If you're on TikTok, specifically anime TikTok, you've likely seen THAT Armin video (if you have no idea what I'm talking about look up Meant To Be Yours on TikTok and you'll see what I'm talking about). And as a bit of a reprieve from constantly playing the song and video over and over and over, I offer this soft fluff one-shot of y/n and our favorite master manipulator. Enjoy friends!
From the sheer pitch-black darkness, you know it's an ungodly hour to be awake. You roll over onto your side and reach over to grab your wristwatch to check the time. Your hand heavily slaps multiple corners of your nightstand only to knock your wristwatch onto the floor. "Shit," you whisper softly.
The thin white duvet slips off your chest as you sit upright. You let out a large yawn and reach over to turn on the lamp, realizing you should've done that in the first place. The brightness burns your eyes briefly and your whole body winces at the ambient change. Your eyes finally adjust and you look around your lightly decorated room. There's a single painting on the white walls and two photos hung up. Who has time to decorate these days?
You rub your now light-adjusted eyes and glance over at your desk. It still has briefing papers scattered all over it from last night's report — you forgot to organize and file them like you were supposed to. It's okay. That's a morning problem anyways. You shake off the rest of the covers and lean over your bed trying to grab your wristwatch and simultaneously not fall over. You fail at both and your head thuds against the hardwood floor. You spot the source of your injury, ignoring that you could've instead gotten out of bed and knelt down to get your wristwatch. "2:43 am? Fuck."
Now you're awake with a headache when you'd rather be dreaming in your bed.
Sluggishly, you make your way out of your room and meander toward the kitchen. Maybe some ice with at least dull the throbbing you caused yourself. As you walk down the dimly lit hall, you pass Jean, Mikasa, Armin, and Connie's rooms. They're all asleep.
It's been years since Eren's rumbling, but conflict always rears its ugly head. The days of the Survey Corps are long gone but even still you all decided it was best to dorm together. Being close to one another provided comfort in the most trying times. Especially, for Mikasa. You know she's in pain being separated from Eren. You all know. But being together helps. It helps keep some of the nightmares away — for all of you.
You slink down the stairs, the bagginess of your pajama pants billowing with each step. Navigating on auto-pilot your feet continue to progress toward the kitchen. You open the door, turn on the light, and scour around the freezer for some ice. There's none left, Connie probably forgot to replace it. Or maybe it was Jean's turn this week.
You turn away and start to walk back to your room and you catch a glint of light peering from under the dining-room door.
Who else is awake at this ungodly hour? Gently, you press your body against the door, creaking it open just enough to peek inside. The room appeared empty, maybe someone left the light on?
You open the door fully to see golden blond hair come into focus at a table near the back wall of the room. His head jolts up — looks like he was reading something. Of course he was. "Oh, hi." He says softly.
Suddenly, your face feels warm, "Hi. … Sorry I didn't mean to disturb you."
"It's okay. Couldn't sleep?
"I guess not," your face is getting warmer, "You couldn't either?"
He lets out a soft laugh, "No. It's too bad because I'm exhausted."
"I'm sorry…I'll leave you alone though I don't want to be a bother."
"No it's okay, please stay. I could use the company honestly." Even so late at night, his blue eyes twinkle and there's a soft smile on his face.
Your face feels red hot.
Shyly you walk toward him, pulling out the chair at his side to seat yourself. His head turned back down to his book.
It's quiet.
Your eyes nervously dart around the room, trying to find something to occupy your attention with, though as much as you wanted to, you wanted to just focus on him. You've spent years together, and you've maybe felt a deeper connection, but you craved just being alone with him.
Finally, it's just the two of you. Minutes of awkward silence go by and you feel a bizarre rush of jitters and tiredness come over you. Your body begins to lean over onto the table and you rest your head on your arms and you let your eyes become heavy. You peer one eye open slightly and notice his arm gently resting on the table, just inches away.
It's right there. He seems so engaged with whatever diplomatic strategy book he's probably reading to notice what you do. You take a small risk. Your fingers begin to tiptoe toward his precariously close hand. Inch by inch, with a squinted eye, you creep your hand onto his. Maybe he won't notice. You pray he doesn't notice.
The top of his hand is soft but there's a slight coldness to it. Sitting in one place for too long could supposedly do that. But you finally manage to rest your whole palm on top of his hand. You one squinted eye glances up quickly to gauge any reaction and then quickly shuts. Just pretend you're asleep, maybe he won't notice.
Minutes go by, your eyes are still shut but you still feel the touch of his hand underneath yours. Wow, he didn't notice.
It's quiet.
Time continues to pass and you're fixated on your one hand trying to fend off any natural instinct to fall back asleep on this unseemly uncomfortable dining table. You found comfort somehow. But then your hand moves and you feel the gentle clasp of his hand and his fingers betwixt your own. Then comes an unfamiliar sensation — the soft strokes of his thumb. Your heart skips a beat and there's no way you can fall asleep now. This is what you've dreamed of, happening in real-time.
Your head weighs heavily on your other arm, enjoying this newfound pleasure of him holding your hand. Suddenly, the stokes stop, and your feel your hand become free. It limply lays where he released it and your heart sinks a little. The touch you yearned for was short-lived but how could you ask for more.
But then, at the crown of your head, you feel the tender caress of five fingertips, slowly weaving through your hair. In. Then out.
You peer one eye open to look up at him. His head is still bent over his book, blue eyes focused on the page, but he's smiling. In the brief second of focus, he looked so peaceful. That open eye begins to feel heavy and the soothing head scratches lull you to sleep. You're smiling.
It's quiet.
Just moments away from drifting back into a deep sleep, you let out a large yawn, adjusting your head. The scratches stopped and his hand is gone. You ruined it, why did you have to go do something stupid like that and yawn.
So much for falling back asleep. Your ears twitch slightly to the sound of book covers closing. The feet of his chair scratch against the hardwood floor, yet your eyes stay closed. You're committed to pretending you're asleep.
The charade ends as he reaches under your legs and around your back to scoop you up into his lap. Was he always this strong? You let out a light giggle as he brings you in close. Your fingers loosely bunch white t-shirt and you bury your face into his chest. His arms wrap around you, hugging his body tightly to yours. Safety. Comfort. Bliss.
"This is nice," you mutter under your breath, "Here there's no rumbling, there's no conflict, there are no papers to file. There's just us."
"Yeah. This is nice."
And you're okay to be awake at an ungodly hour.
If you've gotten this far, thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little slice of wholesome self-insert and my first attempt at writing in second-person! Hope I did alright. Have a wonderful day/evening. Love, Fire Bender 3
