#character: armin

[entirelytoooobsessed]

puppy boys who need their attention on you like they need air to breathe,

who rest their face on your knee after a long day, a meek whine coming up their throat, practically begging for you to at least look at them. with wide eyes as they nudge at you, hands sliding up your thighs and fingers lightly digging into your skin as they reach your hips and ever so slowly pull down whatever is blocking from fully seeing you.

who know better than to touch without permission, pupils blowing wide as they lick over their lips, fixated only by you.

"please, let me make you feel good~"

armin, gojo, denji, yuuta, zenitsu, tanjiro, yuuji, bachira, your fave<3

[ashtrayangell]

i think that childhood best friends to enemies trope is the most tragic thing to ever exist bc like. we’ve both done unspeakable things to each other and there’s no getting back to what we were at the start of this but there’s a part of me that still knows you like no one else could ever possibly know you. the whole idea of trust and devotion turned to a mutual, burning hunger to destroy each other. I hate you this much because i loved you this much. drives me insane.

[kissatoru]

𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋

summary · a typical night of lovemaking with your boyfriend takes an untypical turn when you decide to accept rather than decline an incoming call from his best friend.

content · NSFW MDNI, dom!bottom!reader, sub!top!armin (ft. the amazon position, my beloved<3), sub!eren, a pinch of eremin, phone sex (sort of), praise, degradation, humiliation, elements of exhibitionism and voyeurism, pet names (darling, sweet thing, baby), laughter, banter and bad flirting during sex, intended as an armin x reader NOT an eren x reader (reader just bullies eren the entire time lol), reader and armin fuck nasty while eren gets off to it basically

wc · 4.7k

notes · hello! i haven’t written smut in a hot minute lol. this has been sat in my drafts for months but i finished the rest in the last, like, day lmao. anyway, this is DISGUSTINGLY self-indulgent but i hope you enjoy! <3

Armin’s phone buzzes on the bedside table, screen lighting up with the name of the caller.

Usually, he is always quick to answer, only one, two rings max, but that’s a little hard to do considering you’re currently fucking any and all sense of self right out of his body.

Nonplussed, you reach for the vibrating phone, a smile forming when you read the name of the caller. You slow your movements to a stop too, which finally pulls Armin out of the foggy daze he’s in, enough for him to recognise his ringtone.

Before he can voice the question, you tell him, “It’s Eren.”

Armin swallows the drool that’s gathered in his mouth. “I’ll– I’ll have to call him back.” He gently squeezes your thighs, bracketing his own, and groans. “Later,” he adds softly as his eyes flutter shut, unable to stay open.

Alluring as your boyfriend is, so vulnerable and open, with his sweaty skin shining like honey in the dim light of your bedroom, your mind is unable to resist wandering... Replaying all the conversations you’ve had with Armin about your shared attraction to Eren, the transparency in Eren’s own reciprocated feelings, the lingering stares, the hard gulps, the ‘platonic’ flirting...

Your fingers tiptoe up his chest, a playful gesture, not uncommon for even the bedroom, but still it piques Armin’s interest enough for him to reopen his eyes. “Why later?” you muse, grinning like a fox. “Why not now?”

As if processing your words, Armin blinks, hard, then parts his lips to reply, but words fail to reach his brain, much less his mouth. And so he stares at you, like the unspoken answer couldn’t be any more obvious because it couldn’t. Armin is quite clearly busy right now, and he’s sure that whatever reason Eren has for calling him can afford to wait, at least until he’s– well, finished.

...But you don’t seem to agree.

You go ahead and offer the phone to him as if it’s commonplace to do so in these circumstances, and Armin’s eyes widen, his lips part and close again, but he makes no further effort to protest or stop you.

“It’d be rude to keep him waiting,” you say, “and if you don’t hurry, I’ll just pick up for you.”

A few seconds, a pause, drifts into place then; a chance to decline the call or say the safeword or just do anything to show that he doesn’t want to continue — but Armin just chews on his bottom lip, eyes casting down, indigo under the shadow of his lashes, and it’s all the answer you need. You’ve always loved that about him; he may look and act like a blushing virgin, but here, with you, he can’t help being your dirty little pervert.

With a satisfied smirk, you accept the call and hover it over Armin’s ear. Your boyfriend catches his breath, but as soon as he opens his mouth to speak, you’re resuming your actions from before and knocking that breath back out again.

“Fucking finally,” Eren’s playfully exasperated voice crackles through the phone speaker. “Thought you were never gonna pick up, dude. What took you so long? You always answer on the second ring.”

Armin glances at you, as though you might be able to supply him with a believable enough excuse for his behaviour. Despite those puppy eyes, you know he doesn’t need your help — not that you’d give it to him if he did, though. You enjoy seeing him struggle a bit sometimes. How could you not, when he always makes the cutest expressions? And besides, diamonds can only form under pressure, right? So all you do is give him a small, encouraging flick of your head. Go on. Answer him.

Armin takes a deep breath. “S–sorry,” he starts. His sweaty palms nervously massage the flesh around your hips. “My phone was, um, in– in the other room.”

“More like in another building,” Eren jokes and chuckles to himself. Armin probably would have laughed too, if he wasn’t so busy trying to keep his voice in. “Anyway, I just wanted to know if you’re still down for drinks on Friday? We never actually made official plans and usually you get back to me by now but– well, I know you’ve been busy so I thought I’d, y’know, call and check.”

You notice Armin regaining his bearings at the reminder of his plans with Eren, and out of jealousy or sadism, or perhaps a bit of both, you lift yourself up, until the tip of Armin’s cock is on the brink of slipping out of you, and forcefully drop back down.

Your poor boy barely manages to capture the noise he makes behind his hand in time, the other leaping up to claw at your shoulder. His face screws up, eyes and lips squeezing tightly, but you don’t stop there. You lean over to his sensitive neck to nip and kiss the already marked-up skin, all the while making fast, shallow thrusts. The lewd sound of your motions, definitely audible to Armin and potentially to Eren, makes Armin’s cheeks fill with blood. Behind his hand, he suppresses another sound.

“Hello? You still there?”

You’re lucky enough, for whoever’s sake, that Eren is as oblivious as he is.

“Yes,” Armin says, trying to stabilise his breathing. “Mm– mhm! Friday sounds g–good, yeah.”

Unfortunately, Eren is not oblivious enough.

“Is everything, uh... okay? On your end?” Eren asks, and perhaps to anyone else, it would have sounded like a genuine question, but having known Eren for a while now, almost as long as Armin, you notice the uncharacteristic quiver in his voice — one that seems less concerned and more nervous.

You hand Armin the phone then, confusing him for a moment as to why you suddenly decided to give it to him. He’s about to speak into it, to respond to Eren, but that’s when you lift up again and drag Armin down the bed by the legs, a faint noise of surprise escaping him, before raising them up so his knees are pressed to his chest.

He tries to regain his composure despite the compromising position. “Uh, yeah, I’m–” But then you’re sinking back down on him completely, and he moans out at a volume that a part of him hopes Eren doesn’t hear — but that another, more significant part of him hopes he does.

“I’m okay,” he finishes, a little high-toned and not much louder than his moan from seconds ago.

“Are you sure?” Eren’s voice cracks. He hurriedly clears his throat. “Cause you, um, you– you just sound...” He laughs awkwardly and you know in an instant that you’ve got him right where you want him; that his relaxed demeanour is being tested, chipped away at by Armin’s suspicious sounds and staggered speech.

As if on cue — you still aren’t sure if it was on purpose or not — Armin moans again, louder this time, so that it’s painfully unmissable. The curse word Eren mutters under his breath right after is a little less unmissable, but you’re much too hyper-aware from the adrenaline and endorphins to let it slip past you.

You take the phone back again. “Pretty, right?” you say, right into the mic, and you physically feel the way Armin shudders at your intervention, how his sweaty skin grows goosebumps all over.

There’s silence on the other end, but you aren’t so easily discouraged.

“Don’t back out now, Eren,” you insist. “Go on, finish your sentence. You were about to say that Armin sounds pretty, right?”

He remains quiet for a few seconds longer. Only his breathing is audible, so you can hear the way it shakes, the way he licks his lips. “Something like that,” he mutters, voice dry.

You hum. “And I’ll bet his sounds have made you really hard, huh?” The muscles in Armin’s thighs helplessly jump under your weight. “Bet you wanna touch yourself to them, don’t you, Eren?”

On the opposite end of the phone, Eren’s breath hitches. His face is unbearably hot, like lava under his skin. He and Armin are close, sure. Always have been. They’ve done some things together before, when drunk, lonely or just curious, but this? This is different. You’re here now, and something about your presence has Eren’s thoughts fizzling into static.

“I asked you a question, Eren,” you say, stern yet somehow casual, bored, as if such authoritative phrases came naturally to you — and suddenly Eren is hearing Armin’s name in place of his, imagining you and Armin in different scenarios, in ways he knows he should never imagine his best friend and his partner, yet which could never be so vivid with anybody else. Images of you fucking Armin, pulling his hair, looking down at him with a misleading merciful gaze; Armin tied up, gagged and blindfolded, with erotic toys strapped to his body, like the girls in those porn video thumbnails Eren typically avoids; tears on pale cheeks, big blue eyes with fair eyelashes, a pink tongue and two fingers sliding across it, deeper and deeper into a gagging, o-shaped mouth.

Then those eyes melt into sea green, tears form on dark lashes, slide down skin slightly more olive-toned, past a jaw that’s more defined...

Eren combs his fingers through his loose hair, trying to catch the breath he didn’t realise was getting away from him.

“Are you gonna be a good boy and answer me?” you urge further at Eren’s skeptically long silence, with a smirk that’s wide enough to be heard in your voice. “Or should I just hang up and leave you to take care of that boner all on your own?”

Eren lets out a small — very, very small — and involuntarily whine, so subtle that if it wasn’t for the vibrations in the back of his throat, he might not have realised he made it, or that it came from him at all. He wants to argue — “Boner? What are you talking about? Don’t be so full of yourself.” — but he doesn’t need to glance down to know you’re right.

“D–don’t hang up,” Eren says, curt and a little unsteady. Humiliation rises in him like hot air at the sound of his own desperation, oblivious to how he’s playing right into your hand.

You smile, absentmindedly caressing Armin’s shoulders and torso, a wordless way of reminding him you’re still paying attention to him, but also a silent demand to stop squirming. “So bossy,” you say, like you’re scolding a child. “A ‘please’ would be nice, you know.”

The true nature of your words swells under the surface — an underlying threat. Not everything is as it seems in the world, and this is not just a suggestion or a statement, nor a throwaway thought that you happened to voice out loud. This is an order.

Whether or not Eren obeys, however, is a different story. He casts his gaze down to his lap, where the outline of his hard cock is visible through his sweatpants, along with a dot of precum, soaked through two layers and much too soon for what can be considered normal. He wonders what you would say at such a sight, what kind of expression you’d make — but that simple wonder is really just yearning in disguise, and Eren decides then, that complying is the only way he can get remotely close to satisfying that yearning.

He couldn’t disobey if he wanted to — and he really didn’t want to.

So, “Please,” he finally says. Less reluctantly this time.

“Atta boy!” you chirp, though only in a partially condescending tone. You’re sure that given Eren’s personality, he’d typically be fighting back a little more, flashing a bit more attitude or snark, but — whether it’s you, Armin, the situation or some combination of those things — something must have his head too clouded with arousal to try denying himself this.

Beneath you, Armin whines.

You turn your focus back to him. “Is my boy getting impatient? Or jealous, maybe?” you tease, caressing the apple of his cheek with the backs of your knuckles.

His eyes shutter closed as he leans into your touch and whines again, further back in his throat, but loud enough that you’re certain his phone still picks up on it. “Please,” he says, delicately, as if trying to find his voice, or perhaps the courage to speak at all.

Armin is unfortunately your weak spot and with Eren at your disposal, to mess with and be cruel to, you lack the heart to tease your lover any further.

“I’m sorry for neglecting you, darling.” You lean down and kiss him gently. “I’m here, I’m listening. Tell me what you need.”

His face glows pink; he hesitates.

You catch on.

“It’s okay, don’t be shy,” you soothe him, petting his hair. With your other hand, you make the calculated decision to bring the device closer to your mouth. “Eren needs to know how to be a good, obedient boy, after all–” You trail your fingers down the contours of Armin’s cheek to his chin and tenderly hold it– “and who better to demonstrate than you, my sweet thing?”

Across the line, the breath suspended in Eren’s throat, that he’s been holding back in fear of interrupting the scene he feels so ashamed for listening to, suddenly sputters out of him like gas out of a clogged car exhaust. Because, fuck, he was not prepared to hear you say his name just then. To suddenly make it personal; to swing open the door on this private, intimate, closed-door moment between you and your boyfriend, his best friend.

He wasn’t but he should have been. He’s heard and witnessed enough about your dynamic with Armin, as well as fallen victim to your friendly bullying and teasing himself, enough to know you’re not somebody who passes up an opportunity to see a person scramble and fluster. He should’ve known better than to think he could get away with being a passive player in this game of yours; that it was only a matter of time before you dragged him back, by the collar and leash you managed to lasso around his mind in the short duration of this call, and threw him out on the playing field as an active participant instead of a mere spectator.

Sure, you can’t actually see each other, but the phones in your hands are a constant reminder that every word comes with a plural audience and every miniscule sound may or may not be audible to the other side. That alone does its wonders, but here you are the gamemaster and you wield the power to do more; to take matters into your own hands, to bend, knead and shape them to your will. And you’re no amateur; you know exactly where to sink your fingers, how much pressure to apply and when to press harder or let go, so that you have not one, but two pliant putties in your palm.

“Now...” You sigh and shift your position on Armin’s cock. It garners the exact reaction you were aiming for — a warbled moan — and one that will surely leave its mark on the third pair of ears in the room with you. “Let me and Eren hear what you need, baby. Show us how a good boy uses his words.”

Armin sucks in his bottom lip and inhales a steadying breath through his nose. “I...” He swallows. “I want you to move.” His eyes, though hooded, noticeably drop to where the two of you are connected. “I want you to– to fuck me ‘til I can’t think. Please?” His voice is high, desperate, quivering. Clammy hands paw at your thighs. “I just can’t– I can’t take it. I can’t take waiting anymore, I need– I need you to fuck me and make me come, I need– y–you, I need you, please.”

A shaky groan interrupts through Armin’s phone.

You smirk, let the noise steep in the silence you make for it, to marinate in your own satisfaction, so he might think, for just a moment, that you didn’t notice, before leaning into the speaker.

“Eren,” you say innocently, and you think you hear a sharp breath in response, “I hope you’re not touching yourself right now.”

Nothing. Only background noise.

“You’re not, are you? You know that would be bad, right?” you continue. “And worse, if you lie to me about it.”

All you hear is a quiet exhale and the distant hum of what might be the AC.

You lower the phone. “Tell him why it would be bad, Armin.”

Armin’s eyes never once leave yours as he answers, “Because you didn’t give permission.”

“That’s right.” You smile at your boy and stroke his hair in approval. “Be honest then, Eren,” you resume. “Were you? Touching yourself?”

As you wait, you watch anticipation, glimmering with an edge of hope, grow in Armin’s eyes.

A heavy breath. Then, a low, gravelly, guilty, “Yeah.”

You emphasise your disappointment with a long sigh. “Mm. See, this is exactly why Armin has to set an example for you,” you reprimand, your hand still brushing over messy blond hair. “He’s doing you a favour and you’re not even paying attention? Just getting distracted by your cock like that’s all you can think about?” You drop a lock of hair that you were twirling around your finger. “It probably is, isn’t it?” you scoff. “God, you’re so fucking pathetic.”

Excitement passes through Eren like a tidal wave. His hand is still resting over his crotch, fingertips over his balls and palm under the head of his cock. He doesn’t quite understand why he’s so smitten by your words nor why he craves to hear more of them, but he does. And he’s willing to chase after it — to do anything, really — if it means he’ll get more.

“Hands off your dick, Eren.”

Another order, this one large and unsympathetic, leaving no room for doubt or defiance.

His hand retreats, shamefully, as if you were really there, as if you had caught him red-handed with your own two eyes and are now observing him to make sure he does as he’s told.

“I don’t care how hard you get or how bad you want to come. Your full, undivided attention stays on this phone call and nothing else,” you explain, as if you’re just talking about the weather. “Have I made myself clear?”

Eren swallows and hums his affirmation before quickly correcting himself.

“Yes.”

And unbeknownst to you, he has to cut himself off at the polite honorific that almost follows, the same way a person might catch themself about to call their teacher ‘Mom’. Somewhere in the firm, instructional tone and the ease with which you hand out commands, it felt like a natural addition, but not one that Eren, nor even his already dwindling dignity and pride, are ready for.

But rather than bestowing him the praise, the infamous pet name that you’ve been taunting him with, for his agreeable behaviour, you grace Eren with no more than a simple clinical, “Good,” and an air of finality followed by a thunk as you set the phone on the nightstand.

When you sit back to face Armin, with his hair all mussed, cheeks flushed and lips tinted red from constant worrying between his teeth, you’re unable to suppress your grin.

“Hey,” you whisper.

Armin grins back, full of teeth and that pinch in the corners of his eyes that you love. “Hi,” he returns with a chuckle. You steal a quick kiss amidst the soft laughter before hooking your thumbs behind the back of Armin’s knees and rocking forward and up. You both sigh with the movement, then again, when you move backward and down.

Armin’s head lolls back into the pillows, unfurling a column of pale skin before you. “Fuck,” he gasps out. His hand slaps down over one of yours and the other digs blunt nails into your waist.

You move again. Faster.

“Oh, fuck–”

Again. Harder.

Another cry, another expletive.

Hearing, seeing, experiencing your boyfriend rapt with ecstasy and useless to conceal it fills you with a glee that borders on manic.

“I love your reactions so much, Armin,” you rasp; a confession you’ve made countless times, every time, but that never fails to make your beloved blush. “And I love that they’re all mine. You’re so perfect, I love you so much.”

His next stream of sounds melts on your tongue as you kiss him eagerly. “Always so pretty and vocal,” you say in the breaths between yours and Armin’s panting mouths. “So good for me, aren’t you? Only for me. Only me and Eren get to know you like this.”

You grind down into Armin’s erratic thrusts until you’re all but fused together each time you meet. Your hands roam; crawling up to cradle his jaw, dragging down to toy with his nipples, jumping to his legs and pushing until he’s folded under your weight and clutching your hair in a wanton fist.

You reluctantly part from him to return to a more comfortable position above him while Armin’s hands clamber to secure his knees in place for you — always aiming to heed your every whim, even the ones you don’t voice. Your own hands layer over his as you slow down, drawing circles with your pelvis. Steady, smooth, sensual. Savouring the feeling of being so close to him.

You long to be closer, still.

So you move yourself up, off his cock, push his legs down and back onto the mattress, help him sit up. The entire time, Armin is just gazing up at you with glazed-over yet still-adoring eyes, up until you’re straddling his lap and he registers what you’re doing. Then he becomes your grateful devotee, chanting a breathy chorus of ‘Yes’s and ‘Thank you’s and encasing you in his arms as you welcome him back inside you. You hush his sweet cacophony with the hungry embrace of your lips, catching whimpers and fragments of love declarations, as you ride him with fervour. Every so often, you slow down and tease, just to prolong your unified bliss, but the sporadic fluctuations drive Armin insane.

He makes a noise like he’s overjoyed and on the verge of sobbing at the same time. “You’re– fuck, you’re so good to me, I love you, I– ah, shit, I love you so much!”

In Eren’s grip, the back of his phone is damp with his sweat. He’s addicted to the sound of you and Armin, the words you share, the moans you make together. He wants you both so carnally yet he couldn’t be happier than where he is now, forced to clench slippery fingers around the fabric of his sweatpants, far from where he’s aching for relief. Entirely dependent on his imagination to pair images with what he can hear. It’s cruel and heavenly. The more it drags on, the more he’s convinced he could come right there in his briefs. Untouched.

“Can– can I come? Please? I’m so close, I– I’m losing my fucking mind,” Armin babbles against your neck.

You nuzzle his temple while your fingers rake through his undercut. “Me too, let’s– let’s come together, okay?”

Armin nods frantically against your skin until tears breach the barrier of his waterline and he’s coming inside you with a muffled moan. You’re right there with him, head thrown back as your hands form fists in Armin’s hair. His arms, enveloped all the way around you, squeeze you from the tension of his full-body orgasm before falling slack at your sides.

As Armin slumps against the headboard, you catch your breath and reach for the phone. Over the sounds of pleasure earlier, you couldn’t tell if the line was silent or if your little voyeur of a friend had hung up. You’re pleased to see his name still aglow on the screen.

“Enjoy the show?” you quip. Though the unfitting conversational lilt to your voice throws Eren for a loop, that’s not why he chooses to remain quiet. Compliant as he’s been, he refuses to indulge your ego any more than he has to — but you expected that, so you simply move on to the question you did want answered.

“Did you keep your hands off your cock like I told you to?”

Armin perks up at that, curious as you are about what the answer will be. With bated breath, you both wait, but the tense silence is disturbed by Armin’s phone vibrating. You are about to ignore it until you recognise the sender of the message — and notice that it contains an attached image. Your eyebrows arch up your forehead at the bold gesture, but you tap the intriguing notification nonetheless.

Nestled just below the last exchange of innocent messages with his best friend, is a photograph of Eren Jaeger’s hard cock, straining against grey boxer briefs and lewdly framed by a circular patch of damp fabric.

“This is what it looks like... without you touching it?” you say, wearing a shit-eating smirk that is sure to translate into your tone.

“Yes,” Eren hisses through gritted teeth; a hybrid of embarrassed frustration and the ever-present need for release.

You giggle and show Armin the photo. “He sent us a fucking dick pic, Armin, can you believe that? Our little show must’ve really done a number on him, wow.”

The subject of your appraisal sighs and shakes his head at your mocking antics, but by the size of his pupils you can tell he isn’t unaffected by the image.

You take another look at it, but the most you feel is amused. “Barely even touched himself and he’s got a precum stain that big, that’s hilarious,” you snicker.

As though he can sense Eren’s humiliation through the phone (it’s quite palpable, really), Armin mercifully defends him. “He’s been good though, right?”

Disappointed by Armin ruining your fun, you pull a face. “I guess.” But then, struck with an idea, it morphs into an impish grin and you lean forward, hand on his chest, as you exaggeratedly purr, “But not as good as youuu, babycakes~”

“Pfft!” Armin pushes you away half-heartedly. You relent and manoeuvre around him. “God, that is terrible. It’s like you’re not even trying,” he jokingly criticises, but cups your face as you lean in to kiss him anyway. You decide to nip his bottom lip and tug at it, still feeling playful, but when you part, Armin is staring at you with an intensity that warms you more than a harmless joke should. You kiss him again, a little harder, a little longer. Breathing a little heavier.

“Can...”

Right. You almost forgot you have company.

With much reluctance, you tear your focus away from your boyfriend. “Mm, what is it?”

Eren hesitates for a second before asking, “Can I, um, touch now?” His desperation is evident in the gruff quality of his voice. “Please?”

All too familiar with what you’re like, Armin gives you a pointed look and mouthes, ‘Be nice.’

Rolling your eyes, you take a moment to think, then say, “Send us a video of you edging yourself three times and I’ll think about it,” before tacking on a quick, “See you Friday!” and abruptly ending the call.

Armin stares at you in shock for a few seconds, then shouts your name scoldingly. “I told you to be nice!”

You gasp and cover your mouth in faux-alarm. “No way, is that what you said? I totally thought you were saying ‘mean ice’, that’s so crazy how that got lost in translation...” You keep your mouth covered to hide your growing smile.

Armin frowns at you, or tries to at least; he ends up smiling too. “You’re so mean sometimes.” He lightly pinches your cheek. You swat away his hand. “I ought to keep you in check more.”

You scoff and snake your arms around Armin’s neck. “You wouldn’t dare. I know you like it when I’m mean.”

Armin mutters a small, “Only in moderation,” that is meant to be assertive but gets lost somewhere under the scope of your bewitching gaze. Even though you’ve been dating for years, he still falters in moments like these. Too adorable.

Giggling, you seize his lips in a kiss — one that is only the prelude to the sequel of your passionate night ahead.

[shuosen]

thinking about pretty boys who want to be broken so bad. pretty boys who touch themselves daily to the thought of you using them however, and whenever you want, pretty boys who can never look you in the eye when you talk face to face, because theyre sure if you hold eye contact long enough you’ll figure them out; you’ll realize they’ve been jerking their pathetic cocks to the mere thought of you- maybe they’re afraid you’ll realize you’re missing a pillowcase, your favorite shirt, maybe even your underwear- but what they don’t realize is that you already know. you know about the countless occasions where they’ve snuck into your room, the many nights your name was called into the empty air, and the multiple times they’ve turned in early to do something about the raging hard on inside their briefs.

thinking about pretty boys who, when you finally decide to do something about it, deny your allegations with their cock pressing uncomfortably against their pants, pretty boys who crumble the second you touch them, moaning like a whore when your hand so much as grazes against their dick, and pretty boys who beg for more, even though they’re all spent because they’ve been wanting this for so so long.

könig, gojo, geto, armin — your favorites

im scared to proof read this its so bad & v lazy i’m sorry

[clfixationstation]

people are arguing on twt over whether Mikasa or Historia understands Eren the best, when the clear answer is Armin

[azulmagpie]

I…. Do not really have an explanation for this except for stock photo funny lolololol

[blond3ang3l]

You know who you’d meet at a mitski concert? Fucking rich boy! Armin. You’d be listening to once more to see you when someone had pushed armin into you (did all see the video of those girls fucking yelling at a mitski concert? No etiquette fr). He felt so bad cause the white flared pants you wore got all messed up. He could see the disappointment in your face cause the girl also spilled her drink on you. All without even a damn apology. He helped you up and you both ended up chatting about how much a bitch the girl was. He gave you his sweater since he has a shirt under and the two of you stuck together for the rest of the concert. He brought you up to the front row where he was and you two ended up bonding over loving the song abbey and real men.

At the end of the concert he gave you a ride home. As wary as you should have been you two just clocked, that and your friends had your location so you weren’t as worried. You two talked your heads off until he got to your house. Even when you got the two of you stayed in front of your house, he even showed you some of the lyrics from Francis forvever tattooed on his ribs. You two were just vibin until around 3 in the morning. He left giving you his number and making plans which you happily obliged to. As soon as you got in the house you happily told you friends all about it, sending the pictures that you two took together. Imagine your surprise when they send you his insta. Armin Arlert, the fucking model. You didn’t even know he was famous, it was just your luck. While on the phone your phone went off with a ding.

Minny: “So when are you free again?”

[rorynni]

one of my favourite parts of armin’s design is the way his nose is always a bit red

[nihaalart]

it’s christmas time 🎄❄ | patreon

[aethellren]

JEARMIN DUMPPP I LOVE THEM SMM

[fangxin-guoshi]

Aot characters as textposts pt 10 (I think...?)

[klamv-art]

👾|| Armin ||👾

I asked for some outfit suggestions on Twitter to draw Armin on and these were the results jeje

[lustychan]

Thinking about sub-boys, no matter how much you overstimulate them and how much they cry, they still crave more of it even if it hurts. Sub-boys who are attached to your hips and are desperate for you all the time and constantly want your attention on them and not on anyone else. Sub boys who value your pleasure and will eat you out like it's their last meal. 

Aether,TAKEMICHI,Mikey,Yuji,Yuta,Armin,Tamaki SOUYA, CHOSO

[kissatoru]

𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄

content · NSFW MDNI, 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 come 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 come 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 come 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 coming, 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 come 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 comes 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 coming, 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.

[x3luvr]

Headaches —

Levi x Reader (Fluff Fluff Fluff)

In which the cure to Levi’s headaches is your touch —

You had just returned from the training grounds after assisting the newer cadets with hand to hand combat. As you strolled through the walls of the scouts quarters, you came to a halt before the door that lead into Levi’s office. All you wanted to do was to see your lover, hear his voice and touch his skin. However, when you soundlessly cracked open the door, the image of Levi sitting at his desk with the tips of his fingers pressed against either side of his head caught your attention.

“Levi..” You hesitated, before shutting the door behind you. The Captain held an expression that indicated he was in excruciating pain, causing your heart to sink. “Are you having one of “those’ headaches again?” You gently pushed back some of his dark locks in order to get a better view of his face.

“Yeah, feels like shit.” Levi’s gaze met yours, as you noticed the dark circles beginning to form under his eyes.

“You shouldn’t be working in this state.” Your warm touch caressed the side of his cheek, feeling the sensation of the sigh that escaped his lips.

After much convincing, Levi finally gave in, agreeing to join you on the couch. His head rested in your lap, as you began observing his strangely angelic features. When the Captain wasn’t clenching his jaw or narrowing his eyes like usual, he looked utterly breathtaking. His parted lips, relaxed gaze and untidy hair caused you to remain awestruck for a little too long.

“Something on my face?” His confused tone snapped you out of your daze. Quickly dismissing his question, you began rubbing his temples in a circular motion. “That feels good.” The Captain mumbled through a breathy sigh, as relief washed over him.

It was a common occurrence for Levi to endure excruciatingly painful headaches, and everytime you felt somewhat helpless in aiding your lover. Being forced to watch him struggle to keep his eyes open, the visible clench of his jaw, and the progressive deepening of his frown line wasn’t a pleasant sight to witness.

Soon your fingers ventured into Levi’s hair, stroking through his silky raven locks. The act caused him to lean further into your touch, as the tension visibly faded from his body. “Dunno how you’re doing it, but I feel less like death.” The man lightheartedly spoke.

It wasn’t long before your continuous forehead to scalp massages left Levi dozed off in your arms. He rarely managed to get adequate sleep, so the fact that he was comfortable with you to this extent was very rewarding.

Although your body remained still in the hopes of not waking him up, your hands urged to caress his chalky pale skin, to trace every one of his sharp features. So when your attention fell on his plump, lightly tinted lips, you could no longer hold back.

As you leaned down, your lips softly pressed against the Captains. A kiss so authentic and pure that it consumed of nothing more that utter love and affection. “Rest easy my love.” You whispered so quietly that you yourself barely heard it.

[lotus-pear]

"thank you for showing me the world outside the walls.."

also quick bonus doodle bc if this wasn't so tragic it would've been hilarious