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“Ughhh, I fucking hate this.” You groaned sharply, pressing your hands to either side of your head and rubbed your temples aggressively, as a pout scribbled across your sleep-deprived face.
The only thing keeping you remotely sane in your god-awful mood was your boyfriend, sitting quietly in the wooden chair beside you—and the coffee he brought, now growing cold, since you’d been too focused on trying to get work done.
It read exactly nine-thirty, on the blue clock that was obnoxiously ticking, booming against the white walls.
Your essay, due at eleven fifty-nine, practically scolded you for procrastinating all day. And all you could do was stare at the empty screen, not even sure where to begin.
A few minutes passed, and you still had nothing to show for it—just a blank doc and the nagging suspicion that someone out there was actively praying for your downfall.
Next to you, Armin suddenly froze mid-solve on his Rubik’s cube. He sucked in a breath, set it down, and leaned closer.
“Told you I can just do it for you,” he said, shaking his head as he scooted his chair beside yours and rested a warm palm on your thigh. “I hate seeing you stressed like this, angel.” His voice was low, his teeth tugging at his bottom lip.
Except… you weren’t buying that one bit.
Your boyfriend was notorious for distracting you anytime you tried to study or get through assignments. “Can I come over just to be your emotional support?” always had a fifty percent chance of turning into your roommates hearing blaring moans through the wall—not that you were exactly complaining.
You folded your arms and narrowed your eyes, throwing at him, “You think you’re so slick—you just want some pussy!”
“I–I–what? You don’t gotta put it like that,” he gasped, feigning innocence like he hadn’t been plotting this the whole time.
“Maybe I just wanna help relieve my pretty girl’s stress,” he shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. “Besides, it’s been a while since you had me over, y’know?”
But your eyes caught exactly where his was cemented: your chest—specifically, your hardened nipples poking through your grey tank top.
It felt like he accidentally let you tune into his thoughts for a second, “Code red, code red, look away, Armin.” playing on a loop.
Quickly pretending he hadn’t been caught red-handed, he pushed up his glasses and avoided your gaze, forcing himself to study the band posters plastered around your dorm like they suddenly became fascinating.
“Hm, I wonder why?” you muttered, forcing down a smirk, trying to sound “serious” despite the amusement bubbling in your voice.
But Armin was already onto you.
And he took that as his green light—leaning in with his next array of words.
“Let me at least massage your tits for you,” he responded eagerly, tilting your chin with his finger as he grinned. “I’m sure the brain juices’ll start flowing after that!”
For a moment, Armin studied your face—your baggy, sleep-deprived eyes catching his attention. He leaned in and pressed soft kisses to each of your eyelids, like he was gently announcing that you deserved a break.
You swore your heart melted into a huge inescapable puddle right then and there.
He pulled you closer, hands sliding up slowly, until they cupped your breasts—fingers kneading tenderly.
“Fine,” you muttered, trying to sound annoyed, “just a few minutes, and I’m getting back to—mmph!”
Your own moan cut you off as Armin rolled his thumbs over your stiff nipples, already teasing with featherlight strokes that sent a jolt right down your spine.
He kneaded your breasts like they were soft, warm dough under his fingers and he was the baker annoyingly skilled at his job. His slow, snail-like pace made one thing painfully clear, a few minutes wouldn’t be enough.
His palms pressed into the swell of them through your thin tank top, thumbs rubbing slow, teasing circles that coaxed tiny gasps from your lips.
“Fuck,” you breathed, your voice already more aroused than you meant it to be.
“See? Told you,” he smiled, confident as ever, nuzzling his nose against your cheek. “Your brain’s already working better.”
He dragged his thumbs across your nipples again, firmer this time and the friction through the flimsy fabric made your thighs shift involuntarily.
Your body was already betraying you, leaning into his hands like it’d been waiting all day for this, causing him to chuckle at your hesitant nature before.
Peeking over at your laptop, he caught the time at the bottom corner of the screen: 9:36 p.m. The perfect opportunity to be petty.
“Alrighty, a few minutes is up.” He announced retreating his hands, almost going back to his Rubik’s cube until you yanked his wrists, with a deadpan look.
“Armin, don’t piss me off. You’re not funny.” You replied in a dull tone, unimpressed by your boyfriend’s antics. As much as he loved you, he seemed to love getting on your nerves even more.
“What? I thought I’d leave you to your assignment, we agreed on a few minutes, no?”
He lightly snickered, attempting to not full on laugh, but his dimples hinted he was edging towards that route.
You glared, eyes slowly raking over him from head to toe.
“Jeez, you’re so indecisive,” he teased. “Make up your mind, baby. Ask nicely if you want me to keep going.”
Your pleading eyes softened, pouring into his blue ones.
“Babyyy, you’re being a jerk,” you whined, giving him the face of a kicked puppy.
“Yeah, yeah. What’s the magic wordssss?” he sing-songed, almost desperate to hear you beg. Just the thought of being needed had already carved an aching bulge into his jeans.
“Please, please, please—keep going. I need you so fucking bad.”
“That’s my girl,” Armin murmured against your neck, voice low and sugary. “You’ve been like this since I walked in, huh? All tense and pouty. No wonder your boobs are this sensitive.”
He pinched one nipple lightly between his fingers, making you whimper, jaw slack as he twisted just enough to make you twitch.
“Keep making those pretty little noises,” he cooed beneath your jaw, tone drizzled in silk and mischief.
“Let me take care of you, Y/n. Just relax for me…” He began to steadily lift your tank top, like this was a private show made just for him.
He groaned at the sight—like a little pervert—but you weren’t surprised. This was the same man who once shamelessly admitted to sniffing your sweaty bras.
Armin toyed with your hardened buds one last time, giving them a final pinch before trailing kisses all over your bare chest—slow, messy, and greedy—until his mouth latched onto a nipple.
“Armin, aah, fuck…” you moaned, eyes fluttering shut as your fingers tangled in his blond hair.
He knew exactly what he was doing the moment his tongue joined in—his piercing flicking your sensitive nipple while his spit traced hot circles around it. Saliva dripped down in thin, wet lines as he closed his lips around you, sucking harshly like a man possessed.
“F–feels so good, baby,” you sighed, stuttering as he gave the same treatment to your other breast.
Armin only smiled, mouth still blended into your skin, lips dragging heat across your chest while his piercing teased every tender spot. Then he let his hand trail lower, slipping down to your navy-blue panties adorned with a dainty bow.
“Fuck, I don’t get how you expect me to behave—sitting there in just a tank top and panties like that.”
You gasped the second his fingers brushed over the soaked fabric, his thumb lazily circling the damp patch right over your clit—like he already knew exactly where you needed him most.
“God, you’re so soaked, baby,” he whispered, voice steamed with awe. “Just from me playing with your tits?”
His lips curled into a smirk. “What would happen if I gave your pussy a little attention too?”
You whimpered when his fingers finally slipped past the waistband, his fingertip dragging slowly between your slick folds—like he was savoring the first touch.
“Armin—” you breathed, slightly worried about the deadline, yet your hips wriggled, already desperate for more.
“I’m not gonna be long, promise,” he declared, shushing you with a wet, sloppy kiss that left your lips tingling.
You couldn’t even argue—Armin was already lowering himself between your thighs before you could get a single protest out. You were supposed to be working on your assignment, but instead you had your legs spread open, basically inviting him in.
Your hand gripped the desk for support, chest rising as you watched him with anticipation. But then he made one critical mistake—his fingers went to the arms of his glasses, starting to slide them off.
“No!” you whisper-shouted, swatting his wrist.
“Can you keep your glasses on, please?”
You tried to keep your voice down for the sake of your roommates, but your tone made it clear—this was non-negotiable. You always made Armin wear his glasses during sex, so you weren’t sure why he was trying to act brand new now.
To which he only rolled his eyes. In a way, you were like one of his puzzles—he could solve you in seconds.
“Baby, I could definitely eat you out with blurry vision. Shit, maybe even with my eyes closed.”
Your jaw dropped, eyes wide like his words had smacked you in the face. “Oh? Someone’s cocky…”
“You just look so attractive with them on though…” you added softly, fingers threading through his chin-length hair. You massaged his scalp gently, using it as your way of convincing him—knowing full well how easy he was to win over when you got a little sweet with him.
“Fine. You’re lucky I love you,” he muttered with a grin, trailing kisses along your inner thigh. “Kinda wanted a challenge though.”
Just as he hooked a finger around your panties to pull them aside, you interrupted him.
“Wait! don’t you want me to get you a pillow or something?” you asked from your spot in the cushioned wooden chair, eyes locked on the way he knelt in front of you, already on his knees.
Armin tilted his head, raising a brow like you’d asked the dumbest question alive. “I thought you knew I don’t care if my knees hurt. Or if my jaw’s sore. Just let me please you.”
You would’ve said something else—but he shoved his glasses up and promptly buried his face in your cunt.
“Shit!” you mewled, nails faintly scratching the desk as he teased you with the tip of his tongue—soft, kitten-like brushes against your throbbing nub. Your body squirmed, thighs twitching with every pass, toes curling when Armin lifted your leg to rest on his shoulder.
“Hah—wait, Armin, that’s not fair,” you whimpered, breath shaky. His piercing kept nudging your bundle of nerves, and you knew if he kept this up, you’d cum way too fast.
He only giggled in response—a gentle, wicked sound—before spitting a heavy glob of saliva onto your aching cunt. It landed with a wet smack, so loud you wouldn’t be exaggerating to say it echoed.
Warm spit dripped slowly down your folds, making you gasp as your hole fluttered around nothing. Armin groaned like a porn star at the sight of you already so messy for him.
A string of spit bridged from your clit to his bottom lip, rubbing his thumb across it lazily while trying to catch his breath.
He’d never been high before—but off your taste? Absolutely. Every time he went down on you, it was like your sweetness intoxicated him. And right now? He was on another planet.
“You taste so fucking good,” he whined, voice hazy and low.
“Are you creamin’ on my tongue? Fuck, that’s so hot.” His words rumbled against your slit before he dove back in, the hum of his voice almost like a vibrator—except ten times better.
By now, Armin was absolutely wrecked. Glossy-eyed, chin soaked, completely obsessed with your drooling core.
His eyes drooped, half-lidded, tongue darting like he was chasing your orgasm out of you.
Armin loved your moans, but he resisted the urge to touch the boner straining in his pants. Instead, he got even more animalistic with the way he devoured your pussy—like he was starving.
He swished his head side to side, lapping you up like you were his only source of water in a desert.
Your mouth fell open, gasping, eyes fluttering as you struggled to stay present.
Armin wrapped his plump lips around your bundle of nerves and slurped pretending your core was soup, letting the piercing press into it, lugging his wet muscle back and forth. He switched for a moment, lewd noises ringing when he scattered kisses all throughout your slit.
You weren’t exactly sure how your boyfriend got so good at what he called his favorite hobby—especially considering he was basically a virgin loser when you first met.
But that’s exactly why he mentally thanked the Reddit thread with 1.2k upvotes that dubbed this move “the ultimate clit hack.”
He never actually told you that he got the piercing just for your pleasure… but you figured it out eventually, especially once it started working like a damn near cheat code.
“Armin, just like that,” you sighed, like you were stuck in a dream. Your voice was nothing but breathy encouragement as he alternated between quick, eager licks and measured, indulgent ones.
He flattened his tongue on purpose—just so the metal ball could make love to your puffy swollen bud.
You didn’t mean to rut against his face—your body just had other plans. The chair screeched across the hardwood floor as your hips rolled forward, your pearl bumping into his mouth with every desperate grind.
“Am I—” he uttered, yet was too busy gulping you up, “doing a good job?”
Armin asked, he already knew he was doing more than a good job, he was just craving to hear it from his favorite girl.
“Y-yes, yes, yes! You’re… doing s’good,” you squealed, breath hitching as his nose buried deeper into your folds like a bookworm devouring his favorite chapter.
You grabbed a fistful of golden hair, back arching violently when he plunged his wet tongue inside your hole.
That familiar tight coil began to build, inching to snap.
“Arminnn, I’m… aahh—close.” Your tank top strap slipped down your shoulder as you bucked, his face jostling with your movements. One of your legs hit the desk, making it slam against the wall—you just hoped you wouldn’t crack your expensive laptop.
“Already? I haven’t even used my fingers yet,” he mentioned, lifting his face for air, his smirk glistening with you.
“So damn mouthy,” you huffed, biting your lip before grabbing his head by his blond hair and slamming it back down into your needy cunt.
“Put that energy into making me cum.”
Armin wasn’t sure how you went from hesitant to bossy in seconds—but he knew this would be the memory he jacked off to later.
“Mmffph, that’s it—u-use me, angel,” he groaned, voice barely audible as he jammed back into your hole. You rolled your eyes back, vision going white at the way his piercing stroked your velvet walls. Your mind turned to complete mush, like someone was launching rockets inside your head.
The tension snapped like a rubber band.
Your legs shook violently, broken sobs spilling from your throat as your core gushed around his tongue—tsunamis of euphoria soaking him while he kept thrusting his muscle like overstimulation was the goal.
You couldn’t even speak to warn him. Just his name fell from your lips in ragged gasps as he licked you through the high, refusing to stop until your body finally went slack against the chair.
Your chest heaved with each breath, still wrecked from your release. For a moment, your mushy brain almost believed none of it had been real.
Eventually, fanning yourself with a shaky hand, you finally found the words.
“Whew,” you breathed. “That was… a lot.”
Armin lifted the hem of his shirt to wipe the fog off his glasses, sliding them back up with two fingers.
His face was flushed—almost appalled his frames weren’t completely flooded from how wet you were.
He peppered smug kisses along your damp thigh, voice hinted with pride as he whispered like he worshipped you, “I know, baby.”
He let you sit there, still trying to compose yourself—though you could feel the greed radiating off him. His gaze flicked to the drenched seat beneath you, a half-smile twitching at the corner of his lips.
“That’s too bad though,” he murmured, tilting your chin up and pulling you into a deep, messy kiss.
“I’m not done with you yet.”
You kissed like you were famished—like you’d been torn apart for years, despite it being only a week since you last invited him over.
His tongue snuck past your lips with practiced ease, like he could read your mind and knew you wanted to taste yourself on him.
And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t—because the moment your tongues met, long, helpless moans spilled into his mouth.
His taste, tangled with your own, spun your head so hard you could’ve fainted.
Armin swallowed the sound eagerly, pressing closer—like he wanted to float into your lungs, like kissing you was a privilege only he was allowed to fulfill.
One hand curled at the base of your neck, thumb stroking your jaw with reverence, while the other gripped your thigh with possessive heat.
The kiss grew messier—lips slick, breath shared, each gasp and whimper passed between tongues.
Your nose bumped his glasses. You parted your lips wider, letting him kiss you deeper—filthier. He groaned into your mouth, tongue coaxing yours into slow, wet laps, letting you taste exactly what he’d just done to you.
Your bracelets rattled as your fingers fisted his shirt, body arching into him like muscle memory—like you belonged there.
When he finally broke the kiss, both of you were breathless. His face was tinted a soft rose pink, bangs stuck to his sweaty forehead, as a slick string clung between your lips like a thread of want still trying to keep you attached.
Armin didn’t hesitate. He eased his slender middle finger into your soaked entrance, his palm grinding against your clit in slow, deliberate circles—slick already dripping down onto his hand.
“Oh my god…” You slapped a hand over your mouth to keep from crying out, though it was no use—your roommates were certainly going to have a little chat with you tomorrow.
“S-Still… sensitive…” you whimpered, though your hips betrayed you—rocking forward with need. One orgasm hadn’t even come close to satisfying the ache. Not with the way Armin touched you. Not with how his pianist fingers moved like they’d hypnotized you.
He showered your lower stomach in featherlight kisses, practically mocking you. “Awwh, c’monnn, you can gimme one more, right?” he murmured with a soft grunt, his finger curling as your walls clenched around him—squeezing like they never wanted to let go.
“We have plenty of time to spare.” He blinked at you slowly, teasing, blond lashes catching the light like they knew how pretty he was.
At first, his thrusts were maddeningly slow—shallow to the point of cruelty. It felt like he’d sell his kidneys before giving you that second finger, just to drag out your desperation.
Your cunt throbbed with each beat of your heart, fluttering around his teasing touch—yearning for more.
“A–armin, please…”
Your voice came out as a tiny croak. Cupping his flushed face, your fingers brushing against his drenched chin, smearing your own slick across his skin like a mark of ownership—or maybe it was the other way around.
“Yes, baby?” he asked delicately, tilting into your touch like he didn’t just have you spread wide open for him.
His voice was sweet, but his eyes burned with thirst. He adjusted his skewed glasses lazily, with a free hand, your body still trembling around him.
His middle finger paused inside you, then barely moved in slow motion like he was waiting for you to beg.
“Tell me what you need.” His palm bumped into your clit repeatedly, like he longed for your reactions. Your hips writhed, instinctively trying to chase it.
“More—your other finger.” You pleaded, needy for him.
Armin’s cock twitched in his pants at how soft you sounded, how polite your begging had become. He loved when you got like this—fucked-out and obedient, all for him.
“Mmm, so good for me.” He leaned down to kiss your thigh again, lips brushing your skin as he whispered, “You sound so pretty when you beg.”
He rewarded you instantly, sliding in the second finger with an obscene squelch that had your legs twitching around his wrist, your body jolting like it couldn’t decide whether to pull away or draw him in deeper.
Sometimes, Armin was still in disbelief that he went from being terrible at fingering to being so good you didn’t mind begging for more—loudly, without shame.
All it took was thinking of your body like one of his rhythm games, each high-pitched squeal, whimper, mewl was a “Perfect.” Or each toe curl, quiver, and back arch was a “Great.” Just like the scoring system in the game.
It was pattern based, reactive—and it quickly made sense why he’d be so fixated on playing them and getting an amazing score, project sekai prepared him for moments like these.
His fingers began to pump, slow at first, curling slightly each time he bottomed out. The heel of his palm never left your clit—it ground into you with every movement, a steady, deliberate pressure that made your thighs quake and your lips part around gasped moans.
“Woah, look at that,” he cooed, voice husky and airy, awe and cockiness tangled together. “It’s so thick today… my smart girl must’ve been really pent up, huh?”
You couldn’t remember what the essay was about—hell, you barely remembered your name—but you knew Armin had just rewritten your brain chemistry.
“Gonna cum,” you gasped. “So close!”
The wet squelch echoed every time his fingers plunged into your entrance, so eager it clung to him like it never wanted to let go.
“Yeah? Make a mess for me, baby.”
He curled his fingers just slightly and your back arched. The pressure was electric—like he pressed some hidden button inside you that made your brain stutter and seize.
“I love you so much, Armin.”
You whined, grinding down onto his hand with a desperation you couldn’t control, chasing that pressure like a woman starved.
Then he hooked his fingers just right, dragging them along your fluttering walls like he knew exactly where your sweet spot lived—had mapped it out, memorized it.
“Love you so much, f—fuck, fuck, fuck…”
You didn’t even mean to cum this fast—it just snapped. Your body clamped down around his fingers so tightly he groaned, your release soaking his palm while you moaned his name like it was the only thing tethering you to this world.
“I love you too,” he breathed, voice cracking slightly as he slowed his hand, easing his fingers from your soaked pussy with a soft, wet pop.
He kissed your temple gently, his warm palm rubbing slow circles into your thigh like he was trying to anchor you back to earth. “You okay?”
You nodded against his shoulder, eyelids fluttering shut. “Yeah, ‘m fine. Wait…” Your body jolted slightly. “Shit, it’s eleven?!”
Your hand slapped over your mouth as your eyes darted to the time glowing from your laptop screen. If the Google Doc had a face, it’d probably be staring back in quiet, judgmental horror.
“Don’t worry about it,” Armin murmured, already shifting into solution mode. “Told you I’ll do it for you.”
He pulled up the chair beside you with a wince, rubbing the soreness from his knees before sitting down.
“I don’t want you to feel like—“ You started, concern slipping into your tone, but Armin didn’t let you finish. He scooped you up effortlessly and plopped you onto his lap, facing him.
“Sit,” he said casually, pulling you close like you weighed nothing, your thighs draped over his waist.
He kissed the top of your head and reached around to scoot your chair in toward the desk. One hand rubbed soothing circles into your spine, the other already moving toward the keyboard.
His fingertips were a little wrinkly and doused with you, but he didn’t seem to care—focused only on making sure you rested.
“Shhh. Just rest. I got this,” he whispered, his voice gentle like a sleepy birdcall.
“Oh my god, are you hard?” You broke the stillness like a scratched record, suddenly very aware of the boner beneath you trying to break free.
“Uhhh, ignore that. Little Armin gets excited whenever I eat you out.” He answered, completely flustered.
The tips of his ears flushed a powder pink, like he was embarrassed even though he’d just made you cum twice.
You only giggled at him, secretly hearing wedding bells in your head.
Knowing your boyfriend got hard while eating you out only confirmed what you already suspected—he was a keeper.
He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, cracked his knuckles dramatically, and started typing up a storm, like he could finish the whole essay in ten minutes if he really wanted to.
You slumped against his chest, listening to the quiet tapping of keys. Your eyes drifted shut again, cheek resting right where his heartbeat thudded beneath his shirt.
You just hoped your professor wouldn’t notice your essay suddenly had a different writing style than usual.
Then again… maybe she’d be too impressed to care.