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My Own Summer

pairing: bsf!armin arlert x m!reader

summary: staying at armin's lake house over the summer has been nice, but tonight, neither of you can sleep. maybe you can help each other out?

cw: smut 18+, oral (armin receiving), masturbation (reader), NO penetration, porn with a little bit of plot, no use of y/n, a lot of awkwardness, pining/yearning, reader is anxious/overthinks some things, armin has glasses, college au i guess, armin says he gets off to reader all the time

word count: 5.4k

title: “my own summer (shove it)” by deftones

a/n: finally done… i procrastinated a lot working on this 😭 was supposed to be done last week but. here we are. this is my first fic i’ve ever written so give me some grace… i’m terrified to post this!!!!!

tags: @shepnicolo

You can’t sleep. You squirm on the couch, unable to get comfortable. It’s too hot under the blanket. Makes sense, it’s the middle of summer. It's also too cold without them… because the AC is blasting. The moonlight shines in from the skylight and irritates you further. You press your face into your pillow, trying to hide from your awareness, but now it’s too dark. It messes with your vestibular system, for some reason, and now you’re all dizzy. You sit up.

This living room is nice. The gibbous moon helps you to see, as you squint your eyes to look out the patio door. You can kind of see the lake from here. But it’s hard to make it out in the darkness. Really, this whole house is nice. Armin’s grandparents must be rich rich. But this couch isn’t really made for sleeping on.

The beds weren’t, either. Clearly, Armin’s grandparents don’t spend any of their time here. The beds were usable — twin-sized mattresses and rickety wood frames. But, you doubt either of you could even fit on those beds if you lied straight. And on top, there were those faded quilts that must’ve been a century old. Usable. But not quite fit for the sweltering heat.

So, you and Armin opted for the sectional couch in the living room. It’s big enough to fit the both of you — one on each side — and the pillows from the bedroom and the few blankets from the linen closet worked well enough. The big skylight is pretty, you can see all the stars in the sky, and the patio is nice. The fabric of the couch doesn’t complement sunburn, though.

Armin knows this better than you do. Forgetting to put sunscreen on his face just once got him this stupid sunburn. It’s not debilitating, and the aloe vera helped. But the rough texture of the couch against his face, when he moves just a bit too low on his pillow, reminds him that sunscreen is very important. Besides, he can hear you shifting around, and it’s not putting him at ease. He at least wants you to be able to sleep. He sits up and sees that you’ve already done the same.

“Can’t sleep?” He asks, and you jump, startled. You hadn’t heard him at all. “Yeah. Sorry, did I wake you up?” You reply, and try to make eye contact in the darkness. You can see him pretty clearly, and he’s definitely looking at your face — but he’s also definitely not making eye contact with you. You look to his left and you think you can see his glasses on the end table. Of course, why would he be wearing them to bed?

“No, no, it’s fine.” You watch him try to rub his face, and then he flinches. “Sunburn.” He points at his face as if you didn’t already know. He shakes his head. “I’m tired,” he breathes. “Me too,” you nod, laughing to yourself at his dysfunctional state. You yawn, and stretch, but immediately regret moving your arms away from your body. The AC is definitely too high. You shiver slightly. “It’s cold as hell,” you mumble, and he looks around, searching for the thermostat. He struggles to see much of anything in the darkness. Been nearsighted his whole life.

“It’s fine, Min, don’t worry about it. It’s better than outside.” You say, after watching him look around the room for a few moments. He turns back to you and smiles gently, but you can see the goosebumps on his skin. He’s shirtless, wearing a pair of sweatpants. You’re wearing about the opposite, an old sleep shirt and cotton boxers. “Sorry that I can’t turn it down some, Grandpa set it up before we came. He said that it was really finicky and told me not to mess with it at all.” He mumbles, shifting slightly. “I’m sure that we could just turn it down, but… he seemed pretty serious about it.” He adds. You barely register what he’s said, staring at his bare skin and the way his chest rises and falls subtly as he breathes.

You’re glad he’s not wearing his glasses. You look back into his eyes and it doesn’t seem like he noticed your staring. God, he looks so good — his hair is messy from sleep, and his blue eyes reflect the moonlight like diamonds. You watch him shiver, and then he shifts again. He seems nervous. “It’s okay, not your fault. I wouldn’t wanna do anything if he said not to.” You respond, a bit late. He nods. You’re not sure if he’s really paying attention to what you’ve said either.

Armin thinks back to a night a few months ago, after one of Connie’s parties. You had told Armin that you didn’t feel like being by yourself, and he offered to let you stay the night. Originally, you were going to sleep on the couch, but after a few restless hours, you wordlessly crawled into Armin’s bed. He was going to ask what you were doing — not that he minded at all, (secretly, he was a mess, you were curled up against him in his bed!) — but you really did look tired. Like you needed the sleep. Like you couldn’t sleep without him. So, he didn’t say anything. Just a few minutes later, he could hear your breathing evening out.

He’s sure that now, the situation would be similar. That if you lie with him, you would be able to sleep. And, it’s cold. He could help keep you warm. That’s all there is to it. He has no other reasons to want to lie with you. He convinces himself of this, that he only wants to sleep with you in his arms because you might appreciate it. That’s all it is. Definitely not because he wants to feel you, your breathing, your heartbeat. Hear your blinking and the quiet noises you make in your sleep. Run his fingers along your arms, your back, your legs. He definitely doesn’t want to do any of that.

“Well, um… I could lie with you, if you wanted. Just because it’s cold — and I know that…” A pause. “…know that you have trouble sleeping by yourself sometimes.” He suggests, and your stomach fills with butterflies. You can’t really read him. He sounds nervous. But, he’s clearly thinking something, and you have no idea what.

He isn’t nervous that you’re going to say no. He knows that you’ll agree with him — he isn’t worried about getting rejected. He’s just worried you’ll get the wrong idea. You’ll think it’s because he wants to get close to you, wants to hold you, wants to kiss your skin and tell you that he loves you. The wrong idea. He’s only offering because he knows it’ll help you sleep. Right?

“I — yeah. Yeah, that would be great. Thanks.” You murmur a reply, failing miserably to hide your embarrassment. Of course, you want it. That would be the most amazing thing in the world. You just can’t believe he asked. And he was so normal about it, too. Sure, he seemed a little nervous, but he asked about it like it was no big deal. Your face warms just thinking about it — about lying with him, feeling his warmth. Maybe he would run his fingers through your hair.

Or, maybe you’re making it a bigger deal than it actually is. Maybe he just means that he’ll lie next to you and that you’ll face opposite directions. You pray that he doesn’t mean that. You hope he means he’ll hold you close, as close as he can. That he’ll keep you warm and kiss your hair.

He stands and walks towards your section of the couch. You sit there awkwardly, not sure what to do. He lies down, his head now on your pillow. He looks up at you expectantly. You notice how good he looks, his blonde hair splayed out across the pillow like that. Looking up at you with those pretty blue eyes and pouty lips. You blink, trying to refocus.

You realize that you two do not fit on this couch at all. It’s already a bit cramped for one person to sleep, and Armin completely takes up the whole section. You shift, unsure of what to do. You could lie on him, but… that’s probably not what he means. You stare at his chest — a lot more obvious than you think you are — and wonder if you should do it.

He parts his lips to speak, but you make up your mind, and he closes his mouth again. You rest your head on his chest, your arm across his torso. You sling one of your legs over his hips, now mostly lying on top of him. You feel his breath hitch, but he doesn’t say anything. He squirms slightly to get more comfortable, then pulls you a bit closer. It’s now that you understand how much trouble you’re in.

He smells so nice. Like cedar and vanilla. Like he’s been out in the sun. Your stomach flips, thinking about how his bed and his clothes smell like him too. You want to sleep in his bed with him when you get back. Okay, wow. You’re getting ahead of yourself. But he does have his hand on your lower back, and you’re pretty sure you’re going to flatline right now. His skin is so warm, and you can hear his heartbeat — slow and steady. It’s putting you to sleep. You never want to leave here.

But, you will yourself to stay awake. Yeah, you wanna sleep… but there’s no way you could waste this opportunity by falling asleep and having to get up and forget about it in the morning. He has freckles all across his arms and chest, all over his skin. You trace your fingertips over them without even thinking about it. He’s so pretty, and you want to memorize everything about his body. He shivers under your touch and you pull away, realizing what you’re doing. “Sorry,” you mumble, hiding your face in his skin, knowing that he must be looking at you.

“No, it’s — it’s fine,” he breathes. He sounds a lot less confident than he means to. You can feel his breathing speed up, but he keeps his hand on your back. His fingers tighten and grip your shirt slightly. Like he doesn’t want you to leave. Armin stares at the ceiling. He keeps himself from looking at you. Even though he’s the one who suggested this, he knows he might do something he regrets if he looks down at you — sees your head on his chest, your pretty hands, your long legs, beautiful eyes… He shouldn’t look.

The silence stretches on. Armin is almost completely still, like he’s scared to move — scared to disturb you. You squirm on top of him, suddenly wanting to be closer. You’re embarrassed about it, you’re already so close to him, you literally have your head on his chest… and yet, you want to be closer. You feel a familiar warmth in your stomach and you want to run, and scream, you want to go home and get away from this man that has completely captured you.

You shut your eyes tight and try to ignore it. You try to push away the thoughts filling your head, about what he could do to you, how you could make him sound. You think of his hands and his mouth, and his cock, and now you’re really embarrassed — you’re sure he can feel your heartbeat and your breathing pick up, how your face warms… how your thighs shift slightly. He must know.

Unbeknownst to you, Armin has barely noticed your state. He’s too busy thinking about how you feel against him, the warmth of your skin, and the fidgety touch of your hands. He’s trying to ignore his thoughts, too, thoughts about kissing you and making you feel good. He moves his hand, rubbing your back soothingly. He can feel that you’re still awake, and he just wants you to be comfortable and be able to sleep. He hears you whimper quietly and he finally turns his attention back to you, looking away from the ceiling and towards your face.

He says your name softly, seeing your small squirming and labored breath. “You alright?” He asks in a low voice, not wanting to be too loud. He is genuinely concerned, worried that you might be uncomfortable. You sit up, your hand on his chest. You’re basically sitting on his thigh. You part your lips to speak, but you don’t say anything. He blinks up at you, seeing your flushed face and blown pupils.

Even in the low light, you watch his face start to turn red. His eyes trail down your body, slowly, as if trying to make sure he’s not seeing anything. He notices your body language, how your hips shift ever so slightly, and he really can’t believe what he’s seeing. You’re turned on? Why? Did he do something? But, really, he can’t imagine you being turned on by him for any reason. Not even because he has low self-esteem or something, just that… it’s you. He knows you aren’t straight, but, there’s no way that he’s your type.

He thinks this until you look at him with fuck-me eyes, and he starts to reconsider. Seeing you looking at him like that, his self-control flies out the window. You two stay like this for a moment. You sit there, far too nervous to make a move or say anything — you’re already mortified that Armin is seeing you like this.

Until he places a hand on your waist. He reaches up with his right hand and cradles your face in his palm. He says your name again, in a way you’ve never heard him say before. So tender, so sweet, like you’re something to be worshipped. Your stomach flips when he starts to pull you closer — pull you down to him. “C’mere,” he murmurs, pulling your face even closer to his own. You close your eyes at the same time as him and he presses his lips to yours.

You must be dreaming. This can’t be real. Armin is actually kissing you. Your neck hurts slightly from leaning over like this, so you move off from on top of him. You lie on your side, your back against the back of the couch, and he turns onto his side as well. He keeps kissing you, and he moves the hand that was on your face into your hair. You wrap your arms around his neck and he sighs against you, running his tongue over your bottom lip.

You start to open your mouth, wanting more, wanting all of him. But, he suddenly freezes, pulling away. He keeps his hands where they are. His breathing is fast as he stares at you, and you pout, wondering what happened. Did you do something? Were you reading this all wrong? Does he not want you? Is he mad? Your mind spirals as he continues to stare at you, and now you feel sick.

“I — I’m sorry,” he finally says, and he has this look of guilt on his face that makes you want to cry. “I don’t know why I…” He trails off, looking back at your lips again, then quickly back to your eyes. He parts his lips to speak again, and you don’t want to hear it anymore — him apologizing for kissing you. You’ve been wanting this ever since you met him, and he’s apologizing. You might have to kill him.

You kiss him again before he can say anything else. He seems to forget his guilt because he pulls you closer, his leg slotting between yours. You don’t even think about it — grinding your hips lightly against his thigh. You harden embarrassingly fast, and hope he doesn’t notice. You gasp softly from the small, muted pleasure, and he takes the opportunity, sliding his tongue into your mouth. You reciprocate, and move one hand up his neck into his hair, tugging slightly. He moans. You pull away to breathe for a moment, and you’ve never been more mad to be out of breath. “Armin,” you whisper, and he nods, his eyes glazed over. “Mhm,” he responds, pulling you back in.

You can feel him, semi-hard in those stupid gray sweatpants that have been driving you crazy since you got here. You keep kissing him, unhooking an arm from around his neck. You reach down, palming him through his sweatpants. He groans, and you feel him harden under your touch. His hips jerk slightly as you run your fingers up and down the outline of his dick against his thigh. He’s fully hard now and his grip on your waist is almost painful.

Reluctantly, you pull away from the kiss. You dip your head down and press your lips against the warm skin of his neck. He shivers, hand cradling the back of your head. You press open-mouth kisses along the column of his throat, sucking lightly, but careful not to leave any marks. You move lower, to his collarbones, along his shoulder.

He says your name softly, pulling his leg out from between yours. He reaches for the waistband of your boxers — he felt your grinding earlier and knows you’re just as hard as he is. He hooks his fingers under the elastic, but you grab his wrist, lifting your head to look at him.

He looks at you, unsure of what's happening. He doesn’t know what to say — can’t tell how you’re feeling. He doesn’t want to say the wrong thing. You, on the other hand, know exactly how you feel, but you struggle to find any words to describe the way you want him.

“I — I wanna suck you off,” you eventually blurt out, giving up on trying to find some more graceful way to say it. Of course, you want him to touch you, but now isn’t the time. You need to make him feel good. It’s all you’ve ever dreamed about since you first saw him. It’s not about you. And, you hope that after this, there’ll be plenty more opportunities for him to help you. Just not now.

“Okay,” he laughs, but you can still hear the same heat in his voice. You untangle your limbs from each other, and he sits up, waiting to see what you want to do. You get up from the couch, kneeling on the floor in front of him. He sits back, his legs spread wide enough for you to have enough room. You reach up to try to tug at his sweatpants, but he stops you. “Wait,” he says, looking like he just remembered something.

He stands from the couch, practically stepping over you. He walks back over to the other section of the couch where he had been previously sleeping — and grabs his glasses from the end table. He walks back over, quickly resituating himself. He puts his glasses back on and looks down at you, motioning for you to continue. “Sorry. Wanna see you,” he says lowly, with a soft smile.

You smile back, meekly, and tug on his sweatpants again. You hook your fingers under the elastic, along with his boxers, and pull them down, letting them pool at his ankles. His cock springs free, hitting his stomach. You’re so ardent that you almost feel sick — you’ve been waiting so long to finally have Armin like this. And he’s here, now, tanned from the sun and hair messy from sleep, his skin bare for you. He’s hard for you.

You spit into your hand, and reach up, wrapping your fingers around him and pumping him lightly — feeling the slight thrum of his pulse under your palm. You smooth your thumb over his reddened tip, smearing a sticky bead of his pre over his slit. He hisses, limbs tightening and then relaxing slightly. You scoot forward a bit, moving your hand up and down loosely. He sighs quietly, his fingers twitching at his sides.

You press your lips tentatively to his tip, making your way down with feather-light kisses. He says your name, almost whiney, looking down at you with half-lidded eyes. He doesn’t say anything more, but from the way you can feel him pulsing in your hand, you understand that he’s impatient.

You kitten-lick at the tip before pulling your hand away, running your tongue along the bottom of his shaft, feeling the vein there. He groans softly, his hand coming to cup your cheek. “C’mon,” he says gently. And you thought you were the impatient one.

You bring your hand back, wrapping your fingers around the base. No way you’re fitting all of him. You finally wrap your lips around his tip, sucking lightly, before relaxing your throat, moving down further. He gasps quietly, and you can feel him resist the urge to buck his hips into your mouth.

You reach about as far as you can go without gagging and embarrassing yourself, so you work the rest of him with your hand. You pull your head back up slowly, swirling your tongue around his length. He groans, moving his hand to the top of your head. He slides his fingers into your hair gently, massaging your scalp lightly.

You continue this, bobbing your head up and down, and he whines, his head slumping back against the couch. His hips jerk slightly and he pushes himself further into your mouth. You force down the gag that builds in the back of your throat. “Sorry, I — fuck,” he gasps, his fingers tightening in your hair slightly. He’s sure you’re trying to suck the life out of him. “You look so good.” He breathes, another moan falling from his lips. “Feels amazing,” he adds, looking down at you with bleary eyes.

You keep going, hollowing your cheeks, determined to make him feel even better. God, he makes the prettiest noises. With another moan from Armin, louder than you thought he would be, his hips thrust up into your mouth. He hits the back of your throat and you gag around him. His fingers comb through your hair as if trying to soothe you. Despite the burn in your lungs, you don’t stop.

You grow increasingly distracted by your own problem — that you’re still just as hard as he is, leaking and staining your boxers. You can feel your pre-cum against your thigh, sticky and uncomfortable. Reluctantly, you lift your head, pulling off him. You keep using your hand, slick from your saliva. You try to catch your breath, and he tries to catch his. He has a small pout on his face, probably disheartened that you stopped.

You pull yourself through the fly in your boxers, not the most comfortable — but you don’t really feel like getting up and taking them off. You spit into your hand like you did for Armin earlier, and you stroke yourself at about the same speed as you do him. You feel relief almost instantly, biting your lip at the respite. Feels a lot better than sitting there shifting your thighs. Your eyes flutter shut and you rest your head against his thigh, your breathing finally slowing.

“You okay?” He asks gently, running his fingers through your hair. He sounds just as winded as you. “Mhm,” you nod, kissing up his shaft again. You sit back up, resuming your ministrations with your mouth — and you swear he’s harder than before, if it’s even possible.

You keep your gaze locked on his eyes, but you notice he isn’t making eye contact with you. He stares between your legs — watching as you touch yourself — and you squirm. This is so embarrassing. He moans again, and he sounds like heaven. He must notice your embarrassment.

“You know, I — I’ve wanted you since Eren introduced us,” he breathes, head tilting back. “Well, maybe I shouldn’t say this, but—” his hips jerk again and he moans, interrupting himself. His fingers tighten more in your hair, and it hurts a little, but you don’t mind. You know he can’t help it. “Fuck… I’ve been… getting off to you — all the… all the time, I — do you… do you too? Have you been?” He gasps, and he looks like he regrets saying anything. You’re embarrassed to admit it, but of course you have. You’re sure you do it more than he does. Kind of humiliating, even thinking about yourself doing that. How desperate have you gotten?

Even so, he just admitted that he does it too, and you never thought you’d even get to be here. Giving Armin a blowjob.

Well — not really. You have thought about it. Probably too many times, touching yourself in the dead of night, thinking about your best friend and all the things you could do to him. All the things he could do to you. Moaning his name into your pillow just to see him the next day and act like nothing happened.

You whimper around him, having no other way to truly communicate. The sound sends vibrations up and down his shaft and he whines. He looks into your eyes, his gaze so tender you feel like crying. You try your best to smile up at him, and nod a little, even with your mouth occupied. You swear he whimpers as he stares down at you, cupping your face with one hand and keeping the other in your hair. “Yeah?” He asks, eyebrows pinching together, just as embarrassed as you are.

He laughs to himself, his muscles tensing. “Glad to know it’s not just me,” he laughs, his voice strained. You watch his stomach tighten, his thighs closing slightly. He hiccups out a moan, tugging on your hair. “Wait,” he gasps, as you run your tongue up the side of his length. “I’m—“ He cuts himself off with a groan, his head hitting the back of the couch with a quiet thump. “Wait, wait,” he moans, with a mumble of your name.

He must be close. You watch him shut his eyes tight as he continues to pull on your hair, probably without even realizing it. You try to relax your throat as much as possible, hoping to bring him closer to the edge. You speed up your own hand — making sure that you’re just as close as he is. It’s a lot, and your hips jerk away from the stimulation. It’s too much, you can barely make yourself keep up the pace, but you have to. There’s no way he finishes before you.

His jaw clenches and then goes slack, his mouth hanging open slightly. He’s quiet now, his body so tense that it looks painful. He moans, just once, and he gasps your name, and you swear you see his back arch ever so slightly as he comes without much warning. You swallow harshly on instinct, and, while it’s not a lot, you assumed it would be a few more minutes.

Nothing against him, he looks absolutely amazing above you — chest heaving and face somehow even redder than his sunburn. His hair is a bit mussed up, but, maybe it’s always been like that. And his glasses are slightly crooked.

But, so much for finishing before him.

You pull off of him with a quiet pop, and you bring your now free hand to rest on his thigh. You continue to chase your own high, and you bite your lip, not wanting to make any embarrassing sounds now that he’s done. You rest your cheek against his other thigh like you had before, whining quietly, your hips bucking into your hand. Armin’s still out of it, his eyes shut. You don’t think you’ve ever seen anything better than this — your best friend, all fucked out. Because of you.

With a few last touches, you finally reach your own peak, after what felt like hours. You feel electricity shoot through you as you, thankfully, release into the palm of your hand. If you had stained the rug it might’ve been the death of you. You moan from the overwhelming pleasure, all of it much faster than you’re used to. Usually, you take as much time as you need with this — in the comfort of your own bed in the middle of the night. Alone. And, now, here you are, having made yourself come, in maybe 5 minutes, on your knees, in front of your best friend. Not the most familiar.

You take some time to catch your breath, eventually sitting back up and quickly pulling yourself back into your boxers. You stay there awkwardly with your hand all soiled, wondering what’s next. He opens his eyes, coming down from his high. He looks down at you and smiles. “Wow. Oh my god,” he laughs, still panting. You nod, laughing with him. You get up, feeling a bit of an ache in your legs from having stayed in the same position for so long. “Um… let me…” You mumble, embarrassed, gesturing to your messy hand. He nods, getting what you mean.

You quickly head to the bathroom, washing your hands thoroughly to get rid of any evidence of your encounter. You look at yourself in the mirror. Your hair is all a mess from Armin pulling and running his fingers through it. Your face is still flushed, lips a little swollen. You splash some cold water on your face, hoping to get a grip, because you’re not sure what happens next.

Are things gonna be weird? Maybe he’ll have some post-nut clarity and never want to talk to you again. Maybe he was straight this whole time and will think you’re weird for wanting to do it. Maybe he’ll tell everyone about how bad you are at giving head.

Or, maybe not. You’re overthinking this. Armin’s not like that. Maybe he’ll say he likes you just as much as you like him. Hopefully, you’ll get together and finally get to be with the man you’ve been so in love with. You’re pretty sure things will be normal.

You head back to the living room, feeling cold again now that he’s not with you. You had forgotten about the AC. You regret splashing cold water on your face. But, you’re pretty sure it’s really because Armin was so warm and now you’re not with him. Yes, it’s cold, but it’s not that cold. You walk a little quicker to get back to him. This house is too big.

You get back, seeing him sprawled out on your side of the couch. He’s pulled his boxers and sweatpants back on, and he’s taken his glasses off. He opens his eyes at the sound of your footsteps and sees you standing there awkwardly. He smiles, gesturing for you to come closer.

You walk up to him, unsure what to do.

“C’mere, lie down.” He urges quietly, sounding tired. You smile back and climb over him, lying your head on his chest like you’d done before. You melt into him — he’s so warm. So comfortable. He scratches your back gently, and you sigh contentedly, pressing a gentle kiss to his neck.

You know you should talk. Figure out what all this means. Are you still friends… or something more? And figure out if he actually likes you, because you were always convinced he was straight.

But, he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you closer. You realize how tired you are, limbs exhausted from swimming all day, every day, since you got here. And you’ve been getting mediocre sleep, just enough to feel like enough. And, well, you just came a few minutes ago. So did Armin. He’s just as tired as you are.

So you won’t talk about it right now. You can talk in the morning when you’re both well-rested and in your right mind. But, for now, you can let your eyes flutter shut, let your muscles relax, and let yourself sink into Armin’s embrace. Just before you fall asleep, you’re sure that you’ll get to have many more nights with Armin like this.

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