It's Britney, B*tch - (Armin Arlert X Male!Reader)

Britney Bitch

(Name) had walked into the bookshop with a simple objective: Buy manga. All the manga because dammit, why not? Manga is love. Manga is life. Manga is what makes Anime possible. Anime is moving, coloured manga with shitty, half-assed English dubs.

Beautiful.

He also had several things he didn't plan on doing. Things he was trying to avoid.

Like, his friends. Friends would be a very, very bad thing. Especially since he was here specifically to pick up shoujo manga. Mushy, girly love stories with big, sparkling eyes where manga's number one rule of thumb applied.

If it looks like a girl, sounds like a girl, and acts like a girl, it's probably a guy.

Hastily, he brought his purchase to the counter, paid, and stashed his guilty pleasure first in a shopping bag, then in his backpack. Then he locked his backpack. Yes. (Name) had put a lock on his backpack. He wasn't taking any chances. Hiding himself away in a dark, empty corner of the book shop and turning the key.

The (brunette/blonde/whatever) was about to stand up and leave, scurry home at an unimaginable pace, close the curtains, lock the doors, raid the fridge and kitchen cupboards of every scrap of junk food he could get his hands on, and read the precious, printed cargo he had worked so hard to get.

But that was when he spotted a strangely familiar head of sunny blonde hair on the opposite side of the store - the natural history and biology section. Directly across from where the seventeen-year-old crouched, in the unlit, god forsaken shelves of clearance, (darkcolour) hoodie pulled up to disguise his shrouded features.

Familiar was not a good thing. Familiar meant someone that (Name) knew. Or someone or something he'd seen before that could possibly leak the super secret information that could crumble what little reputation he had.

But wait... was the familiar one... No.

No way.

(Name) crept closer, keeping his footsteps light and his backpack tight against his chest.

Was that... Armin? Was that his name? Armin? Armin Arlert. Yeah, that sounded right! The fifteen year old had skipped a grade, and was in (Name)'s Science class. The kid was a whiz with biology and geology, and had a real knack for chemistry. He also had half of the girls in the class treating him like a baby. Puberty had completely forsaken him. It was a hoot watching him try to concentrate while his female peers cooed and giggled over his flustered attitude.

Armin was singing - quietly, mind you, but singing, none the less, and dancing like the baby-faced boss ass bitch that he was. He wore a warm, cream-coloured wool sweater, navy skinny jeans that hugged his legs, revealing how curvy and feminine they were, and had a light blue knitted scarf hanging carefully around his neck and shoulders. He also had a set of bulky headphones pulled over his ears, blasting the tune to which he was humming, nose buried in the pages of a natural history book, something about dinosaurs.

(Name) wasn't sure if Armin knew what he was doing. The blue eyed boy seemed too lost in his music and his literature to register what the rest of his body was doing. Which just so happened to be cute little dance moves, and singing along.

And it was the cutest thing (Name) had ever seen in his entire life. It took every ounce of self control in the fibre of his being to not fall over and fanboy until he asphyxiated on his own spit.

"Oh baby, baby, how was I supposed to know... That somethin' wasn't right here?"

"Oh baby, baby, I shouldn't have let you go... And now you're out of sight, yeah."