
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3993433.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Shingeki_no_Kyojin_|_Attack_on_Titan
  Relationship:
      Armin_Arlert/OC
  Character:
      Armin_Arlert, Eren_Yeager
  Additional Tags:
      Corporal_Punishment, Crossdressing, Drunk_Sex, Rape
  Collections:
      Shingeki_no_Kyojin_Kink_Meme_Fills
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-05-23 Chapters: 1/? Words: 1227
****** Ugly, Awkward ******
by Anarhichas
Summary
     He’d regretted it as he’d struggled with the petticoat, and when the
     hard corset had been cinched tighter, inch by inch. He’d silently
     taken back his earlier optimism as he’d sat there and had his hair
     brushed and trimmed, lips painted, eyelashes darkened and eyebrows
     plucked into soft crescents. By the time the large bow around the
     high neck of his shirt had been done up, he’d wanted the earth to
     open up and swallow him.
     It should have been a joke. It wasn’t.
Notes
     From a prompt on the SNK kinkmeme: http://snkkink.dreamwidth.org/
     3666.html?thread=5495634#cmt5495634
     This was actually prompted, and I started to write a fill, before
     chapter 53 came out (the Armin-pretends-to-be-Historia-and-is-
     molested chapter). It's set at about the same time, but any
     similarity to the canon events is purely coincidence. Good
     coincidence, though, haha.
     Anyway: concrit is very welcome! Thank you for reading :)
Armin knew he was in trouble the moment he realised that he’d been followed.
The urge to run, to hide, crept over his skin like a thin, familiar layer of
oil. His high heeled boots that clacked on the wooden floor stopped him from
anything more than an unsteady walk as he carried on. The staircase felt
endless. He didn’t dare look back.
The footsteps had caught up, now directly behind him, following him, far too
heavy to be any of his teammates. The stairs they were on lead to the house’s
private quarters, which had been explicitly labelled out of bounds – Armin
should have been stopped and questioned by now, he knew. The presence of this
unknown person at his back felt as heavy as bricks. Their breath came laboured,
as if tired out by two flights of stairs. They didn’t say anything. Apart from
the breathing and the footsteps, they were entirely silent.
Armin reached the landing and hesitated for a split-second. What to do now?
What was there left to do? Continue with his alibi of having been asked to
deliver a letter to the host’s office? Turn around, beg forgiveness for getting
lost, and pray that that’ll be the end of it?
Above his knee-high white socks the air was bitingly cold. Under the tight
waist of his absurd dress Armin felt like he could suffocate. He’d never been
more utterly aware of his body, every hair and inch of skin, than he was now.
The evening had gone wrong from the start, when they’d realised that the host
of the party had ordered three boys and three girls as servers, not the four
boys and two girls their team consisted without Historia, who hadn’t dared show
her face for fear of who might recognise her. Unable to do anything but send
the required numbers or else blow their cover, it hadn’t seemed like such a
terrible idea at the time. Wear a dress, be humiliated in the dark red and
white, layered and laced monstrosity. Armin knew he looked feminine enough, and
surely no one would look away from Mikasa long enough to notice something wrong
with their third ugly, awkward girl.
He’d regretted it as he’d struggled with the petticoat, and when the soft
fabric corset around his waist had been cinched tighter, inch by inch. He’d
silently taken back his earlier optimism as he’d sat there and had his hair
brushed and trimmed, lips painted, eyelashes darkened and eyebrows plucked into
soft crescents. By the time the large bow around the high neck of his shirt had
been done up he’d wanted the earth to open up and swallow him.
It should have been a joke. It wasn’t.
Armin turned, coming face to face with the man who now stood at the top of the
staircase, close enough to touch. The man was not particularly tall, not quite
half a head taller than Armin with his extra inches of boot heel, but lack of
height was made up for in width. Stomach protruding, round faced with fat,
ruddy sausage fingers, the man blocked the staircase. His mouth, half hidden
behind a ginger moustache and beard long enough to touch his chest, smiled.
Armin felt his heart drop, quick and cold, at the sight. It was the host of the
party, Dieter Stabel, the eminent figure within the Wall Cult whom Erwin had
wanted information on. There was no chance of pulling off the letter alibi now.
Armin stepped to one side, back to the wall, lowering his eyes respectfully and
praying with a pounding heart that the Stabel would let him go. That he
wouldn’t see through his disguise.
‘I’m so sorry, sir,” he said, anxiety making a slightly higher pitch come easy.
“I mistook the staircase. I’ll go back down straight-away.’
One arm outstretched to place a hand on the banister, Stabel didn’t move from
where he stood.
‘Come upstairs to pocket some of the wife’s jewellery, have you?’ His voice was
deeper than Armin had expected it to be. It sounded amused.
Armin’s back straightened. His palms were sweating and he clutched at the
voluminous layers of the dress’ skirt. ‘No, sir!’ he said. ‘I swear not, sir!’
It was disastrous – but then, he’d known that from the second he heard
footsteps behind him, hadn’t he. If Stabel complained to the staffing company
then they’d all be found out for sure. They’d not only lose their contact but
any chance of finding out more on the sudden rumours springing up about a
mysterious transport of assets, most significantly of all written documents.
The Scouting Corps needed that information.
If Stable complained they’d all be found out, and they’d all be hanged.
‘I shouldn’t complain,’ Stabel said, stepping closer until Armin’s back pressed
hard against the wall, cringing away from the small inches that separated him
from Stabel’s overhanging gut. ‘You’d look a lot prettier in it than she does.’
Stabel smiled widely. His grey eyes looked more awake than they had when he'd
been talking to his guests downstairs.
‘Please sir, I need to get back to work,’ Armin blurted, then stopped abruptly
as Stabel’s hand reached out to cradle his jaw. The thumb stroked the corner of
his mouth, tiny movements. Stabel’s second hand pressed flat against the inner
curve of Armin’s thigh, where the skirt ended.
The urge to snap Stabel’s wrist flickered across Armin’s mind, sharp as
lightning and gone just as quick. He slipped to the side instead, but the boots
and Stabel making a grasp for his body made him stumble. A hand on his shoulder
pushing down forced Armin to his knees, then over entirely on his side. Armin
scrambled up to sitting, but again the boots stopped him from finding his feet,
and he was left with his back pressed to the wall, and hands holding down the
fabric of his skirt to the floor between his legs.
Stabel crouched down in front of him; Armin flinched as hands returned to grip
his knees lightly, turning inwards to run as far up as he could before the
skirt halted them. Beneath Stabel, Armin held deadly still, but he could feel
the blood in his racing heart. Panic made his head swim. What should he do? If
he stopped this, breaking free to run back downstairs, Stabel would charge him
for theft – but if he didn’t, his disguise would be ruined.
Fear made him want to cry. Disgust crawled across his bare skin.
‘Sir,’ Armin said, quiet, and just perhaps he could still rescue this. Stabel
had been watching all of his hired servers, not just Mikasa and Sasha, after
all. ‘Please, sir. This is my sister’s job. She’s too ill to work; we need the
money for a doctor. Please, I’m only her brother–'
Stabel’s hands tightened their grip and Armin faltered to a stop, forcing his
eyes down to the floor.
‘Brother?’ Stabel sounded neutral. Armin’s heart pounded as he relaxed his grip
on his skirt, letting the material rest lightly on his thighs. His fingers
didn’t want to let go. He forced them to.
‘Yes, sir. We can’t afford to lose this job. Please don’t tell anyone, please
sir. I’ll do anything you want.’
Stabel was silent, but the hands slipping further up Armin’s thighs spoke more
than enough.
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