer at the barren ink of the Azumabito, glinting brightly on the bow of the ship. This ship, they know, is beholden with their friends and allies. This ship, they know, is the end of this road.

And he turns to her, birds crying along the loud crashes of the sea, wind tousling at his hair. He looks so beautiful now, she thinks, and she's enamoured as he asks her: "Ready?"

His hand feels heavy and warm in her own. More than that, she thinks – it feels right.

She looks back at him. Here, right now, there is a moment which seems to stretch between them – one filled with a sadness so inexplicable, so faint, that she barely manages to discern it at all. It feels foreboding, this feeling, as if the road behind them was the easy one, as if the one ahead were predetermined; as if it bears, unbeknownst to them, challenges beyond their imagination.

But she does not think of that. Instead she looks him right in the cerulean eye, gaze as deep and as determined as the sea before them. She smiles at him. And she squeezes his hand.

dividers by arlerts-angel

tag list: @arlerts-angel @levistealeaf

@sukunascrustyfinger @chiinni

@nilaaaas @ryoiii

@dilfkentolover @arminarlertssword

@bel-https @layla240

@katestrophes @er3nscottonpicker

@siiyoko @lemontrees-things

@arminarlertspersonalnurse @dvrkfverie

@girlybelle @blvewave

thank you for giving this story your attention 💗 i harbour a lot of pride in it, and it's an honour that so many of you have enjoyed it

[mommypieck]

⌗︙・exchange student armin ⸜⸜・

exchange student armin who doesn't understand your language but he does understand when you push him into an empty closet at a party. you're kissing him hungrily and his knees buckle just from that. it's just that your tongue feels heavenly against his and you're so close, your boobs are pressing against his front. you waste no time putting your knee in between his legs. armin feels weird, he's never been submissive before, maybe it's the cultural difference.

"you like it?" you ask him and he nods. he doesn't need to understand to know what you're asking. he feels big against your skin,his bulge hard. it's exciting to have a boy humping your leg,let alone a foreigner.

"kiss me again." he knows what to do. his tongue invides your mouth again, this time blowing a moan into your mouth. he twitches against your knee and you know that he's getting close. you press him harder against your body, making him let out a cute squeak.

"gonna cum,baby?" armin answers with a breathy moan into your skin. it takes one harder ground of his hips into your knee to make him cum. he shakes against you as he cums and cums inside of his pants. you hold him thru it,overall he's just so cute.

there's one thing he says at the end that catches your ear, "i am your slut."

[seraphdreams]

"WHAT DO YOU WANT?"

"TO SEE WHAT YOUR INSIDES LOOK LIKE." | GHOSTFACE!ARMIN ARLERT.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — word count. 4.6k

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — cw. fem!reader, smut, modern au, mentions of murder / death / blood, fingering, armin’s a creep, symbolism, noncon/dubcon, insanity, manipulation, monomania, creampie, knives, stalking. mdni <3.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — synopsis. armin’s worked hard to build up his perfect life, and he certainly wasn’t expecting for someone to rip that from under him. he’s obsessed — with a life that isn’t his.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — dolled up! we are sooo back n in full swing for kinktober this year !! i’ll drop my masterlist here for all the prettie dolls to check out … please show this some love by reblogging / sharing, it’ll mean the absolute world 2 me !! kk, luv ya, bye ♡

Armin Arlert. Age 23. Graduated from Shiganshina University.

Armin Arlert, starting his new life under a freshly installed roof that rivaled his dorm of the past four years and provided him with much needed privacy. Armin Arlert, with a degree in humanitarian affairs accompanied with a promising future ahead, it’s the life he deserved after the turbulent destruction that was his tragic past. He could start over now in high hopes of making a name for himself in this unfamiliar city. Nothing could stop him, or the unperturbed spout of elation percolating within.

Aside from optimism, though, he remained undoubtedly sure that the life he had curated for himself was one that no other could outclass. He was smart — spent his days in libraries, in his study room, reading about anything that satiated his appetite for enlightenment, and be that as it may, he wasn’t looking for a lover. His solace brought him far better pleasure than any person could possibly imagine.

He’d work, research, and then work some more, day in and day out. And the day of your meeting was no different.

He had decided to utilize the time he carved out of his restless schedule for a much needed re-read of his favorite book. Moments like these were significant to Armin; the pungent aroma of freshly brewed tea in his mug, luminescence dim in the apartment, and a faint timbre of violins that spilled from his speaker.

Moments like these were when he couldn’t keep track of how many hours had passed him by as he flipped page by page into whatever universe his books had drawn him into.

Rested against the kitchen counter with his novel in one hand and retrieving a sip from his beverage in the other, his eyes scanned the piece of literature. Every once and awhile, he’d shift his weight from his left hip to the right, or opt to sit on the cozy loveseat in his study. All without withdrawing his attention from his book.

Glasses low on the bridge of his nose, he gently pushed them up — Then it came. The sonority of his doorbell, jostling him out of his serene thoughts and the inquisitiveness that flowed through his veins soon after, urged his body to tread to the front door in search of the cause.

As his footfall led him closer to the handle of the door, he could make out a silhouette, seemingly of a woman. All inquisitions of who could be at his doorstep were fulfilled once he opened it and you stood, with a bright smile on your face.

Armin’s angelic features hidden underneath a veil of golden blond tresses accentuated his soft, azure-hued eyes. His face was one of few that aided you in comfort just upon first glance, which chased away the unease of the possibility that he could’ve been ill-tempered.

“Hi, I’m Y/N! I moved in next door,” You pointed your thumb in the direction beside you as if to signal which side of the building you’d be occupying. “I just thought I'd introduce myself,”

He matched your syrupy sweet beam with one of his own, the corners of his eyes turning upward in tandem as if they were smiling too. He held the door open slightly wider to catch a better glimpse of you. From your attire, he could discern that you weren’t much of a modest girl, but it’d be wrong of him to idly make assumptions. Especially when his choice of dress during the lax hours of the day were a white button-up, cashmere cardigan thrown atop, with a pair of tan slacks.

“Y/N?” He repeated, in a manner to affirm that he had heard correctly. “I’m Armin. It’s nice to meet you,”

He would’ve held his hand out for yours had it not been engaged by his book. You weren’t trying to pry, yet the cover of the story was lucid in your mind once you took notice. “Berenice? The Edgar Allan Poe novel?”

His eyes trailed to where your manicured nail was pointed. The rosy flush of his cheeks deepened while he rubbed away the discomfiture stirring at the back of his neck. Once again, he had mindlessly brought his book with him wherever he strode.

“Y-Yeah, It’s my favorite. Have you read it?”

“A few times,” You hummed, meeting his sheepish gaze. “It’s so jarring, right?”

Armin skimmed over your face before allowing himself to speak. “But there’s beauty in the madness,” His words trolled over in a more weighty tone than he had intended, an apologetic smile on his face once he caught wind.

“Or at least that’s how i interpret it,”

His outward timidity roused an endearing chuckle from you. “I truly don’t mean to bother you, though. If you need anything I'm on your right!” You retort with a vague inclination of haste.

Truth be told, Armin’s interest in you piqued with the mention of the Poe story. “Oh, you’re not a bother-”

His vocables fell short against your own when you waved him goodbye, and he mirrored your actions with cordiality in his eyes.

Maybe she’s just busy.

—

Ever since Armin’s first encounter with you, he had found himself taking a rather atypical interest in the relations of you. The first bout of instances being regular events of curiosity where he’d watch as the moving company aided you in getting your belongings settled; hauling in furniture and appliances, all while Armin remained under the guise of checking his mailbox. Over a short span of time, though, he found himself increasingly knowledgeable in the subject that was you.

You showered at 8:00pm. You ate dinner at 7:00pm. The alarm settled on your desk, a few feet beyond your bed would go off at 6:00am sharp, and he’d be up at that same dawning hour to anticipate your departure to work.

He knew these things. Of course, he did.

He memorized all of your schedules to calculate what you’d be doing throughout the day, and where.

His own work was slow for him during those days, and books didn’t seem to capture that spark of exhilaration like you did. For once, he felt enthralled by each day granting him an opportunity to analyze you further.

On another day, he’d built up enough confidence to observe you as you came home from work, once more, under the false assumption that he’d been checking his mail.

“Good afternoon.”

Armin’s voice registered within your being quickly, startling you out of your fast-paced strut to your door. “Oh, good afternoon!” Your footfall faltered until you reached a close. “Armin, was it?”

Over Armin’s time of stalking- no, studying you, he’d come to realize just how ethereal you were. It was as if the deities above handmade every feature on your face, curve of your body, lilt in your voice with the intention of making you one of their own — an angel.

He found you charming.

With a nod of his head, he braced himself to inch toward you. Not proximal enough to cause you discomfort, he wouldn’t want that, yet enough to signal his unwavering immersion. “Did you just come from work?”

It was otiose of him to ask the question seeing as he undeniably knew the answer. Judging from your business attire and pencil skirt just a little too short for any other establishment’s dress standards, he had assumed you worked a kushy job at an office firm. You evidently earned a heap of money, with him recalling the numerous occasions you’d come home with luxury shopping bags hanging off your arms, tied in with the fact that the suites he inhabited weren't exactly affordable for the average person.

You responded hospitably to his question, that same lovely smile poured over your features and seeping into his personage. “Mhm, and what about you? Your work?”

He was surprised at your need to pull the conversation along further, it was as if you were succoring to curate his plans, as if you could read his mind and pick out from a haystack that you were his only interest, you were his source of bliss. A serendipitous moment, indeed. He straightened himself up, clearing his throat. “Me? Oh, well I just help out at charities and organizations from time to time,”

He’d be a fool to deny the set of wide eyes that were fixated upon his figure.

“For real? You must be a really good person then.” You responded with your hands clasped together and held against your chest, pupils of your eyes glittered in a sense of unshakable admiration.

As the conversation went on, you had begun to synonimize your neighbor with the fresh, and comforting feeling of congeniality. It helped that he was easy to converse with, seeming as he’d always been listening while keeping eye contact and rewiring his queries in a way that deemed you the main focus, and he, a vessel for your words to absorb within.

For Armin, he enjoyed getting to know you. You were perfect, in all the best ways.

And soon enough, through an exhausting series of prying inquiries, he’d piece together that your perfection wasn’t hulled along by determination or strong will, but by God’s good grace. He’d come to register that you didn’t have to struggle like he did to reach the triumphant point in life for which he stood. You were born that way, born with a silver spoon in your mouth and just the right kiss-ass people in your life to keep you that way. A spoiled fucking brat.

What had been the rationale behind his suffering? The years in which he’d been bullied repeatedly in public schools, had acquaintances that had only cared about him for their personal gain, and parents so utterly vapid that they’d give up their only child if it meant they could continue working towards an unattainable goal?

Fueled by a sense of jealousy, he waned your nepotism a hindrance. You were merely a telescope that he wanted so badly to see into.

For Armin was obsessed with a life that wasn’t his.

Meticulously, he had spent his time after that hidden away within his flat. Armin didn’t care to know anything more about you, he didn’t care to see your face, and he surely didn’t care for you.

When he stumbled across an unkempt, unpacked box in his room with the label of “Uni 2019,” written on the side in thick, inky letters, his concern led him to relive those memories upon removing the cardboard lid.

In it, there were polaroid photos, compact trophies he’d won from participating in school events, courtesy of his STEM minor, and a dark piece of fabric that caught his eye more than anything.

He recalled his first year of college where his two closest friends, Eren and Mikasa, dragged him out of their stuffy shared dorm and onto one of the first parties held by the school’s fraternity house during the fall semester.

“Armin, you look ridiculous,”

Mikasa said as she stomped away in her leather boots, leading the way for the two men accompanying her to follow her off-campus.

She was dressed in homage to Misa Amane from her favorite anime, although the style of dress aided no significance since it was hauntingly similar to her everyday wardrobe.

Eren was intended to show up as “Light” but he insisted on wearing something he deemed appealing, his plan was to get initiated by the end of the night, anyhow. He wore a deep black cloak, dark ripped jeans and had his hair tied aimlessly into his warped perception of a bun, with the mask of a ghost facing sideways on his head to allow for him to see.

Ghostface. Scream (1996).

Armin allowed himself to be pulled away by the Ackerman, his rebuttal falling on deaf ears. “You didn’t give me enough time, Mika. This is all I could come up with.” Armin’s poor excuse for a costume was tissue paper wrapped around his frame in stereotypical mummy fashion, a classic of all classics.

Though, that night had concluded like any other gathering involving college-aged students, the trio having woken up to hangovers and bad decisions.

Armin stared at the contents of the box a while longer before taking the cloak out and trying it on for size. Obviously, it was meant for a taller person, but regardless, the wheels in his head gradually spun.

He took it off after careful observation when the sensation of juvenility filled his veins. He wasn’t fond of the costume rousing the impression that he was an illegitimate killer — He knew more than he let on, and his passion for the grotesqueries scribed in his books further proved that.

Concurrently, you had been pondering the reason for Armin’s disappearance. After your last conversation with him, he’d stopped formulating ways to talk to you and seemed to never leave his suite, and your heart yearned for his presence once the feeling truly settled in.

You had been swayed by his charm.

His dulcet tone of voice, the intriguing quirks that seemed to hang off of him like leaves to a tree; You missed the way he cared for you, through mundane matters and the like.

Night had fallen, the warm, ochre hues of the day meshing in perfect balance with deep purple tones that signified time’s passing. You were settling into bed, just about ready to fall into slumber when you heard light tapping at your door.

Only for a second did the thought of who could possibly be up this late float through your mind.

Your soles kissed the floor when you made your way to the front door. And once you finally opened it, the sight of your worst fear was drawn to life — The deviant sight of the unknown, with what seemed to look like a kitchen knife in its right hand.

Quickly, without time to react, you attempted to slam the door shut with the force of your shoulder but the action proved futile when the aggressor’s strength pushed back against the wood, sending you stumbling backwards and vulnerable to any attack.

Heavy footsteps creeped eerily towards you out of something from a horror film. Your worst mistake was turning your back, scrambling for a way to retrieve your phone, or even a weapon.

“Help! He-”

The stranger was more agile than you had assumed, easily capturing you with one arm around your waist and its hand cupped against your mouth. You couldn’t shake the terror growing within you as hot tears seemed to spill down your cheeks and your heartbeat so intense, you were sure that it’d had been noticeable.

Your body soft in the assaulter’s touch, they embraced your body taut. The sensation was suffocating, your eyes squeezed shut to further distance yourself from the situation at hand, even if it was only a mental trick.

You resided in a relatively safe area, so why were you in this situation? What cruel joke were you the target of?

The grip on your body loosened ever so slightly, yet you were still fixed in place by the attacker’s opposite hand. While your body was immobilized, you felt the lingering of metal lightly drag against your abdomen to find itself settled just underneath the band of your lace pajamas.

Just moments prior, you had completed your elaborate nightly routine consisting of a glass of wine, face mask, and a warm bath. You also found it fitting to change into one of your newer pajama sets — Thin, baby pink, lace bralette with matching shorts that called for forgoing the need for panties.

All you wanted was to wake up from this nightmare.

“It’d be so beautiful if you died right here in my arms,” Your assailant spoke.

Through your ears, his voice was familiar. A tone so soft, you refused to believe the possibility of who it’s owner could be.

His hand over your mouth was hesitant to situate itself elsewhere in wariness of how you’d react. He was aware of the power behind a blood-curdling scream. The neighbors in this area were nosy. He would know.

He let out a sigh. “But you look really pretty tonight. I wouldn’t want to get blood on you,” His knife trailed further into your shorts, the edge cutting out a hole in the fabric at the seat of the garment.

“Did you do all this for me?”

You winced when the sonority of cloth ripping resonated through your ears. The blade felt dangerously close, running along your body as if to taunt you. That had to be the case; You were in the perfect position to be harmed, so why hadn’t your attacker done so? With your body stricken from fear, his job was easy. Was it not?

The hand over your mouth moved to caress your face and you gasped heavily for the air you were denied.

“W-What do you want?” Your voice echoed shakily throughout the room, barely audible enough for the two of you to hear. His knife inched upward to your sternum, and slowly dragged itself back down to your abdomen as he spoke.

“To see what your insides look like.”

For a split second, his hold on you seemed to diminish, granting you the perfect opportunity to run. Yet, your legs felt frail as if there were weights tied to your ankles. The assailant quickly repositioned himself in front of you, his head tilting slightly while he continued his up and down ministrations with the edge of the blade gingerly pressed against your flesh. Not forceful enough to draw blood.

“But maybe now, I want to feel your insides,” His steps crept closer, and instinctively you tried to create as much distance as possible by stepping back. It proved useless when your back hit the cold surface of the door, his face mere centimeters from yours.

Your breath hitched as you found comfort in the presence of the door, leaning against it as if it’d keep you from harm’s reach. You fidgeted, fumbling to grasp at the handle that’d grant you escape. The masked man took notice, hovering over your frame to keep you from trying anything.

“Please- -” Your plea fell in the form of a choked up whimper, just the sound he wanted to hear.

More uncomfortable ripping was sounded when his blade etched a perfect cut in your shorts, leaving your bare cunt out on display for his eyes to see. “Don’t be shy, pretty. I’m sure lots of guys have seen you like this. Am I right?”

Crudeness started to sink in as your face morphed into a contradictory pout. He took your expression for a no and chuckled genuinely, albeit louder than his previous tone. “No? Does this make me the first?” His eyes scanned your lower half once more, then flit back to meet your fear-blown orbs.

“I’d really love to be your first,”

Having grown confident enough to be sure that you wouldn’t try to break free, he dropped the knife to the side, metal clamorously clinking against hardwood flooring while he used his free hand to lift your right leg over the juncture of his elbow. He carefully slotted his middle and ring fingers into your hole, shallowly pumping. Your legs threatened to close with what you couldn’t make of embarrassment or denial.

Your mind felt cloudy once your body gave up its immobility and allowed pleasure to course through your veins, heat rushing to your core with every pump of his fingers. He took notice of the way your expression hastily contorted into one of pure pleasure, eyebrows knit together and your mouth slightly agape, eliciting quiet moans to tumble past.

It was a whorish sight, indeed. A circumstance you couldn’t control with your death at the forefront, yet it was terrifyingly easy to succumb to the euphoric sensation building up within you. The pad of his thumb found its way to your aching clit, and from just the light circling motions in tandem with his fingers, you felt yourself floating to the cusp of release.

“F-Fuck- -“ you rasped. Your hand reached out for his wrist to push him away but the attempt was futile and in turn, he sped up his ministrations.

“Didn’t know you had such a dirty mouth. You’re making me lose interest.” He coyly teased.

He was thankful you couldn’t see how flushed his face appeared under the mask. The sight of you spread open for him was too much to bear, he could cum in that moment without ever feeling your gummy walls wrapped around his painstakingly hard cock.

Just before you were about to hit your orgasm, he pulled his fingers away. An agitated groan rumbled from your throat, eyes finally opening to the sight of the man before you, removing his mask and unveiling his true identity.

Something within you didn’t want to admit what you had seen.

From the golden strands of hair that shimmered against the moonlight to his cyan-hued orbs tinted dark with madness. It was Armin, but it wasn’t Armin.

“M-Min.. You —“ The words failed to leave your mouth in a coherent string of sentences. It couldn’t have been your neighbor, not Armin. He was far too delicate, too feeble to carry out a task like this.

He kept unwavering eye contact with you, your pupils shaking from shock. “Hm? Couldn’t see a thing with this mask on,” His response was that of nonchalance, his hand coming to caress your tear-stained cheeks.

“You’re much prettier behind the mesh.”

He pulled down the zipper of his slacks along with the garment itself and his briefs, just enough so that his cock was freed. You didn’t want to look, but you did. You notice how bulbous the head was, glowing a bright pink while the rest of it was pretty girthy as well. It bobbed under its weight, the strings of precum leaking onto your inner thighs as he lined it up with your entrance.

“Why would y—“

Just before you could get the vocables out, he pushed his entire length inside of you, head tilted back and adam’s apple bouncing with each groan he let out. You felt as though you were being split open by how fat his cock was, how it glided effortlessly in and out of your heat.

His pace was tauntingly slow as if he’d shoot his load prematurely. Once he gradually thrusted more vigorously though, you found it hard to keep whimpers at bay. Each push in felt deeper than the last, the wind within your system struggling to keep you afloat. You reached for something to hold onto, scrambling for Armin’s shoulders in the end. Your nails dug deep at the lean muscles of his back, creating raw, catlike scratches on the flesh.

The pain was enough to make him smile. Or maybe it wasn’t the pain, but the sight of you so desperate for him — So desperate for your killer.

How pathetic.

He leaned himself upward to meet your gaze again, that of something from a horror movie, his gaze was darker than before, strung together by a serious expression. “Kiss me.”

You almost didn’t hear him as your impending orgasm was your only focus. When you took too long to respond, he glanced back at the knife settled just underneath his foot, in a manner to remind you of the real dangers he was capable of.

With the slightest inclination of hesitancy, your lips met his. Contrary to his actions, his kisses were soft, sloppy, and hungry, as if he were craving you. He hooked his arms beneath your knees to hoist you up and against him.

Deeper. You whimpered into his kisses wondering how his cock fucked into you deeper. He slammed your body down onto his length, using your body like it was a toy. You pulled away from the kiss, heaving for air as your head fell upon his shoulder. “Gonna cum, ‘m so close!” Your words slurred, and before you knew it, your essence came in waves, each aftershock more jolting than the last.

He continued pounding into you, shifting his position to hold you up against the wall. Your pleasure reverberated in the form of an inaudible cry while you allowed for the bullying of his cock in your cunt. It was evident to you that he was close from the way his features were etched in pure ecstasy.

Armin looked pretty like that — Wisps of tawny bangs messily splayed across his forehead from perspiration and a light tinge of scarlet dusted across his nose and cheeks, up to the tips of his ears. His soft, rosy lips were slickened with the mixture of your wet kiss and his.

“Oh, God-”

The guttural groan he let out had your walls clamping down taut around him. “Cum for me again—Shit! Say my name,”

The stamina he retained came as unexpected to you, your overstimulated heat trying to find pleasure in the way it’s being battered up. He spoke again, this time with a docile lilt in his tone.

“Tell me you’re mine, Y/N. I wanna be yours.”

You didn’t want to. You were beyond opposed to feeding into his hedonistic delusions, especially in the impuissant state that you were in. Yet, you couldn’t stop the affirmations from flowing once another orgasmic high coiled up in your core.

“Armin! ‘M yours! All yours,”

Just as soon as your words circulated through his mind, he felt his balls tighten, his thrusts faltering in potency as he reached closer to his high.

In his mind, it was profoundly amorous that you both had hit euphoria simultaneously, warm ropes of his sticky seed painting your walls while he shallowly jettisoned every last drop. Your womb was the goal, and he had scored.

He was tentative to pull out, wanting to relish in the warmth of your core for as long as he possibly could but he knew the idea wouldn’t be feasible. “You’re so good. I mean, you listen so well,”

He delicately placed you back on your feet, your body lax in his hold. “Thank you!” He beamed, tilting your head upwards to meet his gaze.

“Thank you for what?” You responded, your eyes searching for anything else to focus on as you gained enough strength to separate yourself from him, even if it was just a few inches.

“You helped me,”

You couldn’t make sense of the nonsense coming out of his mouth nor his need to be a hair's breadth away from you at all times.

“You helped me realize I never wanted to hurt you,” His hands found their place at your waist, softly running along the curve. “I just wanted to be inside you.”

“No, you wanted to kill me.” You spoke in a more conflicted tone, wondering if the gears in his head were turning at all. He chuckled, creating a few inches of distance between the two of you.

“I mean, I did at first. I was jealous, Y/N,” His voice sounded like that of a beg. “You have such a perfect life and I want it — I want to be in it.”

You couldn’t bear to listen to anymore of his twisted thoughts, feeling the heavy coat of uncomfortability weighing your shoulders down. “Armin, you’re crazy.”

“I love you, Y/N. Let me into your life, please?”

He pulled you into a tight embrace, his hands furthering south until they halted at the small of your back.

“I won’t hurt you,”

“I love you.”

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — @valentinevampyr @oneofthesevensins @iamtrashgod @iconicbabii @inusdoll @kloesklarity @bakuhoe-3 @antistellxr

[kissatoru]

★ ₊˚ JUST ONE MORE

content. sub!armin, soft dom!reader, gn!reader, handjob, edging, overstimulation, praise kink, dacryphilia, dry orgasm, aftercare, pet names (baby, love)

wc. 1.5k

you’re sitting in armin’s lap, thighs around his hips and a hand cradling his face. your fingers pet his hair absentmindedly while your lips dance along his, soft and tender yet passionate, full of stolen breaths and longing.

...but your other hand is not so gentle with how it’s been edging him for an hour, sliding up and down his wet length at a pace that has him squirming helplessly. some of his noises escape through the flickers of space between your moving lips and leave a tingling sensation in their wake. you chase that feeling with fervour, fluctuating between flicking your wrist faster and slowing down to focus on his sensitive tip. his thighs writhe and his breaths gradually fan harder and quicker against your face. his hands scramble in search of purchase, jumping from the sheets to your thighs to where your fingers still cup his cheek.

your sensual kissing has long since turned feverish, mixing with bites and harsher presses of swollen lips. armin pulls away to whisper, “close, close, close,” against your mouth, hushed but desperate.

“don’t cum until i tell you,” you remind him and he can only manage a small nod before his head is flopping back against the pillows. his jaw goes slack, making way for whimpers and moans that spur you on. his hands return to the bedding, twisting and tugging at fistfuls of fabric. he’s so close, so so close. he’s not sure if he’ll be able to hold on long enough to do as he’s been told.

as if reading his mind, you lower your other hand and rub his thigh. “you’re doing so well, just a little longer,” you assure, but each second feels like an eternity and ‘a little longer’ turns into too long and just as he’s about to cum without permission, you say, “go ahead, baby, let go. you’ve earned it.”

armin’s mouth opens up into a loud whine that blurs into weak little ‘thank you’s. spurts of white spill over his stomach, some even reaching his chest. your soaked fist moves from tip to base, slowing down with every drop of cum that follows. his chest rises and falls and his hot puffy breaths beat against your skin as he sinks down from his high.

“you– you can stop now,” armin breathes, his voice raw and quiet and trusting as he waits for you to stop, but your hand only continues to pump his cock, quickening motions that overheat his already hot skin. “ngh, wait! why are you still–”

“shh, shh.” you push aside some hair that’s fallen in his eyes as he moans brokenly. “it’s okay. doesn’t it feel nice?”

doesn’t it? he can’t decide. “i don’t– fuck, it’s so much– i, i can’t–” armin tries to plead but he’s interrupted by another wanton moan, face growing hotter by the minute from the humiliation of not being able to speak. his thighs writhe in confusion at the overwhelming sensation. it sends signals through his nerves, telling him to escape, but he can’t stop himself from thrusting into your tight grip, as if searching for more. the pain burns, but the pleasure is scorching in comparison. he feels like an exposed nerve; he wants to get away, he wants to keep going. his abdomen clenches and unclenches and his toes curl at the changing urges. it feels so good and hurts so bad; pure torture and bliss and completely inescapable. it keeps going with seemingly no direction or ending until he senses the edge of his climax; a coil that twists and tightens in his core.

of course, you notice this immediately, already familiar with his tells. “are you close, ‘min?” you murmur.

unable to trust his voice, armin lets out a pathetic hum. he swallows and tries to catch his breath, focusing on that feeling building up in him, that coil. it curls tighter, tighter, then impossibly tighter, until it finally snaps. he squirts creamy white ropes all over himself and his eyes squeeze shut as the aftershocks of his orgasm wrack through him.

but instead of passing, the stimulation intensifies, and that’s when he realises you still haven’t stopped.

armin’s mouth opens and closes, unable to form sound as his entire body begins to shake. tears well up in his eyes and a sob finally bubbles up from his throat. his hands are frenzied, clawing at your clothes and limbs as if in search of something. he babbles, voice cracking over syllables as he chokes out frantic pleas. he doesn’t even know what he’s pleading for at this point. to stop? to keep going? it’s like he has no control over his body or what he’s saying.

“i know, i know,” you assure softly, “but i want you to cum again for me, love. you can do it, i know you can.”

armin locks his arms around your neck and pulls you closer to him. “c–can’t– hurts... so good,” he whimpers into your ear as he digs his nails into your back and nuzzles his sweaty forehead into your neck. his heart is pounding. his lungs are trembling. his thighs try to clamp shut, but your weight keeps them pinned. before he knows it, he’s cumming, just like you said he could, and much quicker than the previous two times, but he can’t even register the latter because instead of relenting, instead of having mercy, instead of giving him at least a small break between the overwhelming touches and drawn-out orgasms, you just keep fucking going. armin practically wails and you’re quick to comfort him, whispering praises and bringing him out of your neck to wipe away his tears and kiss the reddened apples of his cheeks.

god, you think as you lean back to look at him, he’s so pretty when he cries, eyes shining like ocean water; peering up at you from under sandy blond eyelashes, all clumped together with tears; nose and cheeks tinted pink. on top of that, his lips are kissed and bitten red, complimenting his pale skin, which glitters with sweat. oh, how you’d love to frame a picture of him like this; not even for sexual reasons, you just adore it when armin is so vulnerable and yours. you wish it could last forever, but you’re also wary of the fact you’re about to make him cum for the fourth time and decide you’ll need to stop soon.

you bring your other hand to massage his sticky tip between your fingers while the previous continues to glide up and down his shaft, producing loud and embarrassing squelching sounds. armin keens and instinctually glances down between your bellies; his tip is a deep red, glistening with cum and so swollen that it looks like it hurts and that fact only makes it hurt more. you’re squeezing and kneading the head of his cock with your palm, fast and unfaltering, while your other hand trails down to his balls and rubs the delicate skin there. his orgasm feels as though it’s ripped from him as he cums again, splattering over your hand and his belly. you consider stopping, but after slowing down for a second, a second of rest and mercy, you go back to your previous motions and armin is back to choking on whimpers and crying into your shoulder. his brain has gone fuzzy by now; numb with the intensity of it all.

“just one more time, okay?” you pet his hair while syncing your hand with the sloppy thrusts of his hips. “just one more for me, baby. i know you can do it.”

armin nods, chasing his climax despite his exhaustion and sensitivity. the pain melts into white-hot euphoria that rises higher and higher. he drags his nails up, down and across your shoulder blades, almost scared of his oncoming orgasm. your wrist aches and the scratches on your back sting, but you persist, pumping the top half of his cock, squeezing harder on every upward twist and flicking the pad of your thumb over his weeping slit.

no more than a second later, armin is cumming, but nothing comes out of his poor cock, just a few pitiful drops of residual cum, and the sight of it has him crying. you help him ride out his fifth high while he clings to you even harder, panting and whimpering into your ear. you mutter praises to him as his tense body slowly grows limp and slips off of you. you catch him before he can fall against the bed and carefully lay him down. the warmth of your body leaving has him whining, but you peck him on the temple and promise you’ll be back soon.

when you return with a damp cloth and a glass of water, you find armin half-asleep. you smile fondly and admire the way his skin glows in the low light before making your way over. you set aside the glass and tentatively wipe his skin clean. once you finish, you caress his head, trying to get his attention. “hey, sit up for me, love,” you say, and with some delay, he does. you bring the glass to his lips and help him drink until you’re sure he’s had enough. then you pull the sheets over him and let him lay back down.

“thank you,” armin mumbles. you just smile and kiss his shoulder before sliding in beside him. he sighs into your chest and holds you as close as possible. you pet his hair and the action helps the both of you eventually fall asleep.

[jeankirsteinsgrlfrnd]

husband!! armin arlert headcanons

- absolute blubbering mess at the end of the aisle. the tears could not be contained

- insists that you get your ring cleaned/polished regularly

- “have we really been married for [x amount] of days already?”

- your household together is the most peaceful thing either of you have ever known

- created a scrap book entirely compiled of wedding photos (most of them are of you)

- is interested in renewing vows

- “since i’m your husband now, let me do this for you”

- gazes at his wedding band when he zones out

- ‘happy wife is a happy life’ is this man’s motto

- gave you the most shy kiss after y’all said i do

- got drunk at the reception and then gave a speech about how much he loves you

- dedicates a day every week to have a little date night

- really wants you to have his baby but wants you to make that decision when/if you’re ready

[dabisbratz]

CRYBABY — armin arlert x male reader

w.c: 2.5k

genitalia terms: cock, hole, dick

WARNING: humiliation, dirty talk, impact play (face slapping, spanking), edging, restraints (spreader-bar, undisclosed hand restraints), degradation, subspace, sadism, bottom reader, specific body type (taller/bigger than armin, other than that nonspecific!), amab reader. CHECK REBLOGS.

“To be fair, you’re pretty girly, Armin,” Hange chirps, wrapping their arm around Armin’s shoulders with a sly grin. Their hair swings over their face, a dark shadow casting over their gaze. His striking blue eyes watch in amusement as the rest of the Survey Corps nods along in agreement. Truthfully, he doesn’t mind the speculations, albeit a little strange how interested his coworkers are in his sex life, he can’t blame them for being so interested when he has a boyfriend like you. Plus, he’s come quite far from how he used to be— his hair is shorter, cheeks less rounded out by babyfat, shoulders broad and square. He doesn’t need to prove anything. “You let a big rock like that push you around every night?”

The blond coughs into his fist, squeezing his big, cerulean eyes shut to stifle a laugh. You’re much taller than Armin, even on a bad day, with a permanent glare in your eyes. You’d make mountains shrink if they could, with your piercing gaze. Even as you trail behind your boyfriend like a puppy, they see nothing but a guard dog, its canines bared and sharp and dangerous. Your intensity almost surpasses Levi’s, even if they were too scared to admit it.

But it means nothing when you’re under him.

You look up at him like he means the world, glassy eyes blinking against crystal tears as he pushes his cock deeper down your throat and forces you to gag on it. Your eyes roll, drool falling down your chin and down your chest that he loves to squeeze and fondle. You’re such a good boy, the way you writhe and squirm with every orgasm of yours he ruins— just thinking about it makes his dick harden in his cargos.

Armin tugs at the collar of his shirt with his index finger, bending the fabric absentmindedly. His comrades snicker at his flustered display, and the hard smacks to his back lurching him forward, back and forth.

“Bet he really makes you his—“

“… bitch, huh?” His voice is fuzzy in your ears, sweet and tantalizing as rope digs into your wrists. Your legs are bent, knees reaching your head as a spreader-bar holds your thighs wide open. Your back is pressed into Armin’s small mattress, which dips and sinks under your weight. No matter where you turn, you’re consumed in Armin’s warmth, his soft hands roaming along your naked body. He lets you whine, your head lulling back and forth as you knit your eyebrows together.

“Huh…? M’sorry.. m’sorry,” You pant, not quite sure what you’re apologizing for, probably because you’ve lost your train of thought, because you couldn’t hear what filthy things he was saying because he’s fucking you stupid.

“Oh, honey,” The blond's voice is coated in just that, sweetness dripping from his tongue as he grips your cock tight, thumbing the slit and smearing precum all over the head. The bars at your knees stop you from bucking your hips, as he squeezes the base of your cock the second you start to pulse a little too much. “Such a dumb whore. What happened to my big, smart boy?”

Degradation. You love to hear it, especially from Armin’s lips. If you thought too much about it, had it whispered in your ear until your brain melted, you could cum from that alone. Your cock throbs in his hand, as he spits down on it with a quiet ‘p’tuh’ and grins as you shudder. The wetness of his saliva feels too good, too warm against his skin as your rut and flex in his hand. “Mm, your cock is so pretty. Too bad it’s useless.”

You try to fuck into it, chase the feeling that has you wailing, writhing in your restraints and struggling to kick your legs. It’s too much, the squelching in your ears as Armin’s warm breath pans lower and lower down your chest, your abdomen, closer to your throbbing, needy dick. He sighs, open mouthed and breathy, watching your cock jump in retaliation— nearly out his hand. Nonetheless his grip tightens, pumping uppp and dooown, smearing precum until it covers your cock in a thin, shiny and tempting layer. You moan between your teeth, eyes glued on his skinny fingers milking you for all your worth.

“Feel good?” Armin grumbles against your thigh, voice hoarse as he stares down at your weeping cock. With a jumbled moan you nod frantically, toes curling as he twists his fist around your sensitive head and— fuck, you’re cumming. Your eyes roll back, body clenched as a thick rope—

“Aht. Whose cock is this?” Armin’s hand is quickly tightening around the base of your dick cutting off whatever orgasm you were about to feel, whatever ropes of cum that were supposed to spray across your thighs, your stomach, maybe your chin.

“Wh- wai’… waitwait..wha—” You’re stunned, stammering and stumbling over your words as your brain fails to connect the dots of what just happened.

“Answer me, boy,” And— oh. That’s his commander voice, the one he only ever uses in battle. A shiver runs down your spine as you reluctantly make eye contact with your boyfriend, his blue eyes suddenly gunmetal gray. Like a broken record, you whimper, shaking your head and babbling our apologies when, really, you have nothing to be sorry for. “Hush. Just answer the question.”

“S’yours, Ari,” You breathe, big thighs flexing against his hand. One more time, a little more confident you moan: “S’yours.”

“That’s right. That means you cum when I say,” When he pushes an impossibly long finger into your hole you’re done for, mewling as you flutter around him. Even with such a drastic size difference your hole is tight and grips him like a vice, swallowing his finger in and begging for more. His finger slides out slowly, a sharp contrast in the sudden smack straight to your winking hole. You jump, moaning high in your throat as your eyes flutter closed. “Fuck, just one finger stretching this pretty hole like it’s nothing. You want more, baby? Want more fingers in this greedy hole? Gonna cry on my cock all night so everyone knows how good you take it? How much of a slut you are for me? Say it.”

You bat your eyelashes, peering up at your handsome boyfriend through glazed eyes. He coos, if only for a moment, as he dips his other hand into your mouth and watches you suck on his fingers, no questions asked. His face drops a little, pink lips curling into a frown as he wipes his fingers off with the soft skin of your cheek. You’re usually such a good boy— such a good dog. You know better. You keen into the touch, pressing your cheek into his palm until he takes it away, just to smack you across the face with a cruel smile.

Your brain goes blank for just a second, a startled gasp leaving your pretty lips. He wants to squish your cheeks together, watch your face distort into dumb expression while you sit there and take it. Maybe your face will match your mind, empty and eager and broken as tears stream down your face. Armin’s eyes darken, heavy-lidded as he stares at you like he’s going to eat you alive.

“Oh, oh fuck, w-wan’ your cock, Ari’ please give it…give it to me, please,” You babble, as if his question has only just now registered in your brain. Then comes the flaring heat of skin where he’d smacked you, blooming in your cheek and making you whine. Armin tuts, tilting his head in feign innocence, a tuft of blond hair tucked behind his ear. “V’been so good, didn’t cum when you said not to. Been goo-”

“Mhm,” Armin hums, only half listening as he slowly pumps his other hand back up and down your cock, a sadistic grin slowly etching across his face the more you let out a stream of moans. You’re sensitive— almost too sensitive, your hips convulsing in different directions, your eyes squeezing shut, your body begging to cum. You can’t quite make out how his fingers look curling up inside you, long and thin but perfectly stroking that special spot that makes you see stars. “Gonna cum for me? Hm? This pretty cock gonna cum while I finger you? Slap you around a little?”

“Uh-huh, gonna cum.” You’re purring, helplessly rutting your hips until you feel your balls tightening, your abdomen spontaneously spawning and— Ooh! Armin’s index finger slides out of you, and his palm lands right on top, a hard smack straight to your fluttering hole. You're pliant and small like this, squealing into the air while the walls bounce the sound right back at you.

“Not yet.” He whispers into the skin of your inner thighs, placing a chaste kiss on top for safekeeping.

“Noo, no, I can’t,” You gasp, weakly struggling against your restraints in fruitless effort, continuously begging for both release and a chance to move on. You don’t really mean no, you’re conflicted, really— it feels too good, but you’re not sure how much more teasing you can take. “I cant.”

“You can,” The blond snickers, fingers massaging your puckered rim, the puffy skin gaping around his fingertips. You’re slick with a thin layer of precum and lube, shining under the fluorescent bedside lamp. “And you will. Know why? You’re my good little boy. You can take what I give you.”

Collecting yourself, you nod.

Armin beams. You’re certainly not little— not in comparison to him, not in comparison to anyone in the Survey Corps, not in comparison to your friends. But you’re his little boy. To smack around, to manhandle, to fuck into sweet, empty-headed submission. You’re his bitch. He thinks of how everyone else would react, if their jaws would drop at the sight of his guard dog dropping to his knees and presenting right in front of them, at the sight of his big boyfriend going braindead strictly for his dick.

“Just one more time. One more time while I split this pretty hole open on my cock. That’s not too bad, right sweetheart?” Armin whines this time, breathless as he’s quickly stripping himself of his clothes. His cock, pretty and long, curves to the upper right, with an angry pink tip that twitches as he presses it to your rim. You sob beneath him, your bigger body arching up to his touch. His cock is worked into your body inch by inch, his smaller hands spreading your cheeks apart to spread you further— like the slut you are.

He pushes into you deep, bottoming out with a high moan. Heat pools on your stomach, his cock punching your insides and kissing your prostate with each small movement he makes. Your moans are unintelligible, barely even English, as Armin’s blond hair drapes over your sweaty forehead. If you could, you’d wrap your arms around his neck, hold him close and kiss him drunk while his dick rearranges your guts.

“Gonna let me fill you up till you’re drippin’? God, I love this hole, love this ass,” You feel a sharp smack to your backside, your hips stuttering upward in retaliation. His cock slams dead-on into your prostate, your vision momentarily leaving your body as the air is punched from your lungs. “Right there? Fuck, you’re basically milking me.”

Armin nearly crumbles above you, your silky walls throbbing on his cock as his fist grips the sheets on his bed, his large eyes fluttering closed. He can’t exactly fall on you, not with the spreader bar between your bodies, but the thought of him collapsing because you feel that good makes you impossibly harder, “Fuuck, fuck me, ohh, God.”

That earns a genuine chuckle from your boyfriend, his back muscle rippling as he regains his composure and lifts your hips up, brushing your prostate with every twist and turn. He whispers sweet words into the air, something along the lines of good boy and perfect cocksleeve. You hiccup on your own sobs, choking on your words as his cock slams in and out, in and out, Armin’s own moans leaving his mouth. “Ohh, You take my cock so well. That slutty little hole just swallows me right up, sounds so sloppy n’ wet.”

“You’re like,” Armin laughs to himself, his teeth gritting as he sharply inhales, pressing himself deeper and deeper until all you can do is clench around him and take it. Fuck, you’re so full. It’s ironic, you’re so big, but your holes are tight and small, stretching around him perfectly. “You’re like the perfect flashlight. I should let the team pass you ‘round. Imagine that.”

You do, you imagine Armin’s long dick fucking you within an inch of your life while the rest of the Survey Corps watches, maybe they take turn using your holes, maybe Armin stops them from fucking you because that one is his. It’s embarrassing how much you like it, how warm it makes your face feel, how hard it makes your hole spasm around your boyfriend's cock.

“M’gonna cum, gonna cum, Armin. Please,” You can’t control your body now, your cock uncomfortably hard as he fucks into your pillowy body. In one foul swoop, the spreader bar is removed from your thighs, your legs instead wrapping around the blond’s smaller waist. “Lemme cum, wanna cum with you. Wanna feel you cum inside me. God, love you, love you s’much. Y’fuck me so good, fuck your cum ‘nto me, wanna be leaking—”

“God, you’re so easy. Damn whore…Christ,” Armin grunts. his hips stuttering into a choppy, inconsistent pace. The sound of his balls slapping against your ass is obscene, precum and lube frothing between your warm skin. Moving up to press hurried, frantic kisses to your lips, Armin cups your jaw gently, and mumbled a quiet C’mere. “Cum with me, puppy, give it to me.”

You give it to him, your all, as your thighs shake and your throat finally gives out, your voice hoarse and tired. You can feel him shoot deep inside you, thick, creamy ropes of cum pooling inside you and seeping out your puffy, used hole. Armin huffs, panting into your damp skin with a satisfied smile, watching as your cock spurts rope after rope across your chest, across your stomach, even on your chin.

You twitch uncontrollably, finally melting in your boyfriend's embrace as he pulls you close and places scattered kisses on your forehead, “Good boy.”

[levisjinchuriki]

insatiable 

summary: armin is inexperienced in every way. he’s never been on a date, had his first kiss, has never been touched… armin wants it to be with someone special. someone like you. 

warning: armin fluff, confessing feelings, innocent!armin, virgin!armin, mentions of religion, armin secures his first date ever

word count: 2.1k - ch 1 

armin’s religion is something precious to him, however, he doesn’t agree with every limitation. he prays everyday and attends church on sundays, but he doesn’t believe in waiting until marriage. his main ideology is saving himself for someone special. he doesn’t want to have flings with people just for the sake of it. he wants to have a meaningful connection with someone first before trying anything. along with this idea, armin is incredibly shy. hence why he’s still a virgin and entering his second year of college. that fact doesn’t bother him, but it confuses the hell out of his friends.

armin is human. he obviously feels the same urges everyone else does but he chooses his beliefs over the fleeting thoughts. he’s not one to cave into peer pressure. his friends have tried to take on the role of his wingmen a few times before to try to get girls to talk to him, but he’s always politely declined their offers. one time eren had successfully talked a girl into going on a date with armin. when he heard about the plan armin approached her and apologized for his friend’s behavior. 

armin is an introvert. he likes to be in the comfort of his own room listening to music, watching a movie, studying, reading his bible… he doesn’t get out much. the only people he hangs out with are the friends he’s had since he was a child. much to their surprise, eren and mikasa convinced armin to go out with them tonight. it’ll be his first time attending a house party in a while. the music is always too loud and way too vulgar for his taste. he doesn’t drink. he doesn’t smoke. he’s too timid to talk to strangers. nothing about the environment screams armin arlert. 

other than his friends, the only thing he likes at this party is you. he likes how you show off your intelligence in philosophy class, how kind you are when you tell the professor to have a good night, how pretty you look when you smile… armin has thought about you quite a bit the last few weeks. he has a bit of a crush on you. it’s a new feeling for him, he’s never had a proper crush on someone before. 

when armin thinks of you his thoughts of you are always pure. he wonders what it’s like to be the one to make you laugh, take you on a date, maybe even hold your hand while he walks you home… 

“is that a purity ring?”, you ask. your voice is a bit loud as you try to talk over the music and other people’s conversations. you shift your weight on the couch as you lean down to get a better look at the piece of jewelry on armin’s finger. you’re careful not to spill the drink you’re holding as you look closer. armin looks down at his hand as you inspect it. you’ve never seen one before. 

armin isn’t sure when his crush on you began. he could feel his heart race whenever you entered a room and how his eyes automatically shut when he caught a whiff of your perfume. he’s only known you since the semester started. although you’re in the same class, he hasn’t had an opportunity to talk to you just yet. while he doesn’t know much about you, armin can tell you’re out of his league. he knows you're beautiful and intimidating and he’s just armin. nothing was really special about him. 

“it is”, he answers you, voice timid. when you sit back up he nervously clasps his hands together. he’s not embarrassed of his faith one bit. he’s proud to say he believes in a higher being. armin just isn’t one to crave attention and your question had inadvertently caused some heads to turn. 

“so you’ve never had sex?”, you ask. you’re trying to be respectful. you aren’t asking in an attempt to humiliate him, you’re genuinely curious. armin is very handsome, sweet, charming, smart… you wonder how no one has had the chance to be with him yet. he’s such a catch.

armin meets your eyes, then looks behind you. mikasa and eren are looking at him expectantly. they’re sure armin has never been intimate with anyone before, but he’s never confirmed it. he’s not sure what his friends will say about it. armin hesitates to answer. he looks back down at his ring and plays with it. 

you scold yourself for embarrassing him. this is not a conversation to have so publicly. you down the rest of your drink before leaning into armin, closer this time. 

“come with me”, you whisper into his ear. goosebumps run down his arms at the feeling of your breath against his skin. before armin has time to respond, you hold his hand and lead him away from the living room. armin notices that his much larger hand swallows yours. 

eren and mikasa give each other a look as you both leave the couch. they know about your crush on each other. 

armin desperately follows close behind you, not wanting to get lost in the sea of drunk college students. his hands already feel clammy in your grasp. 

“where are we going?”, he asks as you both make your way upstairs. armin purposefully keeps his gaze up, being respectful and not looking down at your hips as they sway in front of him. 

instead of answering him you guide armin into your bedroom and shut the door behind you. it’s much quieter here. all that can be heard are the muffled conversations from below and the bass of the music. 

armin wipes his palms on his pants, feeling a bit on edge. he’s never been inside a girl’s bedroom before. he makes sure not to snoop around. it wouldn’t be very respectful of him. armin fidgets with his ring while he waits for you to break the ice. you watch him as you lean with your back pressed against your door, wondering what’s going on inside his head. his blonde bangs cover his forehead, but you still notice that he keeps his eyes on the floor, careful not to pry. how thoughtful. 

“i thought we could have more privacy here”, you explain. armin smiles gratefully at you, but quickly averts his gaze again. you’re not sure if he’s upset with you, but you decide to apologize anyway to cover your bases. “i didn’t mean to embarrass you-”, you start. 

armin shakes his head at your apology. “please”, he interrupts you. “it’s okay, really”. he doesn’t think you have anything to apologize for. was the question intrusive? yes, but he knows you weren’t asking him with any malicious intent. 

“you can ask me anything you want”, he tells you. armin’s blue eyes bore into yours. you nod and carefully select your words. you don't want to come off as ignorant for not understanding or too critical of him. you weren’t a virgin yourself, but you definitely were not a pro. you were just picky. 

“is it a religious thing?”, you ask. armin considers your question for a moment. he tilts his head to the side as he thinks. 

“yes and no. my faith says not to be intimate with anyone until marriage. it’s a nice sentiment, but i don’t intend to wait that long”, armin pauses to collect his thoughts. “i’m waiting to give myself to someone i trust completely. and maybe even grow to love” he says sweetly. there’s crinkles next to his eyes as he smiles, thinking about his beliefs. a smile appears on your own lips at his answer. you didn’t expect him to say something so innocent. 

“i admire that”, you tell him. he looks away and tries not to blush at your comment. surely armin had to have girls falling over each other to get a chance with him. what’s not to like?

“so that means you’ve done everything leading up to sex, right?”, you ask expectantly. 

armin shakes his head. “not exactly”, he places a hand behind his neck. “i’ve never done anything before”, he answers truthfully. armin doesn’t say anything after his confession. you take a moment to look at him. he’s so sweet and gentle. he isn’t the heartbreaker type and is definitely not one to have a one night stand. he’s mature, unlike most people at this age. he knows what he wants and is willing to wait for the right time. 

you can’t hide the surprised look on your face. in college everyone has had their first kiss, first relationship, maybe even first heartbreak by now. it’s so rare to find someone who hasn’t experienced anything at all. you hate to admit it, but the thought of being his first is intriguing. a bit naughty, too. 

you speak before you can stop yourself. “do you want to?”, you ask. armin’s cheeks are crimson. “you said you were waiting to give yourself to someone you trust. i’m not saying we have to go all the way, but if you ever want to try a few things…”, your voice fades away as you try to explain your thoughts.

armin stands there, stunned at your offer. he’s never been given a proposition like this before. it’s a lot to consider. he wouldn’t be abandoning his faith, but he’s not in an established relationship with you. what if this situation goes south and it changes his feelings for you? what if it makes you see him in a negative light? armin doesn’t want to experiment with something as precious as you. 

on the other hand, you do have a point. armin doesn’t know what he likes and dislikes. he won’t if he doesn’t explore himself. what if he’s a bad kisser and doesn’t know it? or bad at other things but isn’t aware because of his lack of experience? 

the middle ground is you. he isn’t being pressured to do anything he doesn’t want to. you were just offering. he could say no and it would be entirely okay. but if he was going to try anything he’d want it to be with you. 

“i know you like me, armin”. he looks away from you, feeling a bit embarrassed. “mikasa told me”, you inform him as you walk closer. he holds back his urge to cringe. of course she told you. 

“don’t worry”, you coo as you rest your fingertips under his chin to tilt it up. armin’s eyes shift between yours. you're so close to him now. he holds his breath, feeling his chest tighten up a bit. 

“i like you too”, you smile. armin can’t believe what he’s hearing. you actually like him? he stutters, not knowing what to say. with the way you’re looking at him he’s sure you’re telling the truth, but he’s hesitant to believe you. why would you like him?

armin remembers you’ve had a few drinks. he’s never tried it before so he’s not sure how it works. but he remembers hearing that sometimes people say things they don't mean, so he’s running with that idea.

“you’ve been drinking”, he states. surely the alcohol is to blame for the discussion you’re having. your smile doesn’t waver. 

“i’m not drunk, armin. i’ve meant everything i’ve said”, you tell him sincerely. you drop your hand from his chin, giving him some space and time to think. armin spins his ring around his finger as he reflects on your conversation. he’s nervous, interested, scared, hopeful… he’s feeling a bit of everything right now. 

“if we’re going to do this i think we should do it properly”. armin always thinks strategically. he doesn’t want this situation to blow up in his face later. he wants to make sure he does things the right way.

“properly?”, you repeat. you try not to seem so eager. 

“well, i should take you out first, right?”, he asks, uncertain of his own question. a smile returns to your lips. just thinking about being with armin was making you giddy. 

“are you asking me out on a date?”. he stutters again. it’s cute how he’s so easily flustered. you let him short-circuit for a moment before calling his name soothingly. your voice grounds him. armin closes his eyes and takes a deep breath to center himself before speaking again.

“if you’ll let me, i’d like to take you on a date sometime”, armin says, much more calm than before. it’s your turn to blush. no one has ever made you feel so special in such a short amount of time. you’re more than happy to accept his offer. 

“i’d love to go on a date with you”, you respond. armin’s blue eyes shimmer as he beams at you. he’s excited for what’s to come.

-------

ch 2>>

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ thank you for reading!! everyone is welcome to leave feedback and requests in my inbox!! also, let me know if you want to be added to my permanent taglist! ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

[kooruphobic]

WILL YOU BE MY VALENTINE? — armin arlert/reader

𓆩♡𓆪 tags : sub!armin, tease!reader, armin has a crush (on you), and is definitely helplessly in love, kissing, begging (slightly), vaginal sex, jean kirstein is a bitch, armin thinks about voueyrism(?), smut

𓆩♡𓆪 word count : 2.7k

𓆩♡𓆪 summary : armin has been pining after you for years. when the two of you end up alone in his room, he finally works up the courage to ask you to be his valentine. but in the end, he gets a little more than what he asked for.

Armin likes you. Everyone knows—Eren, Mikasa, Jean, Connie, Sasha—it’s a universal fact at this point. Even people who aren't in your close circle know.

He’s liked you for years. Ever since Eren introduced the two of you he fell in love at first sight. Armin wasn’t gifted with the courage to flirt with girls as Eren does, so he’s admired you from afar instead. Everyone notices how he looks at you and how he blushes when you get close to him. One time, when your entire friend group was hanging out, there were no more spots on the couch so you asked if you could sit on his lap as a joke. His entire face went completely red in seconds. He managed to choke out a quiet “yeah,” and for the few weeks following Armin had to face relentless teasing from the entire group. 

Truth be told, you knew what you were doing. You always know what you're doing. Even though he doesn't think you know, it's quite obvious to you that Armin has a crush. Teasing him when you all hang out together is probably one of your favorite pastimes. You enjoy the way he struggles to get out the right words when you compliment him or how his eyes go wide and his cheeks flush rosy-pink when you flirt. 

If you're being honest with yourself, you might also have a little crush on him. Armin is very pretty. You like his blonde hair and how his soft blue eyes compliment them. His smile is super cute, too. He’s always nice to you (probably because he likes you) but he’s always careful with what he says and has never done anything to make you uncomfortable. You would ask to date him, but you find no fun in making the first move. Imagining Armin being flustered as he’s confessing to you is something you picture almost every time you see him.

Today is the 14th of February. It's a day that people either love or hate: Valentine’s Day. Since nobody in the friend group is dating anyone, you decided to spend Valentine's Day with each other. Armin offered for everyone to come over to his place and you did. You all played games (almost losing friendship over an Uno match), ate, drank, and talked about stupid things. It was like any other typical hangout you guys had.

Or so Armin thought. With the way his friends are, he shouldn't have been surprised when they all left to go “pick up” something. Jean was the one who urged you to stay with Armin, insisting he couldn't just be left alone even though Armin kept telling you it was fine.

And now the two of you are in his room, sitting on the edge of the bed, talking about nothing in particular. 

“...And I always lose when we play anything card related. You guys are plotting against me or something,” you laugh softly, slightly tilting your head. You ask him a question but your words simply go through one ear and out the other. The only thing Armin can focus on is how pretty you look next to him. He eyes your chest and eventually trails down the rest of your body, practically undressing you with his eyes.

“Armin?”

You wave a hand in front of him, breaking him out of his trance. He realizes he’s been staring at you for a little too long, and he immediately begins coming up with one hundred different excuses for himself.

“I’m sorry, I just spaced out for—”

“What were you thinking about?”

You.

“I-I dunno. Just stuff, I guess.”

Armin’s cheeks are dusted rose-pink and he can feel the blood rush to his face. He’s praying you don't notice his flushed appearance (you do, though). You giggle at his sudden shy demeanor, despite him talking so confidently with you just a few minutes before.

“You can tell me, I won’t judge.”

You will judge. How can he possibly tell you straight-up he was thinking about you? 

“It's nothing, really. Did you ask something earlier?” he questions, trying to change the subject.

You smile. Earlier you asked if he had a valentine. You know the answer already, you just want to see him become a stuttering mess.

“I asked if you have a valentine.”

Armin's eyes widen for a second and he quickly looks around the room, finding something to focus on so he’s not looking at you. 

Of course, he doesn't have a valentine. He wants it to be you, but there's no way he has enough courage to do that. Armin has done the math. There's a ninety-nine-point-nine chance of him getting rejected, so it's kind of silly to confess knowing he’ll get his heart broken.

He’s heard it a million times from his friends every year: “Just do it. The worst she can say is no,” but that's just it. Every time a guy thinks the worst she can possibly say is “no” the outcome is the complete opposite and they get rejected in ways ten times worse. Armin doesn't have any personal experience with that, but he’s certainly seen what other guys have been through.

But then he starts thinking, what if you do say yes to him? What if the point one percent of you not rejecting him actually pulls through? Armin feels a small sense of confidence. It wouldn't hurt to confess…right? He’s liked you for years so why not just tell you and get it over with? He does have the perfect opportunity. Maybe watching Eren flirt with all those girls has given him some second-hand experience.

Armin stops staring at the pencil on his desk and returns his gaze to you. You still have your head tilted to the side, patiently waiting for an answer.

“...Yeah.”

The little confidence he had in himself left and was replaced with immediate regret. Why did he say that? He didn't even say it as a normal person would. His voice came out quiet and shaky. Where was he even going with this?

“Oh, really?” you smile again, a hint of amusement in your voice. “Who is it?”

“Well—”

“Is it someone I know?” you place a hand on his chest, pushing him back onto the bed. “Am I friends with them?”

Armin's heartbeat quickens tenfold, and instead of feeling the blood rush straight to his face, it goes straight to his dick. He’s hard and all you’ve done is put one hand on hand on him. 

You give him an innocent look and place a knee between his legs, acting as if you don't know what you're doing. 

“What's wrong, Armin? You're so quiet.”

What's wrong? What's wrong is that your knee is pressing against his hard-on and you're above him, hand still resting on his chest. There's no way you're doing this as a joke. It has to be on purpose, right? You're not just messing with him?

“You…you do know her,” he manages to say, closing his eyes and letting out a sharp breath.

 You lean forward and your lips ghost the shell of his ear. 

“Tell me about her then,” you whisper, “because it seems that you like her a lot.”

Armin swallows and places a shaky hand on top of yours, gazing at you with desire evident in his eyes. 

“She’s really pretty. I’ve liked her for a long time…” he trails off when you run your hand down his abs, but picks up again when you stop. “I haven't actually asked her yet.”

“Hmm. Why? Are you scared?” your voice takes on more of a sultry tone.

“N-no. Not exactly.”

“I think…” you tuck a stray strand of hair behind his ear, “that you should ask her right now.”

Armin looks up at you and stares. There's no way you're just joking. He’s used to your teasing—Armin always thinks it's just to mess with him—but you’ve never taken it this far. You have to like him too, right? Why would you go to these lengths just to mess with him? He realizes just how embarrassed he is and how embarrassing it would be if he really asked you to be his valentine. Armin would feel like he was in the sixth grade again, which is definitely not something he’d like to feel. 

You graze your lips against his, cupping his face with your hand. 

“C’mon, Armin. I know you like me. Just ask.”

He feels his face heat up again. For a second, he thinks he’s dreaming because there’s no possible way this could be real. But it is. It is real. It’s real and you’re telling him to ask you to be his valentine.

“Will you—will you be my valentine?”

He cringes slightly at his words but seeing the way you smile against his lips makes everything worth it.

“Of course I will.”

Armin swallows again as you stare at him for a few moments. He follows your eyes as they move down to his lips. As if asking for permission, you move forward ever so slightly. He thinks about it for a moment, wondering what would happen if the others came back and walked into the room. How would they react if they saw the two of you like this, your knee in between his thighs and faces so close you can feel each other's breath? They most definitely wouldn’t be surprised, but if you took it any further than a one-time thing…

He decides not to think about it any longer and closes his eyes, letting his lips find yours and kissing you. Armin kisses softly at first, but eventually, you start kissing back, and he loses himself. The kiss grows sloppier but it doesn’t matter to him. This is all he’s ever wanted. The number of times he’s fallen asleep fantasizing about your soft lips on his—he can’t even count them on his fingers anymore. Armin wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you closer to him. 

You taste sweet, a mix of chocolate and alcohol from earlier. It’s intoxicating. Everything about you is intoxicating. The way you smell, the way you feel, the way you touch. He hadn’t noticed you were running your hands down his body until you reached in between his thighs. Your hands lingered there, unmoving. He moans into the kiss, quiet but still loud enough that you hear. 

You kiss him for a few moments longer then break away. Armin is panting, his ears burning and eyes blown with lust. You’ve turned him into a mess with one kiss.

“Please,” is the only word he says, looking down at your hand still between his thighs. 

You tug his shirt, a sign for him to take it off, and he obliges. He throws it to the side carelessly, doing the same with his pants. 

You’ve seen Armin without a shirt before but you’ve never realized how good he looks. He has washboard abs, a slender waist, and a complimenting v-line—you can’t help but stare for a few seconds. You run your hands down his abs, trailing all the way down to his boxers. You hook your fingers around the waistband and pull them down, his hard cock lightly hitting his stomach. There’s already pre-cum leaking from his tip. 

“What do you want me to do, Armin?” you ask, wrapping your fingers around his length. 

He looks at you through half-lidded eyes. He doesn’t care what you do to him, he just wants more of you in any way possible. 

“Anything.”

You grin and pull your shirt off, then your shorts, then your bra. Besides your panties, you’re completely bare. Armin admires how perfect you look in front of him. He’s touched himself to the thought of you naked before, but nothing he imagined in that pretty little head of his amounted to how good you looked in person.

You go in for another kiss and soon enough he’s pushing inside of you, slowly enough to make sure he doesn’t hurt you. You moan into the kiss, rolling your hips onto his. 

“Wait—no condom?” 

“It’s ok. On the pill,” you intertwine your fingers with his and press your lips onto his again. Armin bottoms out into you and groans. You realize just how big Armin actually is. He places his hands around your waist and hugs you closer, holding you tight as if he’s scared he’ll lose you. 

You start moving up and down on his cock and eventually, Armin starts meeting you halfway. The two of you waste no time taking it slow, he’s desperate for you, and—even though you haven’t really shown it—you’re desperate for him. When Armin kissed you your thighs clenched, but he didn’t seem to notice. 

The room that was once filled with you and Armin’s innocent bickering and teasing was now filled with obscene sounds—from how he pistoned up into your wet pussy to his sweet whimpers—it turned on Armin so, so much.

You squeeze around him, enjoying his whimpers and breathy pants. And just as you were both chasing your high, coming close even though it hasn’t been that long, you hear the front door open and the sounds of your friend's laughter follow. Armin stops and looks at his closed bedroom door, a panicked expression on his face. A knock sounds on the door, Connie’s voice coming from the other side.

“Are you two good in there?”

Armin opens his mouth to answer but only a broken sob comes out as you slam your hips back down onto him. You continue, smiling down at him, acting like nothing is wrong. He looks at you with his eyes widened, biting his hand to stop himself from letting out any more sounds.

“Go on, answer him. You don’t want him to think there’s anything wrong, do you?” 

He grabs your waist with his free hand in an attempt to stop you, but he’s so weak from the pleasure that it does absolutely nothing. Tears prick at his eyes, from the embarrassment of being almost caught by one of his friends and how good he feels.

“I bet you secretly want it to happen. For Connie to come in here and see what we’re doing.”

You’re right, he does secretly want it to happen. He wants Connie to open the door and see the expression on his face at the sight of the two of you. He wants him to see the way you go down onto his cock, taking him so well and him enjoying everyone second of it. Armin isn’t even thinking straight anymore, purely driven by lust. He begins to thrust back up into you, tears rolling down his cheeks. Everything feels better than before; you feel impossibly tighter around him and he feels so good. There are no other words to describe it. 

“Hello?”

“We’re fine. Just give us a few moments, we’re talking about somethi—”

Armin stops mid-sentence because feels close, hips stuttering. He feels the way your pussy spasms around him and notices the way your eyes roll back. You’ve already come but he’s not done yet.

“I’m sorry,” is all he manages to choke out as he continues to push into you. He grabs your hips again and thrusts roughly, his rhythm growing messy and inconsistent. You’re overstimulated and you try to say something, but your jaw goes slack as he keeps going. He chases the high he was so close to earlier and finally reaches it, a string of broken sobs and moans coming spilling from his mouth. Armin’s loud and he knows it, but it doesn’t matter to him anymore. He pulls you into one final, messy kiss and closes his eyes, breath heavy. 

There’s a moment of silence and suddenly you hear roars of laughter through the door. 

“I fucking told you! You all owe me fifty dollars,” Jean’s voice echoes through the house, followed by a chorus of groans from the rest of your friends.

“You’re such a fucking bitch, dude.” Connie’s voice is clear at first, becoming quieter and muffled as he moves away from the bedroom door.

You look at Armin and he looks at you. You laugh and he gives you a shy, embarrassed smile.

“Oops.”

𓆩♡𓆪 note : this was supposed to be posted on valentines day. . .obviously. i posted it on ao3 on feb 15, and decided to post here too after awhile.

happy late valentines day!

[heliiacus]

tags: armin x reader, a touch of dark armin, protective armin, hurt/comfort

warnings: reader was injured (off-page; no details), contusions

Armin protects those important to him; you know that much. You're just not sure how far he is willing to go. request by @layla240 ; "Who did this to you? I just want to talk to them." | prompt list

word count: 350

You had never been scared of Armin. He is capable; you know that much – and of many things, in fact. But his demure, almost sunshine-like nature sits flushly at the forefront of your image of him, and, above all things, what you feel foremost when you are in his presence is safe.

And you got hurt, this time. Streaks of purple upon your skin, nary unhideable and inescapable, and you knew, clearly, that he would see it – you knew that he would be concerned, you knew that he would stop you to look at it; his fixating, immobilising gaze pulling you taut as he would analyse the mar on your skin.

It is not like you are afraid of him now – you would never, not of him; but a whiplash, you firmly believe, is in order.

“Who did this to you?"

It's not the way he says it. It's not the way his fingers twitch, just a fraction, against your skin. It's not the way he stills, so stringent and sudden; his muscles seizing into a freeze that pulls all of your attention to him.

It's the way his eyes shift: this swirling, unfamiliar shadow crossing over his irises, turning the ocean within his gaze into a strange, desolate river. It makes you think, just briefly, of the fate of the one who had put their hands on you.

Ensnared in his question, your breath baits the answer in your throat, and it stutters, audibly so; it makes Armin sigh, his eyelashes fluttering for just a moment, and then he leans closer – ever so slightly, the distance meagre and menial, but you feel your body shift with it, succumbing to the attention he demands of you. You watch him, you watch his expression shift between a cold anguish to a hot grief, and suddenly his hand is at your cheek, warm and soothing.

Then he speaks again; quieter, this time – more careful. "Who did this to you?" He asks of you, and as your lips part around the words, you know that you have no choice of keeping the answer to yourself.

dividers by saradika

tag list: @arlerts-angel @levistealeaf

@sukunascrustyfinger @chiinni

@nilaaaas @ryoiii

@dilfkentolover @arminarlertssword

@bel-https @layla240

@katestrophes @er3nscottonpicker

@siiyoko @lemontrees-things

@arminarlertspersonalnurse @dvrkfverie

@girlybelle @blvewave

reblogs are dearly appreciated, angels 💗 i'll be slowly chipping away at the remaining requests in my ask box !! thank you so much for requesting so many different things, i am beyond happy <33

[mommypieck]

⌗︙・armin getting you pregnant ⸜⸜・

i can't imagine armin finding out that your friend got a baby.

"armin, stop." you giggle in between his kisses. his lips latch on your neck, licking and sucking love bites all over. armin's mind is clouded by only one thought and that is to breed you. he throws you on the bed, your body bouncing from his strength. you can't even see what's happening before he's crawling on top of you, tugging your clothes off. his mouth sets on the valley in between your breasts while his hands tug your panties down. he's so desperate to get inside of you.

"are you ready for me to give you a baby?" he asks you as he sinks inside of the warmth of your body. he doesn't wait for your response, setting fast pace right away. his cock stretches your insides in the best way possible and you can't even think about what armin just asked you. he moans with every thrust, just the thought of you pregnant with his child makes him act out. he wants everyone to know that he fucked you so good until you got pregnant. he wants everyone to know that it's his baby.

"baby, will you marry me?" he suddenly blurs out, making your eyes widen. you don't know why he suddenly asked that but you hope it's just from the overwhelming pleasure.

"why?" you ask him in confusion. you can feel his thrusts becoming sloppier and sloppier.

"i want the kid to have my last name, our last name." he says as he spills his cum inside of you. he didn't track your ovulating days but he's sure today is the right day - you're going to get pregnant.

[n-agiz]

KINKTOBER '23ㅤDAY 11 [ ARMIN ARLERT X SQUIRTING ] cws squirting + fingering (f) + oral + (mentions of) sex toys ! MDNI

if there was one thing that armin loved, it was to pleasure you.

he would always find new ways to do it — be it to use his cock, fingers, mouth, toys, or just about anything else that he knew would bring you to an orgasm — and although he did it all because he genuinely wanted to make you feel good, one part of him also knew that there was a more selfish reason to it — that being his fascination with you squirting.

armin was obsessed with it, with stuffing you full with his dick, fucking you while toying with your clit, positioning himself so that his length could hit all the right spots inside you and even twisting you into the exact positions that he knew made him reach deeper inside your cunt, ramming his hips against yours until the clear liquid was exploding from your pussy, your moans loud as you dragged your nails down his skin, screaming about how good it was. but beyond that, he enjoyed it even more when he knelt between your legs, two fingers pushing in and out of your squelching pussy, bending and pressing into that one spongy spot that made your legs tremble around his head, almost threatening to close up around him, while he sucked on your sensitive nub, tongue circling and flicking over your clit until, once more, you were cumming, this time all over his face, drenching him in the clear liquid — and if he said that wasn’t almost enough to make him cum in his pants untouched, he would be lying.

he would toy with you any way he could, constantly searching for new ways to pleasure you, never afraid of trying something for the first time. some days he would ask you if you wanted to try a new toy, a recently bought dildo in his hands as he spoke — and just as eagerly as him, you would agree to it, almost immediately jumping into your boyfriend’s arms, letting him kiss down your body and spread your legs apart before starting to use the vibrating toy on you, thriving off of every moan you let out until you finally came all over him.

N-AGIZ '23ㅤ REBLOGS ARE GREATLY APPRECIATED !

[stuckinthesun]

I'd KILL for dom!Armin 😏😉😏😗

KILL?!? …same😏

Fem!Reader

“One more time.”

“A-Armin-“

You had been in this position for hours, you on all fours, Armin forcing your back into an arch with a hand pressing on your spine. You could feel how swollen your pussy was from how long his mouth has been latched onto it.

Two… four… you’ve lost track of how many times you’ve cum.

“I-I can’t-“ You hiccup, tears running down your face and staining the sheets beneath you.

“You know the safe word,” Armin says placing a kiss on your thigh, “But you haven’t used it yet. So you can do it, Baby.”

He spreads your folds with his thumb and pointer finger, staring at how red you are. The little bit of friction has you gasping and trying to squirm away, but he’s quick. With one hand you’re wrists are bound behind your back in a flash, held together at the base of your spine and effectively keeping you in place.

“Don’t,” Armin snaps and spits on your already soaking cunt, making you sob out.

With that he goes back in like a man starved, immediately plunging his tongue inside of you and dragging it against your walls. Your legs shake violently as you cry out, already close to another orgasm, so overstimulated as you are.

Armin moans against you like he’s the one getting head, and the vibrations of his voice are enough to push you over the edge. You scream as you cum, your body violently shakes, and all the while Armin continues to tongue fuck you.

Eventually he pulls off, so covered in your juices from hours of this that his chin is literally dripping, but he just smiles at you and soothingly rubs your sides, “Good girl.”

Ugh himmmmmm💦

[jeankirsteinsgrlfrnd]

How does armin take care of a drunk reader?

armin takes care of your drunkself

armin lays a bottle of tylenol, a glass of water and your phone on the beside table for yourself in the morning. he’ll be gone when you wake up because he’s out getting your favorite breakfast order.

he is not afraid to pull the trigger if you’re too drunk to even throw up. it’s no sweat off his back. he ties your hair up, too.

he memorized your skin care routine so obviously, he does it for you even when you fight him about it. muttering the whole time, “you’re going to be so mad tomorrow if you don’t let me do this.”

always makes sure you wind up home and safe. he’ll drive to you where ever you are so you don’t drink and drive.

armin loves to cut you off when he thinks you’ve had enough. you never believe him and always order another shot. he, and the blessing that he is, will snag it from you so fast and slam it down just so you don’t drink it.

he always has to calm you down when you get too rowdy. but if you behave yourself enough, he obliges to your every request. ie: dancing, playing mario kart, late night walk, sneaky bathroom time…

he also 100% stands up for you whenever someone spills a drink on you or bumps into you. he yells and turns all red in the face. it’s really cute actually.

[theglitterypages]

Random Texts with AOT Boys featuring Eren, Levi, Armin and Jean!

[arminsbf]

My Own Summer

pairing: bsf!armin arlert x m!reader

summary: staying at armin's lake house over the summer has been nice, but tonight, neither of you can sleep. maybe you can help each other out?

title: “my own summer (shove it)” by deftones

cw: smut 18+, oral (armin receiving), masturbation (reader), NO penetration, porn with a little bit of plot, no use of y/n, a lot of awkwardness, pining/yearning, reader is anxious/overthinks some things, armin has glasses, college au i guess, armin says he gets off to reader all the time

word count: 5.4k

a/n: finally done… i procrastinated a lot working on this 😭 was supposed to be done last week but. here we are. this is my first fic i’ve ever written so give me some grace… i’m terrified to post this!!!!!

tags: @shepnicolo

You can’t sleep. You squirm on the couch, unable to get comfortable. It’s too hot under the blanket. Makes sense, it’s the middle of summer. It's also too cold without them… because the AC is blasting. The moonlight shines in from the skylight and irritates you further. You press your face into your pillow, trying to hide from your awareness, but now it’s too dark. It messes with your vestibular system, for some reason, and now you’re all dizzy. You sit up.

This living room is nice. The gibbous moon helps you to see, as you squint your eyes to look out the patio door. You can kind of see the lake from here. But it’s hard to make it out in the darkness. Really, this whole house is nice. Armin’s grandparents must be rich rich. But this couch isn’t really made for sleeping on.

The beds weren’t, either. Clearly, Armin’s grandparents don’t spend any of their time here. The beds were usable — twin-sized mattresses and rickety wood frames. But, you doubt either of you could even fit on those beds if you lied straight. And on top, there were those faded quilts that must’ve been a century old. Usable. But not quite fit for the sweltering heat.

So, you and Armin opted for the sectional couch in the living room. It’s big enough to fit the both of you — one on each side — and the pillows from the bedroom and the few blankets from the linen closet worked well enough. The big skylight is pretty, you can see all the stars in the sky, and the patio is nice. The fabric of the couch doesn’t complement sunburn, though.

Armin knows this better than you do. Forgetting to put sunscreen on his face just once got him this stupid sunburn. It’s not debilitating, and the aloe vera helped. But the rough texture of the couch against his face, when he moves just a bit too low on his pillow, reminds him that sunscreen is very important. Besides, he can hear you shifting around, and it’s not putting him at ease. He at least wants you to be able to sleep. He sits up and sees that you’ve already done the same.

“Can’t sleep?” He asks, and you jump, startled. You hadn’t heard him at all. “Yeah. Sorry, did I wake you up?” You reply, and try to make eye contact in the darkness. You can see him pretty clearly, and he’s definitely looking at your face — but he’s also definitely not making eye contact with you. You look to his left and you think you can see his glasses on the end table. Of course, why would he be wearing them to bed?

“No, no, it’s fine.” You watch him try to rub his face, and then he flinches. “Sunburn.” He points at his face as if you didn’t already know. He shakes his head. “I’m tired,” he breathes. “Me too,” you nod, laughing to yourself at his dysfunctional state. You yawn, and stretch, but immediately regret moving your arms away from your body. The AC is definitely too high. You shiver slightly. “It’s cold as hell,” you mumble, and he looks around, searching for the thermostat. He struggles to see much of anything in the darkness. Been nearsighted his whole life.

“It’s fine, Min, don’t worry about it. It’s better than outside.” You say, after watching him look around the room for a few moments. He turns back to you and smiles gently, but you can see the goosebumps on his skin. He’s shirtless, wearing a pair of sweatpants. You’re wearing about the opposite, an old sleep shirt and cotton boxers. “Sorry that I can’t turn it down some, Grandpa set it up before we came. He said that it was really finicky and told me not to mess with it at all.” He mumbles, shifting slightly. “I’m sure that we could just turn it down, but… he seemed pretty serious about it.” He adds. You barely register what he’s said, staring at his bare skin and the way his chest rises and falls subtly as he breathes.

You’re glad he’s not wearing his glasses. You look back into his eyes and it doesn’t seem like he noticed your staring. God, he looks so good — his hair is messy from sleep, and his blue eyes reflect the moonlight like diamonds. You watch him shiver, and then he shifts again. He seems nervous. “It’s okay, not your fault. I wouldn’t wanna do anything if he said not to.” You respond, a bit late. He nods. You’re not sure if he’s really paying attention to what you’ve said either.

Armin thinks back to a night a few months ago, after one of Connie’s parties. You had told Armin that you didn’t feel like being by yourself, and he offered to let you stay the night. Originally, you were going to sleep on the couch, but after a few restless hours, you wordlessly crawled into Armin’s bed. He was going to ask what you were doing — not that he minded at all, (secretly, he was a mess, you were curled up against him in his bed!) — but you really did look tired. Like you needed the sleep. Like you couldn’t sleep without him. So, he didn’t say anything. Just a few minutes later, he could hear your breathing evening out.

He’s sure that now, the situation would be similar. That if you lie with him, you would be able to sleep. And, it’s cold. He could help keep you warm. That’s all there is to it. He has no other reasons to want to lie with you. He convinces himself of this, that he only wants to sleep with you in his arms because you might appreciate it. That’s all it is. Definitely not because he wants to feel you, your breathing, your heartbeat. Hear your blinking and the quiet noises you make in your sleep. Run his fingers along your arms, your back, your legs. He definitely doesn’t want to do any of that.

“Well, um… I could lie with you, if you wanted. Just because it’s cold — and I know that…” A pause. “…know that you have trouble sleeping by yourself sometimes.” He suggests, and your stomach fills with butterflies. You can’t really read him. He sounds nervous. But, he’s clearly thinking something, and you have no idea what.

He isn’t nervous that you’re going to say no. He knows that you’ll agree with him — he isn’t worried about getting rejected. He’s just worried you’ll get the wrong idea. You’ll think it’s because he wants to get close to you, wants to hold you, wants to kiss your skin and tell you that he loves you. The wrong idea. He’s only offering because he knows it’ll help you sleep. Right?

“I — yeah. Yeah, that would be great. Thanks.” You murmur a reply, failing miserably to hide your embarrassment. Of course, you want it. That would be the most amazing thing in the world. You just can’t believe he asked. And he was so normal about it, too. Sure, he seemed a little nervous, but he asked about it like it was no big deal. Your face warms just thinking about it — about lying with him, feeling his warmth. Maybe he would run his fingers through your hair.

Or, maybe you’re making it a bigger deal than it actually is. Maybe he just means that he’ll lie next to you and that you’ll face opposite directions. You pray that he doesn’t mean that. You hope he means he’ll hold you close, as close as he can. That he’ll keep you warm and kiss your hair.

He stands and walks towards your section of the couch. You sit there awkwardly, not sure what to do. He lies down, his head now on your pillow. He looks up at you expectantly. You notice how good he looks, his blonde hair splayed out across the pillow like that. Looking up at you with those pretty blue eyes and pouty lips. You blink, trying to refocus.

You realize that you two do not fit on this couch at all. It’s already a bit cramped for one person to sleep, and Armin completely takes up the whole section. You shift, unsure of what to do. You could lie on him, but… that’s probably not what he means. You stare at his chest — a lot more obvious than you think you are — and wonder if you should do it.

He parts his lips to speak, but you make up your mind, and he closes his mouth again. You rest your head on his chest, your arm across his torso. You sling one of your legs over his hips, now mostly lying on top of him. You feel his breath hitch, but he doesn’t say anything. He squirms slightly to get more comfortable, then pulls you a bit closer. It’s now that you understand how much trouble you’re in.

He smells so nice. Like cedar and vanilla. Like he’s been out in the sun. Your stomach flips, thinking about how his bed and his clothes smell like him too. You want to sleep in his bed with him when you get back. Okay, wow. You’re getting ahead of yourself. But he does have his hand on your lower back, and you’re pretty sure you’re going to flatline right now. His skin is so warm, and you can hear his heartbeat — slow and steady. It’s putting you to sleep. You never want to leave here.

But, you will yourself to stay awake. Yeah, you wanna sleep… but there’s no way you could waste this opportunity by falling asleep and having to get up and forget about it in the morning. He has freckles all across his arms and chest, all over his skin. You trace your fingertips over them without even thinking about it. He’s so pretty, and you want to memorize everything about his body. He shivers under your touch and you pull away, realizing what you’re doing. “Sorry,” you mumble, hiding your face in his skin, knowing that he must be looking at you.

“No, it’s — it’s fine,” he breathes. He sounds a lot less confident than he means to. You can feel his breathing speed up, but he keeps his hand on your back. His fingers tighten and grip your shirt slightly. Like he doesn’t want you to leave. Armin stares at the ceiling. He keeps himself from looking at you. Even though he’s the one who suggested this, he knows he might do something he regrets if he looks down at you — sees your head on his chest, your pretty hands, your long legs, beautiful eyes… He shouldn’t look.

The silence stretches on. Armin is almost completely still, like he’s scared to move — scared to disturb you. You squirm on top of him, suddenly wanting to be closer. You’re embarrassed about it, you’re already so close to him, you literally have your head on his chest… and yet, you want to be closer. You feel a familiar warmth in your stomach and you want to run, and scream, you want to go home and get away from this man that has completely captured you.

You shut your eyes tight and try to ignore it. You try to push away the thoughts filling your head, about what he could do to you, how you could make him sound. You think of his hands and his mouth, and his cock, and now you’re really embarrassed — you’re sure he can feel your heartbeat and your breathing pick up, how your face warms… how your thighs shift slightly. He must know.

Unbeknownst to you, Armin has barely noticed your state. He’s too busy thinking about how you feel against him, the warmth of your skin, and the fidgety touch of your hands. He’s trying to ignore his thoughts, too, thoughts about kissing you and making you feel good. He moves his hand, rubbing your back soothingly. He can feel that you’re still awake, and he just wants you to be comfortable and be able to sleep. He hears you whimper quietly and he finally turns his attention back to you, looking away from the ceiling and towards your face.

He says your name softly, seeing your small squirming and labored breath. “You alright?” He asks in a low voice, not wanting to be too loud. He is genuinely concerned, worried that you might be uncomfortable. You sit up, your hand on his chest. You’re basically sitting on his thigh. You part your lips to speak, but you don’t say anything. He blinks up at you, seeing your flushed face and blown pupils.

Even in the low light, you watch his face start to turn red. His eyes trail down your body, slowly, as if trying to make sure he’s not seeing anything. He notices your body language, how your hips shift ever so slightly, and he really can’t believe what he’s seeing. You’re turned on? Why? Did he do something? But, really, he can’t imagine you being turned on by him for any reason. Not even because he has low self-esteem or something, just that… it’s you. He knows you aren’t straight, but, there’s no way that he’s your type.

He thinks this until you look at him with fuck-me eyes, and he starts to reconsider. Seeing you looking at him like that, his self-control flies out the window. You two stay like this for a moment. You sit there, far too nervous to make a move or say anything — you’re already mortified that Armin is seeing you like this.

Until he places a hand on your waist. He reaches up with his right hand and cradles your face in his palm. He says your name again, in a way you’ve never heard him say before. So tender, so sweet, like you’re something to be worshipped. Your stomach flips when he starts to pull you closer — pull you down to him. “C’mere,” he murmurs, pulling your face even closer to his own. You close your eyes at the same time as him and he presses his lips to yours.

You must be dreaming. This can’t be real. Armin is actually kissing you. Your neck hurts slightly from leaning over like this, so you move off from on top of him. You lie on your side, your back against the back of the couch, and he turns onto his side as well. He keeps kissing you, and he moves the hand that was on your face into your hair. You wrap your arms around his neck and he sighs against you, running his tongue over your bottom lip. 

You start to open your mouth, wanting more, wanting all of him. But, he suddenly freezes, pulling away. He keeps his hands where they are. His breathing is fast as he stares at you, and you pout, wondering what happened. Did you do something? Were you reading this all wrong? Does he not want you? Is he mad? Your mind spirals as he continues to stare at you, and now you feel sick.

“I — I’m sorry,” he finally says, and he has this look of guilt on his face that makes you want to cry. “I don’t know why I…” He trails off, looking back at your lips again, then quickly back to your eyes. He parts his lips to speak again, and you don’t want to hear it anymore — him apologizing for kissing you. You’ve been wanting this ever since you met him, and he’s apologizing. You might have to kill him.

You kiss him again before he can say anything else. He seems to forget his guilt because he pulls you closer, his leg slotting between yours. You don’t even think about it — grinding your hips lightly against his thigh. You harden embarrassingly fast, and hope he doesn’t notice. You gasp softly from the small, muted pleasure, and he takes the opportunity, sliding his tongue into your mouth. You reciprocate, and move one hand up his neck into his hair, tugging slightly. He moans. You pull away to breathe for a moment, and you’ve never been more mad to be out of breath. “Armin,” you whisper, and he nods, his eyes glazed over. “Mhm,” he responds, pulling you back in.

You can feel him, semi-hard in those stupid gray sweatpants that have been driving you crazy since you got here. You keep kissing him, unhooking an arm from around his neck. You reach down, palming him through his sweatpants. He groans, and you feel him harden under your touch. His hips jerk slightly as you run your fingers up and down the outline of his dick against his thigh. He’s fully hard now and his grip on your waist is almost painful.

Reluctantly, you pull away from the kiss. You dip your head down and press your lips against the warm skin of his neck. He shivers, hand cradling the back of your head. You press open-mouth kisses along the column of his throat, sucking lightly, but careful not to leave any marks. You move lower, to his collarbones, along his shoulder.

He says your name softly, pulling his leg out from between yours. He reaches for the waistband of your boxers — he felt your grinding earlier and knows you’re just as hard as he is. He hooks his fingers under the elastic, but you grab his wrist, lifting your head to look at him.

He looks at you, unsure of what's happening. He doesn’t know what to say — can’t tell how you’re feeling. He doesn’t want to say the wrong thing. You, on the other hand, know exactly how you feel, but you struggle to find any words to describe the way you want him.

“I — I wanna suck you off,” you eventually blurt out, giving up on trying to find some more graceful way to say it. Of course, you want him to touch you, but now isn’t the time. You need to make him feel good. It’s all you’ve ever dreamed about since you first saw him. It’s not about you. And, you hope that after this, there’ll be plenty more opportunities for him to help you. Just not now.

“Okay,” he laughs, but you can still hear the same heat in his voice. You untangle your limbs from each other, and he sits up, waiting to see what you want to do. You get up from the couch, kneeling on the floor in front of him. He sits back, his legs spread wide enough for you to have enough room. You reach up to try to tug at his sweatpants, but he stops you. “Wait,” he says, looking like he just remembered something.

He stands from the couch, practically stepping over you. He walks back over to the other section of the couch where he had been previously sleeping — and grabs his glasses from the end table. He walks back over, quickly resituating himself. He puts his glasses back on and looks down at you, motioning for you to continue. “Sorry. Wanna see you,” he says lowly, with a soft smile.

You smile back, meekly, and tug on his sweatpants again. You hook your fingers under the elastic, along with his boxers, and pull them down, letting them pool at his ankles. His cock springs free, hitting his stomach. You’re so ardent that you almost feel sick — you’ve been waiting so long to finally have Armin like this. And he’s here, now, tanned from the sun and hair messy from sleep, his skin bare for you. He’s hard for you.

You spit into your hand, and reach up, wrapping your fingers around him and pumping him lightly — feeling the slight thrum of his pulse under your palm. You smooth your thumb over his reddened tip, smearing a sticky bead of his pre over his slit. He hisses, limbs tightening and then relaxing slightly. You scoot forward a bit, moving your hand up and down loosely. He sighs quietly, his fingers twitching at his sides.

You press your lips tentatively to his tip, making your way down with feather-light kisses. He says your name, almost whiney, looking down at you with half-lidded eyes. He doesn’t say anything more, but from the way you can feel him pulsing in your hand, you understand that he’s impatient.

You kitten-lick at the tip before pulling your hand away, running your tongue along the bottom of his shaft, feeling the vein there. He groans softly, his hand coming to cup your cheek. “C’mon,” he says gently. And you thought you were the impatient one.

You bring your hand back, wrapping your fingers around the base. No way you’re fitting all of him. You finally wrap your lips around his tip, sucking lightly, before relaxing your throat, moving down further. He gasps quietly, and you can feel him resist the urge to buck his hips into your mouth.

You reach about as far as you can go without gagging and embarrassing yourself, so you work the rest of him with your hand. You pull your head back up slowly, swirling your tongue around his length. He groans, moving his hand to the top of your head. He slides his fingers into your hair gently, massaging your scalp lightly.

You continue this, bobbing your head up and down, and he whines, his head slumping back against the couch. His hips jerk slightly and he pushes himself further into your mouth. You force down the gag that builds in the back of your throat. “Sorry, I — fuck,” he gasps, his fingers tightening in your hair slightly. He’s sure you’re trying to suck the life out of him. “You look so good.” He breathes, another moan falling from his lips. “Feels amazing,” he adds, looking down at you with bleary eyes.

You keep going, hollowing your cheeks, determined to make him feel even better. God, he makes the prettiest noises. With another moan from Armin, louder than you thought he would be, his hips thrust up into your mouth. He hits the back of your throat and you gag around him. His fingers comb through your hair as if trying to soothe you. Despite the burn in your lungs, you don’t stop.

You grow increasingly distracted by your own problem — that you’re still just as hard as he is, leaking and staining your boxers. You can feel your pre-cum against your thigh, sticky and uncomfortable. Reluctantly, you lift your head, pulling off him. You keep using your hand, slick from your saliva. You try to catch your breath, and he tries to catch his. He has a small pout on his face, probably disheartened that you stopped. 

You pull yourself through the fly in your boxers, not the most comfortable — but you don’t really feel like getting up and taking them off. You spit into your hand like you did for Armin earlier, and you stroke yourself at about the same speed as you do him. You feel relief almost instantly, biting your lip at the respite. Feels a lot better than sitting there shifting your thighs. Your eyes flutter shut and you rest your head against his thigh, your breathing finally slowing.

“You okay?” He asks gently, running his fingers through your hair. He sounds just as winded as you. “Mhm,” you nod, kissing up his shaft again. You sit back up, resuming your ministrations with your mouth — and you swear he’s harder than before, if it’s even possible.

You keep your gaze locked on his eyes, but you notice he isn’t making eye contact with you. He stares between your legs — watching as you touch yourself — and you squirm. This is so embarrassing. He moans again, and he sounds like heaven. He must notice your embarrassment.

“You know, I — I’ve wanted you since Eren introduced us,” he breathes, head tilting back. “Well, maybe I shouldn’t say this, but—” his hips jerk again and he moans, interrupting himself. His fingers tighten more in your hair, and it hurts a little, but you don’t mind. You know he can’t help it. “Fuck… I’ve been… getting off to you — all the… all the time, I — do you… do you too? Have you been?” He gasps, and he looks like he regrets saying anything. You’re embarrassed to admit it, but of course you have. You’re sure you do it more than he does. Kind of humiliating, even thinking about yourself doing that. How desperate have you gotten?

Even so, he just admitted that he does it too, and you never thought you’d even get to be here. Giving Armin a blowjob.

Well — not really. You have thought about it. Probably too many times, touching yourself in the dead of night, thinking about your best friend and all the things you could do to him. All the things he could do to you. Moaning his name into your pillow just to see him the next day and act like nothing happened.

You whimper around him, having no other way to truly communicate. The sound sends vibrations up and down his shaft and he whines. He looks into your eyes, his gaze so tender you feel like crying. You try your best to smile up at him, and nod a little, even with your mouth occupied. You swear he whimpers as he stares down at you, cupping your face with one hand and keeping the other in your hair. “Yeah?” He asks, eyebrows pinching together, just as embarrassed as you are.

He laughs to himself, his muscles tensing. “Glad to know it’s not just me,” he laughs, his voice strained. You watch his stomach tighten, his thighs closing slightly. He hiccups out a moan, tugging on your hair. “Wait,” he gasps, as you run your tongue up the side of his length. “I’m—“ He cuts himself off with a groan, his head hitting the back of the couch with a quiet thump. “Wait, wait,” he moans, with a mumble of your name.

He must be close. You watch him shut his eyes tight as he continues to pull on your hair, probably without even realizing it. You try to relax your throat as much as possible, hoping to bring him closer to the edge. You speed up your own hand — making sure that you’re just as close as he is. It’s a lot, and your hips jerk away from the stimulation. It’s too much, you can barely make yourself keep up the pace, but you have to. There’s no way he finishes before you.

His jaw clenches and then goes slack, his mouth hanging open slightly. He’s quiet now, his body so tense that it looks painful. He moans, just once, and he gasps your name, and you swear you see his back arch ever so slightly as he comes without much warning. You swallow harshly on instinct, and, while it’s not a lot, you assumed it would be a few more minutes.

Nothing against him, he looks absolutely amazing above you — chest heaving and face somehow even redder than his sunburn. His hair is a bit mussed up, but, maybe it’s always been like that. And his glasses are slightly crooked.

But, so much for finishing before him.

You pull off of him with a quiet pop, and you bring your now free hand to rest on his thigh. You continue to chase your own high, and you bite your lip, not wanting to make any embarrassing sounds now that he’s done. You rest your cheek against his other thigh like you had before, whining quietly, your hips bucking into your hand. Armin’s still out of it, his eyes shut. You don’t think you’ve ever seen anything better than this — your best friend, all fucked out. Because of you.

With a few last touches, you finally reach your own peak, after what felt like hours. You feel electricity shoot through you as you, thankfully, release into the palm of your hand. If you had stained the rug it might’ve been the death of you. You moan from the overwhelming pleasure, all of it much faster than you’re used to. Usually, you take as much time as you need with this — in the comfort of your own bed in the middle of the night. Alone. And, now, here you are, having made yourself come, in maybe 5 minutes, on your knees, in front of your best friend. Not the most familiar.

You take some time to catch your breath, eventually sitting back up and quickly pulling yourself back into your boxers. You stay there awkwardly with your hand all soiled, wondering what’s next. He opens his eyes, coming down from his high. He looks down at you and smiles. “Wow. Oh my god,” he laughs, still panting. You nod, laughing with him. You get up, feeling a bit of an ache in your legs from having stayed in the same position for so long. “Um… let me…” You mumble, embarrassed, gesturing to your messy hand. He nods, getting what you mean.

You quickly head to the bathroom, washing your hands thoroughly to get rid of any evidence of your encounter. You look at yourself in the mirror. Your hair is all a mess from Armin pulling and running his fingers through it. Your face is still flushed, lips a little swollen. You splash some cold water on your face, hoping to get a grip, because you’re not sure what happens next.

Are things gonna be weird? Maybe he’ll have some post-nut clarity and never want to talk to you again. Maybe he was straight this whole time and will think you’re weird for wanting to do it. Maybe he’ll tell everyone about how bad you are at giving head.

Or, maybe not. You’re overthinking this. Armin’s not like that. Maybe he’ll say he likes you just as much as you like him. Hopefully, you’ll get together and finally get to be with the man you’ve been so in love with. You’re pretty sure things will be normal.

You head back to the living room, feeling cold again now that he’s not with you. You had forgotten about the AC. You regret splashing cold water on your face. But, you’re pretty sure it’s really because Armin was so warm and now you’re not with him. Yes, it’s cold, but it’s not that cold. You walk a little quicker to get back to him. This house is too big.

You get back, seeing him sprawled out on your side of the couch. He’s pulled his boxers and sweatpants back on, and he’s taken his glasses off. He opens his eyes at the sound of your footsteps and sees you standing there awkwardly. He smiles, gesturing for you to come closer.

You walk up to him, unsure what to do.

“C’mere, lie down.” He urges quietly, sounding tired. You smile back and climb over him, lying your head on his chest like you’d done before. You melt into him — he’s so warm. So comfortable. He scratches your back gently, and you sigh contentedly, pressing a gentle kiss to his neck.

You know you should talk. Figure out what all this means. Are you still friends… or something more? And figure out if he actually likes you, because you were always convinced he was straight.

But, he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you closer. You realize how tired you are, limbs exhausted from swimming all day, every day, since you got here. And you’ve been getting mediocre sleep, just enough to feel like enough. And, well, you just came a few minutes ago. So did Armin. He’s just as tired as you are.

So you won’t talk about it right now. You can talk in the morning when you’re both well-rested and in your right mind. But, for now, you can let your eyes flutter shut, let your muscles relax, and let yourself sink into Armin’s embrace. Just before you fall asleep, you’re sure that you’ll get to have many more nights with Armin like this.