she/her!
literature and history nerd, certified lovergirl ♡
fanfiction writer ꩜
and member of the dead poets societyˎˊ˗
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I want a talented wizard to fall so deeply and honestly in love with me, that his adoration spans across DECADES of time. Unwavering, sturdy, steadfast. He’ll yearn and plead and beg for me, but we haven’t even met each other in this life yet. I want him to try to fall in love with others, but the end result is never enough to fill the longing in his heart. I want the love I can give to him, but cannot yet because we are fated to meet far away in future, to burn so fiercely in his body that he has to physically cast it out of himself so that he can even begin to function properly without me.
I want him to offer the last sacred place he has left in this world, his last piece of true freedom and joyous memories and salvation, to me as a gift. I want him to sacrifice his life and soul just to be able to stand next to me. I want him to look at me like I’m the greatest masterpiece a famous painter has ever created, even though I might not see or agree with it at times. I want him to look at me like I’m hung on a dark oak wall under a bright spotlight in some fancy museum filled with art in a million different mediums with a million different examples from a million different prestige artists in the museum, but I’m the only one he looks at. He’ll look at me for hours, unaware of the time passing, but not upset at the realization that he’s just spent his whole day fascinated by my being. I want him to love finding every detail on my face, on my body, on my clothing—the rush of wonder and happiness he receives is a treat for him so diligently discovering every minuscule mark and combing through every brush stroke. The fact that he even chose to spare his brilliant gaze at me for even a millisecond is an honor in and of itself, but he doesn’t see it like that. It’s not a choice for him. He just…does. And it makes him happy. And I’m happy too.
synopsis: the diamond of the season and the classless apprentice physician of the ton—a pair of childhood best friends. nothing more was supposed to happen. what, then, when affections arise as you are favored to marry a royal rather than the man you truly love? what, then, when he decides to leave for your supposed happiness?
content: 18+ MDNI, nsfw, eventual smut, angst with happy ending (i promise!), porn w/ plot, second person pov, multiple perspectives, no use of y/n, fem!reader (description of hair, wears dresses), historical au, inspired by bridgerton, reader is daughter of a viscount, diamond!reader, toxic family dynamics (reader's), reader does not like societal expectations, courting, misogyny, traditional gender roles, armin is an apprentice physician, lady whistledown snippets, letters, internal conflict, emotional distress, loss of virginity, first times, emotional sex, unprotected piv (don't do that!), creampie, fingering, not beta read (sigh), cross-posted on ao3
word count: 13.6k
author's note: oh my god. i know it has been some time since i’ve last post, but this was actually so freaking hard to write. it took me forever to complete this au story, which i also apologize for, and i still hate how i turned out. if nothing makes sense, i am so sorry, i was totally chugging this out in my exhaustion from classes. i didn’t feel like going back and changing parts because it all looks awful to me. thanks to my lovely roommates for encouraging me to publish this dumpster fire anyway, i will sob in your arms later tonight <3 i hope you all enjoy reading this (even just a tiny bit!). the next fic will be better, i promise! any comments are so appreciated, xoxo! (also, the formatting for the letters looks super weird on the tumblr app, so i am sorry for that, it is actually driving me crazy. it looks normal on the site)
——
dearest gentle reader,
yet another season is officially bestowed on our ton. just mere days ago, the newest young ladies of our society made their formal presentation to none other than her majesty, the queen. feather after feather, her majesty searched for her newest diamond of the season. without a doubt in our minds, our queen has found her.
who that is, one may question? well, dear readers, none other than the delicate youngest daughter of our ton’s viscount. yes, indeed, the youngest child of the prestigious family has finally made her entrance into the marriage market.
the opening ball last night only confirmed her majesty’s decision. our diamond spent the whole evening dancing about with potential suitors. it seems she has even caught the eye of a particular foreign prince, the queen’s guest of honor for the season. rumor has it he seeks a wife for his kingdom. may our diamond be his answer?
excitement fills the air as we all watch our prospects and place the proper bets. this author wonders, will the viscount’s family announce an engagement by the end of the season? will other extraordinary young ladies and mamas ruin the chances? or, will we be entirely shocked by how this plays out?
let us watch the season unfold. drama ensues, for this is just the beginning.
yours truly,
lady whistledown
——
“—and you must tell him about your pianoforte playing!“
“i know, moth—“
“oh! and do mention your dance lessons with miss…”
you’re being called on in an hour, and your mother will not stop gushing over it. your first season out, just days after the opening ball, you have caught a suitor’s attention. well, as the diamond, you have caught many eyes, but, apparently, this one matters most.
after all, reiner braun of marley is a prince—tall and handsomely built, neat blonde hair, enough money to splurge on all the ladies in the ton. he’s every girl’s dream.
but, yours.
yet, your mama dismissed you the moment you dared open your mouth to protest with wide eyes. she immediately sent you to your bedroom with your lady’s maids in tow, shouting about retrieving your best gowns from your stuffed, groaning dresser. looking at yourself in the mirror now serves to be disheartening.
the corset squeezes too tightly against your ribs, more uncomfortably than ever. you hold back a wince when one of your servants, the youngest of the bunch, knots the back, consequently sealing your doom for the next couple hours. the other ladies are immediately slipping a heavy gown over your head—adamantly watching out for your meticulously prepared hair when your mother glares—in record-time.
she’s still pacing behind you, still going on about all you must do to secure that marriage, that title—zero regard to your repeated wishes. it is all too much. it is why your eyes flicker to the window, the glass between you and the world.
the… riverbank.
your eyes widen for the nth time as you follow the distant blue of the water, the delicate path forward. a place you might as well call your second home, humble resident being freedom.
is he there now?
——
it seems your deep curiosity no longer matters when you sit across reiner braun in the drawing room, nodding mindlessly at the perfect times and smiling sickly sweet when it is assumed of you.
he talks about home—marley, ships away from the kingdom of eldia, the ton of paradis in which you reside where the queen overlooks the social season. reiner braun is her guest of honor this time around, capturing the attention of every mama and of-age daughter with his dedicated appearances. he comes in search of his soon-to-be princess. you smile when gives you a pointed look at that statement.
he asks about your father, the viscount, and your three eldest brothers. you reply simply and truthfully: the four men are off on a multiple days-long trip for god-knows-what. your mother was initially angered they would miss your official entrance into society, but she seems to not care one bit as she stands by the vast entryway with a grand smile on her sickly lips. she glows more than you do.
he nods along when you annoyingly brag about your talents, just as your mother hammered into your mind. pianoforte. dance. sewing. socializing. ga—
“what do you do for fun, miss?”
you blink at the sudden interruption. even your mother is caught off-guard as she chokes on plain air, fanning her face when you glance at her in confusion for a moment before returning to the deep eyes in front of you.
“uhm—my apologies, prince braun. did… what do i do for fun?"
reiner braun nods with no shame, slight bewilderment across his stoically, yet friendly, features. huh.
you feel your mama burning holes into the side of your head, right about to jump in, disregard his interest. you’re quicker.
“i read by the river. the riverbank.”
you hear your mother inhale sharply, clearly unsatisfied by your answer. at the least the prince seems entertained, an amused quirk in his brow.
“the riverbank?”
you grin, a genuine upward tilt of your mouth, “indeed, your highness, just by the largest tree in our lovely ton. my friend arm—“
of course, your mother ruins the joy in your heart with a loud cough. all heads turn to her as she smiles, teeth and all, before making her way to your side uninvited. “yes, dear, but do tell his highness more of your piano playing. you are quite extraordinary at tickling the keys.”
ah. because that is all that matters of you. of a young woman just barely of marrying age.
you falter momentarily, handing twitching at your lap—mission unaccomplished. the book you were to grab sits silently, mockingly, at the coffee table. dust collects in this short, unfortunate time.
you clear your throat, sitting properly with that orchestrated smile. “yes, mama. your highness, may i draw your attention to a melody?”
——
armin hears you before he sees you—the tree rising above his seated position obstructing you from his view even when he turns—as always. this time, agitation spills beneath your loud breaths and quick steps, not glee or giddiness like most occasions.
he glances up from his notebook as you plop yourself onto the grass in front of him with a huff, zero regard to the very expensive, light-colored dress he eyes frantically. you don’t even bother to brush some dirt away as you snatch a book from armin’s pile, flipping to some random page. armin winces as you treat the novel poorly, a striking contrast to previous occurrences. clear frustration reeks from every action of yours.
you’re not usually this… worked up. you’re even lacking a chaperone, something that would ruin your family’s reputation if ever discovered. however, he’s afraid to even consider asking you what is wrong. armin knows you, and although he would never want you to change, he is quite terrified of you.
he clears in throat awkwardly, setting his journal on his lap. he glances around the otherwise empty river’s edge “where… y-your chaperone?”
you glare at him, a look more of ‘are you serious?’ than anger (a good sign, perhaps?). armin almost retracts his bland remark. almost.
“you’re at the palace often.” you state it as a fact, shutting the book with a definite thud.
confusion fills his gaze, examining your face like something is wrong with you. well, you’re not wrong—he is at the royal palace as apprentice of the highly sought-after physician and self-proclaimed mad scientist hange zoë when they are requested. not often, as you claim, but more than the rest of the ton in spite of his lack of nobility.
“well, not often but—“
“what do you know of prince reiner braun? o-of… marley.”
armin’s blue eyes widen, at your question and at your wavering voice. “t-the prince of marley? i can’t... i—”
“armin.” you plead, almost dejectedly. even your shoulders drop in exasperation. armin almost forgets this wholes conversation as he focuses on your eyes.
he coughs again, this time shutting his logbook completely as you watch him, waiting for his answer. his eyes flicker nervously to the river mere feet away, watching the tiny waves, as if they could help him. he silently begs them to help him.
ever the stubborn noble girl—not that he ever minds—you lean forward and nudge his knee with your soft hand. immediately, armin’s attention is back on you, body naturally tensing at the contact.
he should shut up. he should shake his head, dismiss your request and reopen his book, advising you to do the same. in an ideal world, one where he has not fallen for his childhood best friend incredibly out of his reach, armin would do just that.
despite that figurative hange zöe already banging angrily at his skull for his decision, armin looks around—quite nervously, one may add—for any curious eyes or ears. when he finds none, his gaze returns to you, the inside of his cheek caught between his molars.
it is stupid to let his heart decide, but he simply cannot control it. “hange… hange and i have been-been summoned to the palace a couple times since his arrival.”
your hands fidget anxiously atop your smooth dress, picking at some loose thread your maids would reprimand you for later. you lean forward, paying utmost attentiveness to anything the blonde young man says.
his belly erupts with more butterflies. “i-i… he’s… healthy?” of course, you pout. his eyes widen, voice practically rising an octave, “w-what do you want me to say?”
“he’s... he’s courting me! me!” if armin’s eyes could widen even further, they would. one could possibly drown in the swirling blue oceans that they are.
he blinks once. then twice. he waits for you to giggle, pull his leg or something. that beautiful sound never comes. you are dead serious.
armin isn’t stupid—quite the opposite, actually, many would argue. he’s the bright boy that assists the best doctor in the ton. he’s not a son of a royal, nor an earl, nor even a baron. he grew up poor, and if it weren’t for his intrigue in the books and sciences, he would have stayed that way. armin is only respected by nobles because of his skill and intelligence, aiding countless of lineages and family heads in bouts of illness.
he’s not stupid. he knew, one day, you would marry. not only are you the most beautiful lady armin has seen, as the last daughter of the respected viscount, you are expected to marry—in particular, marry up in nobility.
a prince is ideal. perfect, even.
he knew, one day, you would no longer come around to the riverbank. no more reading books together, knees unintentionally knocking against one another coincidentally when your chaperone of the day glances away. no more enlightening conversations in your drawing room when it is pouring out with your mother’s disapproving frowns and sighs in the background.
sooner rather than later, you would be a wife. a mother.
never his.
he knew, one day, this was all coming. armin is not ready for that now. the incredibly near future.
“o-oh,” is all he can squeak out as his eyes fall to his lap. they trace every line and imperfection on the cover, forcing his mind on anything but the situation at hand. he tries his best to sound sincere, “that’s… that is wonderful.”
were it literally anyone else in front of him, they would believe his praise, the practiced tone. he’s quite well at his way with words with those of high class. except… you are you, the girl that has known him for over a decade, ever since you ran away from your mother and duties to the riverbank for the first time.
you let out a shaky breath, one that pulls armin’s attention back on your face, the sudden glistening of your eyes as you look toward the direction of your home.
quietly, you admit, “the… the footman and my mama will be here any moment.” you blink away the tears before glancing back at armin. pleading. “tell me anything you know.”
he has only ever seen you like this the morning your most comfortable dress ripped at eight, the night your mama burnt your books on maths and sciences when you were thirteen, and the evening before your debut at eighteen. the last was so recent, armin hasn’t entirely recovered from witnessing your sorrow.
as always, the sight tugs ferociously at the tight strings of his heart. he could never deny you, especially now.
“he—“ armin glances over his shoulder when he hears the carriage horses in the distance. he speaks faster, quieter, “—he is kind. never… never once shouted at hange, nor at myself.”
armin’s eyes squeeze shut as he forces himself to think about anything but you, “t-the king and queen, yes, of his kingdom… they’ve been wishing him to take a wife, his reason for his presence. a… a beautiful girl for his handsome arm, i believe he mentioned during the examination.”
he cringes when you do, but continues speaking as the carriage pauses at the closet path, “t-twenty…? twenty-two years of age. of money. tall, muscular, uhm…? oh! h-healthy!—”
“armin!”
“—p-perfect,” he blinks at you multiple times, grabbing his book from you as he hears the angry shouts behind him. “prince braun is perfect. f-for you.”
your eyes widen at armin’s words, mouth opening and closing like a fish. if he could take them back, he would. but, what else could he really say without ruining the already timed friendship quicker?
thinking like a noble, you should marry the prince.
thinking as himself—
“young lady! explain yourself!” immediately, your mother is grabbing your upper arm and hauling you up onto your feet with little care. you yelp in protest, struggling in vain. armin stands without much thought, about to butt in about potential bruises (ever the physician), but she is quicker. “you boy.”
right. your mother has never particularly liked armin. she’ll go on and on about how he has supposedly tainted you just because he shares his science books that take time away from your lessons, your preparations for society. for the most part, unless you have run away from your duties like now, your meetings are chaperoned. they are always proper.
even if he wishes the opposite.
the sight now is scandalous, even if it is clear nothing improper has occurred. just you, young lady crowned diamond of the season, alone with a young man is enough for that horrible label.
his eyes widen yet again, quickly bowing before he forgets. he stutters through her title, your shared surname, before rising again. he glances at you frantically. “i…” —remember, gift of gab— “i was just leaving,” he even gestures toward his mysteriously packed bag. ignoring the look of confusion on your face as he continues, your title and name leaving his mouth eloquently, “she had arrived mere moments ago. i’m delighted you’ve found her before nightfall.”
he smiles, and miraculously, your mother believes him. with a confused humph!, she nods at armin and even releases your arm, a bit of satisfaction settling on a broken shard of his heart. she spares you one glance, one final nod toward the carriage that you obey dejectedly.
armin watches as you take a step back, staring at him with wide eyes. he had just saved you from the scolding of a lifetime, from the potential of ruining your family tree for good. he nods at you subtly before you turn away with that solemn ‘i will see you soon’ look of yours.
your mother stays back as he reaches down for the messenger bag, still eerily calm. she clears her throat, standing straighter. “we need more of tea the doctor provides. one weeks time.”
he bows again just as he fixed his stance. “of course, my lady.”
the conversation ends not even a second later as the viscountess simply turns on her heel to trail you into the carriage. his bodily tensions don’t simmer as her reprimands fill the normally peaceful air of the riverbank. it pains him to imagine your position, your worries.
he never liked how this society treats women. they are simply objects to be discussed, practically sold to a man. they are nothing without a man. armin does not want that life for you—you deserve to follow your dreams of studies and proper education on the mathematics.
but, that is impossible for women, impossible for you. if he could, he’d beg the king and queen of eldia to allow for some exception. he could never, especially as a simple physician.
the second best is stability, even if it is far down the favorable outcome. you’ll marry a wealthy man of title and live the most comfortable life possible. even if you hate it, you will never struggle like him.
maybe, you do not want to marry now—such a frightening thought. eventually, you will be happy with this life. you must.
oh, but the truth is far more complicated.
armin doesn’t stick around to listen any further, biting the inside of his cheek as he leaves your tree toward hange zöe’s laboratory-style home.
——
dearest gentle reader,
love fills the peaceful air of the ton.
it seems the rumors are indeed true. prince reiner braun of marley has his eyes set on our diamond. this author expected no less from the beautiful debutante.
mamas and young ladies alike murmur in envy at the news. after all, it seems the baron’s daughter is not as successful in the marriage hunt. no suitor will stick around for more than mere minutes before they prance away.
her majesty, the queen, herself seems immensely satisfied by the season’s possible greatest success. promenades at the park, visits to the viscount’s drawing room, dances at balls—i can practically hear the chapel bells ringing now.
seemingly nothing could ruin this courtship. their blossoming love just overwhelms every ballroom they share. it is a beautiful sight to behold. many might presume it is time to raise wagers.
but, this author is not quite sure of the outcome of this season. everything seems just too perfect. could there be more than meets the eye? could our diamond be more than just the sparkle of the ton?
it seems we must wait for the gossip to boil until it spills right onto our floors.
yours truly,
lady whistledown
——
your mother forbid you from leaving the home without her or an equivalent until the marriage is secured. a footman always stands at the end of the hall, more at the entrances and exists as a precautionary measure.
for the next few days, you are completely under her strict control, even when the men of the household return. your father manages your dowry but stays out the rest. your older brothers chaperone when your mother is tending to other matters, all three nagging just as much as her. they do not defend your honor.
she takes you to more fittings than you can count. you promenade the park for hours straight, giggling about with the obnoxious girls your age truly seeking marriage and conversing with the single noblemen. there is caller after caller, including that stupid prince. he’s the most frequent, his visits spanning more than all the others combined.
not once could you go to the riverbank. no rushing water. no birds chirping. no kids laughing. no new books. no armin.
armin.
you haven’t seen him since the day he lied to your mother’s face for you with no hint of hesitation or regret. despite the lack of his physical presence during the week, you cannot stop thinking of him.
no matter what you do, he is there. when you go to a fitting, you wonder if he would like the color of the gown. when you walk with the ladies, you secretly wish he’d pass by on his way to another home. when you entertain a caller, your eyes constantly flicker to the double doors as if he would walk right in.
this isn’t normal. you shouldn’t feel this way about your closest friend. you cannot.
but, your heart won’t listen. even when another heir of a title sits across from you with an arrogant smirk at his lips, when your father and eldest brother discuss your money worth over your head.
it most certainly does not listen when your hands graze the most sensitive parts of your body in the darkness of your quiet bedroom at midnight, when you whisper his name into the emptiness of the space.
you do not want to marry any nobleman your mother would approve. however, when you consider any semblance of a future with armin—
it is safe to say you are miserable.
the supposed-to-be one day of respite from your duties, the day before yet another ball, you find yourself in the morning room with the viscount, the viscountess, the heir to the title, and the two other men in the lineage. the maids serve biscuits and tea, following the filling breakfast from earlier.
you’ve had one bite, one sip. in the time where you can savor the cooks’ efforts, you spend most of it switching between fidgeting with your fingers and counting the thousands stitches of your dress. your family pays no mind, talking about the season gossip, the lady prospects for them.
something about your oldest brother needing to find the most gorgeous young debutant to bear the next viscount following him and his father. the other two nod along, boasting about all the dance cards they’ve signed and girls they’ve swooned.
your mother and father sit further away, judging the neighbors and the neighbors’ neighbors. financial decisions, scandals, potential marriages with loss of rank. anything and everything they could criticize, they discuss. they deserve each other in that manner.
the only person who spares you a wary glance is your youngest lady’s maid, the sweet girl named sasha blouse, by the door. she is just about your age, destined to this life of always serving others. your eyes meet hers and she gives you a subtle smile, tilting her head slightly. you return the gesture, nodding in reassurance.
you owe her a lot. she holds many untold truths of your life—wiping your tears as you ready for the day, loosening your corset just enough when your mother leaves the room, hiding those highly disapproved of books you adore. she even turns her back when she chaperones you and armin—
the door opens suddenly and you look away, already submitting to the chance of another long, demeaning conversation about ‘wifely expectations.’ you lean over as gracefully as possible to resume your practiced delicate stance, teacup and saucer in grasp.
“my lord, my lady,” the footman greets, “the esteemed doctor hange zöe and their apprentice armin arlert have arrived with the requested tea.”
you don’t know what comes over you, it just happens. the next thing you know, the porcelain slips from your hold and shatters when your eyes meet his.
the crash is deafening, deep-colored liquid splashing over the pale fabric of your gown. the silence that fills the room after is worse.
your breaths shake as everything simmers into the background but armin, holding your gaze with concern and fear. you faintly note hange zöe shifting an arm in front of the blonde young man, although you don’t process why. you focus on him rather than the sudden loudness of your family.
his tousled, blonde hair. his blue eyes. his soft cheeks. his parted lips. his gentle body. his clenched fist.
with a blink, you’re back to reality, eyes flickering to the mess you’ve made. your mother hisses at you, your father shakes his head, your brothers snicker.
“ah, always glad to see our presence causes a quake!” thank god, for hange. you’ve never had the opportunity to converse with them much, but you see why armin admires them immensely. they say your name with excitement and a bow, “always lovely to see you, too.”
the tension eases.
you release a shaky breath you hadn’t processed you were holding, the tiniest upward twitch at your lips at their subtle wink. some servants are already cleaning the disaster, another reassuring your mother. sasha curtsies at you, murmuring something about getting you cleaned, a suggestion you obey blindly.
when you return to the room minutes later, the calm chatter from before has resumed, the mess is tidied up, the new basket of tea sits by the biscuits, and the physicians are gone.
——
“armin,” hange drawls as they step out the gates of the viscount’s home, “i need not whistledown tarnishing my reputation any further! what exactly are you doing with the viscount’s daughter?”
armin literally chokes on spit, eyes widen as he accidentally releases the metal gate in a manner that makes it clang against its sisters. he has no moment to process that.
“w-what?” despite the whisper-shout, his voice up an octave again. his mentor snickers before he can even defend his and your honor, “n-nothing!”
“nothing? she just—“ exasperated hands in the air as they keep walking, “—broke a cup for fun? i am a scientist, but even i can read a lady’s eyes, armin!”
“h-hange, please!” he glances around the street, some nosy neighbors already watching the scene unfold. that absolutely cannot happen. he pushes their arms down, making sure they stay down. “we-we have been friends ages… y-you are quite entirely aware of that!”
hange hums in contemplation, tilting their head side-to-side. at least armin is not fibbing about that—everyone with an eye knows your friendship blossomed so many years back. but, hange, too, knows there is more than truly meets the eye.
they cross the street, and hange glances over with her one eye, “she dropped that precious porcelain when she saw you. one glimpse and, bam!—“ more shushing from the blond man ensues, “—tragedy of tea.”
“an accident…” he mutters the correction, holding the strap of his bag by his shoulder. he stares at the ground, a gesture born from embarrassment and—dare he add—hope.
“you are far too intelligent to absolutely believe that,” they respond casually, not even sparing him a second glance as they examine the next destination in their logbook.
armin does not argue back, eyes as big as the saucer you dropped earlier. he clears his throat, and marches beside hange in silence.
he speaks no words but he thinks them all.
since the beginning, armin was doomed to watch from afar. he could peek at you over whatever book he had opened, could make you smile big and bright, but that was that. no matter how he built himself up, society would never agree.
their rules matter more than his love for you. the one that has spiraled way beyond anything platonic.
he can’t exactly pinpoint the moment everything shifted. one evening you were the girl that indulged in his bookworm interests. the next, he imagined an entire future with you, blushing at the thoughts.
no matter when that solidified as a fact, nothing can ever happen. a titleless physician and the youngest daughter of the viscount?
not even in armin’s deepest, wildest dreams.
——
dearest gentle reader,
rumor has it our viscount and his family have encountered a tiny incident in their vast home. why, you may wonder, is this news important? well, it seems the youngest daughter, her majesty’s diamond, is quite involved.
a shattered porcelain cup and stained dress in the presence of the doctor hange zöe and her brilliant apprentice, armin arlert, looms over the well-respected family. it seems odd to criticize the miss as she reigns over the marriage market with the prince, future king of marley, reiner braun still quite interested in her hand to aid the rule of his kingdom.
after all, she has done everything perfectly thus far. shall this just remain a simple mistake or has our diamond begun to lose her sparkle? her majesty, the queen, would not be delighted should it be the latter.
is it possible the sparkle has not dulled and rather shines in a different direction than presumed? does she shimmer for the foreign prince or, perhaps, another blonde, blue-eyed young man in her life?
other mamas would not be keen of allowing their noble daughters around the likes of a boy without a title, even if he is too intelligent for his own good. it seems the viscountess has turned a blind eye long ago.
all in all, no true scandal has grazed over the reputable family. with our handsome prince still seeking our diamond, this all may remain a rumor, a bout of gossip born from jealousy to keep us entertained. one may even suspect the baron and his wife spoke ill of the young lady in response to their own daughter’s poor performance in the market. we shall not expect a marriage announcement from that financially unstable lineage.
this evening, the ton’s seasonal gem and other debutantes will enter our lovely countess’s spectacular ball, one all the young daughters have been anticipating for the last fortnight and a half. more likely than not, the former will remain sincere to her highest suitor—no need to disappoint the viscount and his descendants.
may we thrum with the anticipation of watching the night with careful eyes. our diamond has turned out to be more peculiar than most.
yours truly,
lady whistledown
——
sasha is styling your hair for the ball, just you and her in the room, when she asks, “my lady, why did you drop the tea?”
you inhale deeply, already expecting the question from anyone. this is the first time in discussion since the happening yesterday.
“simply tired, sasha,” you murmur, kindly, “i’ve been run ragged from these promenades and suitors. much gratitude for your concern.”
“it only happened when the doctors arrive.” of course. sasha, despite seeming silly and distracted, is very observant. “you’ve been tired for the past sennight, my lady.”
you’re not to sure how to respond, eyes trained on the mirror. your maids have done a splendid job in preparing you for the long night of torture. you look soft, yet just ripe enough for the hungry suitors eyeing your dance card. the empire silhouette dress is a muted blue, the bodice beaded with care only the talented could give.
beauty radiates from you, but you cannot find it in yourself to care. it is not for you, and it will never be for you.
“it’s been well past a fortnight since my debut,” you start, voice as small as you feel, “yet, i feel no excitement like the other ladies around me.”
sasha pauses, moving her lithe fingers completely from your hair. the hairdo is extravagant, only needing the final touch of a silver hairpiece for it will shine where you lack—according to your mama.
she reaches over for the clip, “pressure is natural. whistledown is sticking her neck where it does not belong.”
you breathe out a laugh at the reminder of the society papers from the morning. your mother took them to heart, engraving your expectations more than she already has. it bleeds in your mind, staining even your sacred thoughts of your joy.
the papers have made you confront the longstanding strain in your heart: you want marriage, just not with any of the noblemen wishing for you.
all along, armin has been there. with a smile, with a lesson, with a listening ear—never pressure to be what the ton expects. you find your honest self alongside him, sat at that overgrown tree by the edge of the river.
love is something you have read in novels, the ones hidden underneath a loose wooden slab in the floor. in your eighteen years of living, you do not recall seeing it in those around you.
you have felt it since the moment you and armin met—platonic, at first.
you want love. the true, messy, fulfilling love you feel for armin.
your father, your mother, your brothers would never forgive you if you ever gave into your heart. you’d ruin the family reputation, lose any title, and be completely disowned.
at this rate, that seems more desirable than a loveless marriage with a literal prince. after all, if armin could be yours—if he shared any of your feelings—you would drop everything before your mother could slap you.
but, armin has been nothing but respectful. men make it clear when they desire a woman. he has not done so in any manner.
so, tonight, you will play the part of diamond. you will smile at prince braun. you will dance with him all night. you will get closer to satisfying your family with a marriage proposal. you will push away your own autonomy for a man you do not love.
society has won. you lay beaten on the ground. there is no reason to resist now.
unless.
“lady whistledown simply seeks fulfillment. i cannot judge her.” you speak honestly, gently wiping a tear from your eye before it ruins your flawlessly-prepared look for the night.
sasha hums sadly, situating the piece perfectly. at that moment, you hear your mother’s heels clacking toward your room, arriving just in time for the finished look.
the young maid is quicker, hushed, “armin arlert would melt if he saw you now.”
your breath hitches in your throat as you snap your head around to look up at her, eyes still glistening with some added hope. with one final nod, she steps back as your mama enters the room with a grin.
“is my gorgeous diamond ready?”
——
when the third dance number of the night concludes with polite applause, prince reiner braun leads you toward the refreshments table for a glass of lemonade.
“quite extraordinary, as always, my lady,” he mutters, handing you a glass with a slight bow of his head. you smile, teeth and all, taking the cup carefully. you know all eyes are on you now—you need no extra fiasco in your life.
“ah, only with your steady guidance, your highness.” he smirks, taking a long sip of his own drink. bingo. you predict your mother is beaming as she watches from the sidelines.
when he turns away to greet some of the noblemen of the ton, you drop the smile, eyes trained on the marble floor. a short breather about an hour into the night—likely, it would be the first and only you’d indulge during this crowded ball.
at lady whistledown’s suggestion, all eyes of the ton are on you tonight. whispers fill the cracks of silence between transitions and conversation. they look at you expectantly, some with envy and some with genuine curiosity. you’ve become so important in such little time.
this isn’t for you.
you’d rather be at home, rereading the books on mathematics and numbers. you could spend a whole morrow doing that and would never bore. a mere hour here now will send you to any early grave.
you’d rather be at the riverbank, telling armin about your awful days in the marriage market. he’d listen, as he always does, even placing his books on medicine to the side to give you his full attention. the memory of that makes your heart throb.
you haven’t gone to the edge of the running body of water since the day you ran from home as you’re under constant watch. it has been the single worst experience of your life—the lost of freedom. is this just a trial for the real thing, a marriage to a man who doesn’t truly care for and love you?
reiner pulls you from your thoughts with a call of your name. you glance up with an expectant, trained smile. he returns the gesture, nodding over his shoulder, “i have some short business to discuss with some of the men here. i shall seek you out when the next number is to begin.”
you nod without hesitation, this time out of your own volition. “yes, of course, your highness. i…” you glance over at your chaperoning mother, for the first time this night, distracted by another mama. back to the prince, “i shall be relieving myself.”
he grins before bowing and heading on his way. you barely catch his eyes meeting your father’s, a horrible pit filling your gut. you don’t linger, moving away from the nosy ton. in the moment every mama and daughter stumbles toward the prince, you slip out the entryway.
you find yourself outside, bathing underneath the moonlight. you left out a shaky breath, not even minding the slight chill that runs over your arms. although it will only be a second, you need this.
peace.
walking down the path, you admire the gardens. so beautiful even during the night. you don’t often have the chance to see the little things in life. your mother rushes you from one place to another nowadays. before your debut, you had other duties to prepare for this season. the only calm then was the visits to the river with armin.
ah, always back to him.
you sigh, pausing in front of the last hedge. a small garden, it seems. you turn and immediately yelp when you spot the figure in front of you, hand landing over your heart.
“oh, goodness!” hange zöe jumps too, your formality slipping out their mouth. “there is usually no one out here! i feel like the frogs in my home!”
huh. don’t even question that.
you relax, crossing your arms at the stitches of your dress. “doctor, i… i was just taking a short breath. i was on my way back t—“
“no need.” the dismissal of your excuses catches you off guard. you falter, leaning back just a tiny bit.
you remember hange since you were just a child. their reputation back then was… it is safe to say the ton completely respects them as of recent. they would perform examinations on you and your brothers if ever ill. you sometimes even saw them with armin when you’d play before the books were all of importance to you both. it seems they have always mentored armin for as long as you’ve known him.
hange is a mentor, a guide, you wish you could have. they may be insane, yes, but they are honest. they care. they want the best for everyone. you’d never admit it, but you venerate them more than your own family.
“oh.” you are quiet, rubbing your thumb over your forearm awkwardly. hange notices and juts a thumb toward the swings at the far corner of the garden.
“come on, i’ll keep you hostage for a while.” you nod immediately, trailing them as they walk ahead.
you clear you throat as you take a seat on the wooden slab, kicking slightly. “you aren’t usually at these things, doctor.”
they cringe at the title, waving you off. you take the hint, but they respond, “i’m always invited—bunch of old geezers in one place, it’s perfect!—but i don’t attend. too much ‘mama’ and ‘debutante’ drama.”
you hum in agreement, eyes scanning the stars. “a choice would be lovely,” you pause, sparing them a glance—they’ve been too calm, which is very much unlike them. you continue, “why tonight?”
hange sways on their own swing, their eye following the bugs in the grass. “armin is leaving.”
you heart stops.
what?
everything stops functioning properly. your throat goes dry, your blood runs cold, your hands begin to shake.
“l-leaving?”
“i’ve encouraged it, as his mentor,” hange admits, still not meeting your glassy eyes. “he’s brilliant, as you already know. he needs proper education to further his knowledge on the sciences and medicine.”
of course. education. you and him talk about it often—his desire to study across the sea, your desire to simply have the opportunity to study anywhere. one day, it would happen. you did not expect it now.
“but,” hange continues, snapping you out of your thoughts as they finally glance over at you, “he is not thinking rationally. i did not anticipate his rush to set sail.”
you look away, staring at your feet as you process their words.
armin is leaving.
“when…. when does he go?”
“by the next new moon.”
the tear slips down your cheek on its own, eyes squeezing shut. you hold the ropes of the swing tightly—you think you would slip off otherwise.
by the next new moon—less than a fortnight?—you are likely to be engaged to the prince. eventually, when you marry and leave for marley, you would lose armin. he is leaving before then. you’ll lose him sooner.
the friendship is crumbling, has been crumbling since the morning of your debut. you’ll lose your freedom and your best friend all at once, the latter loss not gradually as you expected.
“i’m telling you this, here, for a reason,” hange says after a moment, focusing on the constellations now.
they don’t expect a response for you, which you are grateful for. if you were to speak in this very state of mind, you would break completely and be unable to reenter the ballroom at all. that alone would still be a grand challenge—going back there, pretending everything is fine, and dancing with the man who’ll rob you of your barely-there independence.
“i’m insane. that’s a known fact. so, i’ll say it with pride: choose yourself. for once, do that,” they pause, looking at the distant mansion, “’princess’ doesn’t suit you.”
you don’t even take offense. you already know.
“eh, i still wouldn’t blame you if you chose that marriage, that title. the—“ air quotes, “—‘happy’ and stable future… it’s been forced into your mind since you were born, as it has been for all the ladies in there,” a small sigh, “you’d be a winner in their eyes.”
but, not yours, they did not need to add.
you inhale sharply, head snapping up to look at hange as they stand. you wipe away the tears, composing yourself as best as possible. “i will succeed. that’s all my family wants from me. i’ll make them happy for once. i’ll satisfy them. i’ll... i’ll—i am going to be a princess!”
hange tilts their head, cocking a brow incredulously, “that seems likely, yes.” they take a step back. “armin would be incredibly elated for you.”
and, suddenly, all the fight is gone.
a whimper leaves your colored lips as you cover them with one hand, the other reddening on the rope. you double over, body shaking with sobs. you don’t even process hange’s arms around your trembling frame.
you’re not marrying armin. you’ll never marry armin. the one man who does not see you as a potential housewife and bearer of children will not be your husband. you’ll marry that stupid prince that doesn’t care that you will live a horrible, loveless life with him.
armin would care. armin would let you decide how to live your life, even married. armin would never force anything upon you. armin would simply love you as you, not a farce.
armin is who you want, who you could never possibly have with hange’s devastating revelation.
so, when you return to the ballroom, face bare of the smudged makeup hange helped you wipe off, your actions are robotic—just as you had been trained. you’re perfect, so much so that your mother even dismisses your sudden disappearance and change in appearance.
after all, you are just a doll in society’s hands.
when the final dance of the night with prince reiner braun ends, you hear hange’s final piece of advice ringing in your ears:
the hardest decision of your life is likely the right one. (but… i’m just a mad scientist, who am i kidding!)
——
dearest gentle reader,
our diamond has completely silenced the critics. efforts increased tenfold, it is clear who has won the grand title of ‘princess of marley’. there is no announced engagement, yet, but listening ears heard the viscount discussing a hefty dowry with his highness, prince reiner braun. the youngest daughter of the family would be the first of the four children to marry, as her brothers display rakish tendencies with no signs of marriage this season.
she simply shone the brightest in the countess’s ballroom last evening. many mamas and daughters were crying tears of defeat at the sight of the soon-to-be couple dancing at the center of the marvelous floor.
her majesty, the queen, must be ecstatic with the delivery of the news by the one and only host, the countess. the queen’s words, yet again, rule.
on the opposite aspects of the season, this author hears the doctor’s apprentice boy, armin arlert, makes his preparations to soon travel the sea in search of an education that challenge his brilliance. quite coincidental he embarks in this journey when his childhood best friend, our diamond, is about to engage.
has something shifted between the pair?—i am sure so many mamas remember the two playing by the riverbank all those years ago!
then, do the wedding bells toll like funeral bells for mister arlert? has his decision to leave encouraged our diamond to rapidly secure the greatest marriage?
ah, of course, all of this is just tittle-tattle. entertainment, one could say.
or, maybe, this author has uncovered the truth.
yours truly,
lady whistledown
——
your mama is too elated by the first part of whistledown to care about the latter—her daughter is too perfect, gossip must try to ruin her!
you do not correct her.
instead, you take this to your advantage. you slip into the morning room as she hosts some of her dear friends. you curtsey as they bubble on about your successes. you’re sure they are truly green-eyed that their daughters did not wow the prince, but you show no signs of distaste. your mother could take care of the bragging.
“mama,” you turn your entire gaze to her, blinking at her calmly, “i’ve nothing to do today. may i visit… may i go to the riverbank? miss blouse could chaperone to not take from your day.”
your heart pounds as your mother drops her smile just a moment. you can already hear the ladies murmuring to each other—the riverbank? where she goes with that boy armin arlert?—the request likely to reach whistledown.
you’re quicker than them, “i simply wish to walk. the eastern side.” away from the tree. “i presume i will be too busy for that, soon enough.”
with your mother, the ladies in the room smile, falling for your lie. they are just so simpleminded, you could almost feel bad.
“ah, yes, my diamond,” your mother replies, kissing your cheeks gently. “be back by supper, your father wishes to discuss important matters.”
you smile, ignoring the sour taste in your mouth. “of course, mama.”
by the end of the hour, you’re walking toward that godforsaken tree, cloak and hood over your form—there is no one around, but it is just in case.
sasha did go with you. however, she was more than happy to accept the treat you gave her, sending you a wink before running along with her friend and fellow servant, the young footman jean.
when you spot him, he’s sitting with his back against the bark of that tree, jotting something down into his journal resting on his bent knees. there are two other books open on the ground in front of him. he is hunched over slightly, longer pieces of hair almost covering his eyes.
he is a sight to behold.
when a leaf crunches beneath your heel, armin jumps, peering over his shoulder with visible shock in his round orbs. it doesn’t go away when he sees you, confusion now added to the mix.
“w-what...?” he squeaks out, graphite slipping from his dainty fingers. he looks around frantically, hoping no one is around to see you. “y-you can’t be here…!”
you pout, lowering yourself onto the ground. “no one comes by here, armin.”
“gosh! you cannot actually believe that! if w-whistledown—“
“oh, please do not wish her into the air!”
“then, why—“
“i had to see you!” you finally admit, backing down when he actually freezes. your cheeks flush as you turn away in shame. “you… you are leaving.”
you hear the thump of pages pressing against one another abruptly. you feel the nudge of his shoe against yours, calling your attention back on him, just as warm in the cheeks as you.
“i did not mean for you to find out through gossip.” he sounds honest, voice meek in some sort of shame.
you shake your head, “hange found me before then.” he tilts his head at the disclosure but does not comment on it.
“i… i have the opportunity to go. ideal timing, too, since you and the prince will—“ he stops himself with a sharp inhale, increasing the distance between your bodies.
you watch him with a solemn expression, the shadow of your hood exemplifying the emotions on your pretty features. “he’s not proposed y—“
“the entire ton knows he will.” you’re taken aback by the exasperation in his voice. deep down, you are aware of the truth his claim holds.
you bite your lip, running your fingers over your palm over and over again. the gesture is meant to be soothing. it is not.
“when—“
“before the fortnight.”
you nod without missing a beat. you don’t trust yourself with any extra moment of hesitation. “i am happy for you.”
“as am i.”
it is silent after that. armin looks away, watching the stream behind you that mirrors his own irises. you stare down at your lap, tracing the elaborate embroidery of your dark cloak.
there’s so much you could say.
do not forget to write.
i’ll miss you.
i hate this.
do not go.
stay.
stay with me.
i love you.
but, none of that comes out, just, “we shall make the most of these days.”
armin looks at you, brows furrowed in confusion. “i-i’m sorry?”
you bite your lip, glancing up at armin softly. “like old times. sit by the river. read those books of yours,” a pregnant pause, “...talk.”
he searches for any ounce of dishonesty evident in your face—your eyes, your cheeks, your lips. he finds none. “what… what about his highness?”
“you are far more important.” it spills out before you can stop yourself. it is too late for regret.
armin doesn’t necessarily react. his eyes blink shut, maybe in contemplation, and he nods. when he opens his eyes, there is something there that you cannot describe.
you smile—a tiny smile—and point at his book. “tell me about your latest discoveries.”
he smiles back, timidly.
——
you have always been the ideal daughter, according to other mamas in the ton—speaking only when spoken to, following three steps behind the man, playing the part of beautiful object. your family detest you for not being pretty enough, not worthy enough, not good enough at your lessons. they thought you would ruin the viscount family reputation.
none of that matters now that prince reiner braun wants you as another trophy to display. suddenly, you are the pride and joy of the home after years of living in the shadows. you are important when you most want to hide.
promenades with reiner are more frequent. he visits the home every morning, sometimes going directly to your father and brothers rather than speaking with you. you stop entertaining other suitors, at your mother’s insistence—you are not sure if you can label that an actual win for you.
for once, they seem to care. for once, you do not even want that. not from them, at least, for they always disappoint.
you started running from home years ago, the reason you met armin. as you got older, as your mother started hounding you for more and more lessons, you left home unannounced less. with this busy season, one would think you have no opportunity to escape.
everyone would be sorely mistaken.
you’ll forever be thankful to your loyal servants—sasha, jean, connie. with their jobs and freedom on the line, they help you enjoy your last times of true freedom. they help you leave the secure mansion.
prince reiner braun arrives in the mornings and stays for a couple hours. some nights, you must attend those lavish, mind-numbing balls. other middays, by your mother’s words, you assert your diamond status in public areas. in simple words, you are incredibly busy.
that could never stop you.
the hardest decision of your life is likely the right one.
amidst downtime, you find yourself with armin. inconceivably, you’ve made it work. you’re not too sure that was the right choice anymore.
every moment that you are with him, your love for him grows. the disdain for the housewife life increases simultaneously. you are destined for that hell and you are making it worse for yourself. yet, you don’t stop seeing armin.
most times, you meet at the river. he would bring some of hange’s personal books, pointing out spectacular writings. if it were written by the doctor themself, you would gasp at the craziest descriptions he recited. maybe the title of ‘insane’ is warranted.
once, armin let you read one of his scientific pieces. you read the entry over and over until he pulled the journal away from you, tips of ears a deep red. the shade spread to his neck and face when you gushed out compliment after compliment. you assumed he was simply not used to praise.
on the rare occasion the weather proves itself foul, armin leads you to the laboratory. you’d examine everything, fascinated by all that goes against your honorable title. you hold the jars with… questionable contents. you sniff odd mixtures, coughing so much armin is forced to pat your back. hange even lets you watch one of their failed experiments. you laugh so much, you start crying.
by this time next year, you’ll be trapped, a caged bird to never fly again. you’ll be in a new ton, surrounded by strangers who only see you as a pet. you’ll be days away from your best friend.
that is the worst part of all this. it all goes back to losing the safest place—person—in your forever-controlled existence. he helped you feel alive, even if it wasn’t his intention.
with him, you discovered the complexity and beauty of life beyond the superficial. you discovered love could be real, not just something you read in some long novel. it is a feeling you will cherish, will teach your future children to value more than any honorific they could receive.
so, in the meantime, you pretend this glimpse of your desired future will last forever. while you’re certain armin does not love you in a similar fashion as you love him, mourning that now would make the ending worse.
so, in the meantime, you pretend.
you do not notice armin’s gaze on you the entire time you are together. hange would tease him after you rushed home to ready for whatever event was next.
he’s starting to believe he is making the wrong decision—leaving the ton means leaving you. for good. staying means he could possibly see you when visiting from your new home in that faraway kingdom. even a passing word from the woman he will forever love would suffice. after he leaves, there is no telling if he will ever see you again, even if he returns to paradis someday.
no. he has to go—before you wed. he wouldn’t survive merely reading it through the letters of gossip. even just knowing is difficult enough.
your time now is enough to quell his thirst—he must believe that. the looks that last far too long to be innocent. the lingering touches that make his skin burn when you pull away. the warm feeling in his lower body when he sees your natural beauty.
at some point, he was close to giving in—when you stared up at him silently, something unknown in your pretty eyes. hange broke another beaker and he moved away clumsily. he spent the night with his hand down his drawers, profusely ashamed.
but, if his torture rewards him with your honest joy, then armin would endure it a thousand times over. for now, he does what he knows best.
armin writes.
——
armin is to leave in the early hours of the morning. his few significant items are packed, other less important taken to burning.
you’ve not had the opportunity to stay goodbye, and you do not think you will as the queen’s ball happens to be the evening right before the anchors lift. the universe points and laughs at you when you connect two and two.
you will never see him again.
by now, playing pretend is your specialty. looking your absolute best, you wow the ton. however, your eyes aren’t really there. you’re in some distant place in your mind, imagining any possibility of life but your reality.
it catches you by surprise when the earl’s son, eren yeager, bumps into you by the left wing. you don’t see him too often, but you know he is one of armin’s only noble friends—besides you, of course. he’s always been kind and respectful, also one seemingly against the standards of society.
he bows politely, “ah, it’s been far too long.”
you curtsey, “my lord, it indeed has.” even with him, you subconsciously dazzle as the diamond—her majesty is watching you tonight, still and all.
he scrunches his nose at the title, scanning the room for some reason unbeknownst to you. “i’m surprised his highness let you out his sight. you deserve a breath of fresh air, not just the stench beneath his shoulder.”
you let out an unexpected snort, covering your mouth the next breath in shame. eren smiles down at you, letting out a soft chuckle of his own.
at least you are not the only noble child with a brain.
“oh, my gosh,” you giggle out, still hiding beneath your hand. “you are cruel.”
the heir to the earl title shrugs, amusement gleaming in his colored eyes, “but, not wrong.”
another short huff before you compose yourself. that small interval of peace was a distraction from your mind. you see why armin is—
armin.
the smile drops abruptly. eren catches the change immediately, mimicking your own expression. he keeps his eyes forward, as he murmurs, “i am here because he asked me—don’t look at me, pretend i am speaking to myself.”
you obey, grinning and nodding at passersby despite the nasty churning in your belly. eren’s voice lowers further, “he wrote a letter. for you.”
your head pounds as fast as your heart. you don’t turn to the yeager boy, focusing on the most important aspect of society at this very moment.
diamond.
diamond.
diamond.
armin.
“i was meant to wait, until after the ship departs. i simply believe he is stupid for suggesting so.” eren takes one final precautionary glance around the massive room before slipping his hand underneath his carefully adjusted tailcoat. “turn.”
you do as he asks, trusting him senselessly. you pray no one questions this very instance. the next thing you know, eren passes you a folded page. he stands close enough to cover you from attendees, far enough that call for scandal is not just.
for a brief second, you consider crumpling the slip and shoving it into eren’s chest. you should go on with you life, forget that classless boy that kept you happy for the years before your true duty—just practical, not permanent.
you are not your family. the sheet falls open almost on its own.
dearest,
i was not going to write this, let alone deliver it to you. i am still unsure if you will ever receive this.
this ton is not for people like myself, lacking some type of noble title. everywhere i went, the nobleman and woman reminded me that i could never belong. i kept to myself, with my books and scribbles at the riverbank. it would have been enough.
then, you ran along, insisting i let you read with me. there was apprehension, at first—your family could have faced a scandal early on just because of your acquaintance with a boy like me. i realized, not even an hour in, that you are completely different than those around us. from that day forward, we were friends. the bestest, as you proclaim.
i am most glad for your initial insistence. you are the most magnificent girl i have ever met. too kind to a fault. more brilliant than most men i know. strong. more beautiful than the skies and the seas.
in simple words, you are nothing like those around you. with all honesty and respect, i cannot stand the hierarchal state in this ton. multiple times, i considered joining hange on creating that ‘bomb’ of theirs. you are more than enough to sway those thoughts away.
i have spent years trying to uncover why you matter so much to me, treating it as if it were some impossible theorem i need to solve. i would review our time together—conversations, laughs, even the moments of silence—and chart it out all over the laboratory floor. nothing was truly adding up.
the answer came to me naturally in a moment. no intervention. no evidence. not even a hypothesis beforehand. i just needed you.
all this time, all these years, i have always loved you.
you are everything to me, like the air i breathe and the food i eat. my mind is at ease only around you. my heart beats for you. my body aches for you.
these feelings have been budding since the day we met. i was afraid to name it, unable to fathom it until your debut. until the day that set our demise.
i thought i could stay around you, support you in this journey as a friend should. when your mother kept you home for that sennight, when whistledown kept reporting your affections for the prince, i realized it was all too much. you aren’t even married yet and i already hurt. it is absolutely ridiculous. my heart, i mean. how could you ever love someone like me? i am nothing compared to that prince or any man the viscount and viscountess would approve of.
so, i am running like a coward. no man, including myself, wants to see the woman he loves love another. our friendship was never meant to last. i was just too selfish to let it go sooner.
this past decade or so has been the honor of my life. there is nothing i regret. whoever you marry is the luckiest being in the universe. oh, how i wish it were me.
i wish you the best.
i will not write.
i love you.
eternally yours,
armin arlert
you cannot breathe.
you cannot function.
the ball around you is muted. the world keeps spinning but you are frozen in place. you can only read the suddenly blurring words, some ink smudged by wetness coming from your eyes. you reread the last, scratched line.
all this time, armin has loved you. he loves you. he—
“darling!”
you’re spinning around in an instant, eyes wide with tears slipping from the corners. you don’t care to wipe them anymore.
it’s your mother who calls for you, clearly too ecstatic to notice your state. she grabs your arm without hesitation, dragging you away from a wildly-concerned eren. you’re clutching the letter, mind still somewhere far away.
the lights blind you. the noise disturbs you. the shuffling nauseates you.
then, you are at the center of the ballroom, everyone parting like the red sea. for you, the queen’s diamond. the very woman who watches the scene with a curious gaze.
does no one see your tears? does no one care?
a low, steady tune fills the air. you whip your head, searching for the disturbance. you only spot prince reiner braun approaching you.
no. god, no. no, no, no, no, no—
“my lady,” he starts, as if announcing it to the entire ton. he’s not even seeing you. this is a spectacle. you are the main show.
“you are quite a beauty—“
more beautiful than the skies and the seas.
“—smart amongst women—“
more brilliant than most men i know.
“—kind, only to those worthy of it—“
too kind to a fault.
“—you are intriguing—”
you are the most magnificent girl i have ever met.
“—marry me and i will make sure you are always taken care of. join me on the throne of my kingdom, marley, and belong to me.”
whoever you marry is the luckiest being in the universe.
there is a moment where no one so much as breathes, watching the grand proposal of the season. some mamas silently criticize the beat of silence. most young ladies pout, wishing they were you. many nobleman nod along with the prince despite their own jealously. the queen frowns after five seconds. eren has left the room entirely.
no one in the room wants this less than you.
god, you can practically hear your mama yelling at you. her frustration is radiating off her body feet away toward you.
beside her, your brothers clear their throats loudly, the youngest of the three even coughing more than once. you know it is them.
your father taps his foot obnoxiously, the throbbing in your head worsening at the rhythm. yes, he is extremely wealthy, but your dowry was not inexpensive.
the only thing you feel is the paper in your hand, threatening to rip from the force of your grip.
everyone waits. armin waits.
your breath hitches—
eternally yours.
—and, you run.
——
your feet take you where your heart desires.
by the time you are entering the rickety building, you are soaked—your cloak, your dress, your hair, your heels—and shivering from head to toe. the only dry article on your body is the letter you tucked in your bust, one you are pulling out once again.
you rush up the two flights of stairs, praying you have made it on time. only that matters now. your mind is already set.
the hardest decision of your life is likely the right one. could you even consider this the hardest with how relieving it felt?
you drip water on the rotten wood as you hurry down the hall, scanning every door and number. the moment you spot the door, you knock frantically.
please, please, plea—
the door opens. in front of you is armin, blue eyes scanning over you in shock. as if he could not believe you are actually there.
“w-what—“
armin has no chance to finish his sentence as you scurry forward and crash your lips onto his soft ones. he chokes—shocked—but doesn’t move away. instead, he presses deeper.
the kiss is clumsy, to say the least. neither of you have any idea what you are doing—lost in the emotions, in how right it feels.
this is what you have been missing, what you have been needing. everything feels right as once, even after the chaos you have created. that is the last thing on your mind. armin is there. armin is present.
armin loves you, and you love armin.
you drop the letter. as it floats down just inside the threshold of the room, your hands seek purchase on his biceps. armin cups your jaw, pushing your hood off when his fingers thread through your damp hair.
he pulls away first, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. “m-my lady, i am so—“
you push your lips against his once again, this kiss more than the last. teeth clash, salvia slips from your mouth into his and vice-versa. his nose nudges yours and you huff out quietly.
you pull away next, his forehead landing your own. you hold onto him as you lean back for the proper contact, head tilted back to see his handsome. you both pant, eyes wide. he awaits an answer, you await him.
“i-i want to go. w-with you.”
he gasps quietly, searching for any signs of tipsiness as he runs his thumbs over your cheekbones. when he finds none, he examines you for dishonesty. nothing.
“y-you… you cannot be serious, my lady—“ you interrupt him with your name. he hesitates, but corrects himself. it is such a beautiful sound, you could die happy hearing it everyday.
you nod, eyes dropping to the letter on the floor. “i… i ran. the prince… he proposed as soon as i r-read your letter.”
armin is slightly embarrassed you read it before he left. only slightly because this is happening now. ah, he must be dreaming, of course. when he bites his lip, nothing occurs. his breath hitches. you are really here.
“p-proposed?” he stutters out, eyes falling shut as he repeats your words in his head.
you ran when the prince proposed. you ran. when the prince proposed. everything for your future was set and you ran.
for him.
“did… did you m-mean everything?” you murmur, suddenly very worried when armin freezes. unbeknownst to you, he was seriously unsure if this is reality or one of his many dreams of you.
“e-everything.”
you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, an almost-laugh thread within in. the tears slip out without permission. “i have been waiting to h-hear that.”
armin huffs out a laugh himself, “y-yeah?”
“mhm,” you sniffle wetly, biting the inside of your cheek as your gaze drops to his wet, plush lips. “c-can—“ you glance up to his eyes, brows furrowed, “—can i kiss you…?”
armin bites his lips and nods. you don’t know who moves first but your lips meet again, slower this time. you are both learning as you go.
he sighs into your mouth, you lean closer into him. armin takes a step back into his lodgings, you take one forward. he is uncoordinated, trying his best to stay against you as he moves backwards. you do not mind in the slightest. you are as inexperienced as him, if not more.
when the door thuds shut with you inside, armin pulls away as if suddenly remembering the situation at hand. “y-you’re soaked.” he doesn’t mention his own dampness due to your condition and his proximity.
you look down at yourself in the dim light of the candles. you feel wet, in more ways than one, but you’d rather not catch a cold now. your eyes meet armin’s as you whisper, “disrobe me.”
it seems a lot shocks armin this late evening, early morning. he swallows before nodding. he’s been dreaming of this night for years, nevertheless.
he starts with your cloak. he shies away from your stare, cheeks flushed as he pulls the fabric over your head. you assist him by lifting your arms when he struggles. once off your body, armin drops the heavy mantle onto the wooden floor, a resounding plop! echoing around the small space.
armin sees you as if you were already naked. you are not, not yet, with your moist dress covering your most indecent parts. his eyes land on your plump cleavage.
you turn wordlessly and armin follows, his hands tracing the delicate patterns until he finds the ribbon. with one tug, your dress loosens enough to pull it over your head. that, too, has a final thud as it meets the ground.
you are in your corset and undergarments when you face him again. he’s at a loss for words. you are just so…
“beautiful.”
you smile shyly before reaching for the buttons of his shirt. you move slowly yet efficiently, savoring the moment as if it were the last. you both know that is far from true.
armin lets the cloth slide off his shoulders as you focus on pulling off his undershirt. he has you turn once more to untie your corset.
you bite your lip as you stand restlessly in anticipation. “i have never done this,” you murmur into the air.
“ah, me neither,” armin breathes behind you, shoving the stutter down his throat with a whisper of your name. “we will… we shall learn together.”
you nod, picking at your nails as you let him work. you do not feel nervous. if anything your heart beats rhythmically with his, signaling your excitement with these upcoming sensation with him.
only a minute later, he succeeds at the task. the corset slips off, leaving your upper body completely bare. you breathe once more and turn.
the adoration in his eyes is enough to make you tear up once again. armin releases a shaky breath before reaching for your face. he kisses you once more, confidence skyrocketing.
you moan into his lips as he guides you toward the shaky bed. you could be doing this by the river and you’d never complain. as long as it is with him. he pushes you back gently, letting you accommodate to the stiff mattress before settling half atop of you.
one hand holds him up, the other slides over your softness. he starts at your neck, feeling your pulse there for a second—you are real. his fingers trace lower, ghosting over your chest before pressing more firmly against the fat there. you whine into his lips when he grazes your nipples.
he tugs each peak once, twice, thrice, just to hear your angelic sounds. he commits them to memory. then, his hand moves lower.
all the while, you begin removing his trousers. you giggle against his lips between the soft pecks when he awkwardly shuffles out his pants. you both only wear undergarments.
you both gasp at once—your palm pushes against his bulge, his fingers glide over your covered slit. you toss back onto a pillow, a sweet sound leaving your swollen mouth.
armin watches you carefully, fingers dipping underneath the waistband of your final garments. he drags them down your legs, smiling when you raise your hips to help. dangling at your ankle, you are completely nude, legs spread just enough.
another shaky breath, armin looks at you for confirmation. when you nod, he looks down. the sight is one to behold. he may have to pick up sketching and painting to keep this sight forever.
you bite your lip and turn your head when armin pushes your thighs apart. he breathes, “god.”
his dainty fingers move carefully toward your center. then, he drags the tips over the folds. you gasp, back arching spontaneously.
“mm, armin!” you whine, belly caving in with your quickening breaths. he doesn’t stop, observing your every move, every reaction. he must know what makes you feel good. when he rubs over that little button, you shake even more.
he lets you enjoy that for a bit, rubbing your clit just right. when he sees your fold glisten some more, he shifts his hand slightly. his thumb touches your bundle of nerves while his middle finger presses against your entrance.
“tell me to stop… anytime…” you nod frantically at his words, breaths breaking into a cry when his finger pushes forward.
this is a new feeling, a very welcome one. he is invading you yet it does not feel wrong in any matter. if anything, it feels incredibly right. he pushes slowly until the knuckle, pausing there. when you adjust, and your hips shift for friction, he moves.
you gasp into the air, your own hands moving to cup your tits. “a-armin…” you’re not sure why exactly you call his name. it just feels so right.
he moves perfectly, hitting a spot inside your pussy that makes you jerk and gasp. he hits it dead-on every time. eventually, a second finger makes its way inside you.
it doesn’t take long for that warm feeling in your lower belly to grow like an uncontrollable fire. with tears sliding down your temple and a cry of his name, you cum around his fingers. you shake, but he armin does not stop, not until you push his wrist away.
you pull him into a kiss, reaching down to shove off his underwear. he kicks them off with a huff, impossibly hard. you wrap your hand around him and he whines. you smile into the kiss.
armin pulls away, forehead pressing against yours as he gasps when you move your hand up and down his shaft. his eyes flutter shut, moans escaping freely.
“is that good?” you mutter, genuinely curious. he nods only because he does not trust himself to speak. his hips rock back and forward, seeking more sensation.
this went on for a bit. you both pant heavily when he holds your hand still. “i-i’ll finish if you don’t s-stop.”
your mouth opens slightly and you nod, pulling your hand away. you glance down to look at his length. it is so… pretty. long, pale, pre-cum leaking from the pink tip. “how will that fit?” you mutter mindlessly.
he groans at your words, swooping you into another kiss. you giggle again, armin joining you this time. you kiss a bit longer before he finally reaches down, grabbing himself to guide inside you.
“i-i heard this hurts,” he strains out, notching his tip at your entrance. you whimper, nodding subconsciously. “tell me if—“
“i know… i-i trust you. fully.” one more nod, and he drives his hips forward.
the feeling is unlike anything you’ve felt in your life. it feels… perfect. like you just found your way home. there is a slight sting alongside these emotions, but you do not care. if anything, the pain feels as good the pleasure.
you given yourself to him. all of you. it feels good. perfect. right.
you moan freely, hands clutching his shoulders. armin whimpers, forehead dropping against your shoulder. he cannot cum just yet. he bottoms out soon enough and you feel so warm, so soft, so amazing.
this is it. this is love. were it anyone else, you think you’d hate this. with armin, it feels like a final declaration of love.
“i love you,” you moan, squirming for some type of friction.
armin whines, clutching your thighs tightly. he jerks forward then back, again and again. your proclamation heightens every clench of your walls, every nudge against your cervix. he moans, “i-i love you, more.”
you reach up, cupping his face, the sweetest of smiles on your lips, “why are you crying?”
armin gasps, seeing his tears on your chest and face. he acknowledges your own tears at your waterlines. he shakes his head, kissing you once more and he moves steadily.
when you both eventually cum, it feels as if the gods have rejoiced. his seed fills your fluttering hole, moans slipping out mouths into the others.
i love you, repeated over and over again until you don’t know where you end and he starts.
he loves you in a way no one can. fully, completely, vulnerably. he is the one person you’ve ever desired. the marriage market… the noble ranks… it would have never worked. not when your heart belonged to armin.
this type of love is eternal. no boundaries, no hinderances.
just you and him.
——
dearest gentle reader,
this season has taken a drastic turn, one most unexpected by majority of the ton. it seems her majesty’s diamond of this martial season has completely vanished. it seems she took off as his highness, prince reiner braun, asked for her hand in marriage during our very queen’s ball. it seems she has received the gossip and drama she yearns for.
rumor has it our shining star was spotted at the docks in the early morning hours, boarding a ship directed across the sea with the one and only armin arlert. some of her belongings were seemingly delivered by her loyalest servants, although their identities remain unknown. the pair of ‘childhood best friends’ seemed quite cozy together as they left the ton they once called home. my sources tell me she looked the happiness they had ever seen her.
it seems the viscount’s family is in now shambles. with their youngest daughter gone with a classless boy after rejecting a prince’s proposal, her majesty, the queen, has questioned their entire lineage to find reason for her diamond’s abrupt exit. the viscount has reportedly lost deals with other noble families. even the most desperate ladies no longer wish to pursue the single, eldest brothers, with emphasis on their rakish behavior. the viscountess, herself, has been spotted wandering around the riverbank, seeking her daughter—not out of care but out of spite. one mustn’t forget the family shall have to find out which maids and footmen helped the young daughter disappear.
the season comes to an end soon. after all, there will be no grand proposal as even the prince of marley has announced his own timely departure. he has taken a grand hit to his ego after the wordless rejection from our extraordinary diamond.
this author always knew this diamond would turn out quite special. how could one rip a woman’s love from her heart and not expect backfire?
i wish every young lady the best for the conclusion of the season. some proposals would be delightful, but nothing could beat the gossip of our diamond and her classless lover. after all, the ton dulled her sparkle.
she shines brightest away from here with her truest, everlasting love.
yours truly,
lady whistledown
While y/n had planned to relax in her dorm for a few hours, and then go hang out with Connie those plans changed because now, the baldheded male was outside her dorm, mouth loud as hell, calling her name over and over. She figured it was her fault, she did agree to meet his friends, and they were all on campus, but she couldn't help the anxiety that festered in her stomach. Meeting new people was always hard, first impressions meant everything. You only get one chance to shape someone's opinion about you before they form an idea about you. It was stressful.
“Y/nnnnn! Open na noorrr” Connie whined, softly knocking against the door. He was impatient, he'd told her fifteen minutes ago that he was on the way. He couldn't sit still and was excited to show his friends someone that he'd known longer than them. When y/n opened the door he couldn't help but grin, wrapping his long arms around her, rocking them side to side. They hadn't seen each other in a while, though they talked every day he'd missed annoying her in person.
The two had a brief conversation, catching up, talking about school, people, parties, family, and other things. Connie grew up in the same neighborhood but when he got older he and his mom moved and he got sent to another school. He visited the neighborhood every weekend to play basketball with y/n’s brother and chill. They were pretty close.
“So where are we meeting your friends?” y/n asked, walking around her room to gather things to bring with her. Her room had been a bit messy since she hadn't put all of her things away yet but it wasn't a big deal to either her nor Connie. She noticed that he'd been a bit quiet after that question so she turned around, crossing her arms over her chest before asking him again. “Where are we meeting your friends… Connie?” she said slowly, suspicious.
“Okay bro….were meeting them at Armin’s house” he knew how y/n was with strangers and how she’d rather not be trapped in their house with connies irrisponsibal ass since he was her ride home but he really wanted her to become friends with them. “Dont look like that, chill. I promise i’ll take you home if you're uncomfortable, they won't do anything, plus Armin is a clean guy, not a speck of dust” Connie stood, walking over to the girl, gently shaking her shoulders.
“Bro Connie no…and who the hell is armin? I'm not finna sit up in a stranger's house bro” Y/N huffed, rolling her eyes as she plopped down on her bed. It's not that she couldn't trust Connie, it's just that the entire situation sounded awkward. She didn't know his friends dynamics, she didn't know if they would like her, hell she didn't know how far away this house would be from campus.
“Its gonna be weird, I'm not gonna know any inside jokes so I'm gonna be left out of conversations, I'm not gonna know where anything is, and imma be hungry as fuck too scared to ask for food” she continued. Not looking at Connie who probably was trying to use puppy dog eyes to convince her to agree. He always did and it was so stupid and funny that y/n always ended up saying yes. “I'm not going” is what she said, but, minutes later, they were in Connie's car as he blasted Rod Wave, speeding down the road.
The drive to Armin’s house wasn't long, with connie’s driving it didn't feel long though armin lived an hour away from campus. Connie probably got them there in 35 minutes. They pulled outside this nice big house, it had an entrance gate and everything. Y/n watched as Connie entered a password making the gates slowly open. He pulled in and parked alongside a few other cars. One in particular caught y/n’s eye, it was a navy blue Bentley. What college student could afford a Bentley? Better yet, who's parents are buying them a Bentley? How rich were these people.
“Who's that car for?” she asked, pointing to it. Connie was busy texting on his phone, probably letting them know that they were here and not to do anything weird. He glanced up, following Y/N’s fingers to the car. He smiled, obviously liking the car himself.
“Oh, that's Armin’s, I was just as surprised when he first pulled up in it” Connie smiled, patting the wheel of his Kia. His car was nice too but Connie was the type to dream beyond the stars, he was working hard in school so that he could afford an expensive life. “And he brought it himself, he does..” Connie paused, realising that he was talking too much. He licked his lips, looking away for a second. If he had said what he was about to say and armin found out armin would've whooped his ass and he would've let him.
“He has rich parents” Connie mumbled as he opened the car door, mumbling ‘come on’ as he walked toward the house. He he opened the front door and the cold air from inside blasted them, cooling them down from the summer heat, y/n began to regret not bringing a jacket. Connie made sure to make their presence known by singing daddys home, embarrassing myria in the process. She followed behind him, pressing her hand against her head in shame.
Connie went in and began greeting everyone while introducing myria in the process. He pointed to everyone, calling out their names in the process and repeating hers a million times. When he got to armin he paused.
“And this” he rested his hands on top of the boys nest blond hair with a smile. “Is armin, that was his car, she likes your car dude” Connie smiled, trying to get armin to look up from his phone and when he did, armin paused.
I had only looked up to see who Connie's friends were and to thank them for complimenting my car but standing in front of me was the prettiest girl in the world. My heart stopped almost immediately. She'd been wearing a pink off-the-shoulder sweater with a white skirt for her bottoms, which stopped mid-thigh, leaving her shiny skin exposed. I wasn't worried about her shoes, my eyes snapped right back up into hers that were gazing at me mine. She was so pretty, so so pretty, her eyes were pretty, her lips were pretty her face was pretty. She was pretty.
“Oh….uh…..thank you” I shouldn't have opened my mouth, my words had come out quickly and extremely high-pitched. Now I looked like a fucking dork in front of the prettiest girl on the planet. And my eyes, they wouldn't stop wandering, as if they had a mind of their own, taking in every inch of her beauty. And god, when she smiled, I felt my chest tighten even more. Was this normal? I'd never been like this around anyone before but her, for some reason my body was instantly awake and alert.
“You're welcome, him...armin?” Y/n said, her tone held a bit of question to it. Her voice was so pretty that my brain paused, playing it on repeat. This woman was literally a walking wet dream. She was so cute, she seemed so sweet. I felt a little jealous of Connie at the moment, he's known her for a long time apparently and she's currently shyly holding the back of his hoodie. Why do good things happen to evil bald-headed men?
“Armin, yes I'm armin….uhm….” I didn't know what else to say so I quickly looked at Connie who had a big smirk on his face, his eyes narrowed. That asshole, he was definitely gonna bring this up later, of course I have to be so open about my feelings. Well, it's not like I like her. I think. She's pretty, very pretty, beautiful actually, I wouldn't know what to do with her but if I had her. Oh god. I quickly kicked Connie's shoe so that he could say anything, I needed a distraction otherwise my thoughts would wander into dangerous territory. On cue, Connie and y/n went over to a couch and sat down before Connie very loudly asked what we were going to get into today.
We all decided to order more food and chill in the theater room. Eren suggested Y/N pick the movie since she was new around. At first, she didn't know what to pick, not wanting to pick anything weird or something that everyone didn't want to watch but everyone was really reassuring letting her have free rein to pick whatever and she chose sinners. Apparently eren, Sasha, and Jean hadn't seen it yet. We got the snacks ready, all picking somewhere to sit. She ended up between Connie and me and Connie and my heart was pounding like crazy.
We were on the “y'all clan?” part of the movie. She laughed softly and my dick literally sprang into action, I had to quickly pull a pillow into my lap so that she wouldn't see it. Sure the room was dark but the snacks were literally in between us, she would have to look over eventually. I couldn't help but think that something was wrong, why was my body acting like this towards a girl that I just met am I that easy? Well….technically but that was never towards women in person. Was it just her?
As the movie went on I couldn't help but stare at her from time to time. When it eventually ended, they began talking about it. Eren kept calling it peak fiction, saying that he was “just like Stack” and other things. Myria smiled as she discussed the movie with them. God, she was so pretty. Connie caught me staring again and smirked more, rubbing his bare chin.
“Since the movie is over should we chill in the pool?” Jean asked, already reaching to pull off his shirt. We all had planned to get into the pool some time today, it was something we did every weekend durning the summer, if we weren't at the beach. “Thats cool with you y/n?” Jean asked. He's so lucky, being able to speak to her so easily, I probably would've swallowed my tongue.
“I didn't bring extra clothes, Connie... didn't tell me that armin had a pool” She said softly as she side-eyed Connie who was staring at a wall and rubbing the back of his head. Hearing my name with her voice made my body warm, her voice was so pretty, she was so kind. I wanted her to say my name more, I wanted her to come around more. God, she was so pretty.
“We…we dont have to….ge-get in the pool today” I said, mentally cursing myself out for stuttering twice. I could hear Connie try to hold in a laugh, I quickly snapped my head over to him, glaring. It's his dumbass fault that she didn't have clothes to change into. Y/N quickly smacked the back of his head, smacking her lip at him. I couldn't help but smile, pretty and defended me, I need this woman so bad.
“Orrrr, armin, let her borrow some of your clothes” Connie shrugged, wrapping an arm around Y/N’s shoulder, bringing her close to himself as they both looked at me. The thought of her in my clothes, I nearly fell to my knees and thanked Connie. A reason to get her number, and a reason for her to come back around. I was about to agree but Y/N spoke instead.
“Noo, thats okay, you dont have to do that, I can just watch you guys” she said softly, holding her hands up in front of herself. There's no way I was gonna let her sit around, left out because of Connie’s forgetfulness. I quickly shook my head.
“You can borrow my clothes, it's fine, you deserve to soak in the pool too, it's hot out there” I quickly said, nodding for her to follow me. Connie let go of her, smirking as he watched her walk with me. We were both extremely silent as we made our way to my room, it made sense since she seemed like the introverted type and stuck with Connie since she didn't know any of us. I wouldn't force a conversation out of her if she were nervous. We went into my room, and she stood by the door, looking around as I went to my closet.
I went through my closet, trying to find something that could fit her and was suitable for the pool. I didn't wear shorts often but I had a few pairs of gym shorts so I grabbed a pair. I also grabbed her a tanktop to put on since it was hot out. I walked out, my eyes slowly gazing over her distracted form. “You can use these, I hope they fit” I say as I hand them to her. Our hands touched as I handed her the clothes and they were so cold and so soft. Fuck had she been freezing this entire time? I did like to keep the house cold, shit I could've given her a hoodie hours ago.
“You can change in here if you want…i-ill wait outside the door…uhm you can sit your clothes on my bed for safe keeping” I mumbled quickly as I walked toward the room door. I hated to act awakward but I couldn't help it around her. She nodded so I quickly left. It took her about five minutes to change, she slowly walked out of the room shutting the door behind her. We silently went back down and joined the others in the pool.
They were talking about everything and I silently prayed that nobody slipped up and asked me about my streaming. I didn't want y/n to know about my degenerate activities. About how I fuck a fleshlight on camera in front of hundreds of people, about how I often have sex, about how half of my income is from that. It was basically throw away cash since my parents payed for college, and this mansion though they were rarely home.
“So Y/N tell is a bit about yourself” Mikasa said, smiling at y/n who had gotten pretty comfortable with her. Maybe because they're both girls? Or maybe because Mikasa was a cool person in general. She was easy to get along with.
“Oh uhm, sure. I transferred from a college out of state, a lot happened and I figured it would be better for me to be closer to family. My brother plays basketball here, and of course, Connie goes here so it was the best option. Uhm I'm studying so that I can work with kids and stuff, figured I'd like that and it's good income” she said, fiddling with her fingers as she spoke. If I hadn't been taken by her already I was now. She wanted to work with kids? She was that gentle of a human being? And if her brother played basketball then he had to be pretty popular.
“Whos your brother?” I asked, trying to get a little more familiar with her. Everyone else began to try and guess who he could have been, all picking the more well-known players, of course. But I decided to be smart and I called out the same of someone who I've seen Connie on campus with a lot.
“Is it, Deshon?” as soon as I said her brothers name her eyes lit up up, a big smile taking over her features as she clasped her hands together, saying yes happily. I couldn't help but smile in return. Deshon was a cool dude, I had met him through Connie and he was always kind to me. We talk whenever we bumped to eachother on campus which was rare, and I let him drive my car around the parking lot once. He'd been overjoyed about it. He was a very humble person, of course a perfect girl had a cool big brother.
“What?! That's my brooooo! He's like the LeBron of our school” eren said, excited. Eren played basketball in highschool but couldn't be bothered to touch it in college but he loved playing with the basketball players that he knew and he was always at the games.
“Glaze. That nigga is buns” Y/N said, laughing. Of course she didn't really believe that, everyone knew that her brother was good. Anyone could tell that she was saying that to pick on eren. Connie, eren and Jean began talking about basketball, and I didn't join for two reasons. One, I didn't know much about the sport, and two y/n was in my clothes, in my pool, at my house, there's better things to occupy myself with. As the night went on, everyone split into their own conversations, I had been talking with the boys about the next time we'd hang out when the sound of water distracted me. I watched as all of the girls left, probably going to the bathroom. My eyes followed y/n as she walked away.
“You want that cookie sooooo fucking bad” Connie said, laughing loudly with his tongue out. I wanted to throw something at his head for being so loud and outing me. But as I looked toward eren and jean they didn't look surprised, they began laughing with Connie. “Bro I can put you on, she likes anime as much as you do, probably more that's sum to talk about” Connie said again, clapping his hands together.
“Wait really?” I said almost too excitedly, and when they started laughing again I huffed loudly. “Calm down…its not like that. She's pretty” I said, defending myself but of course nobody believed me. She was pretty that was the truth, everyone could see that, it was my fault for not being able to keep my eyes off of her.
“Really because you're her type…you like anime, you're a nerd, you stay in the house, she loves for them to be put up, you're the definition of put up, hell you're a virgin” Connie says as if he's selling something. I have to poke my tongue against my cheek to hold in my smile. Seeing this the boys started laughing.
“Shut up” I laughed, splashing them with water. Just as we all laughed the girls came back. Due to the water my cloths were clinging to Myria’s skin, her breasts pressed against the black tanktop, her nipples peaking through. The shorts hugged her thighs tightly too. Seeing me stare the boys erupted into laughter again, making my cheeks burn.
“What's funny?” Sasha asked. Eren quickly came up with a lie, saying that they were laughing at something that happened a while ago, and it was a boys-only inside joke. The girls accepted that explanation, getting back to comfort near each other as they continued whatever conversation they had in the bathroom.
It eventually got late and sadly, Y/N had to leave. Apparently, she had to finish setting up her dorms and her classes started tomorrow. I led her back up to my room so that she could dry off and change. She put the towel that I let her borrow in the hamper but insisted that she wash the clothes that I let her borrow herself as a thank you, I agreed, I was counting on her kindness, I needed a reason other than Connie to get her to come back around. We eventually said our goodbyes and soon enough I was in my house alone, in my room, surrounded by the smell of her perfume.
Hi guys. I was supposed to post this yesterday but I fell asleep and accidently deleted the progress instead of saving it as a draft 😞
My first idea was to have this chapter take place on campus but I go to community college so I had no idea what they would even do on a campus. So I was like, okay what would they do at armins house? Assuming that all rich people have a movie room and a pool I added these two things. Especially since pool’s are like the beach episodes of AOT fanfics😭
Do you guys like the pov thing?
Should I dial it back with armin’s “crush”?
Also what should his cam boy name be? I keep thinking beach related but I don’t wanna call him pearl boy (if ykyk) or something. It also can’t be anything close to his name.
Im gonna post this now and fix it after I finish my work!
Ngl this chapter kinda boring with one piece pacing, next one will be better!
This is actually such a crucial part of healing from neglect and abuse and I have to add to this.
Because indeed, people who like you will not roll their eyes and sigh at the idea of accommodating your needs, they will value your voice and be upset with you about injustice done to you, not at you for "being difficult". They will be happy when you find a way to live a better life, and help you to get there. If you are struggling, someone who loves you wants to see you smile, not tell you to smile because "you have it so good".
Not all of the people reading your x reader fics have white skin
Just a gentle reminder before you write characteristics that assume whiteness and exclude your black/indigenous/poc supporters-specifically in 'x reader' works.
I love and appreciate writers, but this is a recurring avoidable issue (going on for decades now).
“Your face flushed” "your dusky pink nipples" "your face turned just as red as his" "he could see the blush on your face" “your cheeks furiously blushed” “your ears burn bright red” “The look in your reddened face” “your knuckles white with effort” “bruised purple against your light skin”
Describing the physical feeling instead of the visual change helps include your readers while also elevating your writing IMO.
Anyone can say "Your cheeks turned red with embarrassment" or "Your face flushed" but wouldn't you rather say "A burning heat rushed across your face, from your neck to the tip of your nose, prickling right underneath the surface. You look anywhere but him, hoping your newfound interest in the buildings ceiling tiles will ease the fire tightening beneath your skin" And instead of the other character pointing out that the readers face is red, they can point out the obvious flustered facial expression/body language.
If you want your reader insert to have white/fairskin, then just label them white!reader or put the mention in the warnings/summary.
↪I have reached out to writers I favored/supported before and sometimes I have been met with severe hostility and defensiveness. I often wonder if people are doing this purposefully or for some reason think only white people read their fanfics (?)-if that's the case then be upfront and label your reader inserts as white!reader or something PLEASE. It’s gotten to the point where I feel like black women and other POC aren’t wanted or considered in these fandoms because it comes off like that in your writing. If you need a different motivation, just know you're missing out on more interactions, reblogs, and a bigger reader base. I don’t know why white is the default for so many writers in unspecified x reader/reader insert fics-the people on your blog following, reading, and supporting you aren’t all white and fair-skinned.
I am not talking about OC fics or fics where race/skintone is x specified in summary or warnings. This is specifically about unspecified "x reader" where whiteness is assumed as the default
Put in the comments good replacements for writers to use!
summary: When Superman came to your rescue a few weeks ago, you thought that would be the only time you'd ever see him up close. That is until he crash lands on your balcony battered and bruised (aka this is my take on hooking up with Superman before ever knowing Clark Kent) word count: 8.5k content: superman x reader, wound tending, pwp, power dynamic???, fingering, p in v w/ no physical protection (bc mentioned), superman has soft dom vibes, he talks you through it, size kink, multiple orgasms, aftercare, this is quite filthy if I'm honest, im posting this at 4:42 am after staying up all night so this is not proofread
A loud boom rings outside your window, thunderous enough to make you jump. When you stand up from the couch to investigate the noise, the last thing you expect to see is Superman lying on your balcony floor. You’ve only seen him up this close once before, nearly two weeks ago.
That morning on your way to work, you unfortunately found yourself in the middle of a massive attack in town. A monster the size of a two-story house, appeared out of nowhere on your commute. Out of fight, flight, or freeze, you froze when the monster ran towards you. Completely froze. The gigantic creature’s claws swooped right at you, but your feet might as well have been made of lead. Closing your eyes, you braced for impact, and tensed every muscle in your body.
The impact never came. Instead, you opened up your eyes to the city street far below you. Superman made it just in time, wrapping you in his arms and flying you away from the scene at lightning speed. As quickly as he picked you up, he placed you back down on a rooftop nearby. “T-thank you,” you stuttered between panicked breaths.
His voice was deep and calm as he spoke. “Sit down, and take some deep breaths. You’re safe, now.” Superman flashed his signature grin before he flew back down to finish off the creature. That smile has stuck with you ever since; the pictures of him don’t do it justice.
You snap out of your thoughts and run over to open the balcony door. The balcony isn’t in total ruin. He narrowly missed the glass pane table during his crash landing. Two of your flower pots, however, were not so lucky. Dirt and shards of pottery cover the floor. Not to mention the concrete beneath him is cracked.
This is not the Superman you typically see close up on TV, or the one that saved you two weeks ago. Right now, his suit is covered in dust, dirt, and who knows what else. Cuts of various depths and sizes cover the skin of his face. Instead of that bright smile, he grimaces with a busted bottom lip as he clutches at his side.
“Superman? Are you—are you okay?” It’s a stupid question. You realize that the moment it slips out of your mouth, but what else are you supposed to say?
He coughs to clear his throat. “Peachy,” he rasps. You walk closer to him, avoiding the pottery pieces to kneel at his side. Pain paints over his face as he moves his head to look at you. “Sorry about the pots. I’ll, uh, get you some new ones.”
“Don’t worry about that—what on earth happened?” For Superman to be this banged up, it must have been a major incident.
“Metahuman—a very strong one. Packed one heck of a punch,” he winces as he shifts to sit up. “I got some good blows before it launched me. The justice gang’s got it from here.”
“Here, let me help you inside.” You offer him your hand, and try to lift the very tall hero to his feet. Once he’s up, you throw his arm over your shoulder and direct him inside. “You know, it’s kinda funny. This is like a total role reversal,” you ramble as you both step over the threshold into your living room.
“What do you mean?” he asks, stumbling onto the couch as soon as he reaches it.
“Oh! You rescued me two weeks ago—from that giant monster thing in midtown. I thought I was going to get shredded by its claws, but you saved me just in time.” Heat grows in your cheeks as you retell the story.
“Gosh, yeah. I remember you—Sorry I never caught your name. I was kinda in a rush,” he smiles. Although his bottom lip is completely busted, he still has that same smile, dimples prominent as ever. You try not to dwell on the fact he remembers you, but a small grin slips past your lips at his words.
There’s a small lull before you speak again. “Can I do anything to help you? At least clean you up a bit until you feel strong enough to leave?”
“I don’t want to intrude—” He moves to sit up straighter on the couch, ignoring the pain in his side. “I’ll get out of your hair in just a couple of minutes—”
“I really insist,” you interrupt. “It’s the least I can do. You quite literally saved my life.” He lets out a deep exhale, before nodding in agreement. “Do you need me to help you up again?” A chuckle leaves his lips. It’s quick. Easy to miss.
“I think I can manage,” he replies. In the next moment, he’s up. “Where do you want me?”
“My first aid kit is in the kitchen,” you say, motioning towards that direction.
“Don’t people normally keep those in the bathroom?”
“My horrible knife skills made me move it. I’ve cut my hand more times than I can count,” you explain. Superman follows you as you step into the kitchen. You grab one of your barstools and place it beside the kitchen sink, before opening a cabinet to grab the first aid kit. “Okay, you sit on the barstool, and I’m going to get a washcloth really quick,” you direct before walking down the hallway to the bathroom.
He does as he’s told, sitting down on the stool. He takes in your apartment, looking at the pictures you have on the wall, and the way you’ve decorated the place. It’s only a few moments before you return with the wash cloth in hand.
You turn on the water faucet to wash your hands before you get started. “I know you have healing abilities or… whatever, but cleaning you up can’t hurt right?” The interlude in conversation is killing you a little bit. “Well, it might sting a little” you trail off, lathering soap in your palms.
“I heal from the sun. It’s why I’m not healing right now. No sun, and the moon doesn’t have enough sunlight to work,” he elaborates sheepishly. He’s not used to this much conversation while being in the suit, let alone having a stranger help him instead of the other way around.
“So you’ll be completely better as soon as the sun comes up?” you ask as you reach for a paper towel to dry your hands.
“Pretty much, especially since this isn’t that bad.”
You finally turn towards him with a pensive look on your face. His height will make this a challenge to actually reach his face. Even while sitting down, he’s practically looming over you. “Um—can you reach under and press the paddle thing? On the bottom of the stool?”
“Oh, sure,” he responds. He reaches for the wrong side at first before he finds the lever. When he presses it, the stool lowers quickly, catching him off guard.
“There. That’s much better.” You’re at eye-level with him, now. The brighter lights in the kitchen illuminate the damage on his face. A bruise begins to bloom on his left cheek, and the gashes look much worse than you originally thought. “Man—if you’re this rough I can’t imagine the other guy,” you marvel.
Superman laughs again, but this time it’s louder than before; a deep belly laugh, which is followed by a wince as he grabs his side. He knows his ribs are bruised. The pain isn’t sharp enough for them to be broken. He recovers the conversation quickly. “Trust me, he’s much worse. This is nothing,” he insists.
A comfortable silence develops between the two of you. Turning back to the side, you wet the rag under the warm water and squeeze out the excess to start on him. The dirt is what you tackle first. Careful of the gashes, you wipe away the dirt covering his skin, rinsing out the rag between every few passes. His eyebrows are caked with dirt and blood, taking multiple passes to get clean.
You reach up to hold his head gently, directing him to lean his head back so you can get the grime off of his neck, too. Superman’s glad you can’t hear his heart pounding inside of his chest. Butterflies form in his stomach at your touch on his skin. Your hands are so careful with him, like you could hurt him more somehow.
“So what do you normally do when you get beat up like this? I’m assuming crashing into apartments isn’t a regular thing for you,” you ask, breaking the silence.
“I’m not beat up. The other guy is beat up,” he counters.
“Sorry—sorry. What do you do when you get… slightly wounded like this?”
His throat bobs before he responds. “Uh—let’s just say I have a place to go to when it gets bad. like I said earlier I can get out of your hair if you need me to—I can probably fly now with no problem.”
Immediately, you hold the side of his face between both of your palms and tilt his head down to meet your eyes. “This isn’t a bother. I would tell you if it was.” He nods, gaze diverting to the ground. Your hands leave his face to rinse the rag again. “Okay— I’m going to start on the actual cuts now. This will probably sting.”
The gash on his forehead catches your eye first. It extends all the way from his temple to his hairline; The wound is deep, concerningly deep. With brows furrowing in concentration, you wipe along the wound, getting off the dirt and dried up blood. “Sorry,” you whisper, seeing him grit his teeth together.
The longer this goes on, the harder Superman finds it to ignore how pretty you are. Your genuine care for him, and how your eyes search over his face is not something he’s ever experienced before. When he’s at the Daily Planet, he blends into the background, and when he’s Superman, he’s more focused on other people than caring for himself
If he’s honest, he’s thought about you quite a lot since that day. After disposing of the monster, he went back up to the rooftop to check on you, but you were already gone. He assumed within a couple more weeks he would forget about you. Fate had other plans. Ones that included crash landing at your apartment.
Your voice interrupts his train of thought. “Are you sure you don’t need stitches for something like this? Or at least steri-strips? It’s a really deep cut, and it’s still oozing a little bit of blood.” You step back for a moment, reaching back to the med kit on the counter. “I think I have some in here—“
Superman catches your wrist, halting your movements before you start digging through the supplies. The action is simple, gentle even, but you can’t ignore the sheer strength of him. If you wanted to break free from his grasp, you wouldn’t be able to. “I promise I’ll be fine. I don’t want you to waste them on me,” he asserts, letting go of your wrist. You miss the feeling of his hands on you the moment it’s gone.
His eyes overwhelm you. Such a deep blue color that you could drown just by looking into them. It feels like he can see right through you. Sighing deeply, “If you say so, Superman,” you quip, getting back to the task.
He has another cut along his cheek. This one is not as deep as the gash on his forehead, so it won’t take as long. You repeat the same motions, wetting the rag, squeezing it out, and cleaning off the dried blood and dirt from around the cut. As you work, his dark, long eyelashes flutter against his cheeks, making perfect contrast with his blue eyes.
“So, how did you end up in the middle of that mess a couple weeks ago?” He asks. It’s the first time he’s initiated conversation since getting here.
“Well, it’s a boring answer. I was heading to work. I picked up the shift from one of my coworkers so she could go to a doctor’s appointment. Just my luck.”
“Getting to be saved by Superman is pretty good luck though—not everyone can brag about that,” he says through a smile.
“You know what? That’s a good point. I was telling people about it all week long,” you confess. After a few more passes, you finish the cleaning cut on his cheek. All you have left is the area you’ve been dreading the most, his busted bottom lip.
Superman has no idea where to look, especially not when your eyes focus so keenly on his lips. The rag brushing against his lip should hurt, but he’s too distracted to really feel the pain. He doesn't mean to listen in so closely, but he does. The sound of your heart pounding in your chest resounds in his ears, much faster than it was ten minutes ago.
Meanwhile, you're doing everything in your power to avoid eye contact, keeping your gaze focused on the task. You’re close to him. Probably too close. Every breath he takes hits your skin. The dried blood on his lip is particularly stubborn. You turn the facet to be warmer, hoping the temperature change will help.
His leg bounces steadily while you press the near hot cloth against his lip. The nervous energy has to escape him somehow, especially since he can’t mumble his way through conversation.
Finally, you pull the rag away, toss it in the sink, and turn off the water. You don’t move other than that, standing between his parted legs. “There. All finished,” you whisper. He stays leaned forward, eyes locked into yours. He doesn’t dare move back. The tension is palpable, so thick you can barely breathe. You’re not sure if you’re imagining the way his eyes flicker to your lips and back your eyes.
The magnetic pull towards him becomes unbearable, eating at you from the inside out. All the inhibition you have left is wearing thin. Screw it. You fall forward, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to his mouth. The pressure against his lips is light, not wanting to hurt him. You pull away from him quicker than you leaned in to kiss him.
Your eyes are wide, like you’re shocked at your own actions. “Shit—I don’t know why I did that. I’m so sorry. That was so not cool of me to do—“
Superman doesn’t let you finish your sentence. He replies by kissing you back—hard. The last thing on his mind is his busted lip. It might as well be healed with how he’s kissing you. Both of his hands wrap around your waist and tug you to him, moving you with hardly any effort. Within seconds, he’s on his feet, causing you to stumble backwards. The barstool falls to the floor and you gasp at the loud clatter. Taking the opportunity, he presses his tongue into your mouth to deepen the kiss.
With nowhere else to move, you walk backwards. Superman mirrors your every step until you run into the wall behind you. Leaning down, his hands slide to the back of your thighs, and he lifts you. His body is all encompassing, completely overwhelming you. The only thing that stops your head from hitting hard against the wall is his hand cupping it. Your hands travel to his hair, threading into his dark curls, while your legs wrap around his waist.
He kisses you in a way that tilts the world on its axis.The act is messy. His hands are all over you. Respectful, but still all over you. One of his hands grips your thigh tight. Tight enough to bruise. With his other hand, he holds your side, and inadvertently nudges up your shirt in the process. Rough and callused fingertips clutch your bare skin.
He licks into your mouth, tongue pressing against yours. The kiss is messy. His lips slotted between yours. You both alternate between who gets the bottom lip. If his busted lip was hurting, you wouldn't know from the pressure against your mouth. A faint taste of iron hits your tastebuds when his saliva mixes with yours.
Overwhelmed, you break away for a moment. You don’t risk looking into his eyes, burying your face in his shoulder instead. Superman is sensitive. That’s clear to you the second your lips touch his neck. His hand tightens on your hip as his head falls back. The action exposes more skin for you to kiss. “Jeez Louise—" he pants. He can’t remember the last time he’s felt anything like this. Your lips are hot against his skin as you mouth all over him.
You’re only stopped from going lower by the collar of his suit. When you suck at his pulse point, he groans. Loudly. The wanton noise should embarrass him, but he’s lost the ability to care. His heart hammers in his chest, pulse throbbing under your tongue. Your hands tug gently at his curls. The soft noises he lets out only encourage you to pull harder. You feel the vibrations in his throat from all the moans he’s holding back.
There’s a voice of reason in his head trying to convince him to stop, or at the very least slow down. He tangles a hand into your hair and pulls you back from his neck, while his other hand cups your face. Your pupils are huge, completely darkened in comparison to before. Looking at him with wide eyes, you pant through your parted mouth, desperately trying to catch your breath.
Without thinking, his thumb moves from where it rests on your cheek. The digit runs across your bottom lip that was now covered in his spit and swollen. He’s on the verge of speaking before you move.
It’s too close for you to resist. You open your mouth and wrap your lips around his thumb as you take it deeper. He's completely exasperated. “Oh my goodness.” His pupils dilate as your tongue presses against the pad of his thumb. The moment doesn’t last long. The way his eyes bore into you makes you lose nerve fast.
After you release his thumb from your mouth, you start examining his suit closely. Your hands slide down his frame, touching at his sides. You can’t feel any of his skin, the tough fabric prevents that. The separation is driving you crazy. You want to touch him. You want to feel his skin. "How do you—how do you get this suit off?” you ask hazily.
He pauses, dead in his tracks. The gravity of the situation is catching up to him all too quickly before he sets your back down. “I-I really don’t think this is a good idea—we shouldn’t—I shouldn’t.” He takes a small step back from you with his hands held up in surrender like he had done something wrong.
“Why not?” You don’t mean for your voice to sound so desperate, but he’s awoken something in you. His chest aches at the sound of your voice.
“B-because I’m Superman. I rescued you like two weeks ago…” he stammers. He takes a moment to rub his temples in an attempt to relieve the building stress. “This has to be an inappropriate power dynamic,” he sighs. “It just wouldn’t be right.”
“I’m a fully grown adult if that’s what you’re worried about,” you contend.
“That’s—“ he pauses and huffs, almost frustrated. “No that’s not the issue here.”
“Superman’s not allowed to have some fun every once in a while?” You tread lightly, taking small strides to close the distance. This time, you corner him against the counter and tilt your head to meet his eyes. Your hand falls to his abdomen, wandering dangerously close to the part of him that’s aching, that’s been aching ever since your lips touched his.
“Gosh—you’re making this really hard,” he gulps, voice almost pained. It's taking all of the strength he has in him to resist. More strength than he used to fight the meta human earlier
“Yeah, I can tell,” you taunt, glancing down to the fabric of his trunks.
“Not like that!” he protests, eyes going wide with bashfulness. His presses his eyes closed as he pinches the bridge of his nose
“Please? I don’t kiss and tell if that’s your concern. I won’t run off to the daily planet to tell everyone,” you continue.
“I just— I don't want to take advantage…” he begins to argue, but you’re not having it. Your hand trails from his abdomen to palm him over the trunks, placing enough pressure to make him gasp.
“Please? I’ll be good,” you beg. Superman’s last bit of resolve disintegrates at those words.
“Shoot. Gosh. O-okay. There’s uh—a zipper in the back.”
“I was expecting something more elaborate than that,” you giggle. You reach for his hand, interlacing his fingers with yours. Nerves pulsing in your skin, you guide him down the hallway to your bedroom. He looks at you longingly as you stand in front of the bed, which only makes your nerves worse. “You wanna turn around?” you ask.
“Oh! Yeah. Yes,” he stutters. Without a word, his hands reach up to detach the cape from his suit. When he turns around, you spot the zipper running down the middle of the suit. As you unzip it, the broad muscles of his back come into view. His creamy skin is covered with bruises from the fight. You allow your hands to explore the expanse of his back. The rigid muscle of his shoulder blades tense under your touch.
When you take your hands off of him, he instantly turns back around. He begins the task of getting the rest of the suit off. He’s not off to a great start, nearly falling over while pulling his boots off. You help him with the rest of it, tugging the fabric down his body, and onto the floor.
Entranced by the newly exposed skin, your hands roam over his chest. The suit hides most of his muscle definition. Superman melts into your touch. He can’t remember the last time anyone traced over his skin with such reverence. Your fingers are careful not to apply too much pressure over any of the bruises. You smile when you notice the goosebumps rising on his skin.
A particular bruise stands out to you, right below his pec over a rib. It’s already a dark purple, despite the fight being less than an hour ago. Your head moves before you can think, pressing your lips gently over the bruise. Almost as if a kiss would make it better.
Superman’s almost convinced it does make it better. His mind is racing. He’s never done anything like this before, ribs aching in his chest, lip throbbing. He pushes the feeling down, much like he pushes your sweatpants down.
The adrenaline takes over for him. He steps towards you again and leans down to attach his lips to your neck. He’s practically making out with your neck. Indulging in the taste of your skin as his tongue glides against your carotid artery. A whine leaves your lips.
You overwhelm his senses. He can feel your heart pump under his tongue. He can taste the salt on your skin. He can hear the blood traveling through your veins. All the while, he’s touching you like you might disappear. A hand in your hair. Around your waist. Cupping your cheek.
It’s not long before his mouth trails up your neck, to your cheek, and lands back on your mouth. Superman kisses you like he’s starving. Like he’s been poisoned, and you’re the only antidote that can save him. It’s so messy—spit threatening to drip off of your lips.
You exchange groans and moans between each other as he lays you down softly on the bed. When he breaks the kiss, the look of desire in his eyes almost melts you into a puddle. His gaze examines you, looking at the skin of your legs he couldn’t see before.
Now that he’s out of the suit, you’re finally able to get a good look at him. He’s in a pair of black boxer briefs. They hug his skin, showing off his strong thighs. His happy trail catches your eye. Dark black hair disappears underneath the band of his underwear. He’s broad. The way he’s standing in front of you while you’re laid back on the bed should be daunting. His abdomen is taut, but he’s not obnoxiously ripped.
You're still in a shirt and underwear, laying back on the bed. “I- I don't think I can handle much more of the staring,” you mumble. Superman doesn’t say anything, not at first. Instead, his hand skims the hem of your shirt, pushing it up to reveal the waistband of your underwear.
His eyes, while blown out and dark, are comforting. You feel safe under his gaze. “Can I—“ he pauses, fighting the voice on his shoulder telling him this is a bad idea. “Can I touch you?” He’s trying to keep eye contact, but his eyes keep flickering back and forth from your eyes, to the damp spot on your underwear. His breathing picks up at the sight of it. Your legs spread wide for him, knowing exactly what he’s looking at.
You nod your head eagerly. “Want you to touch me.”
He begins over your underwear, finger dipping just enough under the elastic waist to make it snap lightly against your skin. “These are pretty,” he says, looking back up at you.The underwear is from a multipack you bought at Walmart, not exactly what one would typically describe as pretty.
You stifle a laugh, “Funny joke.”
“I’m being serious.” His eyes are locked on the space between your legs as he traces down your slit. You take in a sharp breath as he finds your clit through the fabric and presses gently. “The pattern on them is pretty—I like them.”
His finger drifts lower. “You’re so wet,” he mumbles as he reaches the damp spot. “You’ve soaked through these.” His voice is one of awe, like he’s surprised he warrants this much of a reaction. He presses a fingertip over your entrance through the fabric. The action grows the size of the darkened fabric. Superman’s eyes flicker to yours for a brief moment, and the heat in your cheeks increases by tenfold.
“Can I take them off?” You answer the question for him, lifting your hips and pushing the fabric hastily down your legs. The urgency brings a smile to his face. “Eager?” he asks.You nod, not trusting your voice to answer. He helps you pull them all the way down and off your ankles before discarding them to the side of the bed. “Scoot back for me,” he mutters.
Clumsily, you move back on the mattress, leaning against the pillows on your headboard. You watch him through hooded eyes as he sinks to his knees on the bed, before resting on his chest between your legs. His body just barely fits on the mattress.
Both of his hands rest on one of your thighs, engulfing your skin in his grip. His calloused thumbs rub gentle circles into your thigh as he watches for any signs of discomfort. When he finds none, he guides your legs to spread open. The act is incredibly vulnerable, especially with the way his gaze dissects you.
Without thinking, your legs close, or at least try to close. “Don’t need to be shy with me,” he whispers, voice thick with desire. Superman keeps your thighs spread open, letting him take in the sight of you in front of him. “Pretty here too,” he mumbles. It’s quiet enough that it probably isn’t meant for you to hear, but you do. Loud and clear.
The comment makes your cheeks burn with embarrassment. Your hands reach up instinctively to cover your face, muffling your voice as you speak. “You can’t just say stuff like that.” His deep chuckle doesn’t help calm the fire burning on your skin.
“M’just telling the truth,” he remarks. “Take your hands off your face.” You listen, stomach feeling warm at the command.
One of his hands slides up your inner thigh, making you shiver at the touch. In the next moment, he takes his thumb and spreads your folds, looking like he's about to devour you whole. If you didn’t know any better, you would think he’s going to do just that. He breathes in sharply when he sees the wetness at your entrance, threatening to drip down onto the sheets.
He removes his thumb, only to let his pointer finger slide through your folds. The touch is featherlight, sending electricity through your veins when he nudges your clit before stilling at your entrance. His bright blue eyes dart back up to you. “Need to stretch you out a little bit… is that okay?” he asks, voice gentle.
The words weigh on you for a moment. Stretch you out. Evidently you weren’t hallucinating the massive bulge in his boxers. Still, you nod eagerly, “Y-yeah. Mhm.”
He circles around your entrance first, collecting the wetness on his finger. He watches your face as he eases his middle finger into you slowly. Even just one finger causes all the muscles in your body to tense as you whimper. Meeting resistance, he eases back out before trying to sink deeper into you. “Relax for me.” His head rests against your thigh, curls splaying on your skin. The sight is enough to send another pulse through you. His gaze is caring, bordering on full adoration.
You relax enough for him to sink deeper into you. He’s slow and careful, pressing in all the way until his knuckle. You pulse around him when he, just as slowly, pulls his finger back out to the tip. He watches your little gasps. The way that your hips grind ever so slightly with each thrust of his finger. He’s not in a rush, letting the rhythm of the slow steady strokes continue for a couple of minutes. It’s obvious the goal right now isn’t to get you off. He’s prepping you for him.
“Can I add another?”
“You can do whatever you want,” you whine.
“Careful, sweetheart. You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,” he warns.
“You’re Superman—I trust you.”
His heart tightens in his chest. You trust him. The voice deep down screams at him to stop, that he shouldn’t be doing something so depraved, but your voice is louder. His pointer finger easily joins his middle finger inside of you.
It’s the rare time he takes his eyes off of your face. He’s too entranced by the way your entrance accommodates the stretch. “Wish you could see this. Taking it so well.” His face is concentrated, and the movement of his fingers is intentional. He doesn’t rush for a single second, slowly working you to take both fingers as deep as he can press them inside of you.
When the tip of his ring finger slips into you, you feel the stretch. The movement is unhurried, letting you take him in at your own pace. Your head lulls back into the mattress. “Oh, God,” you whimper as all three fingers fully sink into you.
His head still rests against your thigh as he watches your reaction. “That’s it… there you go…” he coddles before turning his head to press a sloppy kiss against your thigh. Now that he’s managed to fit three fingers inside of you, his goal shifts again. He needs to make you fall apart.
He sets a pace with his hand, not too fast, and not too slow. You whimper, the sound desperate. Rolling your hips against him, you reach down to hold his other arm. You need a touch to ground you. “I know, baby. I know,” he whispers. There’s not an ounce of condescension in his words.
You jolt when his fingers stroke against a specific spot. He grins wide. “There it is,” he says under his breath. “That’s the spot isn’t it?” When you don’t immediately reply, he continues. “Talk to me, baby. Is that where it feels good?”
“Y-yeah—yeah. Feels s’good. R-really good.”
He curls his fingers to nudge against the spot repeatedly, and your reaction is instantaneous. You buck against him, but his strong arms keep you from moving away from the stimulation. “Can feel you pulsing around me. Doing so good f’me.” Once his thumb drifts to circle over your clit, you’re done for.
Your orgasm hits you like a freight train as your head falls back against the pillows. Your hips spasm in his grip, muscles tensing with pleasure, Superman continues pistoning in and out of you throughout the waves. You’re too distracted to notice his own hips grinding against the mattress.
He slows down the pace of his fingers as your orgasm fades. He lifts his head from your thigh to place a chaste kiss to your pulsing clit, before he finally removes his fingers from you. You whimper at the loss.
He stands again at the foot of the bed, looking down at his hand and spreading his fingers . Superman’s fingers glisten in the dim light of your bedroom, strings of slick between them. He doesn’t give it a second thought before he pushes his fingers into his mouth to clean them off. He’s confident with it. The way he licks them clean like it’s no big deal almost makes you mad. Key word, almost.
“Oh my God,” your jaw drops.
His eyebrows raise as he pops the fingers out of his mouth. “What is it?” he asks. If you didn’t know better, you would think this was an act.
“You just—“ your eyes flicker to his hand that’s now damp with saliva.
“Oh—golly. M’sorry if that was—weird.” Superman is shy in front of you. Actually shy. The blush scattered over his cheeks and nose grows more vivid by the second.
“Don’t apologize. I think that’s one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen,” you reassure him. He’s within arms reach, so you grab his hand and pull his body closer to the bed. Looking up at him with wide eyes, you palm him through his boxers. His length is solid underneath your hand. He chokes back a groan at the pressure, head falling back.
When you take away your hand, his eyes are instantly back on you. You reach down to the hem of your shirt to tug it off of your skin. Your sports bra follows quickly afterwards. He gets starry eyed the second he sees the skin
He lets a gentle hand cup your breast, thumb tracing over your nipple. Slowly, he trails feather light finger from the base of your collarbone, all the way down to your nipple. Goosebumps rise in the wake of his finger. It’s almost like he’s forgotten where he is—how hard he is right now. He’d be content enough to stand here and study you if you’d let him.
His lips follow the trail of goosebumps, leaving sloppy kisses over your skin. He takes your nipple into his mouth, letting his tongue swirl around it while his other hand grasps your other breast. Your hands tangle into his messy black hair as his mouth works on your chest. When you think he’s finished, he switches to your other breast instead.
You tug on his hair, trying to get him to stand back up. He takes the hint, giving your nipple a slight graze of his teeth before standing. Both of your hands press against his abs. “Wanna see you, too,” you plea. There’s no care in the way he strips his underwear off of his body, leaving himself bare to you.
You can’t hide the way your eyes widen in shock. “You’re really big…” you mutter breathlessly without even thinking. The words tumble out of your mouth, and it;s much too late to take them back.
He turns red. Tomato red. You’ve seen him a million times on tv in the midst of battle, soaked with sweat and blood. Yet, you’ve never seen him as flushed as he is in front of you. His hair, usually so put together and styled, sticks up in all directions from your hands running through it. His curls become more prominent from the sweat of his skin.
“I’m sorry. We don’t have to do anything—we can stop.”
“No, no! I didn’t say that, I just—never taken anything like that before.” He’s trying, really trying to not lose his mind at your words. You're not making it easy.
“I’ll be gentle—say the word and I’ll stop. The last thing I want to do is hurt you.” He doesn’t move immediately, and you can basically see the gears turning in his head. “Do you have any condoms?”
“Shit, uh—no.” “But I’m on birth control if—if that’s okay with you?”
He gulps, Adam’s apple bobbing. He knows what the answer should be. He should scramble to put back on his suit and fly back over to his apartment to grab the sealed box of condoms that have been collecting dust in his drawer. It would take less than five minutes to make it there and back.
Patience is not his strong suit. Especially when you’re laid out in front of him like this, with your thighs spread wide. He watches how you pulse around nothing. He can hear how your blood pulses, rushing down to your core. He tries to calm down, but the pure desire drips off of him as he speaks. “That’s fine with me.”
He strokes himself a few times, precum leaking from his tip. He kneels on the bed between your legs. His free hand softly lands on your knee, thumbing your skin. He’s staring at your entrance like he’s trying to figure out how he’s going to make this work. Your voice interrupts his thoughts.
“Um.” You push yourself up a little bit on your elbows. “I’m realizing I don’t even know what to call you… I can’t call you Superman while you’re inside me, that’s just weird.”
The bluntness of your words makes him cough on the saliva collected in his mouth. “Goodness, uh,” he stutters, stopping the movement of his hand on his dick. He’s breaking all kinds of rules right now, so why not another? Lex’s video already published it to the world.
“Call me Kal-El,”
“Kal-El?”
“Y-yeah.” He hasn’t heard another person call him that before. It lights a fire in his stomach.
“Okay. Please, Kal-el. Want you.”
His eye contact is too much. Way too much. His gaze somehow makes you feel more naked. The feeling in your stomach from his beautiful eyes looking into yours grows to be too much. When he lines himself up, nudging at your entrance, you let your gaze fall to the ceiling. Without missing a beat, his hand grasps your jaw, capturing your chin between his thumb and fingers. His palm rests on the front of your neck. The grip is gentle. He’s barely applying any pressure. He tilts your chin. “Keep looking at me.”
“O-Okay.”
You’re glad he makes you look, because the sight of him sinking into you is heavenly. He’s gorgeous. His eyelids flutter for half at second, and his mouth falls open. The groan that leaves his mouth is downright sinful, and causes you to pulse around him. You gasp at the intrusion.
He moves slowly, filling you up inch by inch. Kal-El’s hips jolt, accidentally pushing in faster than he meant. You wince at the stretch, letting your nails dig into his back.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” he mumbles. As if to prove his apology, he presses kisses all over your face, before moving to your hairline, and then your forehead. The action is so incredibly affectionate, making your heart tighten in your chest.
It’s around the half way point when you really start to struggle with his size.
“Shit—so much. Too much—”
“Shh—you can take it. It’ll fit,” he coos. One of his hands comes up to stroke your side to soothe you. “Breathe, baby. Take a deep breath for me, yeah? Let me in.” He praises you the second you steady your breathing, taking one large breath to calm yourself down. “That’s it. Can I keep going? I can stop if you need me to.”
The idea of stopping nearly sends you into panic mode. “No, no—no. Please, don’t stop. Want more.” Your hands grab at his back, trying to keep you as close as possible. He twitches inside of you at your words. It’s clear that you’re struggling to take him, but you want more. You want to make him fit.
“O-Okay sweetheart. Calm down. M’not going anywhere.” He kisses you to keep you distracted while he eases himself into you, urging you to open up for him. “Being so good for me,” he mumbles in between kisses. His hand engulfs your neck, wrapping around it to hold your jaw and keep your lips on his.
Your nails claw into his back when he bottoms out inside of you, scratching down his skin. It’s almost too much, like you’re nearly being split in half. “Kal-El—fuck. Oh, fuck. You’re so deep. Oh my god.”
“I know baby—” His eyes are closed tight above you. It’s clear he’s holding back, and it’s taking everything in him to do so. “Golly, you feel so good. So warm. Gosh, gosh, gosh,” he rambles.
When he finally opens his eyes and sees you underneath him, the expression on your face melts him on the spot. Your eyes water at the stretch. The sight shouldn’t stroke the fire in his stomach, but it does. He did this to you. Taking your face in his hand, his thumb swipes away the tears that escaped your eyes. He leans down to press soft kisses to your lips, swallowing every sound you make.
“Did so good, baby. I’ll wait as long as you need me to wait,” he mutters against your mouth. His lips drop down to press at your neck. The kisses are sloppy, mostly his tongue licking at your skin, tasting the salt that’s accumulated there. The care in his words makes you dizzy, and him sucking into your neck doesn’t make you feel any less lightheaded.
He sticks to his word, not moving an inch inside of you. At least five minutes have passed before you speak up. “You can—you can move. Please move.”
The pace he sets is just as slow as he moved his fingers earlier. He doesn’t want to do too much too quickly. The ache fades the more he grinds into you, pleasure replacing it. Kal-El’s blue eyes remain on you, looking for any sign that he needs to stop.
Every stroke of his cock inside of you sends stars across your vision. “Feel you—feel you in my stomach—” you whine. You look down through glassy eyes at the sight of your bodies connecting. Seeing just how thick he is between your legs makes you whimper. Your gaze is drawn elsewhere, though. It’s slight, oh so slight, but you can see it. The subtle bulge right above your mound that moves with every thrust. “Kal, look—” you whimper.
He leans back onto his knees, no longer hovering over you like before. It makes the bulge even more visible this way, with your ankles wrapped around his back. “Jeez—goodness sake—” He’s completely speechless, watching the way it becomes more prominent the deeper he thrusts.
Your hand moves, slipping between your bodies before resting over the bulge. When you press down, you feel him moving from the outside. Fireworks explode across your vision. Heat bubbles in your veins. You can barely breathe.
“S-See?”
“Yeah—” he swallows. “I see it, baby.”
You want him to feel it, not just see it. Grabbing his hand from where it holds onto your thigh, you move it to rest over the spot. He groans deeply. Desperately. He presses down, hard, grinding his hips to thrust against the top of your walls. “Feel so full—s’full,” you gasp, barely able to get the words out.”
“Shh—I know. Taking it like you’re made for it.” You nod your head at that. Like you want that. Like you want to be made for him.
“D-do you like that? Like the idea of that?”
“Please—please, please, please,” you beg. You’re not sure what for, but Kal-El moves like he knows.
“I’ll give you what you need, baby.” He unwraps a leg from around his waist and throws it over his shoulder. You gasp at the change in angle, and your hands grab at his skin. His thrusts become slow and calculated, like he’s teasing you. In actuality? He’s trying to hold himself together, because he knows the sooner he cums, the sooner this whole thing ends. The last thing he wants is for this moment with you to end because he can’t control himself.
Kal-El watches as you fight the pleasure growing in your belly. He counters this by finding your clit with his thumb. While his thrusts are gentle, his thumb circles your bud at a pace so fast your head spins. “Let go, baby. Let go for me,” he encourages. The heat bubbles in your stomach, releasing through your veins as your orgasm hits you. Your body shudders with each wave of pleasure. You murmur his name over and over again like it’s the only work you know.
He stops circling your clit, but he doesn’t stop the pace of his hips. Your leg falls from his shoulder as he presses his forehead against you. He cages you in with his body, forearms at the side of your head holding him up. Your legs wrap tightly around his waist, trying to get him as close as possible.
“So pretty. So gosh dang pretty,” he moans. Your eyes are weepy and red. Your swollen lips are covered in spit. Sweat collects on your forehead... But gosh, you’ve never looked more pretty to him. Completely coming undone for him. Being so vulnerable with him.
People aren't vulnerable with him, especially not as Superman. Though, you have no problem showing him your weaknesses, showing him the spots that make your eyes roll into the back of your head. You're more than happy to show him your achilles heel if it means you get to stay in this haze for a little while longer.
He’s getting close, dangerously close. His thrusts grow erratic and powerful. The force behind them jolts you in the bed. You’ve reached the point of pure overstimulation. Broken whimpers and moans leave your lips. He wants to keep you grounded, to keep you focused on him. He grabs your hand, and pins it beside your head, fingers interlacing with yours.
“Want you to cum again for me. You can do it, sweetheart. Know you can.” He’s moved on from thrusts to deep grinds. His pelvis nudges against your clit. You shake your head at his request.
“C-can’t. It’s too m-much,” you whine. He doesn’t let up on the pace, snapping his hips roughly against you.
“Wanna see you cum for me one last time. So beautiful when you do. Please? Be good for me.” You sink into pleasure as your third orgasm overtakes you. Your cunt pulses around him, squeezing tight. You shake in his grasp, muscles completely out of your control
“Oh gosh, gonna—where can I—”
“Inside—p-please,” you say in the most hazy, fucked out voice he’s ever heard. With a few more calculated thrusts, he spills inside of you. You whimper with every pulse of his cock inside of you. You cling onto him like a lifeline.
He falls against you, pressing every inch of his skin to yours. You’re almost asleep when speaks. “Gotta get you cleaned up. C’mon, sweetheart.” He’s lifting up off you, urging you to sit up.
“Sleepy—Don’t wanna move,” you mutter, trying to hold onto his arm. You hear a faint chuckle above you. Kal-El takes matters into his own hands. He finds your bathroom, and brings a warm, wet rag to wipe between your legs and your thighs. You barely acknowledge the touch, drifting into a deep sleep. The last thing you recall is the feeling of a shirt slipped over your head.
The first time you wake up, it’s when the sun is just about to rise over the horizon. Your curtains are open. The light just starts to hit your face as your eyes flutter open. Around your waist, you feel the weight of his arm holding you close to his chest. He has you tightly against him, legs entangling with yours. You’re practically engulfed by his warmth. You let sleep take you once again, content to stay as long as possible in his arms.
The next time you wake up, the curtain across from your bed is closed, and the space next to you has gone cold. It’s silly to feel disappointed, but you can’t help the frown on your face as you sit up in bed, trying to rub the tiredness out of your eyes.
Out of the corner of your eye, you spot a neon sticky note pad on your nightstand. The writing on it is slightly messy, like he left in a rush.
Unfortunately, Superman has a secret 9-5 job. I couldn’t bring myself to wake you up before I left… you looked too peaceful. Thank you for fixing me up the best you could. The sun finished the job this morning. See you around.
-S
As usual, Clark finds himself very late to work four weeks later. Extremely late. He can’t even blame it on Superman. He just forgot to set his alarm. He decides to go to a bakery that opened up a couple months ago near the Daily Planet. If he’s going to be this late, he might as well bring donuts.
He’s not paying much attention, reading the paper in his hands as he stands in line. He glances up when it’s finally his turn, and instantly becomes a deer in headlights when he sees you. It takes him way too long to remember the glasses—you have no idea who he is right now.
Despite his very awkward pause, you don’t lose the smile on your face. “Can I get you something?”
“Oh uh—hi yes. Can I get um—a dozen assorted donuts and…” Clark barely manages to pull himself together as he blabs out his, Jimmy, and Lois’s order from muscle memory.
summary: (2.4k) the interview with superman (your boyfriend) was meant to be simple. instead, the questions turn into flirting, and the recording captures more than just a ‘one-on-one’.
a/n: this was requested by a friend of mine, you know who you are <3
! content warnings: teasing, p in v sex, praise, nipple play (f!receiving), needy!clark, audio recording, grinding, riding, creampie.
it was almost ridiculous how clark—as big as he was—somehow fit himself in your tiny living room. the couch sagged under his weight, his broad frame spilling into a space that wasn’t built for someone like him. with knees spread, they brushed dangerously against yours across the coffee table, every shift of his long legs making your heart skip.
the recorder blinked steadily between you two, the little red light winking beside clark’s abandoned glasses. your notepad full of scribbled words balanced across your lap as you shuffled through them—a stack of questions you’d drafted at work that suddenly felt flimsy with the reality of what was in front of you.
you reminded yourself that this piece wasn’t essentially make-or-break, perry just wanted a few light details. truth was, you’d only set this interview up because you liked the way clark looked at you when you slipped into reporter mode.
you smoothed your skirt over your thighs, feeling the tug of tights underneath, blouse open just enough at the collar like it was a reminder of the long day you had. it was a professional way to dress, you told yourself—but the way clark looked at you? that word was stripped of all its meaning.
he didn’t even pretend not to stare, his gaze roaming you like you were sunlight he was desperate to soak in. his lips parted with every breath like a trance. you’d seen that look before—the same one that had followed you from day one: clark kent being so besotted and undone by you, that it tightened your chest with warmth.
“ready?” you asked, letting your voice sharpen into that reporter tone.
clark nodded a little too fast, adam’s apple bobbing as his eyes were preoccupied with other interview candidates—your legs. “uh—yeah, yes.”
you arched a brow knowingly. for all the strength and steel in him, clark had never once learned to hide how much he wanted you.
“you can’t just stare at me the whole time.” you said, fighting the urge to smile. “this is serious, alright?”
clark’s mouth tugged down into a petulant pout, shoulders shifting under his crisp white collared shirt as he folded his arms across his broad chest. “but it’s hard not to…”
his voice was softer than it should’ve been, and your chest pinched. affection tugged at you, even as you shook your head. clark was utterly ridiculous whenever he had to cooperate with you where it didn’t require being on his lap—or having his lips on yours.
“focus, kent. i need this interview if i’m going to write up your little backstory.”
that earned a spark of mischief in his eyes, the dimples threatening to show. little, like you’d reduced superman to just some filler for the paper. it delighted him in some strange way that you’d never understand, but you saw it plain as he gave a smile.
“i am focused.” he said in a way that tried to sound convincing, until his gaze betrayed him.
“on the wrong thing,” you muttered to yourself, clicking the recorder with your pen poised in hand.
as you leaned forward, the collar of your blouse gaped ever so slightly, and clark caught a flash of the faint lace beneath. it should’ve been nothing—clark had seen every version of you—but it still unravelled him all the same. he finally tore his eyes back to you, but it was too late. you’d caught him with a sly smile, heat coiling low in your belly. you pressed forward, pen hovering.
“so…superman.”
clark widened his stance, legs spread as he leaned back with that dimply smirk that always had you fluttering.
his voice dipped more than it had any right to be. “yes, ma’am?”
the ma’am made you fumble your pen a little, hearing that one tone he always used with you. it was gentle enough to be sweet, but also husky enough to make you flush. you cleared your throat, flipping through your notes with a bit more force than necessary. “right. first question—how do you handle the pressure of constantly saving the world?”
for a second, his gaze softened, earnest as always whenever you asked him something real. “i don’t think about the pressure. i think about the people. i think about the faces i’ve seen, ones i’ve helped.”
he spoke soft but steady, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. “if i let myself believe it’s too much, i think i’d freeze, withdraw—but if i remember it’s just…helping one person at a time? that feels worth it.”
of course clark would say that—dorky, but sweet, angelic almost, always striving for good. every word of his answer only peeled back a layer of that ridiculous heart of his. it wasn’t rehearsed or for show, it was just him—laying his heart bare without even knowing it.
that made you crave him in ways that had nothing to do with professionalism. the kind that made you want to climb onto him and feel how solid he was under those slacks—to grip the back of his stupid tie, and kiss him until he forgot every noble thing he’d ever said.
you forced a little nod, tilting your head. “so it’s all about…restraint. not letting yourself get overwhelmed?”
his brow furrowed slightly at that word, clearly still playing earnest. poor clark. “i suppose so. restraint’s important, yeah.”
the word sat heavy between you, reshaping itself into something that was less noble and far more filthier. you felt your thighs press together on instinct. restraint. if only clark knew how little of it you had left.
“and..how good are you? at restraint?” your voice came out breathily, damning the interview practically entirely at this point.
clark stilled, blinking. his throat bobbed as it tried to work, his eyes slowly darkening as realisation hit.
“i—uh,” a nervous laugh broke through as he rubbed the back of his neck, dimples flashing innocently—which to you, were anything but innocent on him. “depends on the situation.”
your lips curved, savouring the way he shifted, enamoured by him. “so if someone pushed too far…maybe tested how much you could hold back—how would superman handle that?”
his breaths left in uneven rhythm, jaw clenched with need more than anything else. he was trying his best for you—to be good, to answer your questions fairly, but the way you lingered on certain words, the cadence of your voice, was driving him insane. clark wasn’t dumb, but he was forever a little oblivious, like some oversized golden retriever. he couldn’t quite tell if you were meant to be teasing him or if you were just that devastating. either way, his self control felt like it was shattering.
“not very well, sweetheart.” his voice came out rougher, unguarded.
the pet name slipped out like a plea, and the rush of pink over his cheeks had confirmed it further. your own breath caught at it, clenching at the sound of his kansas drawl curling around you—only making appearances when he was truly distraught.
“sweetheart?” you decide to tease with a quirked brow. “not very professional, superman.”
clark dragged a hand down his face, groaning under his breath. and when he finally looked back at you, his eyes were softened, sincerity spilling out. “i’m sorry, i just—i can’t think straight with you looking at me like that.”
the recorder blinked between you two, still live. your heart surged for clark who was so apologetic for something that you were partially causing—but then he shifted. his big hand found your knee, warm, even through the tights, sliding up enough just to make your breath hitch.
“ask me another,” he whispered, voice catching on a rasp. “go on.”
your lazy smirk now wavered, and you tried to swallow down the heat coiled in your belly. “fine, superman…what’s your greatest weakness?”
his answer came without pause, thumb stroking on the inside of your knee. “you.”
the air fled your lungs, notes of paper crinkled in your fist and clark watched you like he couldn’t decide whether to kiss you or to beg. “gosh, honey. do you know what you do to me?”
that was all it took. the moment you shifted, clark’s armchair scraped, strong hands tugging you onto his lap. the papers spilled across the floor, which you could care less about, as you were met with something even more engaging—his hungry and worshipful mouth on yours.
you gasped into him, body arching as his arms wrapped around you to keep you caged against him. his lips were hot, insistent, but always careful—like he was terrified of crushing you even if you clutched at him desperately. his lousy tie brushed your collarbone, his chest solid against your blouse.
he broke away just to pant at your jaw, massaging at your waist. “i’ve been trying all day, i swear—i thought i could do it. i thought i could sit here and let you ask questions but—” his hands slid up tight clad thighs, tugging at the hem of your skirt. “you’re sitting here, looking like the dreamiest angel, and i…i can’t hold back anymore.”
you let out a soft laugh that tangled in a moan as you felt the hard line of him beneath his slacks.
“don’t, then.” you managed to whisper, before grinding against him, and clark let his head drop back in a groan.
“oh gosh,” his voice cracked, weak with need. “darling, if you keep doing that, i’m gonna—” he cut himself off with with a mumbled, ‘shoot’, because clark could never swear, no matter how desperate he was.
you heard a tight rip of your tights under his eager hands, your blouse tugged open by fumbling fingers that trembled despite his super-strength. his mouth covered every inch at your chest, mouthing at your nipple through your bra, looking up at you with those big eyes. you fingers found his curls in a soft grip as his groan vibrated into your sternum. his other hand kneaded your other breast, before pulling off the bra just to flick his tongue against your hardened nipple.
a breathy whine left your body as he teased you out for more, rolling and pinching at your neglected nipple with his fingers—finally letting go just to tug down your soaked panties, your hips lifting helplessly against him in aid.
“please,” he murmured raggedly as he let go of your mound with a soft pop. “please, i need you baby. been needing you all day.”
the way he practically whined for you made the heat between your legs throb with want. it broke at you, that a man with so much responsibility, so big and masculine, was begging for you in such a needy manner—and who were you to say no?
the moment you nodded, his fingers found your soaked cunt and your body jolted. he gasped like it broke him, his thick digits that were calloused at the fingertips, gliding through your slick as his words tumbled out. “oh sweetheart, you’re soaked—for me?”
“uh huh.” you murmured before you tugged at his belt in a soft whine, and clark took no time lifting his hips to tug down his slacks, boxers alongside them. his cock—heavy, thick—throbbed with a hue of red at the tip— precum already trickling down the underside of his shaft, smearing against your thighs. the ache between your legs pulsed harder at the sight.
“you sure you want this, honey?” clark’s voice wavered with the amount of sheer restraint he was holding in—just to make sure you were taken care of.
you nodded profusely again, and he shook his head softly, cupping your cheeks—even when his cock was twitching against your abdomen, desperate to be inside. “need you to say it f’ me. please?”
you let out a whispery sigh, thighs trembling around him.
“y-yes—please, clark?” the sound of your sweet voice, pitched higher, was enough for him to fold.
“there’s my good girl.” he coo’d, before you felt the most delicious burning stretch, clark sinking into you, slow at first, making you both gasp out. your nails dug into his back as he groaned out in a prayer. “golly, you feel—”
you couldn’t even let him finish as your throbbing hole clenched tightly around him—like your cunt wanted to swallow his cock and keep him in you forever. “oh—m’not gonna last if you keep doing that.”
you rocked against him, and his words further dissolved into a whimper, gripping your thighs. his lips found yours again like he couldn’t bear the space, his thrusts full of uneven desperation—every snap of his hips was pulling another sound from him you’d never heard before. your clark kent, your superman—saviour of the world, was begging into your mouth like a man starved.
all you could feel was the fat tip of his maddening cock, bruising your cervix with every pound. he was buried to the hilt, filling out against your gummy walls like he belonged there. your slick dripped down his length, clit brushing the buttons of his blouse that had clark lolling his head back with his jaw dropped. “you’re squeezing me s’ good, angel,” he gasped, broken. “gonna break me—”
“clark!” you moaned with a cry of his name, tugging on his collar as your head fell back.
“oh shoot, i love you, i love you so much—can’t hold it in.” clark babbled endlessly while your pretty moans were strung out into incoherent sentences.
you clenched harshly this time, right as his words hit, and clark’s body jerked.
“oh—gosh!” his voice was rough and helpless as he spilled inside of you, load after loud, filling your needy cunt to the brim. your own body followed quickly after, your climax crashing down, tearing through you as your eyes widened with a helpless gaspy whine.
“that’s it. you take me so well, honey. so perfect.” he held you like you were fragile, murmuring soft praises in your ear as you slumped into him.
the recorder’s red light still blinked steady, having captured every sound just from the corner of your vision. clark had followed your look, leaning back in the armchair, dimples tugging at his mouth.
“well,” he panted, pressing a soft kiss into your hair. “that wasn’t very professional of me.”
you chuckled weakly against his neck. “yeah…that definitely isn’t going in the article.”
he huffed a soft snort, keeping you snug in his arms. “good,” he murmured, voice low but teasing. “don’t think metropolis needs that kinda story from superman.”
warnings: mild cussing, Clark being foolishly in love with reader
summary: oblivious to your coworker, Clark Kent's, obvious feelings towards you, you spiral in self-pity when he brings you flowers and you chalk it up to him being a good friend
"Where is he?" Jimmy moaned, reclining limply in his chair as if he were on the verge of expiring. You rolled your eyes.
"Why don't you go and get yourself coffee for once? Clark is nearly late every morning and this act of yours is getting old." Replied Lois distractedly, fingers typing swiftly over her keyboard. You had always admired her ability to multi-task.
"I agree," you chimed in, laughing when Jimmy sent you a scowl. Just last week he had lamented about how he had too many women clambering after him and he had 'no time' for his hobbies.
He sat up, pointing an accusing finger at you. "You're supposed to be on my side. Lois can hold her own just fine."
You only shrugged, a corner of your mouth kicked up in a soft smirk. While, yes, Jimmy was oftentimes dramatic as hell, you enjoyed it. It made sitting at your desk for nearly twelve hours a day entertaining. Well...that and the fact that you sat across from one of the most attractive men you'd ever laid eyes on.
Thick raven hair usually mussed from running around Metropolis, warm blue eyes, muscles for days, and astonishing manners that would make your grandmother swoon...yeah, he was a rarity among his species. And yet, he didn't even recognize his own beauty. There had been times that you would witness new, bold interns attempting to make passes at him and he would only blush and mutter nonsense until they walked away, confused.
You had been admiring Clark Kent for three years now, subjected to be in close proximity and do nothing but make up fake scenarios in your head that would probably never come true. It didn't help your crush that he would bring you coffee every morning and a shy smile with it. Oh brother. You were in deep.
"You should call him up and tell him to get his tight ass over here," Jimmy said to you, breaking you from your reverie.
"Hmm?"
Jimmy tossed a wadded paper ball and you narrowly dodged it. "I said," he gave you a pointed look, "that you should tell your boyfriend to hurry up."
The laugh that tore from your throat was loud and completely unintentional. The room fell silent, fingers clacking at computers halted and eyes voices quieted. You clamped a hand over your mouth. "I'm so sorry," you muffled, embarrassed at your boisterous display.
Thankfully everyone went back to their business, a few of your coworkers grousing about how they weren't paid enough or wished they had taken that other job. Jimmy and Lois were the only ones watching you now, all amused smiles and twinkling eyes. You glared at them. "What?"
"You don't know?" Lois inquired, a hint of laughter in her tone. What was so funny?"
"What don't I know?" you demanded softly.
Jimmy began, "That Clark has like the biggest, fattest cru—"
"So sorry I'm late," interrupted a baritone voice from across the room. You were quick to look towards the sound and the man it belonged to. Butterflies fluttered in your stomach and you tamped down the smile that pulled at your lips.
Clark wore his usual slacks and white-button up, jacket draped over one large forearm and a cup-holder of coffee in his hand. In his other hand was a—your stomach dropped. Flowers. For some lucky girl, you supposed.
He rushed towards the three of you, panting softly. "I had another interview with Superman this morning," he explained, handing his caffeinated goods to Jimmy and Lois, "and I think this next story is going to be very insightful. He's a funny guy." Clark smiled crookedly and it made the circuits in your brain malfunction.
He then stopped in front of you, giving you your cup. "Your hair looks pretty today," he complimented softly, a soft tinge of pink on his cheeks.
He turned away to go to his desk, no doubt, before stopping and looking back at you. "Umm, these are for you." He softly laid the small bouquet of roses next to your computer. "The street vendor badgered me to purchase them and he told me that there must be some special wom—umm, well I looked at them and they reminded me of that one shirt you wore last week, you know the sweater, and...yeah. I thought you'd like them? Beautiful flowers for a beautiful girl, right?"
You nodded absently, unable to take your eyes off of the ruby-red petals. Clark cleared his throat awkwardly and swept away to his own corner.
It took you five minutes of rifling through your thoughts, computing what in the hell just happened, when you finally came to your senses. Everyone was minding their own business now and you were sitting there like an idiot. Had Clark truly brought these for you? They reminded him of your sweater? He remembered your sweater?
Clark is always nice to me, you reminded yourself. He was nice to everyone. Just because he brought you a gift today didn't mean he wasn't going to bring Lois one tomorrow or Jimmy something the next day. That was the kind of person Clark Kent was. The epitome of human kindness.
"Psst," you started. When did Jimmy sidle up to you?
He subtly nodded to Clark who was reviewing his hand-written notes, one long-fingered hand buried in his hair. Then, in a low enough voice for only you to hear, Jimmy said, "He thinks you hate the flowers."
You furrowed your brow. You had said thank you, didn't you? "I didn't say anything?"
"If you call you sitting there looking flabbergasted and Clark twiddling his thumbs nervously, then yes, you did say something."
You pinched the bridge of your nose. He probably did feel like an idiot then, giving a sweet gesture to his coworker who didn't even have the brain capacity to thank him.
You shooed Jimmy back to his space, growing peeved at his delighted expression. You were going to set him up with a dozen clingy girls this weekend.
Rallying your courage, you called out to Clark who abruptly turned up from his papers. He looked...hopeful?
"Thank you for the roses," you offered a smile, "they are, indeed, similar in color to my sweater."
He chuckled softly, the visible tightness ebbing from his broad shoulders. Seriously, who had shoulders like those? "You're welcome, I double checked that they were free of any thorns."
"That was very thoughtful of you." Very, very thoughtful.
You held eyes for a moment, the space between you charged with an intoxicating tension. Clark opened his mouth to say something, anything, when Perry appeared, calling Clark to meet with him for a moment. Whatever had been building between you both shattered at the disturbance.
As they walked towards Perry's office, you couldn't help but admire Clark's confident stride. Despite being freakishly tall and built like a damn tank, he was agile on his feet, aware of his space. With your ogling, you were able to watch the shifting of his back muscles. How much weight could he press, you wondered? Probably three or four times your own. You shivered in delight.
Throughout the next hour, your attention wandered back to the roses and you would stroke the soft petals or bring it to your nose to inhale the sweet scent. In your romanticizing and goo-goo eyeing, it must have slipped your mind that you were allergic to them. It wasn't until you registered the unnatural wateriness of your eyes and uncomfortable itch in your throat that you realized something was off.
You rummaged through your purse, intent on finding Benadryl or something you kept on hand for seasonal allergies. Alas, you found nothing but an old receipt from the grocery store and takeout menu for the newest Thai restaurant that opened up across from your apartment. Shit.
"Hey Lois, do you have any—achoo! Any Bendryl?"
Lois sent you an apologetic glance. "I don't but there might be some in the break room?"
You took her advice and went searching through the medicine cabinets in there and found the pink carton. "Yes!" you opened it up and gaped. Some jackass had used it all and put the empty box back.
You considered going on your break early to pick some up but decided against it, seeing as you lost a bet to Jimmy who, in turn, wanted you to pay for his lunch. Screw Jimmy and his unhealthy obsession with Taco Bell.
You ambled back to your desk to find that Clark was back from his impromptu meeting. You dabbed at your eyes with a crumpled tissue, hoping he wouldn't see how miserable you were feeling. It would only make you feel worse having him know that the flowers he gave you triggered your allergies.
You discreetly sniffled into your elbow but weren't so fortunate in remaining unknown because Clark looked up, once again, from his work, a look of concern creasing his forehead. "You alright?"
"Mhm," you avoided catching his eyes, knowing he would be able to see the tears at your waterline. And if he did, you would just tell him that you saw a sad animal video.
To your relief, he didn't say anything, instead opting to study you as if you were a puzzle he was curious in putting together. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat.
Then, "She's allergic to your flowers."
You shot a glare at Lois who still had her back turned to you both, editing the words on her screen. How was she able to intrude on a personal conversation while putting together a story? It baffled you.
Clark's gaze volleyed between your face and the flowers next to your hand. "I can put it away if that would help." He reached out to take them but you stopped him with your hand on his. He pulled back immediately, as if burned.
You shook your head, sneezing again into your sleeve. Man, this was depressing. But you liked—wanted—the roses. "No, no. I'm fine. My immune system is just being a baby."
He watched you pityingly. "Can I at least get you something to help? Tea or medicine? Anything?"
A big hug from you...or maybe a kiss? you thought, but said, instead, "I'm fine, really. But thank you." You said the last part quickly, not wanting to seem ungrateful. Again.
Clark looked uneasy for the next few minutes before he shot out of his chair, causing you to jump. He staggered out of his area, which surprised you because he was usually more coordinated, and excused himself to the bathroom. You blinked and went back to work, wiping your eyes and nose periodically.
When he came back, a few minutes later, he was carrying a plastic bag. He took out the content and you couldn't believe your eyes.
"Don't tell me you just bought me medicine..."
He shrugged indifferently, as if he hadn't gone out of his way to go to the nearest drugstore, which was a couple of blocks away, only to buy you Benadryl. Some deep, untouched corner of your heart wrenched at his thought and consideration.
"I'm the idiot who brought you flowers, not knowing it would make you sick." He explained, handing you a pill.
You frowned softly. Of course. You should have realized. Apparently, when you had liked someone as much as you liked Clark, all rational thoughts went out the window. Any decent person would do what he did. Right?
You took the pill with a large swallow of water from a cup Clark provided. "It'll take some time to kick in," you clarified as he watched you intently.
He only nodded. "I—" he shook his head.
"You want to apologize for nearly killing me?" you took a gander at teasingly.
Clark's eyes pulled wide, his cheeks flaming a bright red. "No! Never! If I had known you were—"
"Clark," you laughed softly, "I'm only pulling your leg."
A whoosh of air fell from his lips. "You shouldn't do that. I'm already beating myself up enough as it is."
"Why?"
A pregnant pause and then, "Because I-I like you."
Every thought fled from your mind. Of all the things you thought he would say, that wasn't one. Maybe, 'I don't like any of my friends being sick' or 'Perry would hate having to get someone to replace you'. And yet he just admitted that he liked you. "Like a friend?" you inquired softly, everyone else in the room disappearing. Now, it was only you and Clark, the only two people in the Daily Planet, in Metropolis, in the world.
He smiled, that dimple pulling at the corner of his mouth. "More than a friend."
You thought you would have panicked at this point. Locked yourself in the copy room for a good few hours to nitpick at this conversation. Instead, you felt light. Happy.
"I like you too. More than a friend." You found yourself saying back, returning his grin.
Who knew how much time passed as you watched each other? It wasn't until someone prodded your shoulder and Jimmy's voice said, "Time for lunch. On you."
You rolled your eyes, picked up your purse and logged out of your computer. Clark held out a hand and you took it, feeling a sense of completion as your fingers intertwined. Lois and Jimmy looked anything but surprised.
And, as all four of you walked out of the building, Jimmy declared, in that self-important tone of his, "I told you Clark had the biggest, fattest crush on you."
author's note: that was just a little drabble and i didn't know how to close it so...ta-da! anywayyyy, i want to write some more for Clark so be on the lookout for those ☺
this was so ridiculously cute i couldn’t stop smiling. jimmy being messy and dramatic the entire time ?? iconic. and then clark with the flowers… oh my god. the sweater detail?? sir. pls. also you really had me wheezing with the allergic-to-the-romance bit — like of course reader would nearly keel over from his affection. and clark literally sprinting off to buy benadryl just to fix it ?? boyfriend material through and through. the confession was so soft i actually melted, and jimmy swooping in at the end with “biggest, fattest crush” was the perfect cherry on top. chef’s kiss. ty for writing this !
