SYNOPSIS ❤︎ ₊ ˙ ⊹ visiting clark’s farm-home means sticky summer heat, a slipping dress, and tension so palpable it tastes like sin . . .
CONTAINS ⨾ ⸻ ( 7k+ ) words of ⨾ nsfw / smut, ( farmer!clark kent / superman ) x southern belle fem!reader ( black coded ), established relationship, food play kinda lol, fingering, outdoor sex, missionary, creampie, lowercase intended, minors shoo!
my love letter! ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ i’ve made superman my muse ever since i walked out the theater, and i can’t seem to get this farmboy out of my mind >.< i wanted clark in his natural habitat, but all in all, this is just a lowdown, dirty roll in the hay lol . please enjoy, reblogs are appreciated, and thank you so much for reading! 🍎
the kent farm is alive. it smells of apple skin and warm earth, hums with the lazy heat of late afternoon— golden and honey-thick. it’s the kind of place that ripens everything it touches.
your lover’s had a typical day. hauling hay bales, sprinkling fertilizer across fifty acres of rich land, plowing harvesting lines into fields and whatnot. you’ve had quite the time yourself watching him do so.
the sun’s low enough to gild the outstretched treetops, but its heat still beats down on the crown of your head, your skin all flushed and dewy from roaming around the farm. somewhere above, cicadas whir. somewhere behind you, his footsteps stop.
clark’s finally returned from the orchard field, his white cotton undershirt clinging to his back and sunlight playing on the rims of his glasses. he watches you from just a few paces back, looking like the very personification of rural americana— faded-red gingham, sleeves rolled, forearms browned and strong. his collar’s askew and open at the throat, chest damp and a button missing. you surely don’t mind.
there’s a honeycrisp apple in his hand. freshly plucked, still warm from the sun. he tosses it once, then catches it with a lazy smile.
“you ever had one right off the branch?” he asks, voice all slow charm and kansas drawl. he pushes up his glasses to tame the wild ringlets of dark hair falling into his brow.
you shake your head, watching the way his fingers curl around the fruit. big, careful hands . . . the kind that could tear you apart or cradle you whole.
he takes a bite. crisp. loud. juice trickles down his wrist, glinting in the sunlight.
your throat goes absolutely dry.
“mm, sweet . . .” he murmurs, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. he holds temptation right there in his very palm. “here,” his offer is gentle, “try it.”
your rosy-tinted smile is light and easy, peering up at him through the soft veil of your lashes. the breeze teases the hem of your ivory milkmaid dress while sunlight pools over your collarbone and shoulders. “you sure make it hard to say no,” you say, half to him and half to the ache curling in your chest.
he steps closer, slow and certain, until your back grazes the sun-warm siding of the farmhouse— splintered redwood pressing through cotton. he looms at your front, all broad and radiant and impossible to look away from. his entire shadow spills across you, and he smells of rich kansas soil and faint, sugary traces of mcintosh. the fruit lingers in his hands, ripe and flushed with color, but it’s that look in his sky-blue eyes that tempts you most.
he holds out the bitten apple like something sacred. your dainty fingers brush his calloused ones as you reach for it, and the touch alone is enough to make your stomach twist. your eyes meet. there’s something burning-hot swirling in his gaze; it’s unreadable. heavy. starving.
the apple sits heavy in your palm; ripe, red, split down one side where his teeth have already broken the skin.
“bet it’s the best thing you’ll taste all day.”
you arch a soft brow, tilting your chin up. “why don’t you feed me, farmboy?”
that gets him. his mouth twitches at the corner, and he brings the fruit to your lips himself, like you knew he would. he spurs you on with a slow command, “open.”
you lean in without a word, lips brushing the side of the fruit where his fingers cradle it. you sink your teeth in, and the apple gives way with a sharp crack. it floods your mouth with sugar and tang and sun-warm juice, trailing down your lip, all slow and glistening— a bead of gold slipping from the corner of your mouth to curve down your chin. his gaze follows the droplet. it feels forbidden, almost.
clark’s breath leaves him in a broken sigh. he doesn’t move. “jesus,” he exhales like it’s been ripped out of him.
when you look up again, clark’s already watching your mouth— entirely smitten, barely restrained. his gaze doesn’t waver. his own lips part ever so slightly.
“you’ve got juice,” he says softly, touch ghosting towards your jaw, resisting the urge to catch it, “right . . . here.”
he wipes it off with his thumb, then brings it to his mouth. sucks it clean.
it’s a sin— good god, it has to be. the way he looks at you like you’re the only thing sweeter than eden’s first god-given fruit; like he’d pull you into the hayloft, press you to the rustic walls and taste every drop of paradise off your skin.
you swallow hard. he hears it, you know he does— hears the slow gulp of your own desire, the thud of your heartbeat pounding wildly beneath your breastbone. his thumb doesn’t leave your skin, lingering at the edge of your plushy lips.
the apple falls into the grass, forgotten.
“you’re real quiet all of a sudden,” clark says, light and playful. you blink up at him. your chest is rising too fast. he watches how your breasts heave against the fragile confines of your lacy neckline, a tremble of breath beneath satin. “cat got your tongue?” the rasp in his voice is delectably thick and undeniably midwestern, touched with a bit of something wanton.
your lips part helplessly, but nothing comes out. just the lucent ghost of his name, a miserable attempt at ‘ clark ’ that unravels him enough to close the space between you.
his hands, warm and delightfully large, find your waist. he draws you to him—not roughly, no, because clark never isn’t gentle. but with such an assured certainty, like your body belongs right there slotted against his. soft upon solid, heat wafting in the middle.
“say something . . . anything,” he sounds hushed, hoarse. you don’t usually still like this when he teases; it halts him. his face is ever so close, the straight bridge of his firm nose grazing yours, dark brows knit in a quiet, aching hunger. one hand lifts, his fingers slipping behind your nape, cradling tenderly as though to anchor you.
your soft hands slide beneath his checkered shirt to meet boiling warmth, solid sinewy muscle, taut tanned skin, faintly dusted fine hairs at his pelvis— the rise and fall of an all-powerful man barely holding it together.
he’s well over six feet of thick, sculpted brawn, hard to reach even in the custom hand-stitched boots he gifted you. and so, you rise onto your tippy-toes, lips skimming along the shell of his cartilage. the warm scent of cedar and vanilla cling to your skin, and sweet, sinful aroma seeps warmly into him. it makes him throb hard in his boxers. you prompt him with a soft, saccharine whisper makes his ears flush pink:
“kiss me.”
his mouth is on yours in the next breath— no hesitation, not a single question. just heat. perhaps a bit of hunger.
it begins unhurried, with a slow suckle here and a drawn-out lick there, like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers and vanish, or you’re made up of dreams that he wouldn’t dare shatter.
but then you whimper. so soft, broken. just like that, it undoes him like the slip of a ribbon. his lips claim, part, press . . . then his tongue slides in, slow and molten, tasting of you like he’d been dying for it.
your gasp catches against his mouth, and it’s just about the holiest thing he’s ever heard. his own growls follow; dark, guttural and drawn from somewhere so primal even he’s scared to face it.
twitching with want, clark’s fingers flex at your waist, drawing you desperately flush against him. hips meeting hips, chest to chest. your very heartbeat pounds in your body and reverberates through his like it's trying to climb into his chest. the other hand cups your jaw, tilting your face to deepen the kiss—deeper, wetter, needier.
the way clark tongues you down lets you know that his resolve is leaking. his own swirls with yours, coaxing, teasing, then devouring. this kiss must be hunger’s incarnate; open-mouthed and breathless, teeth catching your bottom lip, tugging, then soothing the sting with a velvet lick.
it’s only when you weakly knack his bicep, gasping for a sliver of air, that he pulls away. it feels wrong to be rid of your lips, even for a second.
“god help me,” he groans in that intimate way only you’re meant to hear. “m’sorry, baby, i—“ clark pants, involuntarily pressing into you. his hips roll into yours before either of you can stop it, unthinking and helpless like lust is pulling the strings. when you moan in reply, his cock jumps within his coveralls. “didn’t mean to get carried away.”
“don’t you stop,” you whine, fisting his shirt like he’s the only solid thing left. you lift your knee to graze his crotch, painstakingly stiff and prodding against denim. “i need you. right now.”
“you don’t know what you’re asking,” he grunts out a feeble warning, but his mouth finds your again anyway. when he sucks on your tongue, slow and filthy, you swear you feel the very earth tilt beneath your feet.
your man is capable of a great many things. you’re reminded of that when he’s gone in a gust of wind, then back before your next breath with a timeworn blanket from the farmhouse sofa tucked under one arm, all in mere seconds.
his arm comes under your rear, scoops you up like it’s nothing, and gently lays you down in the grass with dizzying ease. the soft patterned cloth cushions your back as the orchard rustles around you. canopying leaves sway and sunlit-shadows flicker overhead. the golden july sky and towering apple trees are your quiet witnesses; watching, waiting, holding their breath.
clark’s gaze darts to your lips before dipping lower. the way he drinks you in is bashful; almost boyish, like his homegrown manners hold him back. his pupils dilate, jaw tensing. you’re nearly certain he’s using x-ray vision to take the smallest peek beneath the fabric . . . and from the heat flushing his red cheeks, it’s driving him wild.
“tryin’ to be a gentleman here, promise. just . . . not doing a great job right now.”
you look up at him, eyes glinting with a teasing laugh playing on your lips. your arms lift, slow but sure. then your hands find his hair, fingers slipping into the dark fluff of his curls. he bites back a sound when your manicured nails scrape lightly along his nape.
“oh, i know. you’re usually better behaved, kal.” it just isn’t fair, how you say his given name all soft and sweet like you don’t know what it does to him. but you do. you know exactly what you’re doing. and from the way his hands tighten on your waist, so does he.
“tell me to stop,” he rasps, “might do somethin’ reckless.”
“you’re always so careful, clark . . i want to see what reckless looks like on you.”
“y— you sure, sweetheart?” his smile cracks crooked and dazed, like he’s barely holding himself together. you swear he’s got hearts in his eyes.
“you heard me,” you run your finger along the sheen of his chest, just above the neckline. “i thought you were the strongest man on earth.” a sly smile, a dripping voice. you’re goading him. “don’t tell me you’re nervous.”
“oh?” he muses through a breathy laugh. his restraint is cracking. “careful’s what kept me from doing this sooner,” he shifts forwards, settling between your parted thighs and sliding his massive hands up them. body heat rolls off him in waves, and his undeniable hard-on nudges your skin.
“that dress is hanging on by a prayer, anyhow . .” he mutters, gaze pinned to the soft dip between your collarbone and breasts, the barest curve of them rising with each breath. his hand slinks around your backside, grabbing the rounds of your ass through ivory cotton. you arch into him like a flower toward the light, arms cradling his head closer. his other hand drifts up to feel the slope of your spine, palm dragging along warm skin like he’s memorizing it.
“so soft,” he mutters, almost to himself. “everywhere.”
clark’s thumb grazes the hem of your skimpy panties, brushing the little ribbon atop it and teasing the scallop-trimmed edge, while his mouth trails slow, damp kisses along your jawline. lazy at first, then firmer. you feel his breath stutter against your cheek when your hips grind back into his palm.
“you’re killin’ me, baby,” he frees a fragile chuckle, forehead resting on yours. a wild little curl of his skims the subtle angle of your brow. “can barely think, i . . . want you so bad it hurts.”
he grips your ass harder, the thick press of his arousal straining against you. clark’s instinctive grinding pulls gasp from you, but he doesn’t let up; mouth moving to your shoulder, biting just enough to make you flinch and whine.
“say it’s okay,” he pants. “say i can—”
“take it off, kal.”
then, without breaking eye contact, he hooks his thumb under the hem of your dress and presses up, nudging the fabric higher. his gaze holds you in place, asking silently even though he doesn't need to. you’re already his. you truly wonder if seduction or hypnosis falls under the wide array of his abilities. you give a slow nod; eager, breathless, sure.
he exhales hard through his nose, hands trembling slightly as they slip beneath the milkmaid straps resting on your shoulders. the lace-trim cloth is already halfway falling; it only takes the faintest tug before it slinks down your arms, like the peel of a ripened apple curling away. you feel as though you'll be eaten alive like the one that was dropped to the floor— not that the thought doesn’t excite you.
the rest is tugged, peeled, kissed away from your skin. the dress now pools at your shifting hips until he pulls it past your wiggling toes. it’s flung aside, lost in a wide corner of the spread blanket. it lands similar to a fruit dropped from a tree, unnoticed; just like anything else that isn’t you right now.
clark’s touch hovers at your ribs, thumbs brushing beneath the wiring of your lacy butter-yellow bra. his stare is soaked in awe. your nipples brush linen as he nimbly undoes the clamps and pulls it free, peaked and aching like rosebuds. he audibly groans the moment your boobs spill free. you’re picturesque, bare and bathed in dappled sun and orchard-shadow.
his adam’s apple bobs, lashes lowering. clark cups your breasts gently in both hands, kneading and squeezing like he aims to learn the shape of you by heart. a pretty moan slips out before you can stop it.
“god, you’re so . . .” he doesn’t finish. just ogles, like language has failed him. all he can muster up is a breathy little ‘ wow. ’ he’s two seconds away from forgetting how composed he meant to be.
“beautiful,” his knuckles faintly trace beneath the swell of your breast. he revels in how sweetly you whine. “don’t even know how to touch something like you.”
you guide his hands back to your chest, laying your palms over his like you’re teaching him how to worship. you get him to give you a nice, thorough squeeze, just how you like it. he can only stammer. you smile up at him. “you’re doing it right now, baby.”
you sit up, and lord forgive him—his gaze drops, slow and helpless, to the delicious sway of your bosom. he’s more than convinced you’re his temptation made flesh.
“you’ve got too many clothes on for someone who’s touching me like that,” you want to make quick work of his shirt. the fabric between you suddenly feels cruel. “your turn.”
you fingers, intentional and featherlight, trail down the column of his throat. you can see the warm summer flush creeping down. if you were to say a word, he’d only blame the heat. the gingham shirt clings to him, stretched faintly over muscle and modesty. you find the first button and undo it, slow and savoring.
his chest rising in a shaky breath as you move to the next button. one by one, you pry him open. he’s warm beneath all that fabric; golden, flushed, tight with anticipation. you let your knuckles graze his sternum, the ridge of his defined laterals, the dusting of chest hair that makes you ache in places you shouldn’t.
“aw, you’re blushing,” you tease, eyes dancing.
he huffs a laugh, breathless.
“hard not to when you’re lookin’ at me like that.”
you peel the clothes from his back and free him of a layer, then he strips the remaining undershirt over his head. his sinewy arms flex instinctively, like he’s suddenly aware of their size. revealed is sun-warmed skin and taut muscle, each movement deliberate and aching. his broad shoulders roll, flexing with ease beneath the sunlight.
“this okay?” he asks softly, always gentle even when his self-control frays like threadbare cotton.
you nod, brushing the texture of his frictiony coveralls. “now these,” you whisper, tugging one suspender down one shoulder, then the other, until they’ve fallen off either side. the light-wash straps ripple down like dusk falling over the fields.
clark obeys without another word. he shuffles down his coveralls and strips the denim away, past rows of sculpted abs, his firm, meaty thighs and corded calves. underneath, his red boxers are hung suggestively low on his hips. the waistband is tugged down just enough for the shadow of his v-line to flex. he’s straining hard against the cotton, thick and barely contained, the shape of him unmistakable.
“you’re so good like this, letting me unwrap you,” you giggle, giving the bold imprint a once-over. his erection stored beneath flimsy fabric twitches as you lean in.
“this is all for you,” his voice is hushed like he’s pleading, “always was.” clark’s strong arms fold around your waistline and pull you flush to him like he intends to merge. his blue eyes drink you in with a need so strong it aches. he’s massive, carved as though he was meant to carry the world. yet somehow, he looks at you like you’re the one to worship.
“if i start . . . i don’t think i’ll know how to stop.”
you reach up, brushing the curve of his clean-shaven jaw, and he turns his head, pressing a kiss into your palm like a prayer.
“then don’t,” you whisper, kissing along the impeccable angling of his jawline. “let go with me.”
he dips his head low and just like that, he’s on you again; more urgent now. more teeth. he plants open kisses down your chest, and then his mouth— hot, open, wet, and closes around your nipple. his tongue swirls so intentionally that you can’t help the sounds you make.
“can’t believe i have you under me like this,” he unlatches with a vulgar pop, one hand sliding past lace and under your waistband. “hope the ground’s decent enough for you? sorry, i should’ve asked sooner.” a thick finger dips down and finds you soaked. you yelp.
“i— it’s fine, clark. mm, i promise,” you hadn’t meant for that to materialize into a moan. the pad of his index meets your sticky folds. he stills for a beat.
“. . . christ.”
then he moves. a bit to the left, up the center until he finds the pulse of you. clark starts off with little circles, slow at first, then firmer, with purpose. you emit a stringy gasp, hips rising into him. he anchors you with one imposing hand splayed on your waist, the other rubbing you out, his mouth never once leaving your skin.
he tries working you open and meets resistance, tight heat puckering against the pad of his finger.
“easy now, baby, easy,” he rumbles out, “open up for me— just like that, fuck.”
clark never swears. it’s just not in his nature. so when he does, rough and low under his breath, you clench rapidly and heat rushes to your core like a reflex. it’s so filthy, so unexpectedly fitting of him, and it turns you on far more than it should.
with a slow roll of his wrist, he presses past, sliding further in even when your thighs twitch around his hand. the way your body tightens with need has you clutching onto him like a lifeline.
“c-clark, i— ah!” he pumps another into you, both spanned digits drawing out, and in, and out again. the accompanying ‘ shlick ’ is simply obscene. your whine coils in his chest like a sharp tug, dragging him impossibly closer. he watches your face twist with each drag of his fingers. it’s pitiful. precious, even. nothing’s ever made him feel more powerful than having you leak and pulse under his touch, not even beaming golden sun-rays itself.
his rhythm deepens, curling in with new purpose, and you feel everything. clark kisses your hair when you cry out for him. all of it brings you too close too soon, like he’s studied your body in his sleep. you’re climbing fast, panting through parted lips, muscles locking and fluttering as heat winds up in your belly. you look down, dizzy, met with his soaked hand between your thighs, fingers glistening as they disappear into your body.
“clark—!” you gasp, voice barely there. he grunts against your ear like he’s barely holding on himself.
“that’s it, sugar. thaaat’s it,” his pace doesn’t dare let up. he kisses your nose, your jaw, your neck, “let go, sweetheart. i’ve got ya.”
and you do.
you’re completely come undone beneath him; legs shaking and chest heaving like your world is splitting at the seams. and clark just watches. a heavy palm settled on your hip, jaw slack, eyes blown wide as if he’s witnessing a miracle.
but his hands don't stay still for long. even as you’re catching your breath, he’s already mapping the next place to claim. his ring and middle finger slip free, slick with your tangy sweetness. he savors it with a long, teasing lick; just as he did after that first bite of fruit.
“please,” your trembling hand finds his bulge and latches on, soft but insistent, prying a low moan from deep in his throat. “want more of you, kal. ”
he inches down the last barrier between you with shaky fingers, breath heavy, knuckles pale from restraint. his eyes never leave yours. it’s not about the mechanics—never was. it’s about you. the way you look beneath him; flushed, soft and easily corruptible, textured hair fanned across orchard grass like you bloomed just for him.
finally, clark frees himself and—good god. you don’t even realize that you’d broken eye contact just to stare. he’s so fucking big. you’ve seen him before, but somehow it always feels new. and even if you hadn't, you’d simply look at the sheer breadth of him and just know. you’d expect the man of steel to be quite endowed anyway; full, girthy and fat, with a soft thatch of curls at his root, dark and damp with heat. he leaks steadily for you, swollen tip glossy with need.
you’d love to touch him—stroke him slow, savor the heavy heat of him in your palm, but you don’t get the chance. sizeable hands are braced on either side of your hips, trapping you beneath his strong and steady frame. clark’s already leaning in and sizing you up. he drops the full weight of himself against your bare belly and rests it there. thick, flushed, and heavy where it throbs over your pelvis.
“you gonna let me in, hm?”
he flicks his hips and grinds the underside of him right over your slit. there’s so much want, so little left between you. you nod, spit-slick lips parted. you blink up at him, dazed, and something in his expression fractures. “please, papa . . want it so bad.”
that’s all it takes.
clark pulls back just enough, breath hitching as he aligns himself with your sticky, fluttering hole. his cockhead catches onto your thrumming clit and you whimper. with his typical dopey smile, only half assured, he drags his fat tip through the slick mess he made of you earlier. the pair of you release your own raw noises in tandem when he starts to push in.
the entirety of him is too much at first. it always is. slow and unrelenting with such splitting width, like he’s carving out space inside you. your mouth falls open. he sinks even further and the searing stretch alone steals your voice completely. your fingers dig into his shoulders, rounded milky-pink nails catching on taut muscle. he’s thick. too thick. and yet your body opens for him like it’s been waiting all your life.
clark groans, low, guttural and helpless. “you’re so tight. jesus, baby. i can’t— i jus’ can’t—”
he bottoms out.
you both go still. his forehead, matted with sweat-drenched curls, presses to yours. a long, syrupy whine of his name tumbles out of you, and your parted hips are pressed flush to his, bare and burning. entering you isn’t nearly enough— he pushes in further, grinding in deep and slow; practically buries himself in you. the more he sinks in, impossibly so, the tighter your squeeze the length of him. his breath shakes in his throat.
“it’s yours, baby,” he moans out like a vow, eyes squeezed shut, “it’s all yours, it’s all yours . .”
now that you’re writhing and full of him, he kisses you again—deeper now, slower, like he needs to taste all of it. all of you. your puffy lips, your jaw, the curve of your throat. you revel in every wet stroke, every sultry flick, every soft lash of muscle. his teeth graze your skin, and the drag of his tongue is so hot it draws shivers. every part of him feels too firm, too solid, too much to take . . . but god, do you want it.
“you doin’ okay, sweetheart?” he rasps, lips brushing your temple. you nod, just barely. “mhm. you just . . feel so deep,” his hips make a deepening tilt forward and you gasp again, already breathless. to that, he smiles against your skin. “that’s ’cause i’m home now, baby— alllll the way in,” he bites down what’d have been a pitiful noise. your slick walls flutter, clenching greedily.
clark gathers both your wrists in one hand, fastens them over your head, and draws his hips back; just enough for the loss to echo inside you, leaving you to clench desperately around empty summer air. you whimper just in time for him to thrust forward again, splitting you open until your walls spasm around him in soft, rippling pulses. the further in he presses, the more you find yourself unraveling beneath him.
“y— you feel that?” his hips drag back, slow and torturous, before sliding home again. deep, unhurried. he watches pleasure break open across your pretty face. “please, baby,” he draws out and retreats again, stopping at the peak of his throbbing tip, then snaps back in, sinking into your warmth. his hand crawls down to play with your puffed clit, and you almost scream. he revels in your tight, rhythmic spasms. “tell me you can feel it.”
you moan, nuzzling your face in the heat of his wide flexing bicep, your legs instinctively curling around him. he catches your thigh in one steady grasp, hikes it higher up his torso, and plunges in hard. the air leaves your lungs in a sharp gasp, practically fucking knocked out of you. he’s stirring you up all over. he’s kissing everywhere. he’s inside everything.
“oooh— uh-huh,” your head tilts back into the quilted fabric underneath you, and he dives in low to nip at your jugular. all while you take him, the only thing you can muster to do right now anyway. your drooling pussy stretches wide around the shape of him, insatiably sucks in every inch. he splits you open and fills you so wholly, you couldn’t let him go if you tried. “can f-feel you, mmh . . everywhere, clark.”
“oh my god— you’re taking me so good, baby. so, so good.”
clark follows up with long, deep strokes, each thrust drawn-out like he’s savoring every drag. your feet cinch together around his back, breath hiccuping. his pelvis grinds into yours with perfect, aching pressure, brushing somewhere inside that makes your eyes roll back into your skull. each thrust brings about the thick swing of his weighty balls, landing sharp and heavy against the curve of your ass. his hands roam like he wants to crawl inside you and stay for good.
then he finds it—his thick cockhead grinding into that one devastatingly spongy little spot that has your body seizing around him. you arch and cry, able to make such delirious ruin appear so holy. clark licks a salty rolling tear off your cheek, pins down your waist with both hands, and holds you in place as he bullies his way into it, humping and fucking on the one spot that makes your body lurch. over and over, like he’s engraving his very name in your walls. you sob his name, fingernails sunk into his hair and scratching at his scalp. clark groans like he’s never gonna stop. he’s claimed a place nobody else could ever reach.
“there?” he asks, grinning now, voice sticky-sweet. he’s clearly pleased. “that’s the spot, right, sweetness?” you can’t even answer, barely conscious, shaking legs treating to give, brained fogged with the heat, with him. he bucks forward, chasing the wet clap of your bodies meeting, the sound that rips from your chest isn’t human. you can’t breathe. can’t think. he’s splitting you wide open like a peach pulled apart by hand— and you continue wanting for more.
you whine and sputter from every gut-stirring thrust, and the sight of you beneath him; flushed, leaking, so messily beautiful while clinging to him like he’s the very air you breathe, finally snaps the remaining thread of his reserve; clark’s even shocked he still had any left over. he can only thank Rao for the shred of kryptonian restraint still anchoring him. without it, he probably would’ve mauled you by now— snapped completely and fucked you right into the floor.
it’s gone now, so clark lets go. fucks you harder. he hates losing control, hates how it makes him feel like he could ruin you. but he knows that just as much, you love when he isn’t gentle. and your body shows it; so pliant, so eager, sucking around him with every hungered slam of his sturdy hips.
“you hear that?” he murmurs low and ragged, tone shaking with need. the resounding squelch of your soaked cunt rings loud between each slam. “that’s you, baby. so wet for me . . . all that just for me.”
“oh my god, c-clark— fuck, papa, i wannittt,” your pussy stretches wide around the heft of him, drooling and desperate, swallowing him inch by aching inch. he’s thick, heavy, unrelenting—and you take it all, the shape of him carving pleasure into you with every vigorous thrust. he leans down to you, so low that your breasts are bouncing against his solid chest. clark splits you open like a gift, perhaps something sacred, and stuffs you so full it’s dizzying. you clamp down so fast it’s obvious—your body won't let him leave.
“say it again,” his voice rumbles low and rough against the side of your throat he nuzzles into, hips snapping into you with brutal precision, “say you want it.”
“i, mmm— want your cock, want all of it . .” you break off with a sharp cry, legs trembling from the force of him inside you. “fuck me harder, jus’ fuck me, please—!”
“you beg so pretty, don’t stop,” the expanse of clark’s sweaty palms press down on your coiling belly. his cock drives up so deep it knocks the breath right out of your lungs, stealing sound and sanity alike. “takin’ it so good, sugar,” he coos into your ear, feeling tempted to bite it. your hands scramble for the broad plane of his firm back, desperate for something to anchor you, nails dragging and digging; nothing you do could ever mark him. he drives his feet into the ground to propel him, thrusts again and you nearly sob. juices slide down your slit and pool messily beneath your ass. “too deep, i-i can’t . . i need it, please— keep going, keep going,”
“i’ll give you everything, baby.” he whispers, awed and undone. you’re soft and spasming around him, bulging where he sinks deep. it drives him half-mad, the way he doubles you in size— thick and imposing enough to leave an outline in your tummy. you’re crying harder now, quaking on his lap, and it only spurs him further. his grip is hot and sure, pistoning in and out of you in a punishing rhythm. you wail for more and he gives it, fingers sweeping your pearly center, making you bounce on him like it’s instinct. his face is pink, ears burning, and he doesn’t even notice—too focused on breaking you apart just right.
something in you begins to crack and splinter. you can’t necessarily recall the very moment when, or which of clark’s actions had even prompted it— maybe the mouthwatering pressure he’s been rubbing onto your nub, or the way he keeps hammering into your pussy, paced so deliciously brutal. but you just know it the moment the world blurs and your limbs don’t listen anymore.
you lurch forward and feel everything slipping, clawing for something solid; his shoulders, his name, the earth itself. he feels you tighten around him, toppling over the edge. the moment your body pulses around him, his thrusts falter. he can fucking hear it; the stirring of your insides, the obscene squelch your sopping pussy makes, the single snap of a tightly drawn coil deep inside you.
“c-close,” you squeeze out, “oh, sweetheart. you gonna cum, hm?” his voice is dark satin, frayed with strain. your legs are trembling, thighs slick and twitching around his hips, and your cunt clenches so tight he nearly sees stars himself. your body screams yes for you when your mouth just can’t.
clark sees it; the flutter in your lashes, the wet, desperate gape of your lips, the starlight blinking out behind your eyes. something in him breaks. he groans along with you, his own noise raw and guttural like it’s being torn from somewhere buried. clark hauls you against the thick grind of him as he drives deeper, harder, messier. his face buries in your neck, lips dragging hot across your skin, drinking in every gasp you can still manage to make. he doesn’t dare stop; not when you’re this tight, this close— not when he’s the one pulling you apart so beautifully.
“oh yeah— there you go. come on, baby, come for me, i know you can do it. let me feel it, lemme—”
you completely undo.
your body obliges before you can answer. pleasure bursts wide open and crashes through you, white-hot and all-consuming. you cling to him, jolting with a full-body tremor, hips locking tight. he catches you fast, holding you upright as your cunt spasms ceaselessly around him. it’s too much. it’s not enough. there’s a pleasurable twinge of satisfaction settles low in his gut, what with being able to make you come like this. he holds you steady, murmuring your name like holy prayer.
“ohhh, that’s it. such a good girl, you’re so f—fucking good,” he grits his teeth and a foreign curse slip out. he feels your own orgasm ripple through him, a vice of heat and slick. “f-fuck, clark—mmnh, can’t—” you choke, words barely forming. they follow into gasps that he swallows up in a wet, devouring kiss, his tongue slotting into your agape mouth as he braces his forearm tight across your spine.
clark doesn’t stop. he fucks through the heat of you; every convulsion, every aftershock, until you’re sobbing, shaking, slurring broken pleas against his throat. he lets out a needy, bitten-off moan and buries his warm face in your neck.
his own unraveling nears, and it starts with a stutter in his pace, a helpless twitch of his hips. he drools onto your skin, panting with his mouth open and chest heaving, the trembling weight of his body suspended just barely above you, forehead pressed to yours. his thrusts falter, sloppy now, sweat slicking every inch of him as his forearms tremble beneath the strain. the pleasure is immeasurable. it’s breaking him. you must be his very own goddamn kryptonite.
“mmm, k—kal,” you hiccup, head lolled against the quilt beneath you. you try to say something, anything, but it only comes out in shattered gasps and breathless keens. clark plants a shaky kiss to your cheek. he understands. he always does.
“o-oh god, baby,” he slurs, moaning your name, voice raw. the sound is wrenched from deep in his ribs. “you feel what you’re doin’ to me? i’m almost—can’t hold it, feels so good, i’m, ah, i’m gonna—”
he comes. hard.
it overtakes him; balls tight, cock buried, hips jerking forward, body tensed like a struck chord as clark spills into you hot and deep. he growls into your neck and fucks you through every pulsing stream of inhuman cum, pushing through one final grind. he moans your name so low and reverent, breathing out a shaky prayer onto your collarbone as you milk him of everything—
— but there’s more. you should know by now; he’s a sun-born alien, of course he isn’t finished with you. “i’m gonna . . hngh, g’nna fill you up, honey,” he moans deep, wild and unrestrained in your ear, when another pump of cum follows. warm, heavy spurts flood you, coating every spongy inch. he practically sobs through it, flushed face buried in your neck, murmuring expletives and your name like a prayer. he keeps fucking you through it as you convulse, lazy now, slow and aching, even as he twitches and groans with every overstimulated drag.
your legs wrap tight around his waist as he stills; sealing him in, holding him down. he doesn’t try to leave— he can’t pull out. he won’t. clark simply grinds in deeper as if he’s trying to disappear inside, like his sticky-hot skin against you still isn’t close enough. he can never stand a breath of space between you after he comes.
there’s a wet warmth trickling out of you—his cum easing down the seam of your ass, thick and slow. you mewl, and he groans softly at the feeling. you gaze up at him, eyes glossy, lashes damp, barely breathing. it’s only the resounding thud of your heartbeat within your chest that lets him know you’re still here; that he didn’t take it too far.
“clark,” is your hoarse whisper. your hands lie beside your head, and he intertwines his own with them, his thumb tenderly grazing your knuckle. “i . . feel so full everywhere.”
clark cradles your face, letting out the softest laugh, and the sound carries something adoring; breaks halfway into something reverent. he kisses your cheek, your lips, and sweat-slicked temple. his heart thrums when you smile up at him weakly. then, the subtle shift of his hips, softening cock still plunged inside you, makes you twinge.
“sensitive?” he asks, and you release a breathless ‘ mhm. ’ “didn’t mean to go so hard,” clark murmurs, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear with trembling fingers. “you just looked so pretty, begging for it.”
“don’t be sorry,” you hum, a dazed little sound. you look like you’re still trying to remember your name, where you are, who he is. your hand unravels from his own to stroke up the expanse of his damp back. “it was perfect.”
“you’re perfect,” he breathes out. “can i clean you up, sweetheart?” his voice is low, gentle. “or just . . . hold you like this a little longer?”
you muster to lean upwards and peck the cleft of his chin, bliss-drunk when you air out, “hold me.”
so he does.
you lie tangled together, skin still sticky from sun and sex, limbs loose with the buzz of satisfaction. the blanket sheet is a crumpled mess around your legs, and clark’s fingers are tracing lazy, featherlight shapes along your hip; like he doesn’t want to stop touching, even for a second. he teases at your warm skin with a tickle, and you laugh all soft, delighted, a little shy beneath the heat of everything that went down.
your laughter draws him in, so he nuzzles into the damp crook of your neck, lips brushing your loud, beating pulse. with a weighted hand at your waist and his thumb stroking your cheek, clark kisses you slow and indulgent, like he’s savoring the incomparable taste of you all over again.
“next time,” his hand slips down to knead at your ass. you moan sweetly into the kiss. “i’m skipping the apple and going straight for you.”
CONTAINS ⸻ ( 1k+ ) words of ⨾ nsfw / suggestive, clark kent ( aka ) superman x fem!reader ( black coded ), established relationship, just shits n’ giggles, crackfic, lowercase intended, explicit language, minors shoo!
my love letter! 𝜗ৎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ clark is, at heart, is simply a sweet lil nerd and i believe that his silliness should be shared with the world . don’t exactly know how this came to be, i just wanted a reason to write clark all blushy ‘n bashful because that’s how i like him best lol >.< thanks for reading and above all, please enjoy! ❤︎
in clark’s quiet kitchen, the evening sun spills golden through tall glass panes. he’s got you backed against the counter, his warm palms sliding slow up your waist, and a knee nestled between your thighs. it’s the kind of heat that simmers low, like stovetop steam, or the burn of wanting someone who holds back until he doesn’t.
he peppers you with those warm, promising kisses— sloppy and sweet, smiling into it like he just can’t help himself. his nimble fingers hook into your little sleep shorts, dragging them down slowly, savoring the glide of fabric over your thighs like it’s his favorite part of the night.
“oh, god,” he eyes your underwear, groans over the lacy little pair of baby blues. you in his favorite color is the start of his undoing.
you barely get a chance to tease before clark’s sturdy hands are sliding beneath your thighs, effortlessly hoisting you up onto the counter like you belong there. your bare skin meets smooth, cold bianco marble, and his lips burn hotter as he dives to kiss along your jugular.
“so gorgeous,” he swallows, voice thickening, “you don’t even know. i swear you’re trying to kill me.”
you laugh, arms encircling his neck. “really? death by make-out?”
“yup. and i’d go happy.”
“oh, c’mon. you’re stronger than that, clark.” your fingers tangle in his soft dark hair, but he just groans low and leans in, all warm and languid. before long, his tongue’s stroking yours, deep and hot and dizzying like he’s lost track of time and wants to keep it that way.
he pulls back from the plush swell of your lips and drinks you in, eyes trailing the delicate lace barely clinging to your hips, up the line of your waist, then higher to the soft swell of your breasts perked beneath the worn, soft-cotton shirt he lent you.
here you are, glowing like the evening, half-naked in his kitchen, perched on his counter, swallowed up by his faded band tee . . . clark’s fingers flex against your thighs like he’s trying not to grip too hard.
“not when you look like that, i’m not.”
there's nothing between you except for heat and want, even as his solid chest brushes yours with every breath, work shirt wide open and hanging off his shoulders. his abs are temptation made flesh; tight, defined, every line visible beneath golden skin that glows in the kitchen light. each breath draws his muscles tighter. when your touch dips low and finds his stomach, it feels like the earth is moving underneath your palms.
those baggy, unassuming ‘ disguise ’ pants hang low on his hips, a poor attempt at modesty for the thick span of toned muscle beneath. hiding all that quiet strength under anything is simply criminal. his striped tie’s somewhere on the floor, one crumpled piece off but still too many on. you’re in nothing but soaked panties, boyfriend clothes and smirking confidence.
you can feel the heat of him, raw and pressing into you firm through those loosely slung charcoal slacks. his chest is warm and bare against your skin beneath that crisp white unbuttoned dress-shirt hanging open like an invitation. you feel the way he trembles just slightly when your fingers tug at the fabric at his waist.
you tell him to strip because your body can’t take being this close to him without becoming one. “lose the pants, kent.” you murmur against his mouth, unwrapping your thighs from his hips and nudging your foot into the back of his calf.
he groans, all eager hands and flushed ears, “yeah . . . yeah baby, i got it.” clark steps back just enough to shimmy them down. adorably, predictably, his socks stay on while he kicks both legs off without a second thought.
it’s when the pants fall away that you see them.
sky-blue boxers, covered in . . . tiny caped hotdogs, flying like they’re off to save the condiment world.
you blink.
then you laugh. loudly, too. it bubbles out of you before you can stop it.
clark glances down at himself, freezes, goes a little pink, and he then makes a sound that lands somewhere between a gasp and a prayer.
“crap— i didn’t expect to have company, okay!”
you’re cackling now, nearly sliding off the counter. “ohmygod, clark, you forgot what you put on this morning?”
he sighs deeply and drags a large hand down his face, muttering something about laundry day and betrayal. you watch the slow bloom of red crawl up his neck, all the way to the tips of his ears.
“i— i wasn’t supposed to be seen in these. this?” he gestures vaguely towards himself, desperate to convince, "wasn't the plan.”
“they’re wearing capes like you, clark.” you giggle, “you’re telling me that wasn’t intentional?”
he pitifully groans, grabbing for his slacks in defeat like they can undo the damage, but you tug him back by the waistband of his boxers. “don’t even think about it, supes.” for whatever strange reason, the nickname makes his dick twitch. “these are staying on now.”
you press a kiss just above the flush overtaking the bridge of his nose. clark’s sheepishness burns straight through his chest. “i’m never living this down, am i?”
“it’s okay,” you whisper, teasing. “very much on brand. american food, capes and justice,” that earns a helpless laugh. he leans in close, forehead touching yours, eyes still bashful. “if i fly away right now, will you pretend this never happened?”
“not a chance, dork.” you thread a hand through his fluffy hair and ruffle it about. he beams like it’s a compliment. “this is already my favorite memory of you.”
the resonance of your own laughter makes him grin. shy a bit, ears red, but smiling like he’d embarrass himself a thousand more times just to hear it again.
“sorry, i think i killed the mood.” he says with a wry little wince, rubbing the back of his neck. the other hand finds your waist like muscle memory.
“the mood is still very much alive,” you hook your legs around his hips again, pulling him close; zealous, deliberate. your lips ghost the shell of his ear as you grin, “don’t worry. hot dogs aren’t a dealbreaker.”
clark exhales a wheezy laugh, utterly doomed. but when you lean in close and press a kiss to his dimpled cheek, he wraps his beefy arms around your middle and melts into you like ground sugar in warm tea— slow, sweet, inevitable.
and just like that, the boxers stay on a little longer.
your blog makes me feel so included as a black girl 🥹
ugh oh em gee🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹i’m so glad you said this, this is exactly what i want!!!! i’m gonna tag some of my fav black writers for you to check out! i also just want every beauty can have their cake n eat it too!!!💞💞💞
here I present, what I like to call my ‘ 𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉𝒾𝓃ℊ 𝑜𝒷𝒿ℯ𝒸𝓉𝒾𝓋ℯ! ’ to all the angels who stay tuned into my works, I notice the love and I truly adore yall more than anything 🤍 which is why I wanted to give you lovelies a glimpse of the major fics I wish to complete! other fics, drabbles, & asks will be written in the meantime; these are just what I plan to be the main pieces of the summer! sift through if you wanna know exactly what to expect from me for the next couple of weeks! 𐔌՞ ܸ.ˬ.ܸ՞𐦯 & here are my current works if you’re in a reading mood! a fresh WIP list will drop next season — see you again in autumn! ❤︎
𝒯𝑅𝐼𝒩𝐸.ᐟ ⸻ ft. eren jäeger & getō suguru.
𝒮𝑌𝒩𝒪𝒫𝒮𝐼𝒮 ⨾ your enamored boyfriends are in the mood to spoil you. ( wip post here! )
𝐻𝒪𝑁𝐸.ᐟ ⸻ ft. eren jäeger.
𝒮𝒴𝒩𝒪𝒫𝒮𝐼𝒮 ⨾ learning a new language can be difficult. lucky for you, eren’s quite the attentive teacher. ( wip post here! )
𝒯𝐻𝐸 𝒦𝒩𝒪𝒲𝐼𝒩𝐺.ᐟ ⸻ ft. eren jäeger & reiner braun.
𝒮𝒴𝒩𝒪𝒫𝒮𝐼𝒮 ⨾ everyone thinks getting a concussion drove eren crazy, and they couldn’t be more than wrong. the only thing that came from cracking his skull open was absolute clarity. he finally knows exactly what he wants — eren wants to get cucked. ( wip post here! )
𝐻𝐸𝒜𝑅𝑇𝐻.ᐟ ⸻ ft. adrian ‘ alucard ’ țepeș. ( JUNE.27TH )
𝓐 𝓑𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝓢𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋! ❤︎ 𝒮𝒴𝒩𝒪𝒫𝒮𝐼𝒮 ⨾ you’re caught amidst a blizzard, forcing you and adrian to crash at an abandoned cottage for the night. although you’re snowed in, you’ve got your husband to keep you warm. ( wip post here! )
𝒵𝐸𝒜𝐿.ᐟ ⸻ ft. eren jäeger.
𝒮𝒴𝒩𝒪𝒫𝒮𝐼𝒮 ⨾ eren knows he’s a good driver. a little fast, sure, but smooth turns, steady hands, no bumps. everyone who rides with him says the same thing. so why is it that whenever you climb into the passenger seat, he suddenly forgets how to keep his eyes on the road? ( wip post here! )
𝐸𝒩𝐷𝒵𝒪𝒩𝐸.ᐟ ⸻ ft. reiner braun. ( AUG.1ST )
𝓐 𝓑𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝓢𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋! ❤︎ 𝒮𝒴𝒩𝒪𝒫𝒮𝐼𝒮 ⨾ reiner and his football team, ‘the marleyan warriors’, are gearing up for their final game of the season. to prepare, he’s undergoing rigorous training, sticking to strict diets, and adhering to a no-sex policy . . . that last rule might just be the death of him. ( wip post here! )
soon to be updated with complete works! stay tuned, my angels ❤︎
You can tell how much love you pour into your writing I love it sm 💝
aww that’s such a sweet thing to say 🥹🎀 waaa tysm for noticing >.<! i truly do love to write & make something out of the little worlds ‘n stories that play in my head lol . i can tell you enjoy your craft as well, my love! 🤍 i’ve loved every fic of yours that i’ve read so far, you characterize ur men so well ❤︎
SUMMARY!!! yn goes back to visit what once was her home 15 years ago, only to meet a new face.
WARNINGS!!! 18+!!! high sexual themes! oral (f receiving), penetration, slow burn before smut
a part of you missed it. waking up to the fresh smell of sausage sizzling in hot grease while grits simmered on a burner next to it. feeling the cool summer breeze whip around your sweltering body from playing kickball in the large mowed field with some of the towns kids. drinking freshly squeezed lemonade your grandmother made before tending to her garden.
as the driver slowly approaches your grandparents estate, your heart couldn’t help but to let up a little. the large white house still sat perfectly on their plot of land.
“yn, sweetheart!” the houses screen door flys open with a screech. your grandmother dressed in a flowing white dress, tan beach hat, arm decorated with small gold bangles and her wedding band catching rays of sun.
the driver places his car in park, opening his door to retrieve your suitcase from the trunk. hopping out of the yellow vehicle, the older lady meets you halfway. wrinkled hands caressing your face, she smiles.
“it’s been too long. you’re all grown up on us!”
before anything could leave your lips, a grunt comes from around the bend of the house. your grandfather, covered in motor oil and dirt caked overalls. he removes his gloves, walking towards you and his wife, smile reaching his ears.
“ah i would hug ya honey but im dirtier than the pigs!”
your grandparents liked the life they lived away from the city. the way they could sit on the wrap around porch, grandfather sipping a beer and grandmother some lemonade, their towns newspaper tucked in their palms. watching as the sun ducked their bright red barn, casting a golden glow over the crops and animals grazing on the lush landscape. the stars peeking through transparent clouds, moon creating its atmosphere in the sky.
your grandmother enjoyed picking fresh fruits from her orchard, baking pies and making jams with the delectable fruits. your grandfather loved the lake that sat on the other side of the large property. growing up you’d grown to love these things about them.
as for yourself? you wouldn’t be caught dead doing half the things they do.
your career path led you to pharmaceutical consulting. working for one of the biggest companies in the world. it wasn’t something you enjoyed, but it funded the life you wanted.
living in a penthouse, well off from the city below you. the work was intense, demanding, and you needed to stay on top of it. anyone is replaceable in jobs such as those.
which is why you put in every single pto hour you had into a month long vacation.
to the middle of nowhere.
the wheels of the suitcase clank against the wooden stairs as your grandfather lugs it up the flight. following behind the older lady, excitement bubbles out of your grandmother while she quickens her pace, rushing to the door at the end of the hallway.
when she pushes the door open, it gives way easily, the hinges murmuring softly. the air that greets you is faintly cool, laced with the sweet scent of spring. someone had left the large french windows cracked open, the lace curtains drifting in slow, ghostly ripples.
“just like you left it, darlin’!” the lady says cheerfully.
stepping in feels like stepping back into a memory too fragile to hold in your hands. the room is pale, almost dreamlike. soft white walls, still wearing faint shadows of posters long torn away, frame the space. A canopy bed sits against the far wall, its sheer, pastel pink and ivory drapes spilling down like delicate water, pooled at the floor as if waiting for someone to step through them. the bed itself is made, layered with quilts of faint creams and frilly edges, whispering of afternoons spent sprawled on its surface with a book or diary.
“mary anne, we gotta get back to town to pick up some more feed for the chickens! ‘for the sun go down! i ain’t got my glasses either.” after placing your suitcase inside the threshold, your grandfather gives the back of your head a slight hold before placing a small kiss to the top.
“okay! okay! you ain’t gotta rush, clyde!” the two eventually leave you alone to unpack and do as you need.
to the right, a dresser waits, its porcelain knobs cool and familiar, though you can see chips where small hands must have struck too hard, too often. a vintage vanity mirrors the scene beside it, its surface cluttered with an array of glass perfume bottles, now dulled with dust. the mirror above has started to haze, its edges flecked with age, but you can still catch glimpses of yourself. a cushioned stool still sits beneath, its ruffled seat faded and threadbare.
the light here is alive. golden and warm, it pours through the cracked windows, catching on floating dust motes that swirl like restless fireflies. outside, unseen branches scratch faintly against the frame, their new leaves brushing with the weightlessness of spring. the breeze curls in through the cracks, carrying the faintest hints of magnolia and freshly turned earth, slipping beneath the canopy and rustling the skirts of the curtains.
there’s a rug in the center of the room, its edges frayed, and around it—near bookshelves that haven’t been touched in years—small details stand out like relics: a porcelain music box with its lid still half-open, a stuffed rabbit missing one eye perched on the window seat. all of it feels caught in a quiet kind of waiting.
your footsteps are softened by the wooden floor beneath, the boards groaning faintly under your weight. you look around and inhale deeply. it smells faintly of lavender, of clean linens, freshly cut grass, and mahogany wood.
the hot water washes away the weight of the morning and plane rides, the steam curling in soft, misty clouds that cling to the glass. you stand under the spray longer than you need to, letting it loosen muscles you hadn’t realized were tight, letting it strip the last remnants of dust from your skin. when you finally step out, the room feels cooler, the steam clinging to the mirror and walls in beads of condensation.
lathing your body in cocoa butter and applying a fair amount of lip balm.
you pull on something simple: a soft white tank top and a pair of loose cerulean cotton shorts, light enough to let the sun find your skin. carefully pulling your shower cap off, the water droplets falling down to your shoulders, running off your moisturized skin. you grab a new bottle of sunscreen from your spwarled out suitcase, the book ‘if cats disappeared from the world’, and your black chanel sunglasses.
as you make your way barefoot down the creaking staircase, everything tucked in between your arm. the house warm and bright in a way that feels both lived-in and empty. you’re halfway to the back porch when the front door swings open, and your grandparents call for your attention.
“hey, hold up a minute-” your grandfather says, pausing just inside the doorway, his hat in one hand and the keys to the truck jangling in the other. Your grandmother lingers behind him, hands resting on her hips, her face soft but serious.
“-we’re headed into town for a bit.” she says. “need some supplies for the farm and a few other things.”
you nod, shifting your weight onto one foot as you glance toward the back porch, toward the promise of sun and quiet.
“‘fore you run off-” your grandfather adds, pulling the hat onto his head.
“one of the town boys is ‘posed to be stoppin’ by. hes gone take a look at the barn, see about fixin’ up some of the beams we been neglectin’.”
“you’ll know him when you see him.” she says, a touch warily.
“so just keep an eye out. he’s probably fine, but you know how folks can be.”
something about their tone. half warning, half habit. makes you bristle. you know how quickly people judge someone based on a name, a family, a shadow cast long before them.
“all right.” you say lightly, hoping to end the conversation before it becomes something heavier.
“i’ll be outside if he shows up.”
your grandmother nods, giving you one last lingering look, and then they’re gone—boots on the porch steps, the truck’s engine growling to life and disappearing down the road. you linger by the door for a moment, watching the dust settle in the empty yard. the house feels quieter now, a little too still.
when you turn toward the back porch, the sunlight calls to you again, warm and golden, a balm for whatever comes next.
the back door opens swiftly, letting in gusts of spring air to sweep across the floors. trudging through the plains of grass tickling your thighs, you find yourself at the small floating pond your grandfather built. it sat in front of the large red barn, creating a scene of what farm living actually is.
the pond is fairly quiet, except for the hum of cicadas and the faint lapping of water against its banks. the cows deep moo a little in the distance. the sun hangs high, drenching everything in gold, and the heat wraps around you like a second skin.
you’re stretched out on a reclined lawn chair, a thin towel draped beneath you to catch the sweat. your sunglasses shield your eyes, and a book rests open in your hands, though the words blur a little under the laziness of the afternoon. a half eaten sandwich and a glass of fresh strawberry lemonade sweats beside you, the condensation leaving rings of water on the tiny wooden table. it’s sweet and cold against your tongue, a small relief in the heaviness of the heat.
your top is flung casually over the back of the chair, leaving you in a white bathing suit, comfortable and unbothered as you let the sun soak into your skin. the soft breeze off the water kisses your shoulders every now and then, rustling the pages of your book.
it isn’t until the sharp, uneven sound of boots on gravel carries over the quiet that you lift your sunglasses, brow pinching.
at first, you only catch a shadow moving toward you from the far side of the reservoir. someone tall, broad-shouldered, and clearly not your grandparents.
“hey!” the voice calls, deep but rough, like he hasn’t spoken much today.
you sit up a little straighter, your sunglasses slipping down the bridge of your nose as you look him over. he’s closer now, close enough for you to see the sharp lines of his face, the way dark hair falls a little too messily over his forehead. he’s wearing a plain t-shirt, worn jeans stained at the knees, and scuffed boots that kick up small puffs of dirt as he moves. there’s a toolbox in his hand, which he sets down carelessly at his feet.
“you’re, uh…-” he trails off, scanning you quickly before looking away, his jaw tight. he was issued to seeing old people on this property. but you were a sight for sore eyes. he couldn’t help but fixate his green eyes back onto you. watching as the beads of condensation dripped from the glass to your exposed cleavage, sliding down between your moisturized boobs. that were too big for the swim top your sported. his eyes fed off the way your e/c* eyes shined in the light under the black shields, lips glistening under the rays.
“im here for the barn. your grandparents said someone would be around.” his words are tight and frigid.
you blink, caught between annoyance and curiosity.
“yeah, they mentioned you.” you let your sunglasses slide back into place, leaning back in the chair as if his presence hasn’t disrupted anything.
“didn’t realize you’d be here so soon.”
“you’re welcome.” he mutters, a hint of sarcasm threading through the words as he squats to grab the toolbox.
you raise a brow, bristling.
“didn’t say i was thanking you.”
that makes him pause, glancing up through his lashes like he can’t decide whether to be amused or annoyed. a scoff releases from his lips.
“you sure are a real warm welcome, huh? and you’re reading a book about.. cats?”
“and you’re a little grumpy for someone who just got here. not that it’s any of your concern, i prefer cats over mutts.”
he huffs out a breath, maybe a laugh, but it’s hard to tell, and shakes his head, muttering something you can’t quite hear. you watch as he straightens up again, swiping the back of his hand across his forehead as if to dismiss you entirely.
“look, i’ll stay outta your way. just here to fix the barn, ma’am.” he says, nodding toward the distant structure.
“you can go back to… whatever this is.” his gaze flickers briefly over your lemonade, the book, your sprawled-out figure in the sun, before he turns on his heel and starts walking toward the barn.
you glare after him, irritation bubbling to the surface. the nerve of him, showing up out of nowhere with a chip on his shoulder like you’re the one invading his day.
“you’re welcome.” you call after him pointedly, though he doesn’t stop, just throws a hand up in a half-hearted wave of dismissal.
the barn door groans open in the distance, and you sink back into your chair with a huff, flipping your book shut. for the first time all day, the quiet doesn’t feel so peaceful anymore.
he had been long gone by the time your grandparents arrived back at the house. watching the sun set on the horizon out of the kitchen windows, casting a warm orange and pink hue to the house. you couldn’t help but to think about how strange of an interaction that was today.
“some’ wrong, darlin’?” your grandfather asks, pulling apart a small peice of his dinner roll, slipping it into his mouth.
“nothing papa. just tired i think. not really used to the time difference again.”
-
the kitchen smells like sugar, butter, and lemon zest. thick and warm in the morning light streaming through the windows. you stand beside your grandmother at the granite counter, your hands dusted in flour as you work a soft, pliable ball of dough, rolling it carefully under her watchful gaze. the little puffs of flour catch the light as they float lazily to the counter, turning the morning into something hazy and dreamlike. outside, the morning doves are already humming, and the breeze carries the faintest whiff of honeysuckle through the cracked window above the sink.
“not too thin now, dear.” your grandmother says gently, leaning over to inspect your work. her hair is pinned back neatly, and there’s a streak of flour on her cheek that she hasn’t noticed.
“these tarts need some structure, or they’ll fall apart ‘fore they make it to the church. we can’t have a lock in with no tarts, honey.”
“yes, ma’am.” you mutter, suppressing a small smile as you focus on the dough, guiding it into perfect little circles for the tart shells.
the table is cluttered with bowls and ingredients. deep red raspberries, bright and glistening, piled in a pale ceramic dish; a glass juicer with lemon pulp still clinging to its grooves; a small jar of sugar, the lid left slightly askew. your grandmother moves around the kitchen like she always has. calm, methodical, humming a hymn under her breath as she fills the air with the scent of baking pastry. you help her spoon the tart mixture into the shells, carefully pressing a few raspberries into each before she slides them into the oven, her hands covered in oven mitts patterned with sunflowers.
while the tarts bake, she chats softly about who will be at the church service, about old friends and new faces, her voice lilting as if trying to bridge the years that you’ve been gone. it’s comforting, her easy way of speaking, and you let it wash over you as you wipe down the counters, the scent of caramelizing sugar growing richer by the minute.
“i really appreciate your help this mornin’.” her sweet voice fills the silence.
your grandfather appears in the doorway just as you’re checking the tarts, a small grin tucked beneath his mustache. hes holding a set of keys. old, scratched, and gleaming faintly in his calloused hand.
“got something for ya.” he says, the words light but carrying a weight that makes you stop mid-step.
your grandmother glances over her shoulder, smiling softly as if she’s been expecting this.
“go on, now. see what he’s got.”
you follow your grandfather outside, the morning sun already high and hot, the light pooling across the gravel driveway. parked just off to the side of the house is a truck—not new by any stretch of the imagination, but clean, its pale blue paint shining faintly in the sunlight. it’s an older model, rounded and boxy in that classic way, and you can see where he’s spent hours tinkering with it. fresh tires, a polished hood, the faint scent of oil and steel lingering in the air.
“you’re givin’ me this?” you ask, a little breathless.
“sure am.” he replies, pressing the keys into your palm with a nod that’s gruff but affectionate.
“i’ve been workin’ on it a few months now. runs smooth s’ever. figured you might want somethin’ to get around while you’re here.”
the gesture hits you harder than you expect, and you swallow against the sudden warmth building in your chest.
“thank you,” you say softly, running your fingers over the keys before looking back at him.
he pats your shoulder in that firm, no-nonsense way of his.
“you go on, take her for a spin. just don’t let it sit idle too long, y’hear?”
you decide you can’t possibly drive your new truck around town in the same pajama bottoms and rumpled tank top you’ve been in since morning. after a quick shower, you stand in front of the mirror in your childhood bedroom, brushing your hair as the sun filters softly through the lace curtains. you choose something easy. a flowy white sundress, the fabric soft against your skin, cinched at the waist, flaring out below. it’s the kind of dress that moves when you walk, catching the breeze and making you feel like youre floating. slipping on tan sandals and grabbing your sunglasses.
sliding into the truck feels surreal, the leather of the driver’s seat warm beneath your legs as you turn the ignition. the engine rumbles to life with a satisfying purr, and you grip the wheel with a grin you can’t quite suppress.
the drive into town is nothing short of idyllic. the windows are rolled down, the warm breeze tugging at your hair and the hem of your dress as you cruise past fields of tall grass and wildflowers. radio crackles softly, static giving way to an old country song you don’t recognize but hum along to anyway. the town comes into view slowly. a handful of streets lined with brick buildings, white picket fences, and storefronts with painted signs. it’s small and familiar, a place where everyone knows everyone, and yet it feels entirely new through your eyes.
you park the truck just off the main street, slipping the keys into your bag before heading toward the square. the town is quiet, but there’s enough movement to remind you that life trickles on here. people chatting on porches, kids weaving through alleys on their bikes, a group of guys sitting on the bed of an old truck parked near the general store.
you don’t notice them at first, too busy taking in the details of the place. but their voices, loud and lazy—drift over as you pass.
“well, well.” one of them drawls, amusement curling through the words.
“ain’t expect to see you all the way out here.”
you glance over sharply, your gaze landing on none other than him. eren jaeger. leaned back against the tailgate of the truck, his arms crossed and a lazy smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. his friends exchange looks that border on curious and entertained.
“didn’t expect you to talk to me.” you shoot back without missing a beat, stopping just a few feet away.
eren raises a brow, clearly enjoying this already.
“oh, don’t worry. i’m just surprised you’re not still sunbathing by the pond, princess.”
“princess? it’s yn to you. and all of you.” you repeat, folding your arms across your chest.
“also, big talk for someone who can’t even find full jeans.” your acrylic points to the dirty man-made holes decorating the boys jeans.
that earns you a snort of laughter from one of his friends, but eren just tilts his head slightly, the smirk never faltering.
“guess you’re still mad about yesterday. why you so upset at me, darlin’?”
“mad? please.” you say, rolling your eyes. “nothing even happened.”
“mmh. sure you aren’t.” he says, pushing off the tailgate to stand up fully, his height a little more imposing up close. there’s something sharp about him. his voice, his gaze, but beneath it is something else, something less certain. you get the feeling he’s used to being looked at sideways, just like your grandparents warned you about.
“you always this charming, or is it just for me?” you ask, tipping your chin up slightly. eyes meeting his low green ones.
he huffs out a laugh, shaking his head as his friends snicker quietly behind him.
“you’re somethin’ else.” he mutters, more to himself than to you. turning on your heels, you rush to excape the uncomfortable encounter.
“see you around, princess.”
-
the next day stretches out slow and quiet. the house feels bigger without your grandparents, their absence leaving a stillness that clings to every corner. you’ve taken full advantage of the solitude, padding barefoot through the rooms in an oversized t-shirt and little else. the fabric brushes against your thighs as you move, worn soft with age, like an old friend. the back of the shirt reads something about a fishing derby from a year that predates you, and you’ve rolled the sleeves haphazardly up your shoulders, letting the collar slip wide against your collarbone.
you spend the morning lazing on the couch, your legs sprawled across the cushions as you flip halfheartedly through a book you aren’t really reading. somewhere outside, birds chatter, and the cicadas hum their slow, pulsing chorus.
it’s the kind of day where time feels like it doesn’t exist. you shuffle into the kitchen whenever you’re hungry, toast a bagel you don’t finish, drink lemonade straight from the pitcher, and leave the radio on low just to fill the silence. some soft, crooning voice filters through the speakers, adding to the lazy weight of the afternoon.
you’re perched on the arm of the couch, knees drawn up to your chest, flipping through an old fashion magazine you found tucked in a drawer when the knock comes, sharp and sudden against the door.
it startles you, your head snapping up as the noise echoes through the quiet house. the second knock follows quickly, impatient this time. you glance toward the clock on the wall, but it’s no help, just another reminder that time isn’t real today.
frowning, you slide off the couch, tugging the hem of your t-shirt self-consciously as you head toward the door. the knob feels cool beneath your fingers as you pull it open just far enough to see who it is.
and there he is.
eren, standing on your grandparents’ front porch like he belongs there, though his posture suggests otherwise. hes got one hand braced against the doorframe, his other hooked loosely in the pocket of his jeans. a thin white t-shirt clings to him in the heat, faint smudges of dirt streaked across the fabric like he’s been working outside all day. his dark hair looks even messier than it did before. some tucked into the cowboy hat, other strands falling over his forehead and curling faintly from the humidity.
for a moment, he doesn’t say anything, his gaze catching on your bare legs before he flicks his eyes up to meet yours. his expression shifts, something unreadable dancing just beneath the surface. you realize too late how you must look: hair messy, t-shirt oversized and sliding off your shoulder, a little breathless from having rushed to the door.
“what?” you say finally, crossing your arms over your chest as if that might protect you from the way he’s looking at you.
“nice greeting.” he says dryly, his voice low and a little rough around the edges.
“well, you did show up uninvited.” you shoot back, arching a brow.
“what do you want?”
eren exhales through his nose, almost like he’s amused but trying not to show it.
“your grandparents asked me to stop by. said there’s a busted pipe in the barn and they didn’t want to wait until they got back to fix it.”
you frown, leaning your shoulder against the doorframe.
“and they sent you?”
“clearly.” his lips twitch, the hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.
“believe it or not, i know how to do more than just piss you off.”
you roll your eyes, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.
“well, the barn’s out back. you know where it is. the big. red. building.”
“i do. smartass.” he says, but he doesn’t move, and there’s a spark of something in his eyes. mischief, maybe. that makes you suddenly aware of just how much skin your t-shirt doesn’t cover.
“what?” you ask again, sharper this time.
“nothing.” he shrugs, the movement lazy as he pushes off the doorframe and takes a step back.
“just didn’t peg you for the type to lounge around in your underwear all day. but what do i know? you wore a bikini outside.”
heat flashes across your cheeks instantly, and you grip the edge of the door tighter.
“it’s not underwear, creep. it’s comfortable.”
“sure.” he says, smirk fully formed now as he starts toward the barn, hands tucked into his pockets.
“looks real… comfortable.”
you slam the door before he can say anything else, the wood rattling in the frame.
“asshole.” you mutter under your breath, but your voice is drowned out by the sound of his boots on the gravel, his laughter carrying faintly through the cracked window.
the hum of the radio drifts on, and sunlight still slants through the windows, but something about the space feels restless now. like the air has been disturbed and won’t settle again. you find yourself standing by the door, chewing your lip and staring at nothing in particular.
it’s curiosity, you decide. that’s all it is. you’re just curious about him. about the boy who showed up at your door unannounced, dripping sarcasm like it’s second nature, as though he thrives on pressing your buttons. that’s why, after pacing the kitchen once or twice, you tug on a pair of shoes and head outside.
the barn stands at the back of the property, worn and familiar, its paint faded and roof patched with tin that glints under the afternoon sun. the gravel crunches beneath your feet as you cross the yard, your shadow stretching long ahead of you. you can hear him before you see him. something clattering against metal, followed by a low muttered curse that drifts out through the open barn doors.
you pause just outside, peeking around the corner. eren is crouched low near the base of a wooden post, his toolbox spread out beside him, sleeves shoved up to his elbows. sweat glistens faintly along the line of his neck, dark hair curling slightly against his temple, though he seems too focused on whatever he’s fixing to notice you.
“i hope you don’t talk to the pipes like that.” you say, stepping into the doorway.
eren glances up sharply, his eyes narrowing as soon as he sees you.
“what are you doing in here?”
“just checking on you.” you lean against the frame, arms crossed, the hem of your t-shirt fluttering faintly in the breeze.
“you could be in here stealing, for all I know.”
he snorts, turning back to the pipe.
“yeah, im gonna steal an old tractor and a pile’a hay. that’ll really set me up for life.”
“you’ve got the attitude for it.” you shoot back.
eren doesn’t respond right away, just reaches into his toolbox and pulls out a wrench, testing the pipe with a faint metallic screech. you take the opportunity to wander further into the barn, your bare legs brushing against the dust-speckled air, the smell of earth and old wood thick in your nose.
“don’t distract me.” he mutters after a moment, though there’s no real heat in it.
“distract you from what?” you ask, looking over your shoulder at him.
“you seem like you know what you’re doing.”
“i do.” he replies quickly, then pauses to glance up at you again, that familiar edge of sarcasm tugging at his voice.
“but I don’t need you hovering over me like a supervisor.”
“im not hovering.” you say, wandering toward the ladder that leads up to the loft. You trail your fingers along a beam as you go, the wood rough and splintered beneath your touch.
“im just… observing.”
“observing me.” he corrects, the corner of his mouth twitching.
you shrug, tilting your head to look at him.
“maybe. you’re hard to figure out.”
“well… why are ya tryin’ t’figure me out?” he fires back, turning his full attention to you now. his gaze is sharp, but there’s something behind it. something curious, like he’s trying to pick you apart the same way you’re doing to him.
you hesitate, feeling your face heat up despite yourself.
“im just bored.”
“bored ?” eren repeats, his voice dry.
“well, sorry im not here to entertain you, princess.”
you bristle at the nickname, pushing off the beam to face him fully.
“will you quit calling me that?”
“what?” he says, smirking now. “does it bother you?”
“obviously.”
“good.” he huffs a quiet laugh under his breath, shaking his head as he goes back to the pipe, adjusting the wrench with a sharp twist. the muscles in his forearm flex with the movement, beads of sweat dripping from his body.
“you’re insufferable.” you mutter, rolling your eyes as you turn and start to climb the ladder to the loft. the wood creaks faintly under your hands and feet, but you ignore it, needing to put a little distance between you and him.
“where are you going?” he calls from below, sounding more amused than anything.
“away from you!” you shout back, hoisting yourself onto the loft and brushing the dust from your knees. the space is dim, beams of sunlight filtering through the slats in the walls, catching on cobwebs and hay strewn across the floor. you sink down near the edge, letting your legs dangle as you glance back down at him.
“don’t worry. i won’t distract you from all your hard work.”
eren glances up at you with a look that’s half exasperation, half something else. he stands, tossing the wrench back into his toolbox with a faint clatter.
“or you could just gone back in the house. you’re a real piece’a work, you know that?”
“you’re one to talk.” you shoot back, swinging your feet slightly.
“you act like you hate me, but you keep showing up.”
“i don’t hate you and i keep showing up for your folks, not you.” he mutters, scrubbing the back of his hand across his forehead as he looks away.
“you just talk too much.”
“and you’re just cranky.”
he lets out a soft laugh, one that seems to surprise even him. when he looks back at you, his expression is different, though it’s hard to tell in the dappled light of the barn.
“you don’t know anything about me.” he says finally, his voice quieter this time.
you tilt your head, studying the man below you.
“maybe not. but I know you’re not as bad as everyone says you are.”
eren stiffens slightly at that, his jaw ticking as he averts his gaze. for a moment, the only sound is the wind pressing against the barn, rattling the boards, and the distant hum of cicadas.
“you don’t know that either. and what about you, huh? showing’ up outta nowhere. bein’ as bossy as you are?” he says eventually, his tone flat.
“im a pretty good judge of character. and i used to live here. a lot changes in fifteen years.”
he scoffs, but there’s no real bite to it.
“you’re annoying.”
“and yet you’re still here.” you say, letting a smile creep onto your face.
the loft creaks beneath you, but you don’t think much of it at first. it’s old, worn by years of weight and weather, and the barn itself seems to hum with the memory of its age. eren is below, fiddling with his toolbox, muttering curses under his breath as he wrestles with some stubborn pipe or post. you’re perched on the edge of the loft, legs dangling as you watch him, not bothering to hide your smirk.
“you’re taking forever.” you tease, your voice carrying through the barn.
eren pauses, glancing up with an annoyed glare.
“if you think you can do it faster, darlin’ , be my guest.”
“oh, i didn’t say that.” you reply, leaning back with a huff of satisfaction.
“i’m just observing how inefficient you are.”
he mutters something under his breath, shaking his head, and you’re about to push his buttons again when the sharp sound of splintering wood freezes you. the beam beneath you gives a slow, aching groan. erens head shoots up, noticing the lift giving in right where you sat.
you don’t have time to react. the wood cracks loudly, shattering the stillness, and suddenly you’re falling.
it happens in a rush. your stomach lurching, air rushing past you, hands scrambling for anything to grab. you hit something solid but not the ground. the impact knocks the wind out of you, but there are arms around you, holding you tightly.
“jesus christ!” eren’s voice cuts through the chaos, sharp and alarmed. “are you stupid?”
your brain catches up slowly, heart still slamming against your ribs as you look up to find eren staring down at you. his face is just inches from yours, his arms wrapped firmly around you where he caught you before you could hit the floor.
“i—” you start to say, but the words catch in your throat.
eren lets out a breath, long and shaky, as he lowers you carefully to the barn floor. his hands linger at your sides, steadying you. “are you okay?”
you try to nod, but then you feel it. the sharp, searing pain radiating up your leg. you wince, shifting slightly, and his eyes dart downward.
“you’re hurt.” he says flatly.
“no, i’m fine,” you lie, but as soon as you move your leg, the pain worsens. you look down to see a gash along your shin, blood streaking your skin where the wood must have splintered against you.
eren notices immediately.
“shit-” he mutters, reaching for you before you can protest. “don’t move.”
“eren, i’m fine,” you insist, but your voice wavers when you try to put weight on your leg.
“yeah, sure you are,” he shoots back, already scooping you up before you can argue. his arms slide beneath your knees and back, lifting you effortlessly.
“stop squirming, unless you wanna make this worse.”
you freeze, stunned at the way he carries you, like you weigh nothing at all. his face is set, focused, though you swear you can see a flicker of concern beneath the irritation.
“you don’t have to carry me.” you mumble, feeling heat creep up your neck.
he doesn’t look at you. “and what, let you drag yourself back to the house? don’t be stupid. now imma have to fix up the loft.”
the walk back to the house feels longer than usual, the silence stretching between you save for the crunch of his boots against the dirt. you steal glances at him—at the way his brow furrows in concentration, at the way his arms flex slightly beneath your weight. his grip is careful, like he’s afraid of jostling you too much.
“you’re really dramatic, you know.” you say quietly, trying to lighten the mood.
eren snorts, glancing down at you with a raised brow.
“me? you’re the one who decided to fall through the damn barn.”
“it wasn’t a choice.” you mutter, pouting slightly.
“whatever you say, princess.”
he carries you through the front door like it’s nothing, kicking it open with his boot before setting you down gently on the couch. the shift makes you wince, and he notices, crouching beside you immediately.
“last door on the left, under the sink.”
“stay put.” he says, voice low but firm, before disappearing into the bathroom.
you sigh, leaning your head back against the cushions as the adrenaline starts to wear off, leaving behind nothing but the dull ache in your leg and the embarrassment settling deep in your chest.
when eren comes back, he’s holding the first aid kit and a damp towel. he drops onto the floor in front of you, his knees brushing the edge of the couch as he sets everything down.
“this might sting.” he warns, wetting the towel before carefully pressing it to your shin.
you hiss through your teeth, nails curling into the couch cushion. “you could be a little gentler, you know.”
“i am being gentle.” he says, though his tone lacks its usual bite. he works quickly, cleaning the blood and dirt from the scrape before carefully dabbing it dry.
you watch him quietly as he unwraps a roll of gauze, his movements surprisingly careful, his expression softer than you’ve seen before.
“you didn’t have to do all this.” you say softly.
eren doesn’t look up, focused on securing the bandage.
“yeah, well. you’re not exactly good at taking care of yourself.”
“is that your way of saying you care?”
he pauses for half a second, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. the look he gives you is unreadable, but there’s something there. something warm.
“just… don’t do anything stupid like that again.” he mutters, his gaze dropping back to the bandage.
you bite back a smile, watching as he finishes and sits back on his heels. his hands linger on your leg for a moment, testing to make sure the gauze is secure before he finally stands.
“thanks.” you say quietly, your voice soft.
eren just shrugs, grabbing the first aid kit and standing to his full height. “don’t mention it.”
you try to mimic his movements, grabbing onto the arm of the couch for support until the pain shoots you right back down. eren wastes no time meeting you at eye level again, frowing a little.
“you need to stay put. stop being so damn hardheaded, yn.”
“finally you use my name.” his eyes burn deep holes into yours, brown chunks of hair framing his face.
“eh. i still like princess.”
he pauses, just for a second, as if he’s considering something. then he turns, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath hitch.
“both are real pretty though.” he mutters, but his voice is quieter now, softer. there’s an edge of something else there, something that’s hard to place.
you feel your heart pick up, and before you can even process the thought, before you can even think to stop him, he’s closing the space between you. his hand comes to rest gently on the side of your face, and then, with surprising tenderness, he leans in. the kiss is slow, hesitant at first. just a brush of lips against yours. but it deepens quickly, and for a moment, it feels like time itself is holding its breath. maybe you were holding your breath. his hand curls around the back of your neck, and you instinctively lean into him, eyes fluttering shut as the warmth of his lips presses against yours, soft and urgent.
the kiss is over almost as soon as it started, and when he pulls back, his face is so close to yours that you can feel his breath on your skin. his eyes are dark, a little unsure, but there’s something raw there too.
“eren?” you whisper, breathless, unsure of what to say, what to do with the sudden surge of emotions.
he doesn’t speak at first, just looks at you like he’s trying to figure you out. his fingers linger against your skin for a second too long before he pulls away, stepping back.
“um, guess i’ll get going then.” he says, voice low, almost like he’s unsure of himself for the first time.
he basically rushes out the front door, leaving you with a bloody gauze pad wrapped around your shin and a sense of confusion.
-
the farmer’s market buzzes softly with life. the air smells of ripe peaches and freshly baked bread, and the sunlight filters through the trees, dappled and golden. you weave through the crowd, your basket swinging lightly on your arm, filled with a small loaf of sourdough and a jar of honey. it’s your favorite part of the week, wandering between the stalls, picking out produce and listening to the steady murmur of the townsfolk.
you’ve got a small crumpled list tucked into your hand: oat milk, a jar of honey, maybe some fresh greens, and you’re weaving your way through the market when you spot him. eren. he’s standing with a man you can only assume is his father. the resemblance is impossible to miss: the sharpness of the jawline, the same dark hair, though his father’s is streaked with gray, and the way they both carry themselves. quiet and a little standoffish. they’re posted at a vegetable stand, crates of carrots, onions, and cucumbers spread out before them. eren’s arms are crossed as he listens to something his father says, his brow furrowed like he’s only half paying attention.
something about the way eren glances around, almost restless, makes you hesitate. you watch for a beat longer, tucked slightly behind another booth, debating whether to approach. but then eren looks up, and his gaze lands on you. for a second, he’s still, his face unreadable. then his eyes shift slightly, narrowing, and it almost feels like he’s warning you.
you step forward anyway, hobbling a little on your sore leg.
“eren.” you say, your voice soft but steady. his name feels strangely loud against the background chatter, and both he and his father turn to look at you.
eren’s face tightens slightly, but he doesn’t look away. his father, on the other hand, gives you a long, slow once-over, his sharp green eyes cutting into you with a coolness that makes your chest tighten.
“who’s this?” his father asks, his tone mild but clipped, like the words have edges.
“yn, sir.” you offer quickly, stepping closer and giving him a polite smile.
“i’ve been staying with my grandparents for the spring. i’ve seen eren around, so i thought i’d introduce myself. he helps around a lot.”
you hold out your hand, but his father doesn’t take it. instead, he leans forward slightly, resting his forearms on the booth’s counter, his gaze steady and unwavering.
“introducing yr’self, huh?” he says, his voice light, almost amused, but there’s something underneath it, something just sharp enough to make your stomach flip.
“not many of the town folk bother to stop by our booth, let’lone introduce themselves. guess you must be curious.”
you pull your hand back awkwardly, your smile faltering as you glance at eren.
“i just thought it would be nice, sir. i apologize.” you reply, trying to keep your voice even.
“your vegetables do look great.”
his father lets out a soft huff of a laugh, barely more than an exhale.
“yeah, they do, don’t they? we put a lotta work into this land. more than most people around here would know.”
eren shifts beside him, his jaw tightening.
“dad.” he mutters under his breath, but his father doesn’t even glance at him.
“you stayin’ with the wrights?” his father asks, tilting his head slightly.
“figured. they’re good people, always minding their own business. shame not everyone in town does the same.”
you blink, the words settling in your chest like stones. there’s no malice in his tone, not directly, but the weight of them is unmistakable.
eren’s hand comes up to rub the back of his neck, his shoulders tense.
“she’s just trying to be nice.” he says, his voice low, almost resigned, like he knows it won’t make a difference.
his father finally straightens, dusting his hands off on his jeans.
“nice is fine-” he says, glancing at you again. “-but not everyone ‘round here is friendly as they seem. might be worth ‘membering.”
the air between you feels tight, uncomfortable, and you’re not entirely sure if his words are meant as advice or something closer to a warning. you force another smile, even though your face feels stiff, and take a small step back.
“well, it was nice meeting you.” you say, your voice a little quieter now.
“i’ll let you both get back to work.”
eren looks at you then, his lips pressing together like he wants to say something but can’t. his father, however, just gives you a small, curt nod.
“have a good day, darlin’.” he says, the words clipped and formal.
you turn quickly, your cheeks burning, and make your way back into the flow of the market. the cheerful voices and warm sunlight feel duller now, muted by the lingering tension.
it’s not until you’ve stopped by another stall, pretending to inspect a bunch of lavender, that you feel eren’s presence beside you. you glance up, and there he is, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his face pulled into a scowl.
“sorry about him.” he mutters, his voice low. “he’s… he’s just like that.”
you shrug, trying to act like it didn’t bother you, though the knot in your stomach hasn’t quite eased.
“it’s fine.” you say softly, but the look he gives you says he doesn’t believe you.
for a moment, neither of you speaks. the market swirls around you, full of life and sound, but between you, there’s only a quiet tension. finally, eren sighs, tilting his head toward the edge of the market.
“come on,” he says. “let’s get out of here.”
-
you’ve learned to move quietly, to slip through the back door of the house when no one’s looking, to meet him at the edge of the woods by the lake when the sun has set and the stars are just beginning to prick the sky. everything feels like it’s wrapped in silence, soft and secretive. even the air between you seems charged with something unspoken, something thrilling. for two weeks.
he was addictive.
soft whispers under your large quilts as his lips traced kisses from your neck to lips. engulfing you in a warm embrace. wind blowing through the windows he snuck into.
he loved seeing you drive past him casually in your truck while picking up groceries for your grandmother. watching your hair whip in the wind and the low hum of the trucks engine passing by.
when you and him sat in his living room, playing with the golden lab he named ‘scout’ when he was four. your fingers comb through his mane, tilting your face upwards to avoid from being licked by the drooling animal.
whenever your grandparents gave him yet another daunting task around the farm, he’d watch as your sprawled out in a bikini. sipping the sweet tea, beach hat shading your face. watching as the droplets of water dripped down your chest. he’d hate to admit how many times he’s almost nailed his hands to the barn.
“you okay over there?” your arm, half up in a wave, drawling his attention from your new position. you lay on your chest, slowly pulling at the strings holding your top up. letting them dangle off the side of the chair, you slide the waistline of your bottoms down a little.
“eren! why don’t you come have some lemonade with me?”
you were driving him nuts.
he loved how lively you would get after spending the afternoons in a tiny, quaint bar located on the outskirts of town.
the drives back usually consisting of you halfway out the passenger window, eyes gazing up at the sky as you took advantage of the open landscape. eren would watch you intensely, eyes bouncing from the road back to you.
pulling into erens dirty path driveway, he pulls your body across the long front seat, carefully tucking his arms under your knees and around your back.
“im not drunkk!” you whine, face buried into the crook of the man’s neck while he places you down softly on the dark leather couch. closing his front door, his hand runs through his brown locs with an exasperated sigh.
“you need to sober up so i can take you home, yn. i ain’t trynna deal with a angry mob of old church people.” his height blinds out everything in your path as he stands over you. his large hands cup your face gently.
“boy im grown, come here.” you whisper, pulling him down by the forearm, eyes never leaving his. green eye flicker from your eyes to your glossed lips. your essence was like a gravitational pull.
lips locked onto one another, you can’t help but to notice he much softer his lips have gotten.
“you been exfoliating?”
“i’on know what that is, shut up and kiss me.”
it was hungry. borderline filthy the way his hands rubbed you down slowly. caressing the dips of your waist, cold jewelry slides across your stomach, hitching your breath. the tank top you wore stood no chance. brown nipples poking through the sheer cotton fabric.
hes smiling. feeling his hands roam you so freely. he couldn’t help but to take his thumbs and pointer fingers, slipping them into his mouth and out with a quick pop! going back under your shirt, he takes your perky buds in between his fingers, rolling them slowly as the rest of his hands cup your breast.
“oh! eren- oh my god.”
his lips pepper kisses all over your exposed skin, nipping at spots before kissing over the pain. hands roam down to your thighs, giving them tight grips before sliding down the couch.
eyes latched onto each other, you can’t help but to whine.
“please eren.”
this was the first time in years you’ve felt this strong of an attraction towards someone else. crazy for it to be eren of all people.
“please, what?” he’s slowly tugging at the drawstrings of the shorts you wore. eyes locked on you with a burning passion. sitting up against the arm of the couch, your shorts make it to the other side of the room.
your jaw is wide , eren hissing when you tug at his long brown locks. the moment he’s sliding his middle fingers into your burning core, stretching you open as his thumb slowly teases your clit. his body proceeding lower, all you can feel is slight gust of air hitting your cunt. his lips wrap gently around the swollen bud, sucking agonizingly slow, saliva and slick stick to the man’s face. he hums into your taste, wrapping his arms around the base of your thighs. he laid fully out on the couch.
instantly, you’re falling apart. moans breaking out in short whimpers and high gasps, grinding into his palm and nose. feeling his tongue slip inside your clenching hole, only to add two of his slender fingers.
his fingers scissor up into your throbbing cunt, hitting your sweet spot.
“babyy” you whimper, barely able to get anything out with the man’s face devouring you below. eyes closed in euphoria and concentration. hands interlocked into his head full of hair, your moans grow louder.
“doin’ such a good fuckin’ job, princess.”
feeling how he used his thumbs to spread open your pussy, using his tongue to penetrate your clenching hole. his tongue dips into you, coating his tongue in your cum, before coming back out and circling your swollen bud. the repetitive sensation sends you into a fit of louder moans, enticing the man to keep going.
“oh! ba- fu,fuck eren! im fucking c-“ the pressure builds, coiling tighter in your abdomen until you can't hold back anymore. not even when you’re cumming all over the man’s face, does he stop. he wants more now. he needs more.
from the first day he saw you out by the water, he knew he wanted you for himself. he watched the way you interacted with the townsfolk and farm animals. how sexy you were effortlessly. walking around your grandparents farm with nothing but a bikini on and practically see through shorts.
he hated to see other men in town look at you. the way the old, decrepit men would sit in the farmers markets and watch you browse around. whispering to each other while you naively chose your fruits and vegetables.
he didn’t want to share you with anyone.
his body jolts to a standing position, with ease he’s dipping down to pick you up off the couch. a large wet spot decorated the leather where you lie. he’s carrying you over his shoulder down the narrow hallway of the house.
“where we goin’?” you ask, eyes low and hazy.
you make it to the well decorated room. posters and band prints scattered on the wall , a radio sat in the corner, humming random songs from the station eren left it on. his bed was royal blue and well kept.
that was until you were being pounded into the bed.
you nails grip for anything they can reach. digging straight into the bed set, while his throbbing cock dips in and out of you. he has your right leg thrown over his shoulder, hands pinned to your waist as he draws out. face twisting in pleasure. his dick coated in the slippery substance, a faint white line forming the base of his cock as he moves in and out of you repeatedly .
“makin’ such a mess on me. pretty fuckin girl.”
he waste no time, throwing your other leg over his shoulder, locking you in as he quickens his pace. shallow breaths escape his mouth, eyes locked in concentration. you’re stuck with your mouth in an -o- shape as the man pounds you relentlessly. with a swift pull out, he taps against your side.
“on your knees, princess.”
on all fours, he wastes no time reinserting himself, bottoming out while his nails dig into the supple skin on your waist. the sound of skin slapping together and the wet squelches of your abused cunt bounce off the walls, filling your ears.
“i’ve wanted you for so long, you’re so good to me- fuck!”
the more your honey coated words fall from your lips, the more the man wants to ruin you. he wants to see you beg for him. he needed to have it.
pulling your arms from under you, he pins them to your back, locking you in an unforgiving arch. he feeds you slow, agonizing pleasing, strokes. loved watching the way your pussy desperately gripped around him as he pulled out.
trying your hardest to escape the abuse of your cervix, you try to pull away, only to receive a fire fueled spank on your ass.
“take this dick, baby. you had all that mouth ‘member? you can do it, i know ya can.”
his pace quickens, yearning for your release. the only thing you can form is small gasps of air as the man shows no mercy on your smaller frame.
“eren! oh shit- im cumming again ple-“
he releases your hands, using his free hand to rub at your clit as he continued fucking into you.
your body goes limp, clear liquid spewing out onto the man’s blankets. he flips you back over, eyes dark and full of hunger still.
“gimme just one more? please, honey. she just so good.”
folded into a middle split off the bed wasn’t something you ever thought you could do. yet here you were, on your back, eren standing in front of you, holding your legs apart.
his hips roll into yours, digging at your inside slowly. head tilted to the side, eyebrows furrowed and eyes low. your hands hold onto his muscular forearm, trying to keep grounded as the man was wearing you out.
with a few more thrust, he pulls out. long white ropes decorate his chest.
“you’re something special, yn.”
-
after your grandparents had gone into town for their usual errands, you find yourself at the edge of the lake, hidden in the soft embrace of the willow trees. the faint glow of fireflies flickers in the warm spring air, and the world feels still, like it’s holding its breath for what’s to come. eren’s there before you, waiting, leaning against a tree with a smile that always makes your stomach flip.
“thought you’d never show up,” he teases, his voice low and smooth, like it’s a secret only meant for you. his eyes flicker over you, and the corner of his mouth pulls into a crooked grin.
“you just like being dramatic,” you reply, though you can feel the flutter in your chest as you walk closer, the pull between you too strong to ignore.
he steps forward, closing the space between you, and before you can say anything else, his lips are on yours. quick, soft, the kind of kiss that leaves you breathless. it’s always like this, quick, a rush of feeling that neither of you can seem to contain. he pulls away just as quickly, his forehead resting against yours, breath mingling with yours in the cool night air.
“you’re insane.” you whisper, though you can’t hide the smile tugging at the corners of your lips.
he grins, taking your hand and guiding you down the worn path toward the lake. the grass brushes against your bare legs, soft and cool under the fading light. the blanket he’s spread out by the water is a patchwork of colors. faded reds and yellows that look almost too bright against the darkening sky.
you settle down beside him, the scent of wildflowers heavy in the air. the lake reflects the dimming stars, the quiet ripples in the water mirroring the racing of your heart.
“y’know. ive been havin’ a lot of fun with you.” he playfully nudges your body, rocking you to the side.
“i know. imma miss you, country boy.” the fake southern accent rolled off your tongue sarcastically. although the tone was funny, something about erens aura shifted.
“what’s up? why’ve you gone all quiet?” you ask, eyes fixated on the male. the moonlight illuminated his face, exposing every freckle, unshaven parts of his face, and his eyes locked onto yours.
“i jus’ really don’t wanna let you go, princess.”
“don’t go all sappy on me now. i’ll visit when i can, you know that right?” he just nods, taking a drink of the beer he had before your arrival. the air was thick and warm, your knees pressed together, watching the water reflect the bedazzled night sky as eren just shuffles in his spot.
“yn, promise ya wont forget me?”
“eren-“ you try to stop the conversation before it happens. instead ending up in a tight hug from the man. his arms latch around your waist, head resting over your shoulder.
“im serious, yn. i ain’t ever felt this way for nobody.” pulling away, all you can see is his bright green eyes burning into yours.
“how could i ever?”
you lean in, your free hand brushing against his jaw as you kiss him. it’s slow, deliberate, and familiar, yet it feels new in the way it sends warmth flooding through you.
his hand comes up to cup the back of your neck, his touch firm but gentle as he deepens the kiss, like he’s trying to hold onto the moment for as long as he can. the world around you fades. the quiet lap of the water against the shore, the soft hum of the crickets. until there’s nothing but him.
when you finally pull back, your foreheads rest together, your breaths mingling in the cool night air. eren’s thumb brushes over the curve of your jaw, and his lips curl into a small, almost sheepish smile.
do you have any romance-y ao3 fic recommendations? i’ve been starving for some, but i don’t have anything to fixate on :( what’s been your recent or all time favs? :D
hii nonnie my baby! ❤︎ ooh, ao3 you say >.< hmm, i can’t say that i read much on there . . . but i do have one really amazing rec if you’re into attack on titan! specifically eren / jean, bc this series is a good amount of both of em! ‘ the boys at work ’ is the yummiest angst/fluff/smut series i’ve everrrr read on ao3!!! the erejean aspect makes it even better imo . it genuinely made the whole month of march for me LOL ! i rlly wish i could recommend more, but most of my reading & writing takes place here on good ol tumblr hehe :3 hopefully you’re able to enjoy TBAW, and i truly hope you find more gems on that site! good thing is they have plenty 🎀
Reiner Braun loves hitting it from the back so he can see your curls bounce
Fingernails digging into your hips, Reiner slammed back into you from behind, watching your ass bounce against his hips– and, more importantly, your curls bounce against your upper back.
Reiner absolutely adored your curls. Whenever you would cuddle, he would twist your curls around his fingers, watching them spring back to normal once he let go.
Despite your protests and complaints about how he would cause frizz, Reiner didn’t stop. Your hair mesmerized him.
But above all, his favorite thing is getting to watch your curls bounce and splay around your shoulders whenever he fucks you from behind. In fact, it’s grown to be his favorite position purely because of your hair.
“Reinerrr…” you groaned, arms sore and tired from holding your lower half up in the air for him for so long.
He kept his brutal pace, fat tip hitting deep inside you with every thrust. Reiner had to hold himself back from reaching out to play with your curls mid-act. Watching them just wasn’t enough.
“So beautiful,” he whispered, breathing growing ragged and thrust becoming slower, “so fucking beautiful.”
Reiner slid one hand down to your pussy, rubbing your clit in gentle circles to make up for his slowed pace. He would drag his cock back out slow, and then slam back into without warning just to watch your hair bounce.
“O-oh god, Rei- nghhh I’m gonna cum!” Whimpers becoming pathetically loud, the coil in your tummy snapped, sending your orgasm crashing over you.
Reiner hissed, pulling out, giving his dick a few strokes before shooting a hot load of cum onto your lower back.
“I hope that didn’t get in my hair,” you mumbled, relaxing from your bent position, asleep arms finally coming back to life.
“I would never. Don’t you trust me not to mess with those perfect curls?” Reiner wiped your back off with a tissue off the nightstand, tossing it. He pulled you to his side, strong arms holding you close.
“I guess,” you murmured, voice muffled from your face in his chest. Reiner chuckled, already starting to play with your curls again, not stopping until you both fell asleep.
Finally wrote something specifically applicable to myself… I definitely enjoyed it.
here I present, what I like to call my ‘ 𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉𝒾𝓃ℊ 𝑜𝒷𝒿ℯ𝒸𝓉𝒾𝓋ℯ! ’ to all the angels who stay tuned into my works, I notice the love and I truly adore yall more than anything 🤍 which is why I wanted to give you lovelies a glimpse of the major fics I wish to complete! other fics, drabbles, & asks will be written in the meantime; these are just what I plan to be the main pieces of the summer! sift through if you wanna know exactly what to expect from me for the next couple of weeks! 𐔌՞ ܸ.ˬ.ܸ՞𐦯 & here are my current works if you’re in a reading mood! a fresh WIP list will drop next season — see you again in autumn! ❤︎
𝒯𝑅𝐼𝒩𝐸.ᐟ ⸻ ft. eren jäeger & getō suguru.
𝒮𝑌𝒩𝒪𝒫𝒮𝐼𝒮 ⨾ your enamored boyfriends are in the mood to spoil you. ( wip post here! )
𝐻𝒪𝑁𝐸.ᐟ ⸻ ft. eren jäeger.
𝒮𝒴𝒩𝒪𝒫𝒮𝐼𝒮 ⨾ learning a new language can be difficult. lucky for you, eren’s quite the attentive teacher. ( wip post here! )
𝒯𝐻𝐸 𝒦𝒩𝒪𝒲𝐼𝒩𝐺.ᐟ ⸻ ft. eren jäeger & reiner braun.
𝒮𝒴𝒩𝒪𝒫𝒮𝐼𝒮 ⨾ everyone thinks getting a concussion drove eren crazy, and they couldn’t be more than wrong. the only thing that came from cracking his skull open was absolute clarity. he finally knows exactly what he wants — eren wants to get cucked. ( wip post here! )
𝐻𝐸𝒜𝑅𝑇𝐻.ᐟ ⸻ ft. adrian ‘ alucard ’ țepeș. ( JUNE.27TH )
𝓐 𝓑𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝓢𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋! ❤︎ 𝒮𝒴𝒩𝒪𝒫𝒮𝐼𝒮 ⨾ you’re caught amidst a blizzard, forcing you and adrian to crash at an abandoned cottage for the night. although you’re snowed in, you’ve got your husband to keep you warm. ( wip post here! )
𝒵𝐸𝒜𝐿.ᐟ ⸻ ft. eren jäeger.
𝒮𝒴𝒩𝒪𝒫𝒮𝐼𝒮 ⨾ eren knows he’s a good driver. a little fast, sure, but smooth turns, steady hands, no bumps. everyone who rides with him says the same thing. so why is it that whenever you climb into the passenger seat, he suddenly forgets how to keep his eyes on the road? ( wip post here! )
𝐸𝒩𝐷𝒵𝒪𝒩𝐸.ᐟ ⸻ ft. reiner braun. ( AUG.1ST )
𝓐 𝓑𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝓢𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋! ❤︎ 𝒮𝒴𝒩𝒪𝒫𝒮𝐼𝒮 ⨾ reiner and his football team, ‘the marleyan warriors’, are gearing up for their final game of the season. to prepare, he’s undergoing rigorous training, sticking to strict diets, and adhering to a no-sex policy . . . that last rule might just be the death of him. ( wip post here! )
soon to be updated with complete works! stay tuned, my angels ❤︎
𝒮𝑌𝒩𝒪𝒫𝒮𝐼𝒮 ⨾ no matter how vast his patience, you always manage to find the end of it. but suguru has the sweetest way of breaking a brat.
𝒞𝒪𝒩𝒯𝒜𝐼𝒩𝒮 ⨾ ( 3.5k+ ) words of . . . nsfw, getō suguru x bratty!reader ( hyperfeminine & black coded ), curse-free au, set in modern japan ( may 2018 ), established relationship, size difference, soft dom / brat tamer sugu ( the duality of man lol ), mentions of cunnilingus & fingering, light slapping / clit slapping, folded missionary, tummy bulge, mating press, overstimulation, eventual creampie, use of pet names ( e.g. papa, baby, sweetness, princess, etc. ), explicit language, lowercase intended, minors shoo!
𝓂𝓎 𝓁ℴ𝓋ℯ 𝓁ℯ𝓉𝓉ℯ𝓇.ᐟ ⸻ at long last, i’m posting my first suguru fic ever >.< my love, my muse, my gorgeous male wife!!! i think about this man relentlessly, and the best way to channel it is by pouring my heart into this nasty little piece of work for him (♡ˊ͈ ꒳ ˋ͈) this is only the beginning of many more getō fics to come! now please enjoy, and thank you so much for reading! ❤︎
𝐼𝒩𝒮𝑃𝒪 𝑇𝑅𝒜𝒞𝒦.ᐟ ⨾ sell me candy, rihanna ⨾ right and a wrong way, keith sweat ⨾ whatever you want, tony! toni! toné! ⨾ the town, the weeknd
getō suguru’s universe begins and ends with his princess — his sole, decadent fixation. for him, breathing is simply a rhythm meant to keep him alive long enough to spoil you. he moves through the world guided by one sweet, all-consuming obsession: you.
his absolute conviction is that his entire existence was designed to anticipate and deliver your every need — like how he instinctively knows when your spirit yearns to be held, protected . . . or pleased.
there’s this warm gravity in the way he gathers you in his arms; all thick and firm and devastatingly strong. every peak of muscle is concealed beneath the loose, baggy knit of his oversized sweater as his forearms fold completely around your middle.
suguru catches onto all of it, tracking every unvoiced desire that passes through your mind — the way you want your pillowy lips kissed, your waist caressed, your ass grabbed and kneaded in his big, wide palms. it’s all confessed in how you adorably shift, wordlessly nuzzling further into the crevice of his solid chest. he smells of rich sandalwood, smoky traditional incense, and the dewdrops of light spring rain.
it’s an all-day, everyday luxury, being loved by a man who predicts your every want. whenever you ramble about needing a new piece for your wardrobe, he listens with a quiet, indulgent smile before grabbing his keys to start the car for the mall. the very second the quiet rumble of your stomach catches his attention, he’s already drifting into the kitchen, gathering ingredients to whip up a rich, creamy bowl of your favorite white pasta.
he’s the truest provider, down to the very marrow of his bones. even when — especially when — ovulation turns into a throbbing, unbearable ache, and you find yourself craving him more than you can possibly bear, he never fails to take perfect care of you.
suguru stretches you out, sliding in with the circumference of two thick fingers that move in a slow, sweetly maddening deliberation. the sensation builds until he dives and buries his pretty face between your plush thighs, suckling tenderly while you gasp out shakily strung syllables that are meant to shape his name.
but filling you up with sweetness only makes you reckless, turning your soft satisfaction into attitude, entitlement, appetite — until you completely forget where his indulgence ends and his authority begins.
that’s why, even with such a patient, nurturing heart, suguru can be so, so mean when he chooses to be. or perhaps, it’s just that you’re . . . too fucking brattish.
it’s an addictive cycle, the way you endlessly push your luck — becoming greedy with what he gives, cumming without permission, and breathlessly demanding more. he knows exactly when that lack of inhibition needs to be nipped in the bud, and he’s never afraid to resort to a little discipline. suguru loves to spoil you, but he thrives just as much on absolute control.
the second you get too pushy, you show him that he’s spoiled his princess far too much. it’s a rather advantageous mistake, because the sudden, smoky flash of deep indigo in his narrow eyes tells you he’s more than ready to remind you exactly who you belong to. his sweet affection shifts instantly into something darker, so thick and inescapable. he never raises his voice, no — he simply needs to apply the right amount of unyielding pressure:
and it comes in the form of a mean tug at the pretty spirals of your curls. his thick fingers entwine with the pattern, mercilessly tilting your head back to claim your mouth in a deep, bruising kiss, swapping spit until your defiance melts completely on your tongue.
“you're getting a little too bratty for your own good, sweetheart,” he hums against your swollen lips, tugging a little harder on the bunched root at the soft texture of your hair with one large hand, while the other moves up to meltingly squeeze your puffed, pouting cheeks.
to that, you whine, peering up at him from the helpless angle he’s got your head tilted in. your vision swims with nothing but him, imposing and broad like that of a dark-winged angel. you’re quick to try and refute him, tapered pearly-pink nails sinking desperately into the thick, dense meat of his biceps.
“mmph, shuguru! —am not!”
“you are.”
the heavy warmth of his palm meets your cheek in a firm, deliberate pat — a sudden reminder of who you belong to. it isn't meant to hurt, it never is, but it’s just enough to shock the breath right out of your lungs. a delicious pulse instantly rushes straight to your pooling cunt, leaving you with shifting thighs and an aching throb.
“just . . . listen to me.” he watches with a low, satisfied hum as your big, glimmering pupils instantly dilate from the impact, before his large thumb sweeps slowly over your skin to stroke the very cheek he just pawed.
“open up.” suguru claims you without warning, his mouth dropping back down to steep your lips in a deep, wet, melting lock. the slather of his pink muscle slides heavily between them, effortlessly parting you to pry out every ounce of your sweetness. he tongues you open and swallows your mindless sounds, absorbing every sugary, breathless whimper like this one kiss is his most prized indulgence.
when you finally break away in search of oxygen and he leans in to lick after you, a thin, glistening thread of spit lingers between your lips, stretching and snapping as he shifts his broad frame over yours.
suguru follows up with a deft, slow yank, peeling down your gossamer-thin, cotton-candy pink leggings; exposing the lush, supple curve of your round butt to the heavy warmth of his large palm. it connects with a resounding smack, one that brings about his serene, pearly grin, followed by a couple of firm, melting slaps directly over the wettening spot of your mesh, frill-adorned panties whenever you start to writhe too much for his liking.
“keep still for sugu. m’kay, princess?” he murmurs sweetly against your neck, keeping your clothed, needy clit entirely trapped beneath the relentless patter of the thick span of his splayed fingers. he lingers there for a torturous second, letting the friction build a warm, melting pool that completely soaks into your panties. every sweet tap of contact sends a sharp yet delicious ache straight to your core, holding you entirely captive until the exact moment he abandons all that remains of his faux restraint — he doesn’t like it when you call it that. though, you know he’ll end up devouring you regardless.
with an eager, breathless haste, he strips away the last of your barriers — the threaded seam of your creamy-pink camisole, your lacy little panties, his dense fall sweater — until not a thing remains. his irises, dark and orchid-purple, melt into a sweet softness as they drink in every rich, delectable bare curve of your warm brown skin. he scoops you into the comforting span of his steady hands, savoring how incredibly soft and perfectly molded you feel against him.
suguru dips low, lower, until the inky silk of his long black hair spills free from its loose half-bun; cascading over his broad shoulders as he bends his head to bury himself in the crook of your neck. the fine, glossy midnight strands drape down like a cool wave against your feverish skin, tickling mercilessly against the sensitive line of your exposed jugular.
he then languidly takes hold of himself, fingers gliding with every stroke to the base, groaning lowly at his own lazy touch. you let out a soft, appreciative mewl as you watch him. the heavy, teasing tap of the crown of his bobbing cock is dropped right over your pearly bud. warmth and slick spreads he rests the weighty underside upon your clit, even as it pulses for him.
“mm, you're so beautiful, baby . . . let papa look at you,” he gives you the calm flash of his slow, familiarly cattish smile, “i wanna take care of every little thing you need.”
with a final, bone-deep push, suguru delivers a sweeping thrust that melts right through you, driving all the way to your sticky hilt. he tilts his strong hips at just the right angle, plunging deeper into your squelching walls. a saccharine, breathless sound escapes you once he’s successfully filled every last inch of you with dick. stretched so nicely by the intrusion, you rake your precisely filed french tips down the cream-smooth expanse of his broad back.
he settles inside your warmth and rests perfectly still, cock throbbing softly while your trembling thighs bracket the tapered slope of his waist. his sharp violet eyes roll back at the delicious, fluttering squeeze you make around the girth of him.
“mm, s-suguruuu,” a syrupy plea drips from you, knowing he drinks up the sweet sound of your begging. “p—please move, papa . . . you promised you’d make me cum—”
“god, i spoil you too much.” a heavy, almost helpless sigh breaks out of him just before he surrenders completely to your successful pleading. he intended to discipline you, he truly did — but when you're underneath him like this, pussy wrapping around his cock so deliciously tight, staring up at him with expectant glossy eyes and milky-pink gloss-pouted lips, your breasts swaying as your chest heaves from the lingering burn of having to swallow every thick inch of him . . . getō can no longer help himself.
and so, he establishes a relentless rhythm that steals the breath straight from your lungs. every firm drive of his hips echoes densely throughout the atmosphere, like that of a warm heartbeat thump, thump, thumping hard enough to dissolve you entirely against the soft fibres of the cottony futon.
“oh, s-suguru, you're sooo — fucking big,” you coo against the strained cords of his neck, peering down through tear-blurred lashes to watch the thick, heavy shape of him moving so visibly against the pudge of your lower belly. “mmfuck, you feel so good, it's so much . . . l—look, papa, you’re making a mess of meee . . .”
an intoxicating shade of midnight floods his violet eyes, smogged into a blown-out haze of amethyst. tracking your tear-blurred gaze, getō doesn't only look — he reaches down with a heavy, calloused hand, pressing its warmth onto your skin until the width of it covers your stomach, his broad palm flattening right against the thick swell of his own intrusion moving beneath his fingers.
“fuck. fuck, baby . . .” suguru rasps, a gravelly vibration that rolls from the depths of his chest straight against the delicate clavicle of your collarbone. his fingers splay wide, mapping out the delicious way your skin stretches to accommodate him.
“look how deep I am inside you . . .” his thumb traces the distinct swell under your skin. “I can feel it — god, I can feel it. you’re taking every inch of me so well, sweetness . . .”
irregardless to his sugary words of praise, suguru is malicious in the way that he doesn’t allow you even a mere second to gather your breath before his hips tilt sharply, plunging into you with a new, utterly ruthless tempo. such a shoving grind has the swell of his twitching balls pressed completely flush at your helplessly tight pussy until he’s bottomed out against the dripping hole of your slit.
the sheer friction of him sliding all the way in makes your mind fracture into pure, sizzling white noise. his large hands move from your stomach to grip around the soft span your full thighs, bruisingly tight, pinning them right back against your chest to open you up even wider, forcing you into a position where you have no choice but to take him to the absolute hilt as he pounds you sore.
“you want me to fill you up? hmm, sweetness?” he murmurs, his voice a velvety, breathless growl that bleeds straight into your lips as his hair-dusted pelvis knocks against your sensitive bud. his fingers creep down to rub at it, quick and pressured just the way you like, and he revels in the sweet pitch of your feeble scream. “then stay just like this for me. don’t you dare run from it."
the heavy grind of his hips dissolves into a dizzying, frantic pace, the wet friction of your bodies meeting echoing ever so lewdly through the otherwise quiet room as the white quilt of his floor-mattress bunches up beneath you. getō’s chest heaves, his firm peaked nipples brushing the pebbling nerves of your own sensitive ones, breasts full and smushed against the solid wall of him; no matter how your body instinctively flinches from the intensity of the feeling.
he finds sanctuary in the soft slope of your neck, burying his face into the crook of it; inhaling the sweet, sweat-slick scent of your kiss-peppered skin. he can feel the impending pleasure wash over you — your writhing body gradually tensing to a tight, trembling coil beneath the sheet of his own weight.
“sugu—ah, s-suguru, i’m gonna . . !” you cry out, and the fractured wail shoots straight to his aching cock as he fucks you through the approaching high of it. you claw blindly at his broad shoulders, leaving shallow crescents in the smooth skin while your vision spots into a teetering suguru-shaped blur.
the rhythm grows unrefined as his thrusts turn heavier, sloppier, sliding with a slick, heavy nudge of his fat mauve tip to your tender cervix that completely overstimulates your senses. every wet, desperate push into your gushing cunt sparks a current of blinding electricity straight to the nerve-endings of your poor little cockdrunk brain.
your legs tremble uncontrollably where he’s got them pushed up as you drown in the splitting fullness of him. one more pound is enough. a broken, pitched wail is pulled straight from your lungs as your release finally hits — a sweet, crashing wave of a climax that ripples through every nerve of your strung body.
“mm—oh! ohhh, god, suguru,” a futile sob escapes you, your breath coming in shallow, desperate hitches; all as your sadist of a boyfriend eases his full, calculated weight down upon you. he keeps the flat of his palms pressed firmly against the backs of your thighs, ensuring your tautly folded legs remain secure at your buzzing-hot ears as you gaze up at the ethereal sight of him.
“gonna cum, princess,” he grits out a low, strained warning. you brace yourself for the splash of a thick load, eager for the warmth of his seed to claim you completely from the inside out; instead, amidst the blended haze of your orgasm and anticipation alike — suguru pulls out, drawing back enough to jerk his hard cock in an open palm, swirling hastily over the tip until thick ribbons of his cum spurt onto your soft breasts, trembling abdomen and spread thighs — everywhere except for the one place you wanted him.
“suguruuu . . .” you whine, tears threatening to spill over your damp lashline. “w—why’d you pull out?” your sniffle almost has him regret it. “wanted you to fill me up s-so bad . . ugh, you’re always so mean to me . . .” you continue to whimper, cry, ball up your fists to thwack against his chest, all of the above — all the while asking how he could be so, so, mean.
getō strokes himself casually, his eyes dark as he watches you tremble on the futon. “mean, huh?” he echoes in amusement. the audacious man kneeling before you can only bring himself to laugh. peering down through his long black hair, his voice drops to a velvety rasp.
“I was nice enough to let you cum.” he murmurs, stroking down his throbbing shaft before lining the head of his cock with your terribly empty hole. he groans at the sight of you, spread and dripping for him, all as he readies himself to push right back inside your welcoming embrace.
“maybe you’ll earn mine, sweet girl. only if you’re good this time.”
a breathless hiss escapes him the exact second he reunites with the sweet constriction of your walls; the snug intensity of your cunt hugging every pulsing inch of him without even the grace of a mere refractory period.
there’s absolutely no downtime to save either of you from your ebbing orgasms — not when suguru drags you right into another staggering round that leaves both of your bodies trembling uncontrollably. it's pure, mutual overstimulation from the very first sink he made back into you, and he was more than aware that every movement after would be unbearable.
his sculpted, porcelain body shudders violently against yours, his breath coming in ragged grunts into the soft, damp, curling edges of your woven hair. broken sounds draw from your lips, and his residual cum spattered onto your chest smears beneath your dainty hands as you knead your own boobs restlessly, head thrown back while you shake beneath him. suguru trembles with every thrust, rendered just as undone, because he knows damn well that neither one of you are bound to last any more than the next few seconds that follow.
“c—can’t . . nooo, sugu — i can’t t-take it,”
catching wind of you mewling his name so sweetly is what brings him to the absolute brink. getō, in all his entirety, goes completely rigid, the muscles in his broad back locking up like stone as he delivers one, two, three more deep, devastating thrusts that bottom out entirely against the seam of your sopping pussy, stretching you so beautifully that the airiest moan is pulled straight from the depths your lungs.
trapping you beneath the magnificent alabaster of his firm chest, his strong arms, his encompassing love, he pins your writhing hips hard against his own, binding you to him; all while the very universe narrows down to the sweet, awaited moment he finally groans your name aloud and spills over inside of you.
“hold it for me,” he gasps against your sweat-warmed skin, his voice a ruined, trembling whisper as his pulse drums erratically within the hollow canal his gauged ears. he catches hold of your face once more, wearily squeezing your cheeks between the large pads of his fingers as to press your lips into the perfect, sugar-pouted shape for him to kiss.
a low groan is pulled from him as his mouth slants over yours, grinding his hips deep and fucking you full of his warm, syrupy cum with every slick, desperate suck and lick made against your tongue.
"look at me, baby . . gave you what y’wanted — hnngh, t-take it all, right now . . .”
he said you’d have to be good — yet you know deep down in your heart that your desperate, messy whining didn't earn a single thing. you were completely, entirely bad for him. crying and twisting beneath his weight, begging to milk him until he gave into you. but the truth's as simple as the act of sex itself:
at the end of the day, no matter how spoiled you are or how hard he tries to punish you, your boyfriend simply can’t bring himself to deny his princess, his sweet baby — his spoiled, little brat.
