Tony Stark x Male reader
Requested? yes/no
Warnings: none
Intended reader:Â Male Reader/Female reader
Parts: One
đĄđđđď¸
âWhat do you get a billionaire who can literally buy anything?â you muttered aloud, sprawled upside down on the living room couch, tail flicking over the armrest, head dangling off the cushion like you were hoping blood rushing to your brain would help.
FRIDAY, ever so politely, answered: âI have compiled a list of unique objects Mr. Stark does not currently own, including a signed first edition of War of the Worlds, a rare meteorite sample from the asteroid belt, and a 16th-century automaton clock with working armor mechanicsââ
âToo expensive,â you groaned. âToo... Tony. Iâm trying to do something I can give him. Something from me, not my debit card.â
ââŚUnderstood.â
You appreciated her attempt. You really did. But in the end, your squirrel brain defaulted to what you knew: crafts. Messy hands. Paint that wouldn't wash off. Sentimental nonsense that made people sniffle and clutch things to their chests.
You bought a tiny golden locket shaped like a heart. You hand-painted it to look like Tonyâs arc reactorâtiny glowing center, brushed steel edges, and those little cobalt energy nodes he always ranted about optimizing. Inside, you put two pictures: one of him laughing with his head thrown back (the rare, real kind), and one of the two of you, tangled up on the couch, your tail curled around his arm like it belonged there.
It was small. It was cheesy. But it was yours.
Dinner was⌠extravagant, because of course it was. Tony had rented out the rooftop of a downtown restaurant, complete with string lights, music, and food that looked more like art than nourishment. You dressed up. He did too. And it was beautiful. Perfect, even.
But stillâyou fidgeted with the little black box in your pocket the entire night.
Finally, when dessert came out (and Tony was halfway through monologuing about molecular gastronomy and passion fruit foam), you gently slid the box across the table to him.
âWhatâs this?â he asked, eyebrows quirked, but already smiling.
âJustâŚâ You scratched the back of your neck. âSomething small. I know itâs notâlikeâvintage Italian tech or a Stark Industries stock portfolio or whatever. I wanted to do something good, yâknow? Something you couldnât buy. But this was all I could think of.â
You shrugged, looking a little too intently at your spoon.
Tony opened the box.
The locket stared back at him. His arc reactor. A symbol of the thing that kept him alive and tied him to every part of who he was. And insideâhis face. Your face. A quiet, tiny thing. Warm and human and handmade.
You didnât look up until you heard him exhale softly, like all the wind had left his lungs. When you finally met his eyes, he was staring at the locket like it had knocked something loose in him.
âI, uh,â you said, voice softening. âIâm sorry I couldnât figure out anything better.â
Tony looked at you like you were absolutely out of your mind.
âBetter?â he said, voice rougher than it had been all night. âYou painted my arc reactor on a locket, and gave it a brain and a heartâliterally. You gave me us in a piece of gold. Better? Sweets, I donât think I could build something that good.â
You blinked. âWait, really?â
He stood up, walked around the table, pulled you to your feet by the hands and kissed your forehead.
âYou made this with your own hands. Not a robot, not a credit card. Just you. Thatâs the one thing I donât already have.â
Then, with one hand still in yours, he opened the locket again and stared down at it, his voice soft.
âIâm gonna keep this next to my arc reactor at the tower. Right where my heart should be.â
You sniffled. Just a little. And when he noticed, he smirked.
âDonât cry or I will run through the streets with you like a Victorian bride if you make me feel any more things.â
âđ giving daryl dixon head (because itâs his turn)
any! pov x sub! daryl
warnings: smut, masochism, minors please dni
⥠ohhh boy he can barely handle it, like itâs almost overstimulating⌠heâs just so used to either nothing at all or his own rough, calloused hands yanking himself sore. So when you wrap around his leaky pink tip for the first time all wet, plump, velvety smooth.. he has a very religious experience to say the least. practically immediate tears welling up in his eyes as heâs tightly gripping whatever heâs sitting on, feeling his mind explode..
⥠poor baby is so SO vocal, i truly believe he would sound animalistic. he feels humiliated about it and it makes him tear up more but then your not even weirded out.. your being so sweet to him and popping off, lips still coated with a sheen of spit, whispering to him and caressing his knee with your thumb.. âitâs okay to feel good, daryl.â âbaby i love your music, kay?â âi think your so perfect just like this..â heâs lightheaded..
⥠he canât control his hips at all. heâs blushing so bad and heâs trying to cover up his face because he feels so dirty acting like this. you could be trying to go slow to reel him into the feeling of a wet mouth but his instincts take the wheel, bucking his long length in too fast making you gag a bit. he digs his nails into his palms or thighs to try and control himself but finds something different..
⥠daryl finds out that the bit of pain makes it feel better. he doesnât want to say anything about it but just groans softly, muttering a little apology about his actions. you continue and he just keeps the grip, keeps that little bit of pain as a crutch. heâs gritting his teeth, sweating, throwing his head back, just getting lost in the feeling. donât even get me started on how heâd act if you gripped at his thighs or lower back with your nails!! atp he has probably already came so hard heâs got spots in his vision or desperately holding it back so he can live in this moment forever..
⥠if you sucked on his balls or have him a little gooch lick he would probably start making plans to marry you that very night. he is so mindfucked at the idea that anyone would ever do things like that to him, to be so intimate and gentle at the same time. he starts thinking about all of the things heâs gonna do for you, the pretty animals furs heâs gonna get for you to pet, the broken bookshelf in your room and how he could fix it just like that- heâs in love and wants you to have his soul with a pretty bow around it too..
⥠he will demand to make out with you after even if heâs barely awake and breathless. heâs feral, he wants to show you how he feels without all the words running through his head. he wouldnât care at all if he could taste the cum in your mouth, in fact thatâs half the reason he wanted to kiss you. he wants to show you that he is devoted, that heâs awestruck and hungry. however he probably wonât be able to look you in the eyes after for a little while and will definitely need aftercare, just to show him that heâs not losing his mind, heâs gonna need a little cry after that..
hi there!! i was wondering if you can do a fic or some hcs on daryl x top male reader?? sfw or nsfw is up to you i just love the way you write daryl :3
daryl dixon x top male reader hcs â nsfw
got a bit carried away writing a reply to this n turned it into a full fic which is in now the drafts of my side blog.. might post that but i still wanted to do hcs so here are some that came to mind, kinda just blurbs n yaps but i digress
bottom daryl is so very peak man i need him</3 also thank you:3 that makes me wanna write some more, gonna do some daryl male reader fluff hcs soon perchance
in the beginning of your relationship, heâd stray away from sex for a while. he knew your preference and was almost afraid? to bottom, thinking itâd make him seem less tough. when he eventually wanted to test it out, there was no going back.
at first, heâd dislike it if you got touchy. heâd get a little pissy, moving your hand. although, heâd move them right back just before the pressure in him overflows, he needed your hands on him to get through the aftershocks.
daryl would prefer to keep his shirt on, especially the first few times. it took a while, but heâd get comfortable with it off, along with the idea of trying different positions. heâd love your chest pressed to his back, with you scattering sloppy kisses across his neck, whispering little nothings that made him cringe at how your sickly sweet words contrasted against your hips relentlessly grinding into him.
that was his favorite until you had him ride you for the first time. you can not tell me daryl wouldnât love to ride.. one of your hands firm on his waist, guiding his movements, the other brushing the outgrown bangs away from his face. heâd have the perfect view of you, repeating his name under your breath as if it was a prayer.
i always see people on here say daryl would be vocal but i disagree. from him, itâd be messy, heavy, loud breathing. heâd mutter your name, moan a couple of times, but heâd never let himself scream. maybe heâd cry a little if overstimulated..
once he was comfortable, heâd smoke a cig, and would likely share it with you. heâd pretend he didnât feel like melting every time you traced over his lip with your thumb when giving it back to him, but you knew it had him reeling
he tried to hide it, but he loved praise from you. itâd get a mix of a small laugh and scoff from him in a day-to-day setting, but during sex, you noticed how his eyes would roll back, his breath would hitch, how heâd twitch against your palm.
daryl would love to be on his knees. yeah, youâd have to guide him through it the first couple times, but as if he didnât like it. you could tell from the way heâd quietly groan around you every time you gave him a pointer or ordered him around.
one last thing is that after, heâd likely be quiet. heâd help you clean up, and then let you move him around how you wanted to. whether you wanted to cuddle a certain way, or didnât, heâd go right along. if you had to do something after, finish a run or somethin, heâd follow close behind you. almost like a dog.
i think these are kinda shit buuuuut i hope you enjoy ^_^
daryl dixon x artist partner drabble.. â gn reader
synopsis: daryl seeing himself through your eyes, i wrote this thinking of alexandria but there arenât any specifications towards an era aside from living in a house
might do daryl w/ artist partner hcs because this is pretty short and lowk poorly written.. i just love this idea
you sat on the couch in your shared home with daryl. he cleaned his arrows and knife on the other side. you turned, facing him with a notebook in your lap and pencil in your hand. you stared at him, analyzing for a minute.
he looked at you and furrowed his eyebrows. âthe hell ya doinâ?â
ânothing, nothing. just keep doing whatever you're doing.â
he shrugged at you as he scoffed. he did as you said.
you sketched him on your page, looking up every minute or two to make sure you were getting his features right, getting to admire him was a plus. he didn't pay attention to what you did, continuing to clean his things with the sound of your pencil scratching paper filling the room.
this went on for a while, you lost track of time, but you finished the basic sketch and started doing some more defined shading. by that time, he was done, and got up to put his things away.
âhey- hey, wait, come back,â you mumbled as he walked away.
ââm still right here,â he chuckled. âwhat on earth are ya doinâ?âyou chuckled to yourself at the fact he didn't piece it together.
he knew you used to be into art, but once the world fell, you clearly left it. you did some small doodles from time to time, usually something related to daryl. his crossbow or bike, the wings on his vest.
he thought it was sweet, he encouraged you to get back into it and would try to find supplies for you. he'd brush it off with âi just found it, it was nothinâ,â even if he checked multiple shops and fought off a group of walkers just to get a couple charcoal pencils or paint brushes because you mentioned it a day ago.
âseeing you just- there,â before your eyes darted up, you pulled your head back from the sketch. âit brought this back.â you flipped it around to show daryl.
he stood closer to you, taking the notebook in his hand and staring at the drawing. you watched the corners of his mouth twitch upwards, a hidden smile creeping up on his face as he looked down at you. ââtâs great. âbout time you picked this up again.â
âiâm not done with it yet but-â he cut you off, âdon't matter, yâknow you're talented. ainât ever had somethin like this done for me before.â
you smiled at him, smug doused in sarcasm, even if there was truth behind your words, âyou're my muse, darlinâ.â
âshut up,â he rolled his eyes. âso sappy.â âyeah, you don't like it,â lightheartedly scoffing at him.
you pulled him down next to you, your arm slithering around his waist. you kissed his neck, slowly pecking down to his shoulder as he analyzed the drawing, seeing himself through your eyes. ââtâs great though, really-â his gruff voice low and sweet.
âiâm glad you think so. i got too many supplies from your runs to not get back into this. plus, ya just looked so..â your voice trailed off as you squinted, trying to find the words. he turned to look at you as he raised an eyebrow. âso what?â
your tone matches his, slightly mocking. âpeaceful. beautiful.â
âagain,â he rolled his eyes. âain't a romance movie.â you softly laughed at him. you cradled his face with one hand as you started to pepper it with kisses, he pretended to wince but there was no effort to pull back. you mumbled, âhowâs that for your romance,â in between playful kisses. you pressed one last kiss next to his mole, his stubble scratching against your chin.
just as you pulled away, he pushed your lips together. it was rough as usual, but sweet. âlove ya even if youâre corny.â
âi love you, too,â you stamped his temple with another kiss. âand i know you love it.â
with no heat behind his tone, he scoffed at you, muttering, âstupid,â before leaning into your touch.
he never denied it, he knew it was true. heâd never admit it nonetheless.
Summary: Having been away from Earth assisting other Lanterns during the chaotic Superman and Lex Luthor debacle, Guy Gardner was completely blindsided when you showed up unannounced at his favorite diner.
A/N: Love that people are down for some domestic old man yaoi with Guy. My all time favorite Lantern even if he's a natural disaster waiting to happen. This was so fun to write. Guy is also roughly around 39-40ish as of present day so, reader is also late 30s to early 40s and a Green Lantern.
You had always believed that donning the emerald ring and dedicating your life to intergalactic policing as a Green Lantern would be the ultimate test of your resolve. You'd faced down cosmic threats, stared into the abyss of black holes, and navigated diplomatic quagmires that would make lesser beings weep. But you were wrong. Utterly, irrevocably wrong. The true, insurmountable challenge of your existence wasn't battling space tyrants; it was being married to Guy Gardner, the walking, talking, insufferable personification of an egotistical man-child.
It was never part of the grand cosmic plan, not even a fleeting thought when you first crossed paths with him during your awkward, bright-eyed days as new recruits to the Green Lantern Corps. Guy, from the very beginning, was everything you weren't. You sometimes suspected he was forged from pure, unadulterated spite, a living affront to the tranquility of the universe. He hadn't even liked you back then; he made that abundantly clear with every sneer, every dismissive wave, every snarky comment designed to not only showcase his disdain but to also firmly establish his perceived superiority.
And yet, despite the more-than-rocky start, despite the constant verbal sparring and the clash of your diametrically opposed personalities, something began to shift. Imperceptibly at first, then with an undeniable clarity. Guy, much to your bewildered surprise, started to like you. And, even more astonishingly, you found yourself liking him back. You became his personal impulse control, the silent, steady anchor that kept his often-explosive personality from veering completely off the rails. He slowly, painstakingly, transformed from a caricature of an egotistical man-child into someone you could actually tolerate, mainly because he became someone who positively doted on you. He was fiercely loyal, always by your side, and perhaps most importantly, Guy loved you. He also possessed the unsettling awareness that, if given sufficient provocation, you could be ten times worse than him, a fact that probably contributed to his newfound, albeit fragile, tolerance when you were in his orbit.
Your presence, your steadying influence, was always a given. An expected constant. Until it wasn't. You were off-world, lending your considerable talents to a fellow Lantern Corps, engaged in a highly sensitive diplomatic mission that required your unique blend of tact and unwavering resolve. Meanwhile, back on Earth, Guy was left to his own devices leading the Justice Gang during the chaotic fallout of Lex Luthor's latest anti-Superman machinations. It was as if a crucial component had been removed, a switch had been flipped. Without you, his husband and, more importantly, his impulse control, nowhere to be found, Guy reverted to his most obnoxious self. And what made it worse was that neither Hawkgirl nor Mr. Terrific, his reluctant teammates knew how to contact you, or the fact that the perpetually arrogant Guy Gardner would transform into an absolute mess when they saw you.
That's why, when the three of them walked into Guy's favorite greasy spoon diner, a place he frequented for its questionable chili dogs and lukewarm coffee, and he happened to glance over, his eyes locking onto your familiar figure sitting casually at a booth â a figure he had assumed was still light-years away â it nearly gave him a heart attack.
A profound, sickening certainty washed over Guy: he was no match for you. He knew, with an almost religious conviction, that if you found out what an unmitigated douchebag he'd been while you were gone, well, he'd be sleeping on the couch for the foreseeable future. And your beloved Great Dane, Ace, would undoubtedly be luxuriating on his side of the bed, probably with a smug, knowing look on his furry face.
Guy froze mid-step, the scent of stale fries and cheap coffee suddenly assaulting his nostrils. His eyes were wide, unblinking, fixated on the back of your head, which was perfectly framed by the greasy diner window. He was a statue, a man carved from sheer, unadulterated panic, silently, fervently praying that you hadn't noticed him, hadn't somehow sensed the subtle hum of his power ring so close by. His usually boisterous aura had retracted, his typical swagger replaced by a deer-in-headlights stillness that was so un-Guy-like it caught Hawkgirlâs immediate attention.
"You planning on boring a hole through the back of his head with that stare, Gardner?" she drawled, her voice a low, sarcastic rumble that cut through the diner's din. She nudged him with her elbow, a question in her gaze.
Guy jumped, startled, his shoulders hunching. "W-whaâ Iâ No! I just⌠I⌠uhâŚ" The words stumbled out, a pathetic, stammering mess, a complete and utter deviation from his usual smooth, arrogant bravado. Mr. Terrific raised an eyebrow, a flicker of genuine surprise on his usually impassive face. This was a side of Guy they had never, ever witnessed.
Hawkgirl, ever perceptive, followed Guy's rigid gaze. Her eyes, sharp and intelligent, landed on your form, a slow, knowing smile spreading across her lips. "Well, well, well," she murmured, a mischievous glint in her eyes. Without another word, she started to walk, her heavy mace clanking softly against her side, directly towards your booth.
"NO! HAWKGIRL, DON'T! PLEASE!" Guy hissed, his voice a frantic whisper of desperation. He lunged forward, a hand outstretched, trying to grab her arm, but it was too late. She was already halfway there, a triumphant smirk on her face. The gig was clearly up.
"Hey, handsome!" Hawkgirl's voice, usually a no-nonsense declaration, was laced with an almost saccharine sweetness that made Guy flinch. You looked up from your coffee, a soft smile gracing your lips. Your eyes widened slightly as they landed on Hawkgirl, then shifted past her to the pale, mortified face of your husband.
"Shayera!" you exclaimed, genuine delight in your tone as you stood to greet her. "What a surprise! I thought you were still dealing with the, uh, Lex Luthor situation." You hugged her briefly, a warm, easy familiarity between you. It was then that Guy shuffled into view, looking like a guilty schoolboy caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
"Oh," you said, your voice dropping by an almost imperceptible notch. Your smile, though still present, seemed to hold a new, sharper edge. You crossed your arms, leaning against the booth table. "And look who it is. My dear husband. Fancy meeting you here."
Guy swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. He tried to muster his usual cocky grin, but it looked more like a pained grimace. "H-honey! What are you doing here? I thought you were⌠you know⌠off-world." He gestured vaguely with his hands, as if trying to physically push the topic of your absence away.
You raised an eyebrow, a silent challenge in your gaze. "My mission wrapped up earlier than expected. And since I was in the neighborhood, I figured I'd swing by. Catch up on things." Your eyes flickered to Hawkgirl, then to a stoic Mr. Terrific, who was now leaning against a nearby counter, subtly observing the unfolding domestic drama with an almost clinical interest. "So, how have things been going? Keeping the 'Justice Gang' in line, are we?" The last part was aimed directly at Guy, the sarcasm thick enough to cut with a butter knife.
Guy visibly wilted. He knew that tone. It was the tone you used just before you dropped the hammer. "G-great! Everything's been great, sweetie! Smooth sailing! Just⌠uh⌠typical earth shenanigans, you know? Nothing I couldn't handle." He even puffed out his chest a little, a desperate attempt to reclaim some semblance of his usual swagger, but it just made him look more ridiculous.
Hawkgirl, bless her mischievous heart, cleared her throat. "Actually, he has been handling things," she began, a twinkle in her eye. Guy shot her a pleading look, which she completely ignored. "Though I wouldn't exactly call it 'smooth sailing.' More like a category five hurricane with a side of gratuitous property damage and several international incidents."
Guy let out a strangled groan. "Shayera!"
You simply watched, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across your face. "Is that so, Guy?" Your voice was deceptively soft, yet it sent a shiver down Guy's spine. "Care to elaborate on these 'international incidents'?"
He started to sweat. Beads of perspiration formed on his forehead. "No! No, nothing! She's just kidding! You know Hawkgirl, always exaggerating! Just a little⌠misunderstanding with a few⌠uh⌠national monuments. Nothing serious!"
Mr. Terrific, ever the impartial observer, stepped forward slightly. "To be precise, Guy caused approximately $1.2 billion in structural damage to the Colosseum in Rome, inadvertently provoked a diplomatic incident with the sovereign nation of Atlantis, and, on two separate occasions, was directly responsible for a major power outage across the eastern seaboard after misinterpreting a power conduit as 'a really big light switch.'"
The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the gentle clinking of silverware from other diners. Your smile had vanished, replaced by a look that promised untold suffering. Guy looked from Mr. Terrific to Hawkgirl, then back to you, his eyes wide with impending doom. He could practically feel Ace, your majestic Great Dane, already claiming his side of the bed.
"Guy Gardner," you said, your voice a low, dangerous rumble that sent shivers down his spine. "You have got to be kidding me."
Guy knew, with a profound and terrifying certainty, that he was sleeping on the couch tonight. And possibly for the rest of his life.
The diner, usually a cacophony of clattering plates and cheerful chatter, seemed to hold its breath. Every eye, or so it felt to Guy, was now on their table. He could feel the judgment radiating from the cashier, the cooks, even the elderly couple in the corner who were now openly staring. This was it. The end of days, Guy Gardner style.
"Honey, wait! Let me explain!" Guy stammered, raising his hands in a placating gesture, as if he could somehow defuse the impending explosion with sheer desperation. "It wasn't⌠it wasn't my fault exactly! The Colosseum had a really⌠really tempting structural integrity! And those Atlanteans are just so sensitive about their, you know, sovereignty! And the power grid thing? That was a total accident! I just thought it was a giant, really fancy light switch for the whole city! Who designs something like that?"
You slowly, deliberately, picked up a sugar packet from the dispenser on the table. You tore it open with meticulous precision, letting the fine white granules trickle onto the tabletop like falling snow. The silence stretched, thick and heavy. Hawkgirl and Mr. Terrific remained perfectly still, watching the scene unfold like a particularly riveting documentary.
"So," you began, your voice still dangerously calm, "you're telling me that in my absence, my husband, the Green Lantern Guy Gardner, managed to alienate an entire undersea nation, damage one of Earth's most iconic historical landmarks, and plunge half the eastern seaboard into darkness⌠because of a 'misunderstanding' with a 'light switch'?" Your eyes, now cold and unwavering, locked onto his. "And you expected me not to find out?"
Guy deflated. All the bluster, all the bravado, simply evaporated. He looked like a wet cat. "I⌠I thought⌠I thought you'd be gone longer," he mumbled, his gaze dropping to his shoes. "I thought I'd have time to fix it. To⌠to sweep it under the rug. You know, make it all go away before you got back."
A low, humorless chuckle escaped your lips. "Sweep it under the rug, Guy? Did you think I wouldn't notice a billion-dollar hole in a Roman ruin? Or an international incident with Atlantis? Or that the entire East Coast was without power for three days?" You leaned forward, placing your hands flat on the table. "Do you have any idea how much paperwork that is going to be for everyone? For me? I spent three weeks mediating a peace treaty between two warring alien races, and you manage to start three global crises in less time than it takes to get a pizza delivered!"
Guy's shoulders slumped. He knew he was caught. He knew there was no escape. He could almost feel the phantom weight of Ace's head on his pillow, a silent indictment of his colossal screw-up.
"Look," he said, his voice barely a whisper, "I know I messed up. Big time. And I really, really missed you. Things just⌠they just kinda went off the rails without you. Youâre my⌠my anchor, you know?" He finally looked up, his usually defiant eyes now filled with a genuine, albeit pathetic, plea. "I swear, if you just give me one more chance, I can make it up to you. Iâll do anything. Anything at all."
You stared at him for a long moment, the anger simmering, but beneath it, a flicker of something else. Despite everything, despite his monumental screw-ups, the man was utterly lost without you. It was both infuriating and, in a twisted way, endearing.
You finally sighed, a long, weary sound. "Anything, Guy? Are you sure about that?"
His head shot up. "Yes! Absolutely! Name it!"
"Good," you said, pushing yourself away from the table. "Because first, you're going to apologize, properly, to Hawkgirl and Mr. Terrific for putting up with your nonsense. Then, you're going to call and apologize for the Colosseum. Then, you're going to call Arthur and grovel for the Atlantis situation. And then, you're going to spend the next two weeks on desk duty, filling out every single incident report for every single one of your 'misunderstandings.'" You paused, a dangerous glint entering your eye. "And finally, Guy, you're going to sleep on the couch. For a month."
Guy's face crumpled. "A month?!" he wailed, looking genuinely horrified. "But⌠but Ace needs his spot! And it's so⌠lumpy!"
You crossed your arms, a single eyebrow arching in a silent, unwavering response to Guy's whiny protest about the couch. The look on your face made it clear there was no room for negotiation. Ace, you knew, would revel in the extra space.
"It's a month, Guy. And it's non-negotiable," you stated, your voice firm, brooking no argument. You then turned your gaze to Hawkgirl and Mr. Terrific, a wry, almost apologetic smile touching your lips. "My apologies, you two, for having to witness... that." You gestured vaguely at Guy, who was now pouting like a petulant child. "And thank you both for, apparently, keeping him from burning down the entire planet in my absence. Though it seems he came dangerously close."
Mr. Terrific, who had maintained a remarkably stoic demeanor throughout Guy's public meltdown, finally allowed himself a small, almost imperceptible chuckle. Hawkgirl, however, threw her head back and let out a booming laugh that echoed through the diner, drawing even more stares. It was a rich, hearty sound, full of a mixture of relief, amusement, and a healthy dose of schadenfreude.
"Don't mention it," Hawkgirl gasped between laughs, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. "Honestly, I haven't been this entertained since the time Booster Gold tried to get a sponsorship deal from a sentient garbage disposal unit." She clapped Guy on the shoulder, a little too hard, making him wince. "Seriously, though, it's just good to see you back. The change in him is⌠remarkable." She punctuated her statement with another burst of laughter, thoroughly enjoying Guy's misery.
Mr. Terrific, ever the analytical one, adjusted his T-spheres, which hovered silently around his head. "Indeed. The statistical probability of Guy Gardner exhibiting such a rapid and profound shift in behavior, from abrasive arrogance to⌠well, whiny but undeniably more tolerable, simply due to the proximity of another individual, is quite extraordinary. It rather undermines several long-held theories regarding personality constants." He offered a small, knowing nod in your direction, a subtle acknowledgment of your unique influence. "Frankly, it's a fascinating case study."
Guy, watching the two of them, felt a fresh wave of mortification wash over him. He wasn't just being called out, he was being analyzed like a specimen under a microscope. And they were laughing at him. Openly. The very thought usually would have sparked an immediate, aggressive retort, probably involving his ring and a crude construct of a giant middle finger. But not now. Not with you here.
He let out a defeated sigh, actually running a hand through his hair. His shoulders slumped further. "Alright, alright, I get it," he grumbled, looking genuinely chastened. He turned to Hawkgirl, his expression oddly sincere. "Look, Shayera⌠I know I've been⌠a lot. More than usual. And I really do appreciate you and Michael looking out for things. And me. Even when I was being⌠well, me." He winced, clearly struggling to admit fault. "So, uh⌠thanks. And I'm sorry for being such a colossal pain in the ass."
Then, he turned to Mr. Terrific, a frown still etched on his face. "And Michael, yeah, I know I made your life a living hell with all the technical screw-ups. And the Atlantean thing. So, uh⌠my bad. Really."
Both Hawkgirl and Mr. Terrific looked genuinely surprised by the uncharacteristic apology. It was so out of character for Guy that it almost seemed like a trick. But the genuine distress in his eyes, the way he was stubbornly avoiding looking at you, confirmed its authenticity.
You, however, had decided to make a quick trip to the counter for a refill of your coffee, giving them a moment. When you returned, Guy watched with a sinking heart as Hawkgirl had casually slid into your recently vacated seat at the booth, sprawling out with a contented sigh, while Mr. Terrific had taken the opposite side, already pulling out a tablet from his T-spheres. They looked entirely too comfortable, completely at ease in your spot, the one that anchored Guy's entire existence.
A fresh wave of panic, mixed with a healthy dose of indignity, washed over Guy. He stood there, hovering awkwardly over the table, a frown deepening on his face. He was the one who was supposed to be in that booth, next to you, with these two intruders banished to a separate table or, preferably, a different galaxy.
"Hey!" he blurted out, a flicker of his usual brashness returning, but quickly dying down under your steady gaze. "That's⌠that's our spot! My spot, specifically!"
Hawkgirl merely raised an eyebrow, a triumphant smirk playing on her lips. "Too slow, Gardner. Finders keepers. Besides," she patted the worn diner booth cushion, "this one smells much less like existential dread and stale chili dogs when you're not in it."
Guy's mouth opened and closed soundlessly. He shot a desperate glance at you, clearly expecting you to intervene, to reclaim his rightful place. But you simply took a sip of your coffee, a small, knowing smile playing on your lips.
"Looks like you'll have to stand, honey," you said, your voice dripping with sweet, subtle triumph. "Or perhaps you can find a nice, comfortable stool by the counter. You know, since you're so good at standing your ground."
Guy groaned, a long, drawn-out sound of utter defeat. He was well and truly beaten. For now.
Later that night, the apartment was quiet save for the soft hum of the city outside and the gentle clinking of hangers in the bedroom closet. You moved with a practiced ease, pulling on a comfortable pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt, the day's events, particularly Guy's public humiliation, still fresh in your mind. A small smile played on your lips as you recalled his utterly crestfallen face when Hawkgirl and Mr. Terrific had claimed your usual diner seats.
You padded into the en-suite bathroom, the warm glow of the vanity lights illuminating the familiar space. Guy was already there, leaning against the counter, a toothbrush held limply in his hand like a foreign object. He was still in his civilian clothes, his usually vibrant green t-shirt looking a bit rumpled, and his hair, somehow, seemed even worse with his visible agitation. His lower lip was pushed out in an epic pout, and his eyes, usually so full of fire, were narrowed in a glare directed squarely at the toothbrush. He was clearly still sulking.
"You going to brush your teeth, or are you just planning to have a staring contest with that poor toothbrush, Guy?" you asked, a hint of amusement in your voice as you reached for your own.
He flinched, as if startled by your voice, despite having been standing there for at least five minutes. "It's not just the toothbrush," he grumbled, his voice muffled. "It's the principle of the thing. A whole month! On the couch! And Ace is gonna be sleeping on my side of the bed, I just know it. He's probably already sniffing it out, marking his territory." He sighed dramatically, a sound that could rival a dying star. "It's just⌠so unfair."
You squeezed toothpaste onto your brush, watching him in the mirror. "Unfair? Guy, you nearly started World War Three and damaged a historical monument that's older than most civilizations. I'd say a month on the couch is getting off easy, considering the alternative could have been a court-martial by the Guardians." You started to brush your teeth, the rhythmic motion a stark contrast to his dramatic stillness.
He finally brought the toothbrush to his mouth, but barely moved it, still staring at his reflection with profound dissatisfaction. "Yeah, but⌠it's the couch. It's lumpy, and the springs dig into my back, and the TV remote always falls down the side. And what if Ace snores louder when he's on my side?" He turned to face you directly, his expression a comical mix of indignation and genuine woe. "You know how sensitive my sleep is!"
You rinsed your mouth, shaking your head slowly. "Your 'sensitive sleep' didn't stop you from causing a city-wide blackout, did it?" You leaned against the doorframe, crossing your arms, the faint scent of mint filling the air. "Look, Guy. You messed up. Big time. And you need to face the consequences. A month on the couch is a pretty gentle reminder that actions have repercussions, even for a hotshot Green Lantern like you."
He finally started brushing, albeit half-heartedly, the bristles barely making contact with his teeth. "I know, I know," he mumbled, a whine creeping into his voice. "And I really am sorry. About the Colosseum, and Atlantis, and the power grid. And⌠and about being such an idiot in front of Shayera and Michael." He paused, looking genuinely contrite. "They think I'm a complete buffoon, don't they?"
You considered this for a moment. "They think you're... uniquely challenging," you admitted. "But they also saw you genuinely apologize, which, for them, was probably more shocking than seeing you turn into a giant T-Rex." You walked over to him, reaching out to gently wipe a smudge of toothpaste from the corner of his mouth with your thumb. "And they saw how lost you were without me."
His eyes met yours in the mirror, and for a fleeting moment, the petulance vanished, replaced by a raw vulnerability. "I was lost," he confessed, his voice softer, devoid of its usual bluster. "Things just⌠they spiral, you know? Without you there, itâs like thereâs no⌠no filter. No off-switch. I just⌠act. And then I realize I've gone too far. And then I miss you so much I feel like my chest is going to explode." He put down his toothbrush, reaching for your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours. "You really are my impulse control. My conscience. My⌠everything."
He squeezed your hand, his gaze intense. "So, yeah, the couch sucks. And Ace is probably going to hog the bed. But⌠as long as you're here, it's⌠it's okay. I can deal with it. Even if I whine about it constantly." A hint of his usual smirk tried to re-emerge, but it was quickly overshadowed by a genuine earnestness. "Just⌠don't leave me alone for that long again, okay? The universe might not survive it."
You smiled, a true, warm smile that reached your eyes. Despite his endless antics, his colossal ego, and his infuriating ability to cause chaos wherever he went, Guy Gardner, your insufferable man-child of a husband, truly did love you. And in that quiet moment, in the soft glow of the bathroom lights, with the faint smell of mint in the air, you knew that, even with the lumpy couch and the potential for galactic disaster, you wouldn't have him any other way.
You sighed, a long, drawn-out sound that was a mix of exasperation and something akin to reluctant fondness. You reached up, patting Guy's chest gently. His confession, his genuine admission of how much he relied on you, had chipped away at your resolve. You knew, deep down, that a month on the couch would be more punishment for youâlistening to his incessant whining and finding him constantly trying to sneak back into bedâthan it would be for him. Besides, Ace would probably get too comfortable on Guy's side, and that was just a nightmare waiting to happen.
"Alright, alright, you big baby," you conceded, a small smile playing on your lips. "Fine. You can sleep in the bed."
Guy's face, which had been a picture of abject misery just moments before, instantly lit up. It was a transformation so profound, so immediate, it was like someone had flipped a switch. His eyes widened, sparking with an almost childlike joy, and the corners of his mouth twitched upwards into a truly radiant grin. He looked precisely like a kid who'd just been told he could have the entire candy store.
"Really?!" he practically yelped, his voice cracking with disbelief and delight. "You mean it? No couch? No lumpy springs? Ace isn't going to be on my side of the bed?"
"Yes, really," you confirmed, trying to maintain some semblance of sternness, though it was rapidly crumbling. "But you have to promise me, Guy. No more 'misunderstandings' with national monuments. No more accidental international incidents. No more 'light switch' power outages. You keep your nose clean, you follow the rules, and you try, really try, to not be a menace to society for at least⌠say, the next month."
"I promise! I swear it on my power ring, on my lucky socks, on everything I hold dear!" Guy declared, his grin impossibly wide. Before you could even blink, he lunged, peppering your face with a rapid-fire assault of kisses. His lips met your cheek, your forehead, your nose, each kiss accompanied by an enthusiastic "Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you!"
"Guy! Stop! I'm still trying to process this!" you laughed, trying to pull away from his exuberant embrace, but he held you fast. He smelled faintly of toothpaste and his own uniquely Guy-ish scent, a blend of power ring energy and questionable cologne.
"Best husband ever! Smartest husband! Handsomeist husband!" he chanted between kisses, his arms tightening around you. He buried his face in your neck, letting out a contented sigh that vibrated against your skin. "You won't regret this! I'm going to be the best-behaved Green Lantern you've ever seen! No more chaos! Only⌠manageable chaos! Just for you!"
You finally managed to push him back enough to look him in the eye, a lingering warmth spreading through you despite your mock exasperation. "Just try not to get any brilliant ideas involving ancient artifacts or global power grids, alright, hotshot?" you warned, though your tone had softened considerably.
He gave you a huge, goofy grin. "My ideas are always brilliant! Now, let's go to bed, before Ace takes my spot and I have to fight him for it!" He practically dragged you out of the bathroom, his earlier sulk completely forgotten, replaced by an infectious, almost manic joy.
You were already nestled under the covers, the soft lamplight casting a warm glow across the room, when Guy practically bounced into bed. His earlier gloom was utterly banished, replaced by an almost effervescent cheerfulness that was both endearing and, at times, exhausting. He flopped down on his side, immediately burrowing against you, his arm slinging over your waist as he pulled you closer.
"Mmm, much better," he mumbled into your hair, his voice thick with contentment. "No lumpy springs, no feeling like I'm about to roll off a cliff. This is the good stuff." He shifted slightly, finding his perfect comfortable position, which, of course, involved a significant amount of skin-to-skin contact. You could feel the comfortable weight of his arm, the steady rhythm of his breathing, and the surprising softness of his cheek pressed against your shoulder.
"Glad I could accommodate, your majesty," you teased, turning your head slightly to look at him. In the dim light, his features were softer, less sharp, and the usual cocky smirk was replaced by a look of pure, unadulterated peace. It was moments like these, quiet and intimate, that reminded you why you put up with his chaotic existence.
He chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. "Only the best for me. And for you, of course. We're a package deal. A perfectly chaotic, surprisingly functional package deal." He nuzzled closer, his hand finding yours under the covers and lacing his fingers through yours. His thumb began to gently rub circles on the back of your hand, a small, unconscious gesture of affection.
The conversation lulled, replaced by the comfortable quiet of two people completely at ease with each other. You could hear the faint sound of Ace snoring softly from his new, luxurious spot on Guy's side of the bed, a sound that Guy usually complained about but now seemed to ignore entirely. It was a subtle acknowledgment of his quiet gratitude, a small victory for you.
You traced the outline of his jaw with your free hand, feeling the slight stubble there. "You know," you murmured, "despite all the headaches you cause, and the constant fear of finding out you've accidentally declared war on a sentient asteroid field, there are moments when you're actually... tolerable."
Guy pulled back just enough to look at you, a mock-offended gasp escaping his lips. "Tolerable?! I'll have you know I'm a national treasure! A global phenomenon! The universe's most charming Lantern!" But the twinkle in his eye betrayed his feigned outrage. He leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your temple. "But yeah, I know what you mean. And you're pretty tolerable yourself. For someone who's constantly trying to rein in my genius."
You rolled your eyes playfully. "Right. 'Genius.' We'll go with that." You rested your head back against his shoulder, feeling the solid warmth of him. "Just try to keep the 'genius' contained for a bit, okay? My stress levels can't take another Colosseum."
He sighed dramatically, but there was no real complaint in it. "Fine, fine. I'll be on my best behavior. Mostly. For you. You're worth it." He squeezed your hand again. "You know, seeing you today, in the diner, after all this time⌠it just reminded me how much I actually need you. How much I rely on you to keep me from going full-on 'Guy Gardner, Destroyer of Worlds.'"
"It's nice to be needed," you hummed, a soft smile on your face. You reached up, gently running your fingers through his surprisingly soft hair. "But I also need you to be, well, you. Just⌠a slightly less destructive version of you."
He let out a contented groan, pressing his face into your hair. "Deal. As long as 'you' involves cuddles. And sleeping in the bed. And maybe, just maybe, letting me win an argument every now and then."
"Don't push your luck, Gardner," you said, but the affection in your voice was undeniable.
As the last lamplight was extinguished, plunging the room into comfortable darkness, Guy tightened his hold, pulling you even closer until there was barely an inch of space between you. You could feel the steady beat of his heart against your back, a comforting, familiar rhythm. He was still the insufferable, egotistical man-child, the chaotic force of nature you'd somehow married. But he was your insufferable, egotistical man-child, and in the quiet of your shared bed, with his arm wrapped securely around you, he was exactly where he was meant to be. And for now, that was more than enough.
SUMMARY â The night after Clark's proposal, he's filled with joy and excitement, feeling on top of the world as he basks in your love and the promise of your future together. Proud and grateful, he's eager to share the news with your closest friends and family, wanting them to witness the love that has profoundly changed his life.
AUTHOR'S NOTE! Firstly, Happy New Years, dreamers! Welcome to 2025, letâs have an amazing year. Secondly, this is a sequel to HIS HOMEâI couldnât resist it, I hope you enjoy đâ¨
By morning, the soft golden light of dawn spilled through the half-drawn curtains, casting a tranquil glow across the room. The apartment was quiet, the only sounds the faint hum of the city waking up outside and the rhythmic, steady breaths of Clark as he slept beside Y/N. Everything about the moment felt perfectâstill, warm, and filled with the unshakable weight of love.
Y/N stirred first, his eyes fluttering open slowly as he became aware of the comforting press of Clark's chest against his back. One of Clark's arms was draped securely around his waist, holding him close, while the other rested lightly over his hand. The touch of Clark's fingers brushing against the cool metal of the ring now circling Y/N's finger sent a familiar rush of warmth through him.
The ring.
Y/N turned his head slightly, glancing at the simple, elegant band that glinted softly in the morning light. The memories of the night before came rushing back: the flickering candles, Clark's trembling hands, the way his voice had trembled with emotion when he asked the question that changed everything. A breathless smile curved Y/N's lips as he traced the ring's edges with his thumb, savoring the reminder of the love that had brought them to this moment.
He lay there for a moment longer, basking in the glow of last night's joy, until he felt Clark shift behind him. Clark's arm tightened instinctively around his waist, pulling him closer. Y/N smiled as he felt the warmth of Clark's breath tickling the back of his neck, and soon after, Clark stirred fully awake. His eyes blinked open, hazy with sleep, before they settled on Y/N, and his lips curved into a tender, lazy smile.
"Good morning," Clark murmured, his voice low and gravelly from sleep.
Y/N turned in Clark's arms, his heart skipping at the unguarded softness in Clark's expression. "Good morning," he whispered back, his fingers reaching up to brush a lock of dark, tousled hair from Clark's forehead.
Clark's gaze dropped to Y/N's hand, and his smile deepened when he saw the ring catching the sunlight. Without hesitation, he took Y/N's hand, bringing it to his lips to press a lingering kiss to his knuckles. His blue eyes sparkled with love as they met Y/N's.
"My fiancĂŠ," Clark said softly, the words carrying both reverence and joy, as if testing the way they sounded. His thumb brushed gently over the ring, his touch sending a familiar warmth through Y/N's skin. "My fiancĂŠ," he repeated, his voice softer, savoring the title like it was the sweetest thing he'd ever spoken.
The words sent a rush of happiness through Y/N, who couldn't help but smile. "Your fiancĂŠ," he echoed, the sound of it thrilling and new, the meaning settling deeper into his heart.
Clark's grin turned playful now, boyish and full of pure, unrestrained joy. "That's right. My fiancĂŠ." His tone was teasing, but his eyes were soft, filled with so much love it was overwhelming. "I don't think I'm ever going to get tired of calling you that."
Y/N chuckled, the sound light and full of affection. "Good," he replied, his cheeks warm, "because I'm never going to get tired of hearing it."
Clark didn't hesitate as he leaned in, capturing Y/N's lips in a kiss that was slow and lingering, each second steeped in the promises they had already made and the countless ones they would keep in the future. The world outside could wait; this moment was theirs alone.
When the kiss broke, Clark's forehead rested gently against Y/N's, and his voice dropped to a whisper. "I love you, my fiancĂŠ."
"I love you too," Y/N replied, his voice soft but sure. The way Clark held himâthe way he looked at himâmade Y/N feel like the only person in the world.
They stayed wrapped in each other's arms, the morning stretching around them like an unbroken promise. Clark's hand slid along Y/N's thigh, grasping it firmly and wrapping it around his waist, pulling them impossibly closer. His lips found the soft curve of Y/N's neck, brushing slow, deliberate kisses against his skin.
The faint green glow of the clock on the bedside table caught Clark's eye, and for a fleeting second, he registered the time: 7:39 AM. They had work soon, and the world would eventually come knocking. But right now, Clark didn't care.
His hands moved with gentle but deliberate strength as he shifted Y/N onto his back, their bodies pressing together in the morning light. The room filled with nothing but the quiet sounds of their breathing and the faint rustle of sheets. Clark's lips never left Y/N's neck, trailing slow, deliberate kisses along his jawline and down to the sensitive spot just beneath his ear. Each touch of his lips sent a shiver down Y/N's spine, his fingers instinctively gripping at Clark's strong shoulders.
As Y/N's chest rose and fell beneath him, Clark's hands slid lower, caressing every inch of skin with an intimacy born from years of love and trust. His fingers found the waistband of Y/N's boxers, his movements patient but full of intent. Y/N let out a soft gasp as Clark slipped them off with ease, the fabric sliding away to reveal him fully. Y/N's dick sprang free, his body already reacting to Clark's touch, his breaths coming a little quicker as Clark's gaze roamed over him with a mix of adoration and desire.
Clark's lips continued their journey, pressing soft kisses to Y/N's collarbone before trailing back up to his neck. His voice dropped to a husky whisper, warm and intimate as he spoke. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, his words barely above a breath but filled with raw emotion. "I love every part of you."
Y/N felt his cheeks flush at Clark's words, his heart pounding as the deep sincerity in Clark's voice washed over him. "Are you... trying to go for roundâwhat?â Five?" he asked, his tone teasing but his voice still trembling slightly from Clark's overwhelming presence.
Clark pulled back just enough to meet Y/N's gaze, his deep blue eyes filled with a mix of tenderness and longing. A playful smile tugged at his lips as he brushed a lock of hair from Y/N's forehead. "Of course," he replied softly, his hand returning to Y/N's thigh, gripping it firmly. "I want to please you... every day, every moment of the day."
The intensity of Clark's words sent a spark of heat through Y/N, and his hands reached up to cup Clark's face, pulling him into a slow, passionate kiss. The connection between them was electric, their breaths mingling as Clark's hands explored Y/N's body with care, reverence, and unyielding devotion.
The warmth between them was palpable, their bodies pressed close together. Clark's hands caressed Y/N's sides, his touch firm yet tender, grounding them in the intimacy of the moment.
Without breaking their gaze, Clark leaned back just enough to reach for the waistband of his own boxers. The fabric slipped down effortlessly, revealing him fully, his dick springing free and already glistening with arousal. The raw need in his expression was softened only by the undeniable love that radiated from his every touch and movement.
Y/N's breath hitched at the sight, his own arousal stirring further as he felt Clark's body move against his. The vulnerability, the strength, and the overwhelming passion in Clark's actions sent a shiver through Y/N's entire body. Clark's hands returned to Y/N's thighs, gripping them gently as he settled closer, their skin now completely bare against each other.
Clark's voice dropped to a husky whisper, rich with affection and desire. "You're everything to me," he murmured, his lips finding the curve of Y/N's neck once again, pressing slow, heated kisses along his sensitive skin. "I want to make you feel how much I love you... in every way."
His words sent a wave of warmth through Y/N, his hands reaching up to thread through Clark's dark hair, pulling him closer. Their breaths mingled, the heat between them building as Clark's movements became more deliberate, his lips exploring Y/N's neck, collarbone, and chest with reverence.
Time seemed to stand still as the world outside faded, leaving only the two of them wrapped in the intensity of their connection. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word carried the weight of their loveâa bond that transcended words and was expressed in every deliberate, passionate motion.
Clark's devotion was undeniable, and Y/N could feel it in every moment, every inch of closeness they shared, as their love deepened and unfolded in the quiet sanctuary of their morning together.
By 8:46 AM, Clark and Y/N began their familiar routine, moving around the apartment to get ready for the day ahead. The remnants of the night and early morning lingered in the airâa soft glow of love and intimacy that neither could quite shake.
Y/N stood at the bathroom sink, toothbrush in hand, glancing in the mirror at Clark, who was leaning casually against the doorframe, his eyes following Y/N's every move. His hair was still slightly tousled, his shirt unbuttoned, revealing glimpses of his toned chest. There was a playful smirk on his lips, one that Y/N recognized all too well.
"You're staring," Y/N said, his voice muffled slightly as he brushed his teeth, his reflection meeting Clark's in the mirror.
Clark grinned, unrepentant. "Can you blame me?" he teased, stepping forward and wrapping his arms around Y/N's waist from behind. His chin rested on Y/N's shoulder, and he placed a soft kiss on the curve of his neck. "I'm just admiring my fiancĂŠ."
Y/N rolled his eyes, though the smile tugging at his lips betrayed his feigned annoyance. "We're already running late," he said, spitting out the toothpaste and rinsing his mouth.
Clark hummed in response, clearly unconcerned about the time. His hands slid down to Y/N's hips, pulling him closer, his body pressing firmly against Y/N's back. "What's a few extra minutes?" he murmured, his lips brushing Y/N's ear. "I don't think I've had enough of you yet."
Y/N turned around, leaning back slightly against the sink as he raised an eyebrow at Clark. "Didn't we justâ?"
"Not enough," Clark interrupted, his tone playful but his eyes warm and full of affection. He leaned down, capturing Y/N's lips in a kiss that was slow and lingering, his hands roaming up and down Y/N's sides.
Y/N pulled back with a soft laugh, placing his palms against Clark's chest. "Clark, we really need to get ready."
Clark sighed dramatically, his hands reluctantly letting go as he stepped back, though the mischievous glint in his eye remained. "Fine," he said, running a hand through his hair. "But I can't make any promises about keeping my hands to myself later."
Y/N shook his head, his cheeks flushing slightly, but he couldn't stop the smile spreading across his face. "You're annoying."
"And you love it," Clark shot back, grabbing his tie from the counter and tossing it around his neck as he moved to the bedroom.
As Y/N adjusted his tie in the mirror, Clark stepped up behind him, resting his hands lightly on Y/N's shoulders. Their reflections in the mirror showed a couple glowing with happiness, their eyes meeting with shared excitement. Clark leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Y/N's temple before meeting his gaze in the mirror.
"I've been thinking," Clark began, his voice warm and casual, though his eyes sparkled with a hint of nervous energy.
Y/N raised an eyebrow, turning slightly to face him. "Oh? Should I be worried?"
Clark chuckled, his hands sliding down to rest on Y/N's hips. "Not at all," he replied, leaning in for a quick kiss before pulling back. "I just... I was wondering how you'd feel about having my parents and some of our friends over for dinner this weekend."
Y/N's expression softened, his curiosity piqued. "Dinner?"
Clark nodded, his lips curving into a boyish smile. "Yeah, dinner. I think it's time we share the news." He gently took Y/N's hand, brushing his thumb over the ring that glinted in the morning sunlight. "I want everyone to know about us, about our engagement. About how much you mean to me."
Y/N's breath caught for a moment, the sincerity in Clark's voice striking a chord deep within him. "Clark..." he murmured, his voice trailing off as a warm smile spread across his face.
Clark's grip on Y/N's hand tightened slightly, his gaze steady and filled with love. "I want to tell my parents, my friends... everyone who matters to us. I want them to celebrate this with us, to see what we've built together. And to see how lucky I am to call you mine."
Y/N felt his cheeks flush, a mix of pride and affection swelling in his chest. "You sure your mom's not going to cry the second we tell her?" he teased lightly, though his voice carried a hint of his own emotion.
Clark laughed, the sound warm and genuine. "Oh, she's definitely going to cry. And my dad's probably going to give one of his heartfelt speeches." He paused, his grin softening into something more intimate. "But that's what makes it special, right? Sharing this moment with the people who love us."
Y/N nodded, his hand tightening around Clark's. "I think it's a great idea," he said softly. "Let's do it."
Clark's smile widened, his relief and excitement evident. He leaned down, capturing Y/N's lips in a quick but tender kiss. "You're amazing," he murmured against Y/N's lips.
"You're not so bad yourself," Y/N replied with a chuckle, resting his forehead against Clark's.
As they continued their morning routine, the thought of sharing their engagement with family and friends added a new layer of excitement to their day. The idea of their loved ones gathered around the table, celebrating their love and future together, filled both of them with warmth and anticipation.
Clark's hand lingered on Y/N's as they left the apartment, his mind already buzzing with plans for the dinner that would mark the next chapter in their lives.
The hum of activity surrounded Y/N as he worked diligently at his desk, the tapping of his keyboard punctuating the soft murmur of office chatter. He was deep in thought, reviewing a LexCorp report that demanded his full attention, when his phone buzzed on the edge of his desk. Without looking, he reached for it, his focus still on the screen in front of him.
"Hey, love," he answered casually, balancing the phone between his ear and shoulder as he continued typing. The familiarity of the caller didn't require a second glance.
On the other end, Clark's voice came through, warm and steady, though there was a faint undercurrent of strainâsomething Y/N didn't immediately notice in his focus. "Hey, baby. How's work going?"
Y/N smiled faintly, leaning back in his chair as he gave his full attention to the call. "Busy, as usual. You caught me in the middle of a deadline, but I always have time for you. What's up?"
In the background, Y/N could hear faint noisesâodd whooshes, distant crashes, and what might have been a roar. He frowned, his curiosity piqued. "Where are you? It sounds like you're outside."
Clark chuckled softly, though there was a hint of exertion in his voice now. "You could say that. I'm with the League right now... handling a situation."
That was when Y/N picked up on the subtle pauses in Clark's words, the heavy breaths between sentences. He straightened in his chair, concern flickering in his expression. "Clark. What kind of 'situation' are we talking about here?"
There was a loud crash on Clark's end of the line, followed by a muffled shout from someone Y/N recognized as Wonder Woman. "It's nothing to worry about, I promise," Clark said quickly, though Y/N could practically hear him dodging something. "Just a... mystical creature trying to tear apart downtown. But it's under control. I'm fine."
Y/N pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly. "You're calling me... in the middle of a battle? Clark, what are you doing?"
"I'm multitasking," Clark replied lightly, though the strain in his voice was becoming harder to mask. Another roar echoed in the background, and there was a faint crackle of what sounded like magical energy. "Besides, it's important."
Y/N's brow furrowed, equal parts exasperated and amused. "Oh? And what's so important that you're calling me while fighting a mystical creature with the Justice League?"
"Well..." Clark hesitated for just a moment before continuing. "I was thinking about the dinner party this weekend. You know, the one where we're announcing our engagement?"
Y/N blinked, utterly thrown by the sudden change in topic. "Yes, I remember. What about it?"
Clark let out a small grunt of effort, likely mid-action, before responding. "I wanted to know what you're planning to cook. I thought maybe we could do something special. Your lasagna, maybe? Or those little appetizers your mom taught you to make?"
Y/N stared at his phone, momentarily speechless. "Clark. You're calling me right now, while fighting God-knows-what, to talk about dinner plans?"
"I mean, it's an important dinner!" Clark protested, his tone entirely earnest despite the chaos clearly unfolding around him. "I want everything to be perfect for us, for our parents, and for our friends."
Y/N rubbed his temples, shaking his head even as a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Clark, you're ridiculous, you know that?"
"I try," Clark replied, and Y/N could practically hear the grin in his voice. A loud roar interrupted their conversation, and Clark's voice came back slightly muffled. "Diana! On your left!"
"Yes, but don't worryâ" Clark started, his voice calm despite the clear pandemonium in the background. "Bruce is handling strategy, and Barry's keeping civilians out of harm's way. I'm just... improvising. Like I said, it's under control."
Y/N sighed, shaking his head but unable to suppress a laugh. "Alright, fine. Yes, I can make lasagna. And maybe the appetizers, if you promise me one thing."
"Anything," Clark replied quickly, his voice full of affection even as there was a distant thud on his end.
"Come back in one piece," Y/N said firmly, his tone softening with concern.
Clark's voice turned warm and reassuring. "Always," he promised. "I love you. I'll call you once this is wrapped up."
"Love you too, Clark," Y/N replied before hanging up, shaking his head as he set the phone back on his desk. His heart was full, despite the absurdity of the moment.
And as he returned to his work, he couldn't help but smile, knowing that even in the middle of chaos, Clark's thoughts were always with him.
The creature let out a deafening roar before crumbling to the ground in a heap of glowing embers, its mystical energy finally dissipating into the night air. Clark floated a few feet above the ground, his cape billowing in the breeze as he scanned the area to ensure the threat was completely neutralized. Around him, the members of the Justice League began to regroup, their faces showing a mixture of relief and pride at another mission accomplished.
"That was... something," Barry said, leaning against a lamppost, still catching his breath. "What even was that thing?"
Diana sheathed her sword with practiced ease, her expression calm but resolute. "A creature of chaos magic," she replied. "Not easily vanquished, but we handled it well."
Arthur kicked a piece of glowing debris, his trident resting against his shoulder. "Handled it? More like dragged it down kicking and screaming. That thing was stubborn."
Hal smirked, his Green Lantern ring dimming as he folded his arms. "Stubborn or not, we still showed it who's boss."
Clark landed softly, his boots touching the cracked pavement as he adjusted his posture. His face was calm but his thoughts were elsewhere. As the team exchanged light banter and assessed the scene, he glanced at Bruce, who stood a little apart from the group, his cape pooling around him like a shadow. Bruce was already typing something into a small device on his gauntlet, clearly preparing to leave.
Clark cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention. "Good work tonight, everyone," he said, his voice steady and authoritative. "I know it wasn't easy, but the city's safe, thanks to all of you."
"Team effort," Diana replied with a small smile, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
"Team effort that I'm starving from," Barry added, rubbing his stomach. "Do we have a Justice League catering service yet?"
Clark chuckled softly, his usual warmth returning to his voice. "No catering service, but I do have something to ask all of you."
The group turned toward him with varying degrees of curiosity. Even Bruce paused his work and glanced up.
Clark hesitated for just a second, then smiled. "Y/N and I are hosting a dinner party this weekend. We wanted to bring everyone togetherânot for a mission or a battle, but just to share a meal and spend time with the people we care about."
Barry's face lit up immediately. "Dinner party? I'm in. Do you need me to bring anything? Because I'm bringing something."
Hal raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Big Blue hosting a dinner party? This I've got to see. Count me in."
Arthur chuckled, leaning on his trident. "As long as there's plenty of booze, I'm there."
Diana's smile softened, her gaze warm. "It's a wonderful idea, Kal. I'd be honored to join you."
Clark nodded, his expression brightening as he looked around at the team. "Great. It's nothing fancyâjust some good food and company. Y/N and I thought it would be nice to spend some time with all of you outside of League missions."
His gaze shifted toward Bruce, who had remained silent throughout the conversation. Clark took a step closer to him, his voice dropping slightly. "What about you, Bruce? Will you join us?"
Bruce's eyes narrowed slightly, his usual unreadable expression firmly in place. "You're hosting a dinner party," he said, his tone flat. "And you want me there?"
"Yes," Clark replied, his voice unwavering. "You're part of the team. And more than that, you're my friend."
Bruce's gaze flicked toward the others, who were all watching the exchange with varying levels of interest and amusement. He exhaled softly, his arms crossing over his chest. "Dinner parties aren't exactly my thing."
Clark smiled knowingly. "I didn't think they were, but it wouldn't be the same without you."
For a moment, Bruce said nothing, his sharp eyes studying Clark. Finally, he nodded, albeit reluctantly. "Fine. But don't expect me to be social."
Clark's grin widened. "I wouldn't dream of it."
Barry leaned toward Hal, whispering loudly enough for everyone to hear, "Did we just witness Batman RSVP to a dinner party?"
Hal snickered. "I think we did."
"Save it," Bruce said flatly, though the faintest hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
With the invitations extended and the team dispersing to return to their respective cities, Clark felt a sense of satisfaction. The hardest partâconvincing Bruceâwas done. Now all that was left was to prepare for the evening. As he flew home, the thought of everyone gathering around the table, sharing laughter and stories, filled him with warmth.
What they didn't knowâwhat none of them knew yetâwas that this wasn't just a dinner. It was the start of something new, something he and Y/N were excited to share with the people who meant the most to them. But for now, he'd let the anticipation build. The big news could wait until the right moment.
The kitchen buzzed with energy as Clark and Y/N worked side by side, preparing the dinner that would soon bring together their closest friends and family. The warm, savory aromas of simmering sauces, roasting vegetables, and fresh herbs filled the air, mingling with the soft hum of their favorite playlist playing in the background. The golden glow of the kitchen lights reflected off polished counters and the dishes they had meticulously chosen, adding to the cozy, inviting atmosphere they'd created.
Y/N stood at the counter, carefully chopping fresh basil and parsley while glancing at a handwritten recipe card propped up against a jar of olive oil. Clark, across from him, was stirring a pot of fragrant marinara sauce on the stove, his movements fluid and relaxed, though his occasional glances at Y/N betrayed his inability to fully focus on the task at hand.
"You're staring again," Y/N said with a soft laugh, not even bothering to look up from his chopping. His voice was warm, teasing.
Clark grinned, utterly unrepentant as he set the wooden spoon down and leaned casually against the counter. "Can you blame me? You're cute when you're focused."
Y/N rolled his eyes but couldn't stop the small smile tugging at his lips. "Flattery isn't going to help you with the sauce. Keep stirring before it burns."
Clark chuckled and pushed off the counter, resuming his task but sneaking another glance in Y/N's direction. "The sauce is fine. You, on the other hand... are a distraction."
Y/N set the knife down, turning to face him fully with a raised eyebrow. "Oh? And how exactly am I distracting you?"
Clark didn't answer right away. Instead, he crossed the space between them in two quick steps, his arms sliding around Y/N's waist as he pulled him close. Y/N let out a soft laugh of surprise, his hands instinctively resting on Clark's broad chest.
"Like this," Clark murmured, his voice low and playful. He leaned down, brushing his lips lightly against Y/N's, teasing him with barely-there kisses.
"Clark," Y/N protested weakly, though his hands curled slightly into Clark's shirt. "We have a dinner to prepare. People are coming over."
Clark's grin widened, and he pressed a kiss to Y/N's forehead before pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. "We've got plenty of time," he said confidently. "And if they show up a little early, I'll just tell them we're... busy."
Y/N laughed, shaking his head. "You're so needy," he said fondly, but there was no denying the warmth in his voice or the way he leaned into Clark's embrace.
"Yet you love me," Clark shot back with a wink before stepping back to give Y/N room to work. He returned to the stove, stirring the sauce with renewed focus, though the soft smile on his face lingered.
The two continued their dance around the kitchen, moving in perfect harmony as they worked. Y/N taste-tested the marinara, offering Clark a spoonful, which he accepted with an exaggerated "mmm" that made Y/N roll his eyes. Clark, in turn, helped Y/N season the lasagna layers, sprinkling just the right amount of cheese while sneaking playful pecks on Y/N's cheek whenever he got close enough.
At one point, as Y/N was plating appetizers, he felt Clark's arms snake around his waist again, pulling him gently away from the counter. "Clark," Y/N started, his tone half-scolding, half-amused.
"I just need one more," Clark said, leaning down to press a kiss to the side of Y/N's neck. "You can spare me thirty seconds."
Y/N sighed dramatically but turned in Clark's arms, resting his hands on his shoulders. "You're lucky you're cute," he said, leaning up to kiss him properly.
They stayed like that for a moment, wrapped in the warmth of the kitchen and the love they had built together. The world outside could wait, and even the dinner could wait for a few more seconds. Right now, this was theirs.
When they finally pulled apart, Y/N gave Clark a playful nudge. "Alright, back to work. If we burn the lasagna, I'm blaming you."
Clark laughed, grabbing a towel to pull the baking dish from the oven. "Don't worry, love. Everything's under control."
As the finishing touches came togetherâsalads plated, drinks poured, desserts arranged on a decorative trayâthe two took a moment to step back and admire their handiwork. The dining table was set with care, candles flickering softly against the elegant place settings, the air filled with the comforting scent of home-cooked food.
Clark slipped an arm around Y/N's waist, pulling him close as they looked at the table. "You know," he said softly, pressing a kiss to Y/N's temple, "I think this might be the best dinner we've ever made."
Y/N smiled, resting his head against Clark's shoulder. "It's not just the food," he replied. "It's us."
Clark tightened his hold, his voice low and full of love. "It's always us."
The soft chime of the doorbell rang out, cutting through the gentle hum of conversation as Y/N adjusted the centerpiece on the dining table one last time. Y/N glanced up, his heart skipping with excitement as Clark met his gaze with a reassuring smile.
"They're here," Clark said, his deep voice steady, though there was an unmistakable glimmer of anticipation in his eyes.
Y/N smoothed the front of his shirt, exhaling softly to steady himself. "Let's do this."
Clark crossed the room in a few long strides, his broad shoulders and calm demeanor exuding confidence as he reached for the door. When he opened it, the familiar, smiling faces of his parentsâMartha and Jonathan Kentâwere the first to greet him.
"Clark!" Martha exclaimed, stepping forward to wrap her son in a warm embrace. She barely reached his shoulders, but her love and pride radiated as if she could envelop him completely.
"Mom," Clark said warmly, leaning down slightly to hug her back. His voice softened as he added, "I'm so glad you're here."
Jonathan clapped Clark on the back with his usual firm but affectionate grip. "Good to see you, son. It smells amazing in here already. You two really went all out, huh?"
Clark chuckled, stepping aside to let them in. "We wanted tonight to be special."
As soon as they stepped through the door, Martha's eyes lit up as she spotted Y/N. "Y/N, sweetheart," she said, crossing the room with open arms.
"Hi, Martha," Y/N replied with a smile, leaning down to hug her. Her embrace was warm and familiar, and Y/N couldn't help but feel a sense of belonging every time she greeted him this way.
"You've outdone yourselves," she said as she pulled back, her hands lingering on his arms. "Everything looks beautiful."
"Thank you," Y/N said, his cheeks flushing slightly. "We're so happy to have you both here."
Jonathan stepped forward next, extending a firm handshake. "Y/N, good to see you," he said with an approving nod. "You've really made this place feel like home."
"That's the goal," Y/N replied, feeling a swell of pride.
Before they could settle in, the doorbell rang again. Y/N exchanged a quick look with Clark before moving to open it this time. On the other side stood his own parents, their faces lighting up the moment they saw him.
"Y/N!" his mom exclaimed, pulling him into a tight hug the moment the door swung open. Her voice was filled with emotion, and Y/N could feel the love and excitement radiating from her.
"Mom," Y/N said softly, holding her close for a moment before pulling back to greet his dad, who stood just behind her.
His dad extended a hand, his grip firm but filled with warmth. "Good to see you, son," he said with a proud smile. "And I have to say, this place already smells incredible."
"Thanks, Dad. It's great to have you both here," Y/N replied, stepping back to let them inside.
As they entered, Clark was already waiting with a friendly smile. He extended a hand to Y/N's father, shaking it firmly. "Mr. L/N, it's great to see you again."
"You too, Clark," he replied. "Though I think you can drop the formalities by now."
Clark chuckled, his easygoing demeanor putting everyone at ease. "Fair enough."
Y/N's mom beamed as she stepped forward to hug Clark. "Clark, it's so good to see you. You and Y/N have really outdone yourselves tonight."
"We're just glad you could make it," Clark replied, his tone sincere as he stepped aside to let them take in the setup.
As both sets of parents exchanged greetings and settled into the living room, Y/N and Clark exchanged a quick, knowing glance. The warmth and joy in the room felt tangible, and seeing their families come together like this was everything they had hoped for.
Y/N busied himself pouring drinks, while Clark made sure everyone was comfortable. Martha and Y/N's mom were already chatting animatedly about the dinner spread, while Jonathan and Y/N's dad swapped lighthearted stories.
Clark crossed the room to stand beside Y/N, his hand brushing lightly against Y/N's lower back. "I think this is off to a good start," he said softly, his voice filled with quiet affection.
Y/N smiled, leaning slightly into Clark's touch as he looked over at their parents. "Better than I could've hoped for."
The doorbell rang once more, Clark smiled warmly, squeezing Y/N's hand briefly before stepping toward the door.
"Ready for the next wave?" Clark asked with a hint of amusement in his voice.
Y/N laughed softly. "As ready as I'll ever be. Let's do this."
Clark opened the door, revealing the arrival of their extended family. Diana stood in the doorway, her presence commanding as always, but her smile was soft and welcoming. She was dressed elegantly, a touch of her Amazonian grace reflected even in casual clothes.
"Kal. Y/N," she greeted warmly, stepping forward to embrace Clark first. "Thank you for inviting me."
"Diana, you know you're always welcome here," Clark said, returning the hug.
She turned to Y/N, her expression softening even more as she leaned in for an embrace. "Y/N, it's wonderful to see you again. And the apartmentâthis is beautiful. I can already smell the love you two have put into tonight."
"Thanks, Diana," Y/N replied, his smile growing. "We're so glad you could make it."
Behind Diana, Barry appeared, practically bouncing with excitement as he zipped through the door. "Hey! I'm not late, am I?" he asked, his voice brimming with energy as he glanced around. "Oh, man, this place looks amazing! And is that lasagna I smell? Please tell me I'm smelling lasagna."
"Barry, you're early," Y/N teased with a grin, stepping forward to shake his hand.
"Yeah, but I didn't want to miss anything," Barry said, already eyeing the appetizers on the table. "You guys always throw the best dinners."
Hal and Arthur followed next, the two of them laughing as they stepped inside. Hal clapped Clark on the shoulder with his trademark grin.
"Big Blue," Hal said, his tone easygoing. "This setup looks way too fancy for just a dinner. You're hiding something."
Arthur nodded, smirking as he took in the spread. "I agree. No way you two pulled all this together without a reason."
Clark chuckled, shaking his head. "You'll just have to wait and see."
"Typical," Hal muttered, though his grin remained as he exchanged a firm handshake with Y/N.
Arthur gave Y/N a hearty pat on the shoulder. "Good to see you, Y/N. Thanks for having us."
"Wouldn't have been the same without you," Y/N replied sincerely.
Finally, Bruce arrived, fashionably late, as always. His dark suit and composed demeanor stood out against the warm, lively energy of the room, but his presence carried an understated respect that only he could manage.
"Clark. Y/N," Bruce said with a small nod as he stepped inside.
"Bruce," Clark greeted, shaking his hand firmly. "Thanks for coming."
Y/N extended his hand as well, feeling the strength of Bruce's grip as they shook. "It means a lot that you're here."
Bruce glanced around, his sharp eyes taking in every detail of the room. "This isn't just dinner, is it?"
Clark smiled knowingly. "You'll find out soon enough."
As the Justice League members settled in, the apartment buzzed with energy. Diana and Y/N's mom quickly struck up a conversation about the table settings, while Barry and Hal bantered loudly near the appetizers. Arthur found a spot near Jonathan and Y/N's dad, exchanging fishing stories that had everyone laughing, and Bruce, true to form, quietly observed the scene from a corner, though his subtle smile betrayed his approval.
Clark stepped up beside Y/N, slipping an arm around his waist as they watched the room fill with laughter and conversation.
"Think they're suspicious yet?" Y/N asked, his tone light but tinged with excitement.
"Oh, definitely," Clark replied, leaning in close so only Y/N could hear. "But they'll know soon enough."
The doorbell rang again, pulling Y/N and Clark's attention away from the lively chatter filling the apartment.
Clark stepped forward to answer the door. When he opened it, Jimmy Olsen practically bounded inside, his usual enthusiasm lighting up the doorway. His camera dangled around his neck, and his bright grin was as contagious as ever.
"Clark! Y/N!" Jimmy exclaimed, his voice brimming with excitement. "Man, this place looks amazing. You two really went all out!" He peered past them into the apartment, his eyes widening as he spotted the beautifully set dining table and the spread of food in the kitchen. "This smells incredible. Are you sure you're not secretly running a catering business on the side?"
Clark laughed, clapping Jimmy on the back. "Not quite, Jimmy. Come on in. Help yourself to some appetizers."
Jimmy didn't need to be told twice. "Don't mind if I do!" he said, heading straight for the table. "But seriously, this is top-tier hosting. You're going to spoil everyone."
Y/N shook his head, chuckling as he greeted Jimmy with a warm handshake. "Good to see you, Jimmy. I hope you're hungryâwe've got plenty."
"I'm always hungry," Jimmy replied, grabbing a plate and eyeing the appetizers with wide-eyed appreciation.
As Jimmy busied himself with the spread, another figure stepped into the doorway. Lois Lane followed with her usual confident stride, pulling off her coat and handing it to Jimmy without breaking her pace. Her sharp gaze swept over the apartment, a small smirk tugging at her lips.
"Smallville, Y/N," Lois greeted, her voice carrying its signature blend of teasing and affection. "Well, look at you two. This setup is downright professional. Seriously, what's the occasion?"
Y/N and Clark exchanged a quick glance, the corners of their mouths twitching with barely hidden smiles. "Just wanted to get everyone together," Clark said smoothly. "It's been too long since we've had a proper dinner with friends and family."
"Uh-huh." Lois arched an eyebrow, clearly not buying the casual explanation. "Sure. You're definitely hiding something, and I'm going to figure it out before the night's over."
Y/N laughed, stepping forward to give her a quick hug. "Always the investigator, Lois. We're just glad you could make it."
Lois's expression softened, and she patted Y/N's arm. "Wouldn't miss it for the world. You know that."
As she made her way into the apartment, Lois paused briefly to admire the spread on the table. "Seriously, though. If this is just a casual dinner, I'm impressed. If not, then I better be the first to know whatever you're hiding."
Jimmy, now balancing a plate piled high with appetizers, chimed in, "I think the food alone is worth the mystery. But yeah, what's the deal, guys?"
Clark chuckled, shaking his head. "Patience. All will be revealed soon."
"Patience isn't my strong suit, Smallville," Lois quipped, though she grabbed a glass of wine and settled comfortably into a seat near Martha and Jonathan, who greeted her warmly.
Jimmy, meanwhile, wandered over to the Justice League members, his camera in hand. "Okay, this is wild," he said, looking between Diana, Barry, and Arthur. "I don't think I've ever seen this many heroes in one place without something blowing up."
Barry grinned, already halfway through a plate of food. "Hey, I'm just here for the lasagna."
Diana smiled knowingly. "It's good to gather like thisâwithout chaos for once."
As Jimmy and Lois settled in, the apartment buzzed with energy. Y/N and Clark moved seamlessly between their guests, ensuring everyone had a drink and was comfortable. Y/N's parents chatted animatedly with Martha and Jonathan, while Lois and Diana struck up a conversation near the appetizers. Meanwhile, Jimmy tried unsuccessfully to get Bruce to pose for a candid shot, earning only a faint smirk from the usually stoic man.
Clark returned to Y/N's side, slipping an arm around his waist as they took a moment to survey the room. "Think they suspect anything yet?" he asked softly, his voice warm with amusement.
"Lois does, for sure," Y/N replied with a quiet laugh. "Jimmy probably just thinks we're trying to impress everyone with the food."
Clark smiled, leaning in close. "Well, the food is impressive. But it's not the main event."
"Not yet," Y/N said, glancing up at him with a grin. "But it will be."
With their closest friends and family now gathered under one roof, the stage was set for the announcement that would turn an already perfect evening into an unforgettable one.
The dining room hummed with cheerful conversation and laughter as the delicious aromas of the meal filled the air. Y/N stood at the kitchen counter, carefully plating up portions of lasagna, roasted vegetables, and golden garlic bread. His focus was on making sure each plate was perfectâevery portion generous, every presentation neat and inviting. It was a small act of love, a way to show his appreciation for the people gathered around their table.
Clark stood beside him, ready to take each plate as it was finished. He leaned casually against the counter, his eyes filled with quiet admiration as he watched Y/N work. "You're amazing, you know that?" Clark murmured softly, just loud enough for Y/N to hear.
Y/N glanced up, his lips curving into a small smile. "I'm just making plates, Clark."
"No," Clark said, shaking his head slightly as he reached for the first plate. "You're making this whole night special. For everyone."
Y/N's cheeks flushed faintly, but he didn't respond, instead handing the next plate to Clark. One by one, Clark carried the plates to their guests, ensuring everyone had what they needed. Martha and Jonathan were the first to receive their plates, and Martha immediately beamed at the sight of the meal.
"This looks incredible," she said, her voice warm. "Thank you, Y/N."
Jonathan nodded, already inhaling the aroma. "Smells just as good as it looks."
Clark moved to the next table, setting plates in front of Y/N's parents. "Here you go," he said with a smile. "Straight from Y/N's hands."
Y/N's mom smiled brightly, her eyes crinkling with joy. "This is wonderful. You two really went all out."
"It's what we do," Clark replied with a chuckle, turning to grab another plate.
Barry, seated near the middle of the table, practically vibrated with excitement when Clark placed his plate in front of him. "Finally! I've been smelling this for hoursâI'm starving."
"Take your time eating it, Barry," Diana said with a soft laugh, her plate already set in front of her. "It's a meal to savor."
"I'll try," Barry replied, though he was already digging in.
Clark continued handing out plates, moving effortlessly between the tables and flashing warm smiles at everyone. Hal raised an eyebrow as Clark set his plate down, smirking. "Tell me this isn't all Y/N's doing. You helped, right?"
Clark grinned. "I stirred the sauce," he said, earning a round of laughter from the group.
When the last plate was served, Y/N set down two plates on the counterâthe ones for him and Clark. He wiped his hands on a kitchen towel, finally stepping back to admire the scene: their loved ones laughing, talking, and enjoying the meal he and Clark had worked so hard to prepare.
Clark approached him, his hand resting gently on Y/N's back. "Ready to eat?" he asked, his voice low and full of affection.
"Yeah," Y/N said with a smile, picking up his plate. But before he could move to a seat, Clark took both plates from him and set them down on the table.
Clark turned to him, his blue eyes shining with warmth. "Come here," he said softly, taking Y/N's hand.
Y/N raised an eyebrow, confused but amused as Clark gently pulled him toward one of the chairs. Instead of letting Y/N sit down, Clark settled into the chair himself and tugged Y/N down onto his lap. Y/N let out a small laugh, his arms instinctively wrapping around Clark's shoulders as he balanced himself.
"Clark," Y/N said, his voice low but full of affection. "There are people here."
"I know," Clark replied with a grin, his arms wrapping securely around Y/N's waist. "But this is our night, too."
Y/N shook his head, his cheeks flushing as he glanced around the table. Martha chuckled softly, sharing a knowing look with Y/N's mom. Lois smirked, raising an eyebrow in amusement, while Barry leaned over to Hal and whispered something that earned him a playful elbow in the ribs.
"You're impossible," Y/N murmured, though his voice was laced with warmth as he rested his forehead against Clark's.
"And you love it," Clark replied, leaning up to press a soft kiss to Y/N's temple.
With their plates in front of them, they finally began to eat, sharing quiet words and laughter as the warmth of the evening surrounded them. It wasn't just about the food or the gatheringâit was about the love that radiated between them and the people they cared about most. In that moment, everything felt perfect.
As the meal wound down and the sound of laughter and conversation filled the apartment, Y/N glanced at Clark, who was seated beside him. Their hands brushed under the table, a small but reassuring gesture. Clark turned his head and met Y/N's gaze, his eyes full of warmth and encouragement. This was the moment.
Clark cleared his throat gently, tapping his fork against his glass. The soft chime rang out, catching the attention of their friends and family. Slowly, the room quieted, and all eyes turned toward them. Y/N felt a flicker of nervous excitement, but Clark's steady presence beside him gave him the confidence to speak.
"Thank you, everyone, for being here tonight," Clark began, his voice calm and strong, carrying easily over the room. His gaze swept across the table, lingering on the faces of their loved onesâMartha and Jonathan, Y/N's parents, Lois and Jimmy, and the members of the Justice League. "It means so much to have all of you here with us."
Y/N smiled, picking up where Clark left off. "We wanted tonight to be special because all of you are such an important part of our lives. You've been with us through so many milestones, and we couldn't imagine celebrating this next one without you."
The room fell completely silent, the weight of their words hanging in the air. Y/N's mom tilted her head slightly, her expression softening as if she already suspected what was coming. Lois leaned forward in her seat, her sharp eyes glinting with curiosity, while Barry's mouth hung open slightly, as if he were piecing it together.
Clark reached under the table, taking Y/N's hand in his own. He looked at Y/N, his eyes shining with love, before turning back to their guests. "Y/N and I have been through so much togetherâlaughter, challenges, and everything in between. And recently..." He paused, glancing at Y/N with a smile that could have lit up the room. "I asked him a very important question."
Y/N smiled softly, his voice steady as he continued. "And I said yes."
Clark gently lifted Y/N's hand, revealing the elegant ring that now sparkled in the candlelight. "We're engaged," Clark announced, his voice filled with pride and joy.
For a moment, the room was completely still, the news settling in. Then, all at once, the silence gave way to cheers, applause, and exclamations of excitement. Martha gasped, her hands flying to her mouth as her eyes filled with tears. Jonathan beamed proudly, clapping Clark on the back from across the table.
"Congratulations!" Diana said, her voice warm as she rose from her seat to embrace them both. "This is wonderful news."
Barry practically leapt out of his chair, his excitement palpable as he gestured wildly. "I knew it! I knew it! This is amazingâwhen's the wedding? Can I bring cupcakes? No, wait, I'm making the cake!"
Lois smirked, raising her glass in a toast. "I knew something was up the moment I walked in. Congratulations, you twoâyou're perfect for each other."
Y/N's mom stood, pulling her son into a tight embrace, tears streaming down her face. "I'm so proud of you," she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. "And so happy for you both."
Jonathan shook Y/N's hand firmly before pulling him into a quick, fatherly hug. "Welcome to the family, son," he said, his voice thick with pride. "Though you've been part of it for a long time already."
Martha took Y/N's face in her hands, her smile radiant through her tears. "You make my boy so happy," she said softly, glancing at Clark. "And that's all a mother could ever ask for."
Even Bruce, seated quietly at the end of the table, offered a small nod of approval. "Congratulations," he said simply, his tone warm despite its brevity.
As the congratulations poured in, Clark and Y/N stood side by side, their hands intertwined. Y/N's heart swelled as he looked around the room, taking in the love and support from every person gathered there. This moment, surrounded by the people who meant the most to them, felt like the beginning of something truly extraordinary.
Clark leaned in close, his voice low enough for only Y/N to hear. "I told you they'd be happy."
Y/N laughed softly, his cheeks flushed with emotion. "I wasn't worried. Not with you by my side."
The evening carried on with more toasts, stories, and laughter, the celebration of their engagement filling the apartment with warmth and joy. It was a night they would never forgetâthe perfect start to the next chapter of their lives together.
I think Iâve been listening to Preybirds by Rabbitology too much, this definitely inspired this request. Could you write a piece with Jason Todd and a âguardian-esqueâ reader? All of these omens and warnings, and one night, Jason crumbles. His guardian, his watcher, appears before him.
I actually didnât know this song before you sent this request but honestly I love it smâI hope this fic does it justice <3
synopsis: Jason knows thereâs nobody behind him in the mirror, but he feels like somebodyâs watching him
notes: rated teens for canon typical violence and Jason just generally being sad
tags: pre-relationship, loneliness, hurt/comfort, heavy mentions of Dick and Roy (+ a little Lian), guardian angel!reader, gn!reader, wc: 2.4k words
also massive shoutout to @arkham-prince for being my beta reader for this one <3
onwards <3
He saw you in everything.
Saw your shadow beside his. Caught glimpses of you in the reflection of windows. Your melancholic gaze in a ravenâs eye.
He saw you in everything.
And he never realised. Every time he looked back, took a second glance, you were goneâhis shadow walked alone and birds flew off with a soft song in their throats.
Not that he was too concerned by itâit was his mind, playing tricks on him: it had been a long day, he was tired, that fear gas might not have completely left his system.
There was always another reason, something else to be blamedâbecause it couldnât be you. Blaming you would be ridiculous.Â
It was never you.
He didnât believe in you.
There was no reason to.
âYouâre going to hurt yourself.â
The apartment was stillâempty and cold, it was the place Jason called home. It was nothing more than a shoebox really, a kitchenette in one corner, a small bathroom in another, and a mattress and a full-length mirror.
It wasnât even one of his properly equipped safe houses. He just lived there. It was his.
Iâm already hurt.
He sat in front of the full-length mirror, his shirt between his teeth as steady fingers held the curved suture needle, piercing skin and threading it closed.
He was so engrossed in his work, he barely paid attention to you, sat on his windowsill, barely visible behind his own reflection. A silhouette more than a figure.
âI mean seriously hurtâone day you wonât come back from this.â
Below, a man yelled, something about being disrespected, not being looked at right. You peered your head out, carefully balancing on the window.
Youâre going to fall out, he thought to himself as his eyes flicked up to you but he focused back down on himself, starting the third stitch. He couldnât be paying attention to you.
You slipped off the windowsill, reaching up to turn the blinds down, enough that the orange lights of Crime Alley streaked across his rotting floorboardsâyou didnât cast a shadow.
You werenât tangible to change anything like light. Or fate. So you just stood, staring at his own reflection.
âYouâre lucky it wasnât worse this time around.â
Jason didnât answer. He didnât even hum. He just slipped the fourth, then fifth stitch into his wound.
âAdd another stitch.â
He did. Not because he listened to you. He just wanted to be sure. He wanted the wound to heal fast and efficiently so he could get back to stuff.
He⌠he wanted-
He glanced behind him.
Empty. Like his apartment had always been. The lamppost outside cast long streaks of orange light across his floor.
He was alone.
He was.
He didnât see you again, not for a long while.
The next time he did was in a puddle under the neon signs of Gothamâs Red Light District.Â
The air was cooler now that October was rolling around and bringing its dreaded chill with it. It would be fine for a couple more weeks before his thin apartment walls would start to fail him and heâd be spending most of his time⌠elsewhere. It was fine.
Everything was fine.
âYou know, your brotherâs been feeling pretty lonely.â
His heavy boot landed in the puddle, making your reflection ondulate and fade out. He kept walking down the streetânobody came out to bother him. Nobody other than a curious fox, whoâd poked its head out of an alley to stare at him.
He stared back.
âIâm sure he wouldnât mind sharing with you.â
You swung your legs as you sat perched a top one of the dying fluorescent signs, the logo of a dying club.Â
Jason stepped backwards as the fox stepped forward, nose twitching.
âItâs better than freezing.â
Itâs not even that cold out.
He thought to himself. He shoved his hands into his pockets, glanced aroundâthe streets were empty. He didnât look up. There was no need to. Nobody was up there.
The street was emptyâsave for him, and the fox.
He was alone.
âYou know his apartment has heating,â you said as you leaned forward.Â
Donât touch the lightbulbs, he thought.
âOr at least he should doâyou know he forgets to pay the bills sometimes.â
He does.
He stared down at the shadow you cast on the glistening pavementâdarkness where it should have been a glistening of pinks and blues.
The fox growled and yipped but Jason didnât move back againâeven if he got bit, he was wearing most of his vigilante attire. Minus the helmet, which had been tucked away in a hideout, for the time being.
He was being a little more lowkey.
God knew why.
It was getting a little cold. His cheeks stung.
The foxâs ears pinned back before it dashed away.
âDo you think heâll have leftover ramen in his fridge?â Jason mumbled softly. He looked up over his shoulder.
Nobody was sat perched on the neon sign.
The streets were empty.
It was just him.
Again.
Youâd always appear when he was sure he didnât need you.
There was no reason for you to have joined him on the rooftop. He was just sitting on the parapet of a random building, taking a break from patrol. It was a quiet night.
Gotham didnât need him.
Concrete crumbled beneath his leather grip, which he occasionally dusted off before returning his grip to the ledgeâit wasnât a tall building by any means, maybe a couple stories high, but he didnât want to slip. It would hurt like a fucking bitch.
âYou know heâs worried.â
The cold made the hairs on the back of his neck standâin his full getup, it was the only part exposed to the November airâwhich felt pretty stupid in retrospect.Â
Why would his only exposed skin be his neck?
Seemed vulnerable.
Easy to slice.
He hummed as he looked out towards the city, dusting more debris onto his cargo pants.
âHeâs called you twice nowâyou still havenât answered him.â
Gotham didnât glimmer like silver or goldâinstead, all of the life buzzing beneath his gaze, the traffic and smog-filled skies looked more like buried quartz than anything precious. But from high up, it still shimmered.
âHe just wants to know what youâll be doing for Christmas.â
âThatâs a whole month out,â he said softly. He tilted his head up, like heâd hoped to catch a glimpse of the moon and stars, but the only light that shone emblazoned a bat across the heavy blanket of clouds.
âHeâs still worried,â you said, cocking your head to look at himâhe only caught the movement out of the corner of his eye. It was probably nothingâmaybe a rat or something from the neighbouring building. His helmet did put a significant damper on his peripheral vision after all. There was nobody else on this rooftop.
It was just him and himself.
âLian probably misses you.â
She has her aunties and uncles, he thought.
âArenât you also her uncle?â
He shrugged. He looked down at his feet. Saw yours swing beside his.
âSheâd be better off without me.â
You didnât have an answer for that. He wondered if you had the answer to anything. You didnât answer queries.
You just spoke.
Is that what he needed?
Who knew what he needed.
Jason Todd: the fucking mystery.
âShe misses you,â you said, so softly your voice had almost been drowned out by the wind. Your legs stopped swinging as you tucked your knees to your chest.
Or at least he assumed you did. He didnât want to check. No, he couldnât lookâhe didnât want you to leave.
Above his head, a bird cawed. He recognised the raven for what it was when it circled above him before landing some ways away, on the building across the street.
He could have sworn he watched a beady red eye tilt towards him, look him up and down before the raven cried again.
âGotham doesnât have many ravens,â he mumbled, rolling his shoulders as he sat forward. He turned to you, âDoes it?â
His throat closed up as soon as he realised his mistake.
The rooftop was empty. Nothing, not even a shadow where you had once been sat. Just
emptiness.
He didnât know a sigh could leave from so deep within his soul. The cold settled in his bones again. He didnât acknowledge the void behind his ribcage, just between his heart and his bones, that cracked open just a little further, seeping into the cavity of his lungs.
He wasnât lonelyâit wasnât loneliness.
He was justâŚ
Tired.
âPlease.â
He hadnât meant it.
He hadnât meant any of it.
He knew he was cursed, diseased, but he hadnât meant it.Â
âPlease. Please.â
He hadnât meant to hurt him.
He hadnât meant to lash out.
It had simply all been building for too long and he was there and he had touched him, laid a hand on his shoulder and he snapped but he didnât mean to.
âPlease, Iâm sorry, Iâm sorry, please-â
It had just been too much.
The constant everything.
The downpour the moment he stepped out of his apartment and the weird little crows that hopped along after him as he walked down to the corner shop.
He wasnât one to believe in signs or omens or superstitions, he wasnât one to believe in you, but maybe itâs why he snapped.
Maybe itâs why another manâs blood stained his hands.
Maybe itâs why heâd snapped his older brotherâs wrist.
âIâm sorryâI promise. Please, Iâm so- so sorry.â
He didnât mean to. He didnât mean to. He didnât mean to. He didnât mean to.
But it didnât matter what he meant: a man was dead and his older brotherâs wrist was broken.
The blood on his hands still wouldnât come off, caked under his nails, in the lines of his palms, between his fingers.
âPlease-â
âShh⌠heyâŚâ
He ran his fingers through his hair, grasping at it, tugging it.
âI didnât mean to-â
âI know.â
The room was suffocating, too small even for his sole person, the small apartment studio more like a jail cell.
âHeâs not that badly hurt,â you said softly, but he only closed his eyes in response, pressing the heels of his palms against his skull, âHeâs healed broken bones before.â
But that wasnât the problem was it? Healing wasnât the problem. It was that heâd done it in the first place.
âThey just startled me, I wasnât thinking-âÂ
âI knowâŚâ
The man had come out of nowhere. Jason had been so preoccupied with⌠nothing that heâd missed him, until it was too late, until the running footsteps had been right behind him.
Jason had barely turned that heâd buried a knife deep into the manâs chest, slotted just between his ribs, just where it was too late to call it an accident.
At the time he hadnât even seen the gun or the bag of money on the guyâhe hadnât seen the relieved expression on his face, the realisation that he was losing his pursuers, the realisation that he was safe-
âI didnât- I didnât-â
Your lips were soft against his foreheadâyou were so warm. Against the chill of the apartment, your kiss was almost searing, too much to accept unexpectedly, stinging and retaliatory.Â
âI know youâre sorry,â you promised softly as you pushed his hair out of his face, neatly avoiding his handsâhe could feel you hover, the tips of your fingers brushing against the back of his hands but you never pulled them away.
He wanted you here.
He needed you here.
He needed-
âDeep breaths,â you saidâhe heard you shuffling, felt your palm pressed to his chest, felt his erratic heartbeat against it. âTheyâll forgive you.â
What if they never do?
He choked on an inhale but exhaled anyway on your countâbefore rinsing and repeating.
âThey wonât blame you.â
He should.
Nightwing had been after a bank robberâit would have been an easy pursuit. It should have been an easy pursuit.
But the moment, he slid into view, the moment the glint of his knee brace caught Jasonâs eye, he didnât bother asking himself any more questions.
Maybe he should have.
Maybe he wouldnât have turned his back on him if heâd spoken openly.
Maybe his brother wouldnât have tried to catch up.
âI didnât mean to.â He wondered if he looked pathetic, slumped against the wall of his apartment, crying to no one in particular.
âYou should tell him that.â
He felt your body heat as you settled next to him, let him lean his head against your chest.
He was so pathetic.
It was ridiculous.Â
âKeep breathing.â
He dropped his hands when he felt yours in his hair, brushing back soft strands of black hair.Â
His eyes stayed closed.
They stayed closed as long as he cried, even as it softened to silent tears. They stayed closed as long as you held, as long as he whispered softly to him, spoke to him.
He hadnât heard another person speak to him in so long.Â
He just wanted.
And you were.
Eventually, you pulled away, hands still on his shoulders when he instinctively leaned into your retreating touch. His face scrunched up, in the effort to not pull his eyelids open, to keep them shut, to let your warmth linger.
He didnât fight it as you took hold of his hands and helped him up, didnât fight it as you led him through his home, to his threadbare mattress.
He went willingly as you pulled him down to his knees, shed his jacket and his shoes as he listened to the sheets ruffle, to the soft sound of bare feet on the floorboard.
He blinked up to find his poorly lit ceiling, and the ring of black mould he had yet to deal with.
âThink youâll call him?â
He felt you settle down beside him, your arm brushing against his, your foot brushing against his calf. It was surprisingly cold.
âProbably,â he mumbled, I owe it to him.
âHeâd probably like that.â
He hummed.
With a sigh, he rubbed his face. The exhaustion weighed on him. He was so tired.
It was all tiring.
âYou know,â he tilted his head a little towards you as you spoke. You pressed a soft hand against his eyes, then a warm kiss against his cheek. âYou are worthy of help.â
His breath hitchedâbefore he realised it, heâd turned to his side.
His heart leapt into his throatâheâd see nothing, barely a warm spot where you had once lain, the covers pressed and clean and-
You smiled back at him as you cupped his face.
âOh hey look.â He met your eye, the small crease against it as your smile widened, âYou finally believe me.â
He swallowed. Pressed his hand against yours, let his shoulders drop. Took you in, your face, your relief, your joy.
Just you.
He believed you.
âI do.â
once I started writing this one I actually had so much fun with it, love writing subtle keys and symbolism
anyway, more from me here with my masterlist and wips list <3 (requests are closed but the inbox is open)
( synopsis ) â a badly injured clark comes to you after a losing fight against the kaiju. not only does he need to be patched up, but his ego needs a little fixing to. and luckily for you, your praise does just the trick.
( warnings ) â none. suuuuuper fluffy n cute. i love sensitive crybaby puppyboy clark!
âShit,â you whisper from where you sit on your bed, a deep frown tugging at your mouth as your teeth press down on your index knuckle. Your eyes are locked on the screen in front of you, anxiety etched into every part of your face.
The TV plays live coverage of the chaos downtown. The setting sun casts a warm hue through your window, an almost cruel contrast to what youâre watching unfold. Superman soars across the sky, moving fast and focused, his fist connecting with the kaijuâs eye and forcing a roar of pain from its throat. The blow stuns it, but only for a second.
The monster recovers quickly, lashing out with a powerful arm. Its massive claws grip Supermanâs cape, yanking him out of the sky and slamming him through a high rise. You flinch as glass explodes outward, his body crumpling against the steel frame inside before disappearing into the shadow of the buildingâs interior.
You canât watch anymore. Your hand reaches for the remote and shuts the screen off just as the Justice Gang steps in, finally giving Superman a chance to catch his breath.
Silence fills the room like smoke. You sit there, frozen, your hands still clutching the fabric of your blanket as your mind races through everything you just saw. You know Superman is stronger than anyone. Practically invincible. But that kind of impact would break bones on anyone. And heâs still human in some ways. He still feels pain. That has to mean something.
Before you can sink too deep into your thoughts, the sound of glass crunching in the distance makes your head snap up. The noise barely registers before your bedroom door creaks open and Clark steps through.
He looks wrecked.
Thereâs blood on his lip, slowly trailing down to his chin. His suit is in pieces, torn in too many places to count, revealing scrapes and bruises along his torso and arms. His eyes are red, glossy with unshed tears, and for a second he just stands there, chest heaving from exhaustion. Then he moves.
He crosses the room and collapses onto the bed on top of you without a word, his arms wrapping tight around your middle. His face presses into your chest, the heat of him soaking into your skin. You hear him sniffle before everything else goes still.
âClark..?â you whisper, hesitant, your hand slowly lifting to rest in his hair. Your fingers begin to move without thinking, brushing gently through the tangled strands. He lets out a shaky breath, his shoulders starting to fall, the tension draining from his body with every slow movement of your hand.
âNo,â he mumbles into your chest. His voice is rough, strained. âDonât wanna talk. Just hold me.â
âI can do that,â you whisper, your fingers continuing to move gently through his hair, the quiet rhythm comforting for both of you.
You sit together like that in silence for a while. The room is dim now, lit only by the last slivers of sunlight filtering through your window. The sounds of the city outside feel distant, like they belong to another world. All you hear are the soft groans of pain Clark tries to muffle against your chest.
Eventually, your other hand lifts to tilt his face up. His cheek is warm against your palm. You press a soft kiss to his forehead, barely there but enough to make him look at you. His eyes are glassy and tired, and your heart breaks all over again.
âLet me clean you up,â you whisper. âJust some ointment. A few bandages. Weâll get you home to heal tomorrow. The sunâs already down.â
Clark nods. The motion is small, slow. Tears slip from his eyes again, rolling down his cheeks and soaking into your shirt as he whispers, âAlright⌠yeah.â
You help him out of whatâs left of his suit, easing him into a clean pair of sweatpants. His skin is warm and bruised under your touch, but he doesnât flinch. He just sits on the edge of the bed, breathing slowly, his hands moving under your shirt to rest against your sides. He keeps his touch gentle, steady, like he needs the connection to ground him.
You press the last bandage over the cut on his forehead, then place the ointment tube aside. Your hands come to his face again, thumbs resting on either cheek as you look at him closely.
âHowâs the pain medicine feeling?â you ask quietly.
âHasnât kicked in yet,â he mutters. His tone is flat, but you can tell itâs more than the pain. Itâs everything else. The failure he thinks heâs shouldering alone.
âYou did a good job out there,â you murmur, brushing one of the bandages flat softly. âThat was more than anyone shouldâve been expected to handle.â
âI lost,â he says, barely above a whisper. His hand moves from your waist to wipe at his eyes. âI didnât do anything good.â
âYou did everything you could, Clark. Thatâs what matters,â you say softly, tilting his chin up again to keep his eyes on yours. âYou might be a metahuman, but youâre still only one man. And you saved people. A lot of people. That thing wouldâve crushed half the city if you hadnât slowed it down. You gave others time to escape. You gave the Justice Gang time to arrive. You did that.â
He doesnât respond right away. You can see the war behind his eyes, the stubborn pride heâs trying to hold onto, clashing with how much he wants to believe you.
âIâm really proud of you,â you whisper, and the change in him is immediate. His eyes lift to meet yours again, wider now, a new kind of emotion breaking through.
âYou are?â he asks, voice cracking slightly. His pupils dilate by ten sizes at the simple fact that youâre proud. He made you proud, thatâs all heâs ever wanted. âYouâre proud of me? You mean that?â
âOf course I do, baby,â you reply, brushing your thumbs along his cheeks. âEveryoneâs proud of you. Youâre Superman. The one people count on. The one kids pretend to be when they play heroes. Youâre more than just strong. You give people hope. And youâre loved for it.â
âAnd what about you?â he asks after a second. His hands slide up your waist, pulling you closer between his legs.
âAnd I also love you, Clark,â you whisper with a chuckle, leaning in until your forehead rests against his.
He presses a soft kiss to your lips. Thereâs no urgency behind it. No need for anything more. Itâs slow, full of gratitude, and when he pulls back, your hand rises to nudge his chin playfully.
Can we get a Superman nsfw alphabet? Unless youâve already done that, then can we get fluff of Superman returning home tired and reader gives him a massage
Clark Kent x male readerÂ
HeadcanonsÂ
Hey gamers, it's been a little huh? I got no excuse other than work, focusing on artfight, and it's been so hot I struggle to even function some days, lmao. Have some Clark.Â
I didn't have a specific superman in mind for this, but I will be using Corenswet gifs cuz he's just perfect.Â
I've already done an alphabet for Clark, and it's just kinda Clark overall, ya know? You can find it hereÂ
Now, I imagine you two have been dating for a while, at least long enough for you to know his secret identity and all that.Â
And for you to be able to give him a massage that actually works, you guys have to have access to blue kryptonite, or you are at least stronger than the average human. So, let's say you have powers. What kind doesn't really matter, but enough to rub Clark down.Â
Perhaps you are a hero, perhaps you aren't. But, you are home when Clark returns from whatever duty he's had to do as Superman.Â
Things have been so busy lately, its as if all the baddies have agreed to show up one after another, and cause as many problems as possible. Â
Normally, Clark wouldn't be flagging at all, no matter how much life throws at him, but it's clear he's under the weather when he arrives back to your guy's shared apartment.Â
Clark tries to smile and act like he isn't exhausted, maybe he's feeling guilty for some reason. Like, he's supposed to be unstoppable, powered by the sun and all that, so he has no valid reason to be tired.Â
Its a bit of a struggle to get him out of the suit, to fold it up nice and put it away in the wash as its covered in grime, and to get him to sit down.Â
But, you are able to convince him by kissing him, over and over. Just quick little pecks that have him following after you as you walk backwards, towards the bathroom.Â
Clark will act all flustered and almost shy when you work his suit off him, even though youve seen him in less, many times. Maybe its the intimacy of it, or its just because he's felt a need for your touch lately.Â
But he seems to bloom like a flower in the sun when you run your hands up and down his arms, or run your hands through his hair. Â
Clark gets that look in his eyes that makes your heart race and your teeth ache from sweetness. He truly looks at you, as if you are the very sun itself, that you are everything worth looking at.Â
It's the kinda look you always feel you don't deserve, cuz Clark just seems so warm and loving, even when you can see him teetering on the edge of something.Â
Clark will laugh as you place your palm over his eyes and push him back, your lover following your direction as there's no way you can move him without him allowing it. But Clark does go to the living room and sit down when you tell him to.Â
Clark pays attention to your heart the whole time as you putter around behind him, but well, he's always paying attention to your heart. It calms him, keeps him grounded.Â
When you have found what you need and finished up what you need to do, you go into the living room where Clark is sitting with his back towards you, watching something on the tv, but not really paying attention.Â
The oil you use to massage his back smells mild, to you anyways, but you also know his senses are much higher than yours. That was also why you got the mild stuff, not wanting to overwhelm him when hes already stressed.Â
Clark melts like chocolate left out in the sun when you start rubbing his back, starting at the neck and working your way over his shoulders, and down to the middle of his back.Â
Its hard with him sitting and all that, and having to work over the back of the couch, but for now that's all Clark needs.Â
When you got him nice, soft and pliant, you can coax him to the bedroom, where you've put some towels down on the bed so he can lay down, and you can really get to work.Â
This is where you having some kinda strength boost works wonders, as you are able to really work the knots out of Clarks body. He does jolt and snicker a little when you get to his feet, or the inner side of his thighs, but hes great.Â
Hes always half asleep when you finish his back, so you manually have to roll him onto his back to work his front.Â
Regularly when this happens, you have to throw something over his eyes cuz he's looking at you like that again, if not more intense than before. His eyes are like pools of honey ready to drag you in. And just seeing his face is enough to make you flustered.Â
Clarks never fully asleep when you finish, but its close. It's clear he wants to stay awake with you, or to just stay awake enough to listen to your heart, your breath, your very being.Â
You do have to wipe some of the massage oil off him, but this is when you guys get to cuddle, and you can pepper kisses on his neck and jaw. Â
And Clark, he just drapes a sleep heavy arm around you and exhales loudly, somehow melting even further into the bed, turning his head so he can nuzzle into your hair and actually fall asleep.Â
Like imagine high school superman as your boyfriend, and hes hot and knows it. hes super cocky and kinda mean but you know its all joking like he really cares for you ann he wants to take it all the way, and youre a virgin so he wants to take it slow and make it the best for you. So when you guys pland to do it you havent even seene ach other naked or anything yet, so he eases into it, you both slowly strip as he reassures you whispering into your ear words (some sweet some teasing) as he goes to take off your clothes. As he reveals his cock its so big and he shows it off (bonus points if your cock is noticeably smaller) and he stokes you and you himself and he talks about how big he is and how hung he is,(maybe teasing you for being smaller) and fingers you to prepre you for him as he kiss your body and leps, up and down. He makes you sit on his lap and look at him kissing him as he fucks you, moaning and whimpering as hes in you whispering how desperate he is a he fucks you
pretty please!
NICE AND SLOW
⢠TOM!CLARK KENT x MALE!READER
SUMMARY â You are the boy who unexpectedly captured Clark Kent's heartâsomething the entire town buzzed about, especially given Clark's history with Lana Lang. After months of sweet kisses, hand-holding, and intimate conversations, Clark nervously brought up the idea of taking your relationship to the next level.
WARNING! 18+ MDNI. Suggestive Langauge.
WORDS! 10.5k
AUTHOR'S NOTE! Okay, here we are with another request that I had stored in my folder. I recently watched SUPERMAN and it has my heart, so prepare to be flooded with a bunch of Clark Kent fics popping up. Enjoy your readingđŤśđ˝â¨
IN THE SMALL, gossip-fueled world of Smallville High, your name carried a kind of weight that made people glance twice in the hallways. Not because you were captain of a team or some local celebrityâbut because you did the unthinkable. You stole Clark Kent away from Lana Lang. And in Smallville, that was practically a headline-worthy scandal.
People didn't understand it. Hell, you didn't fully understand it either.
You weren't the type who sought out attention. You were more known for your sharp tongue, quick wit, and the fact that you hadn't so much as kissed anyone seriously. You were a virgin with a mouth that could cut through anyone's ego, but somehow, that didn't scare Clark Kent offâin fact, it did the opposite.
Clark Kentâthe golden boy of Smallville. The boy with the charming smile and broad shoulders, the kind of farm-boy charm that made girls swoon and guys second-guess their gym routines. He had this quiet confidence that could shift into cocky in a blink, and he damn well knew he was attractive. So when word got out that Clark was spending more and more time with youânot Lana, not Chloe, youâit sent shockwaves through the social fabric of the school.
It all started with something innocent. A paired assignment in Mr. Grant's U.S. History class. Your stomach had dropped when you heard your name called alongside Clark Kent's, but you kept your face unreadable. You didn't know him beyond the occasional glance in the hallway and those few accidental brushes when reaching for the same book in the library. He was polite when he spoke to you. Always kind. But still, this was Clark KentâSmallville's favorite son.
The first day you worked together, he showed up at your place with a notebook in one hand and a plate of his mom's cookies in the other. He complimented your room. Asked questions that weren't related to the assignment. Laughed at your sarcasm instead of being offended. And when he looked at you, it wasn't a passing glance. He saw you. The way no one else ever really had.
The next time you met, you suggested the Talonâit was neutral territory, public, and the coffee was decent. You didn't expect it to turn into something... regular. But it did. One meeting turned into two, then five, then a near-daily ritual. You'd tease him for his plaid. He'd smirk and nudge your shoulder. You'd call him out on being too perfect. He'd lean closer and say, "You think I'm perfect?" like he was genuinely surprised.
You hadn't meant to fall for him. And maybe he hadn't meant to fall for you either. But one day, he looked at you a little too long. Laughed a little too hard. And when you walked out of the Talon together, his hand brushed yours... and didn't pull away.
You didn't steal Clark Kent. He found his way to you on his own. And though the town whispered behind your back, speculated in hushed tones about what made you different from Lana Lang, you knew the answer. You didn't try to be what Clark neededâyou just were. Real, raw, unfiltered. And for Clark Kent, that was enough.
THE NATURE OF your relationship with Clark Kent was something out of a dream. It bloomed slowly, deliberately, like sunlight creeping over the fields just before dawn. From the outside, it was all sweet kisses in between classes, the warmth of his hand tangled with yours as you walked the halls of Smallville High, and afternoons spent lying in the grass behind the Kent farm, trading secrets and soft laughter beneath an endless sky.
Clark had a way of making even the mundane feel sacred. He'd show up at your locker with a shy smile and an apple from the farm. You'd sit in his truck for hours after school, music humming low while you talked about life, your futures, and what it meant to love someone like himâsomeone who wasn't entirely human.
Because eventually, he told you. It didn't come easilyâhis secret wasn't just a part of him, it defined him. But when he looked at you, really looked at you, and saw that unwavering trust in your eyes, he knew he could tell you the truth.
"I'm not from here," he'd said one evening, his voice almost lost in the wind as you both sat beneath the stars on the roof of the barn. "Not from Kansas. Not even from Earth."
And instead of fear, or doubt, or running away, you'd placed your hand on his and smiled.
"I know," you whispered. "Well... I had a feeling."
Since then, your relationship deepened. It wasn't just about physical closeness or kisses pressed to your forehead when you were tiredâit was emotional, intimate in ways that went beyond the skin. You knew things about him no one else did. You knew how he hated lying to people he cared about. You knew he sometimes worried he'd never be normal. And you knew that his strength wasn't just in his powersâit was in how deeply he loved.
Months passed in that beautiful rhythm, and everything between you two felt right. Steady. Safe.
That was until one late afternoon when he texted you:
"Meet me at the barn. Need to talk."
You thought nothing of it at first. The barn had always been your shared sanctuary, tucked away from the rest of the world. You arrived just as the sun was dipping low, casting golden streaks of light through the cracks in the wooden slats. Clark was already there, leaning against one of the support beams, arms crossed over his chest, expression unreadable.
"Hey," you said, approaching him with a soft smile. "Everything okay?"
He gave you a half-smile, the kind he wore when he was nervous. "Yeah... yeah, it's justâcan we talk?"
That's when you knew. This wasn't just a casual check-in.
You sat on the hay bale beside him, knees brushing. His hand found yours like it always did, but his grip was tighter, more deliberate.
"I've been thinking," he started slowly, "about us."
You turned toward him, your expression open. "Okay..."
He took a breath, eyes focused on where your hands were joined. "I love you," he said first, like a shield for whatever would come next. "I love being with you, and I trust you with everything I am. And IâI want to take the next step."
You blinked. "Next step?"
Clark met your gaze then, cheeks flushed despite his usual calm. "I want to... be with you. Like, really be with you. Intimately."
The words hung in the air, thick and electric. Not crude, not rushed. Just Clarkâsincere, hopeful, and just a little nervous.
You felt your heart thud in your chest. This wasn't a conversation you hadn't thought about. The way he held you, the way he kissed you with this barely restrained fireâit was inevitable. But hearing him say it, in this place, in this quiet sacred barn you'd both made your own, it made it feel real.
You reached up and cupped his cheek, letting your thumb brush against the softness of his skin. "Clark... are you sure?"
He leaned into your touch. "I wouldn't say it if I wasn't. I've thought about it for a while. I just... I wanted to wait until I was sure we were both ready."
You took a moment to absorb it all. The honesty in his voice. The emotion in his eyes. The heat crawling through your chest.
"Okay," you finally said, your voice steady. "Then let's talk about it. What it means. What we both want. I love you, Clark. And I want it to be rightâfor both of us."
His whole body seemed to exhale then, like a breath he'd been holding forever.
You didn't rush anything that night. Instead, you talked. You held each other under the warm glow of the setting sun, your legs tangled in the hay, your hands exploring only each other's hearts. And when you kissed him that night, it wasn't just affectionâit was the quiet promise of something deeper, something sacred, waiting on the horizon.
YOU AND CLARK had circled the date on the calendar in your minds long before either of you said it aloud. After that quiet, heartfelt conversation in the barnâwhere his honesty had met your trustâyou both knew you were ready. The decision wasn't impulsive or born of lust. It was something deeper. Something intentional. Your first time together wasn't going to be rushed or clumsy. It was going to be yoursâthoughtful, private, and real.
The plan was simple: the upcoming weekend, just the two of you. Clark had spoken to his parents in that awkward-but-necessary kind of way, letting them know you'd be staying over for a couple of nights under the pretense of "working on a joint project for school." Thankfully, the Kents were respectful and trusting. They didn't press with too many questionsâMartha just gave a small smile and Jonathan grunted something about "being responsible." It was subtle, but you knew they understood.
Clark took the lead on creating the perfect atmosphere. The barn, your shared sanctuary, became his canvas. He swept out the hayloft and laid down thick wool blankets over the wood planks, topped with a soft mattress borrowed from the house. String lights were strung along the beams overhead, casting a warm, flickering glow as evening fell. He even brought up a small speaker and had a playlist readyâslow, ambient songs that matched the hush of twilight and the sound of your heartbeats.
Meanwhile, across town, your nerves were a storm of their own.
You stood in front of your closet for what felt like hours, holding up different outfits against your body and tossing them aside one by one. You weren't looking for anything extravagantâjust something that made you feel confident. Sexy, even. But nothing felt quite right. This wasn't about impressing anyone else. This was Clark. Still, you wanted to look perfect. After all, tonight was the night he'd be seeing all of you. Not just the face he kissed or the hands he held, but the raw, vulnerable truth of your body. From head to toe. From your nervous eyes to yourâ
You sat down on the edge of your bed and exhaled deeply.
From head to dick.
The thought hit you like a rush of cold water. Clark Kent is going to see me completely naked. And not in a locker room or quick-flash kind of way. No. He was going to look at you. Touch you. Know you. Intimately. And that truth was both exhilarating... and utterly terrifying.
You took a long, hot shower, letting the steam settle your nerves. You took your time grooming every inch of yourselfâshaving, trimming, moisturizing. Your fingers trembled once or twice, but you reminded yourself that this was Clark. Your Clark. The boy who kissed your forehead like it was sacred. Who memorized your laugh. Who made you feel seen in ways no one else ever had.
Still, as you stood in the mirror afterwards, wrapped in a towel, studying your body with equal parts critique and curiosity, you couldn't deny the knot of anxiety in your chest.
Will he like what he sees? Will I do it right? Will I be enough?
You pressed your hands against the sink to ground yourself. You whispered the truth aloud to your reflection: "He loves me."
That helped.
You finally found an outfit that felt like youâcomfortable, flattering, not too forced. Just enough. You packed a change of clothes, your toothbrush, and everything else you might need, then stared at your bag for a moment. This wasn't just a weekend sleepover. It was a moment you'd remember for the rest of your life.
By the time the sun dipped low and you made your way to the Kent farm, the barn glowed softly against the darkening sky. Clark was waiting at the door in a fitted long-sleeve shirt and those jeans that always hugged him just right. When he saw you, he smiledâsoft and warm, like you were the only thing in the world worth seeing.
THE BARN HAD never looked so magical.
You stepped inside and paused, letting your eyes adjust to the dim, golden light. Clark had gone above and beyondâstring lights wrapped around the beams overhead, casting soft, warm halos across the wooden walls. Lanterns flickered gently in the corners, and the hayloft, your shared haven, had been transformed into something intimate and sacred. A thick, inviting mattress lay in the center of the space, layered with soft blankets and a mix of pillows, some clearly from the house, others probably dragged up from the guest room. The scent of vanilla and something faintly floral lingered in the air, likely from one of Martha's candles.
Slow, sensual music pulsed gently from a speaker tucked behind a beamâa quiet rhythm that filled the space without overwhelming it. The kind of music you could move to without even trying. You smiled, a genuine, full smile as your gaze swept across every little detail. He had done all this. For you.
You stepped further in, your boots tapping lightly against the wood as you made your way to the mattress. You set your overnight bag down gently beside it and kicked off your shoes, letting your toes sink into the softness beneath your feet. You took a breath and turned around, catching Clark watching you from near the stepsâhands in his pockets, that boyish smile curving across his face like he was seeing you for the first time.
"You really did all this?" you asked softly, awe laced through your words.
Clark shrugged a little, cheeks tinged pink. "Yeah. I wanted it to feel... right. Special."
"It does," you said, walking toward him slowly. "It really does."
He reached for your hand and held it between both of his, thumbs brushing across your knuckles. "My mom made dinner for us. I know it's late, but I can heat it up if you're hungry."
You shook your head gently. "I ate earlier, but... I'll probably be starving after."
Clark gave a low, knowing chuckle at that, and the sound sent a ripple down your spine. You squeezed his hand in response, feeling the subtle shift in the air around youâsomething quieter, heavier, but not in a bad way. Just... full.
There was a beat of silence where neither of you knew how to move forward. You could feel your heart thudding in your chest, and you weren't sure if it was nerves or excitementâor both. You weren't exactly sure how this whole thing was supposed to start. You'd imagined it a hundred times, replayed it in your head, thought about lines or gesturesâbut now that you were here, none of those imagined scenes seemed to fit the moment.
Clark sensed it.
He always did.
He stepped in closer, bringing one hand up to cup the side of your face. His thumb brushed lightly along your cheekbone, grounding you, calming you. His gaze searched yoursâwarm, steady, filled with so much love it made your knees weak.
"You okay?" he asked, voice low, sincere.
You nodded, barely, and whispered, "Yeah. Just... I don't know how to start this."
Clark leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours. "You don't have to know. We'll figure it out. Together."
Your breath hitched, and then his lips were on yours.
Soft. Gentle. Reassuring. And then a little deeper.
His other hand moved to your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you felt the strength in his armsâhow he held you like you were something precious. Your hands found their way to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, anchoring yourself in the familiar feel of him.
When he finally pulled back just enough to speak, his voice was barely above a whisper.
"You ready?" he asked, his breath brushing against your lips.
You didn't answer right awayânot because you were unsure, but because you were overwhelmed by how right this all felt. The lights, the music, the space. The way he looked at you like you were the most important thing in the universe.
You nodded slowly. "Yeah... I'm ready."
Clark held your hand as he led you up the narrow wooden stairs to the hayloft, his grip warm and steady, his thumb tracing soft, reassuring circles against your skin. The barn creaked quietly around you, the gentle flicker of string lights casting golden pools across the beams and the bed he had so thoughtfully prepared. That playlist still played in the backgroundâslow, ambient, romanticâwrapping around both of you like a soft blanket.
When you reached the top, he turned to face you, brushing a loose strand of hair from your forehead before leaning in to kiss you againâthis time slower, deeper. There was no rush in his touch, no urgency in his movements, only quiet confidence and tender patience. His voice, low and intimate, brushed against your skin as he whispered, "It's just you and me. Nothing else matters."
You exhaled shakily, nodding, feeling your heart pound in your chest as the moment became more real with each passing second.
You started undressing together, bit by bit, peeling away the layers that separated you. Shirts were pulled over heads, dropped without ceremony to the side. Clark's fingers found the hem of your shirt and gently tugged it free, his eyes never leaving yours. You tried to act unaffected, but the second your shirt was gone and his gaze flicked downward, a small, appreciative smirk curved on his lips.
"Damn," he murmured, eyes dancing. "You've been hiding all of this under school clothes?"
You chuckled nervously, but before you could say anything back, your gaze finally landed on himâbare-chested, illuminated by the string lights above. His broad shoulders, defined chest, the hard ridges of his abs... he looked like a sculptor's fantasy brought to life. Clark Kent, the humble farm boy, was built like a walking Greek statue, and though it sounded clichĂŠâeven in your headâit was the only thing that felt accurate.
"Okay, wow," you muttered, eyes drinking him in. "That's just... unfair."
He gave a low laugh, his cheeks pink but his ego clearly enjoying the compliment. "You're one to talk."
"Clark," you deadpanned, gesturing at his ridiculous physique. "You're the one who can bench a tractor."
"Still doesn't mean I'm not allowed to appreciate you," he teased, stepping closer, brushing his fingers along your side, the touch light and reverent.
Your hands moved down to undo the button on his jeans, and with each layer removed, the tension grewânot a fearful kind, but the kind laced with heat and anticipation. When you both stood there in nothing but your boxers, you felt itâyour nerves, your desire, your vulnerability. You weren't just undressing your bodiesâyou were offering something deeper. Trust. Intimacy.
Then came the moment of truth.
Clark reached for the waistband of his boxers and dropped them to the floor without hesitation, and it took every ounce of air from your lungs.
Holy shit.
There it wasâ his dick was thick, long, beautiful, and absolutely intimidating. You blinked, stunned, because yes, he was big everywhere. You weren't sure if you were more impressed or terrified.
Clark saw your reaction, and naturally, a slow, smug grin tugged at his lips. "You okay over there?"
You blinked again and dragged your eyes up to his, heat rushing to your cheeks. "That's what you've been hiding this whole time?"
He stepped forward with that confident sway of his hips, closing the space between you. "You act like I'm the only one with secrets."
And then, before you could recover, his fingers hooked into your waistband and slowly began to ease your boxers down.
You swallowed, nerves fluttering in your stomach, but you didn't stop him. You let him reveal you, piece by piece, until you stood bare before him, heart pounding as his eyes dropped lower.
Your dick wasn't quite as thick or as long as his, sureâbut it wasn't like you had anything to be ashamed of. And Clark clearly didn't think so either.
He licked his lips subtly, his gaze warm, appreciative, and thenâthose hands of his, strong and warm, slid down to your hips... then lower... and when they cupped your ass, he let out a sharp breath.
His eyes widened just a bit.
"Seriously?" he said, kneading gently. "You've been walking around with this and didn't think to warn me?"
You laughed, finally breaking into a grin as your nervousness melted away beneath his teasing. "Guess I figured you'd find out eventually."
Clark gave your ass a light, playful squeeze and leaned in, his voice a low murmur against your throat. "I'm never letting you out of my bed again."
Your eyes couldn't stop drifting downward.
And God, there it was again.
Clark's dick wasn't just bigâit was impressive. Thick, long, heavy, and uncut. It curved slightly toward his abs, resting against the soft trail of hair below his navel. You didn't even try to hide how mesmerized you were by it. Your gaze lingered a little too long, your lips parted in stunned awe, and Clark definitely noticed.
"Still staring?" he asked with a teasing lilt, smirking slightly as he stepped forward, his chest brushing yours. "Told you I was hung."
You looked up at him with wide eyes, the corners of your mouth twitching in a mix of flustered amusement and nervous anticipation. "Clark, that's not hung. That's... that's weaponized."
He laughed at thatâone of those deep, honest chuckles that rumbled through his chestâand his hand slid across your waist, pulling you flush against him.
"I did try to warn you," he said in a low voice, his breath brushing the shell of your ear. "But you didn't believe me. Thought I was just being cocky."
"Well, you are cocky," you muttered, trying to sound bold but failing miserably when your gaze dropped again and your mind raced with thoughts you couldn't fully say out loud.
Clark grinned, clearly enjoying the way he had you flustered. He bent slightly to kiss your jaw, then your neck, then your shoulderâhis touch soft, almost reverent. "We'll take our time," he promised between kisses. "I want this to be perfect. For both of us."
You swallowed hard, nodding even as you felt the flutter of nerves fluttering in your stomach. Because, yesâyou wanted this. You wanted him. But there was no denying itâthat thing between his legs had your full attention, and you couldn't stop yourself from wondering just how it was going to fit inside you.
As if sensing your thoughts, Clark pulled back slightly, looking into your eyes with a gentle smile. "Hey... we'll go slow," he murmured. "I'm not in a rush. And if it's too much, we stop, okay?"
You nodded, heart thudding loud in your chest. "Okay."
Together, you slipped beneath the soft sheets of the bed he'd made just for tonight. The mattress dipped slightly under your weight, the blankets cool against your skin.
Clark hovered over you, his broad frame casting a shadow across your bare body as the string lights above flickered like distant stars. The mattress beneath you shifted slightly with his weight, but all you could focus on was himâhis face, his eyes, that soft curve of a smile he reserved only for you.
His hand gently cupped your jaw, thumb brushing along your cheek as he leaned down and kissed you. It started sweet, slow, like a promise being spoken in silence. But it didn't take long for the kiss to deepen, to grow with need. His lips moved against yours with a rising hunger, yet there was never any rushâjust passion carefully controlled, tempered with care.
When he pulled away, his eyes stayed on yours, searching. "You okay?" he murmured.
You nodded, your breath shallow, your heart pounding in your chest. "Yeah."
He smiled, then began his descent.
His mouth traveled to your neck first, planting soft, open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin there. He lingered at the spot just below your ear, the one that always made you exhale sharply, and he chuckled low at your reaction. From there, he continued downward, his lips brushing across your collarbone, then your chest, taking his time with each kiss. When he reached your nipples, he teased them with the flat of his tongue, watching you squirm ever so slightly beneath him.
Your fingers instinctively threaded into his thick, dark hair as he kissed lower, dragging his mouth across your stomach, down the soft trail leading further south. He kissed just above your pelvis before pressing his lips against the base of your shaft, making your hips twitch. He didn't immediately take you in his mouthâthis wasn't about rushing to pleasure. He was savoring you. Worshipping you.
Clark's hands guided your thighs apart, and he kissed along the inner crease of one, then the other, dragging his lips over your skin in a way that made your nerves light up like fireflies. When he finally looked up at you, there was heat in his gazeâintense, smoldering, but laced with affection.
Then, slowly, he lifted your legs, settling them over his broad shoulders. His large hands held your thighs securely as he leaned forward, his lips brushing the sensitive skin just below your entrance before pulling back slightly.
"I'm going to prep you," he murmured, his voice deep and steady. "Want to make sure you're ready to take me. Gotta be gentle. You deserve that."
You nodded breathlessly, your body tensing with anticipation. You were completely open to himâphysically, emotionallyâand he handled that gift like it was the most precious thing in the world.
Clark leaned to the side and grabbed the small bottle of lube he'd tucked into the blankets earlier, then wet his fingers. You watched his movementsâprecise, careful, respectful. His gaze returned to yours as he positioned himself.
"Deep breath," he whispered softly.
And then you felt the gentle pressure of his fingertip at your entrance. It was strange at first, foreign, but Clark took his time, easing his slick finger inside you with slow, deliberate care. His eyes never left your face, studying every shift in your expression. He went slow, giving you time to adjust, allowing your body to accommodate the intrusion before moving any further.
"You're doing so good," he whispered as his finger moved in and out with slow rhythm. "Just want to get you ready... so it feels good for both of us."
The sensation of Clark's single finger inside you had already sent shivers up your spine, but when he slowly added a secondâstretching you with deliberate careâyou couldn't stop the moan that slipped past your lips. It wasn't something you meant to release; it just happenedâraw, real, a sound born from the overwhelming fullness and the strange, exquisite pressure blooming within you.
Clark's head tilted slightly at the sound, and a soft, almost smug smile touched the corners of his lips. "There it is," he whispered, voice low and reverent. "God, you sound so sweet... so fucking sexy."
Your hands gripped the sheets beneath you, your legs still resting over his shoulders, as his fingers moved deeper. He didn't rush. His pace was slow, steadyârotating and scissoring his fingers inside you, coaxing your body open, working you wider. Each subtle twist of his wrist had your hips twitching beneath him, your breath coming out in shaky exhales.
"You're doing so good," he murmured, lips brushing your thigh. "Just a little more, baby... gotta get you nice and ready for me."
He pressed a kiss just above your knee, his eyes flickering up to meet yours as his fingers continued their workâspreading you, stretching you. It wasn't overwhelming, not with the way he handled you. It was intimate. Patient. And so full of care that you wanted to cry.
As he kept his fingers inside you, his free hand reached down between his legs. You watched, breath caught in your throat, as he spat into his palm and wrapped it around the base of his dick. He began stroking himself slowly, deliberatelyâcoating every inch of that thick, gorgeous length with spit, working it from base to tip.
Your mouth went dry at the sight.
His hand moved in lazy, confident strokes, each pass glistening in the soft light. You could see the veins along his shaft, the flushed head, how hard he was for youâand only you. The thought alone made your body clench around his fingers, drawing a low groan from deep in Clark's chest.
"Ready for me?" he asked, voice rougher now, thick with desire but still laced with that ever-present concern for your comfort.
You met his eyes and nodded. "Yeah... I'm ready."
Clark slowly pulled his fingers free, taking a moment to caress the inside of your thigh before shifting forward. He repositioned himself between your legs, his strong hands guiding your thighs back just enough for a perfect angle. You felt the slick head of his dick brush your entrance, firm and hot against your skin, and your breath caught.
He leaned down over you, bracing himself on one forearm while the other hand held his dick steady. He kissed youâsoft and full of emotion, lips melting into yours, stealing the air from your lungs as his body pressed closer.
And then... he began to sink in.
The head of his dick pushed past the tight ring of muscle, and your entire body tensed and gasped into the kiss. It was stretching, unlike anything you'd felt before. But Clark held you, kissed you through it, whispering encouragement against your lips.
"I got you," he murmured, voice trembling slightly as he held back from thrusting. "You're doing so good. Just breathe, baby... breathe."
And you did.
You clung to him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, feeling his body slowly press deeper and deeper into yours. Inch by inch, he filled you, every nerve ending in your body lighting up. The sensation of his thickness settling inside you was almost surrealâintense, yes, but right. He kissed your jaw, your temple, even your cheek as he whispered, "Almost there... almost all in..."
By the time his hips met yours, his dick fully buried inside, your body trembled beneath himâstretched, full, aching and yet completely consumed by him.
And in that perfect stillnessâClark holding himself deep inside you, lips pressed to your forehead, your fingers curled tightly against his back.
You could feel the tension in his arms as he held himself steady, fighting every primal urge to move. But he didn't. Not yet. His restraint was admirable, his focus entirely on youâon your comfort, your experience, your body.
His lips found yours again, soft and tender, kissing you with a patience that made your heart ache. It wasn't just a kissâit was grounding, a reminder that this was him. Clark. Your Clark. That same boy who walked you home, who held your hand under the bleachers, who looked at you like the stars lived in your eyes.
"You're okay," he whispered against your lips. "I'm here. Just breathe with me, baby..."
He nuzzled into your neck, lips brushing the sensitive skin as he murmured sweet nothingsâhis voice like velvet, like a lullaby meant only for you.
"You're doing so good... feel so perfect around me..."
As he whispered, one of his hands slid between your bodies, finding your dick with gentle fingers. He wrapped his palm around it, slow and reassuring, stroking you in rhythm with his breath. His thumb brushed your tip, catching the precum already beading there, spreading it down the shaft in long, lazy motions that sent a soft whimper rolling out of your throat.
The stretch, the fullnessâit was still there, but the burn had dulled to a low hum. A pressure. An ache. One that was starting to feel less intimidating and more addictive.
"Clark..." you gasped, hips twitching slightly beneath him.
He lifted his head to look at you, eyes full of concern. "Too much?"
"No," you whispered, chest rising with every shaky breath. "I want you to move... please."
Something shifted in his expressionârelief, desire, and pride all folding into one. He kissed your lips once more before pulling back slightly, adjusting his weight so he could brace himself.
"Okay," he murmured. "I'll go slow. Just hold on to me."
And then he moved.
The first withdrawal was cautious, his hips easing back slowly, almost reverently, until only the thick head of his cock remained inside you. Then he pushed forward againâsteady, deep, patient.
Your mouth parted in a moan that surprised even youâa low, guttural sound that seemed to come from somewhere deeper than your throat. Your fingers clutched his shoulders instinctively as he moved again, and again. Each stroke deliberate, slow, meant to stretch, to fill, to love.
Clark groaned softly above you, his jaw tight as he kept his rhythm slow and controlled. "God... you feel so good."
You could only nod, barely able to form words. Each time he sank into you, the discomfort ebbed away and was slowly replaced by a building warmthâa growing, pulsing pressure that curled low in your belly.
His hips rolled into yours with a rhythm that grew more fluid, more confident with each thrust, dragging sounds from your lips you didn't even know you could make. Grunts. Gasps. Whimpers.
"Just like that," you panted, fingers dragging along his back. "Don't stop..."
Clark kissed your jaw again, his thrusts still unhurried, still careful. He was watching your every breath, your every twitchâlike you were the most precious thing he'd ever touched.
Slowlyâalmost imperceptibly at firstâthe pain began to dissolve into something else. Something warm. Something electric. Each time Clark rolled his hips forward, the ache dulled, replaced by a delicious pressure that curled deep in your stomach and spread through your limbs like liquid heat. Your muscles relaxed beneath him, your breath growing steadier, your body finally catching up to what your heart already knewâthis felt right.
Clark seemed to sense the shift instantly. His eyesâdark and full of focused affectionâflicked down to your face, watching every twitch of your brow, every shudder of your breath. His lips brushed your temple as he whispered, "That's it... you're doing so good, baby."
And then he began to move just a little faster.
The pace quickened, still careful but no longer hesitant. His thrusts grew deeper, more purposeful. With each slow grind of his hips, he filled you to the hilt, the friction and stretch now sending jolts of pleasure through your spine that had your toes curling and your thighs tightening around his waist. You gasped, your hands gripping at his back for support, anchoring yourself to him as your voice spilled into the warm air.
Soft moans and breathy cries fell from your lips before you could stop themâGod, you didn't even want to stop them. The pleasure was cresting now, building like a wave rising higher and higher, and each time he moved inside you, it brought you closer to the edge of something vast.
But still... you had to remember where you were.
His parents were home.
You bit your lip hard, stifling a louder cry that threatened to escape. But Clark noticedâof course he did. His pace faltered slightly, and he leaned down again, pressing a kiss to your throat as he spoke between panting breaths.
"Don't hold back on my account," he murmured, voice thick with arousal and something deeply tender. "I want to hear you. Every sound... every moan..."
You gave a shaky laugh, trying to catch your breath. "Your mom and dad are literally twenty feet away..."
Clark chuckled against your skin, but his voice stayed low and serious. "Then just be a little loud... I'll take care of the rest."
And when he began moving againâdeeper now, slower but firmerâyou couldn't help yourself.
You moaned.
Not loud enough to echo through the rafters, but just loud enough that Clark heard it crystal clear. A raw, uninhibited sound that told him everything. That the pain had passed. That the pleasure was consuming you. That he was consuming you.
Clark groaned in response, thrusting deeper, more confidently now. The sound of your voiceâso breathless, so needyâlit a fire in him. He braced one hand beside your head and used the other to grip your thigh tighter, pulling your leg higher around his hip so he could hit that perfect spot with every thrust.
"Just like that," you breathed, your voice a strained whisper. "Don't stop..."
His name left your lips like a prayer.
And Clarkâhovering above you, sweat beginning to bead at his brow, chest heaving with effortâfelt it all. Every sound you made told him he was doing something right. That he was giving you pleasure. That you trusted him with your body the same way you trusted him with your heart.
And he would keep earning that trust.
Thrust by deep, perfect thrust.
sweat beginning to collect at his brow, the light sheen on his skin catching the flicker of the string lights above. You could feel the muscles in his back flexing beneath your fingers, the quiet strength in every part of him barely restrained.
But even in the haze of rising heat and need, Clark never stopped checking in.
His thrusts slowed slightly, just enough for him to look down at youâreally look at youâhis eyes soft, full of concern even in the middle of all this raw, intimate intensity. One hand cupped your cheek, the pad of his thumb gently stroking your skin.
"You still okay?" he whispered, voice rough with exertion but laced with care. "Tell me if you need me to stop."
You looked up at him, breathless, overwhelmed in the best wayâbut more than okay.
"Clark," you panted, your fingers digging into his shoulder blades, "I need you to go faster. Please."
There was a pause. A flicker of hesitation in his expressionânot because he didn't want to, but because he had to be cautious. This wasn't like any other moment. You weren't just fragile emotionallyâyou were human. He, on the other hand, was not.
And he knew exactly what he was capable of.
He let out a shaky breath, brushing his nose against yours as he spoke. "You know I have to be careful... I don't want to hurt you. Or break the bedâor anything else."
You gave him a crooked smile, eyes half-lidded with heat. "I trust you, Clark. You won't."
That reassurance settled something in him. He leaned down to kiss youâslow and deep, like sealing a promiseâand then he adjusted his angle, gripping the mattress near your shoulders for support. His hips pulled back farther this time, and when he drove forward again, it was with a little more force. Still careful, still in controlâbut it was different.
More.
The sound it pulled from your throat was involuntary, raw, and almost sinful. Clark groaned above you, his control visibly fraying as your body responded to himâtightening, arching, welcoming him deeper.
You could feel the power in himâthe careful control of a man who could lift tractors and outrun bullets, now focused entirely on loving you the way you asked for. And as he picked up the pace, your body met him thrust for thrust, the barn around you creaking ever so slightly beneath the rhythm you were building together.
"God," Clark growled through gritted teeth. "You feel... so good. So perfect."
And all you could do was hold onâfingers buried in his hair, legs wrapped around his waist, heart hammering in time with his every movementâas he moved faster, deeper, but always with intention. Always with care.
Because Clark Kent, for all his strength, would never break you.
But he would absolutely make you fall apart.
Clark paused mid-thrust, his body glistening with sweat, chest rising and falling with each breath as he hovered above you. His gaze met yoursâintense, dark with desire but softened by the quiet concern that never left him.
"You okay?" he whispered, brushing your hair from your face, lips grazing your cheek.
You nodded, panting, your limbs trembling not from exhaustion but from the overwhelming pleasure. "Yeah... I justâneed a second."
Clark smiled gently and leaned down to kiss you, slow and unhurried, a stark contrast to the deep, punishing thrusts he'd been giving moments before. When he pulled back, he nudged his nose against yours, voice low and warm.
"Want to switch it up?"
You swallowed hard and nodded again.
With care, he slowly eased out of you, and the absence of his dick left you gasping for air. You felt deliciously empty, but eager. He laid back against the pillows, propping himself up slightly on his elbows, and opened his arms in invitation. You knew what he wantedâand your body answered without hesitation.
You straddled him slowly, knees pressed into either side of his hips. His hands reached up to guide you, steadying you with gentle strength as you positioned yourself above him. You glanced down, watching his dickâstill hard, still slick with your heatâglisten in the golden light. You bit your lip.
Then you sank down.
The stretch was instant and deep, forcing a cry from your throat that sounded embarrassingly desperateâbut you didn't care. Your hands flew to his chest for balance as Clark groaned beneath you, his head falling back against the pillow, jaw clenched and eyes fluttering shut.
"Fuck..." he hissed, his voice a low rasp. "You feel even tighter like this."
You moaned in response, rocking your hips slowly, adjusting to the change in angle. Sitting in his lap like this made everything more intenseâdeeper, more intimate. You could feel every inch of him, every pulse of his dick buried inside you.
Clark's hands found your ass instantly, his large palms gripping you tight, thumbs digging into the soft flesh as you began to rise and fall on him. The pace wasn't slow anymore. The gentleness of earlier had given way to something needier, hungrier. You found a rhythmâgrinding your hips, riding him with abandon, your body moving on instinct more than anything else.
You weren't sure if you were doing it right. Your legs trembled, your breath hitched, your hands occasionally fumbled against his skin. But every time you moved, Clark let out another soundâlow, guttural, full of pleasure.
His head lifted slightly, eyes half-lidded as he looked up at you. "You have no idea what you're doing to me," he whispered, voice breathless and reverent. "I'm so desperate for you, baby... so fucking gone."
His words sent a thrill down your spine, making you clench around himâand that earned another groan from his lips. He sat up slightly, bringing his mouth to your chest, kissing over your skin as his hands squeezed your ass tighter, helping you move, guiding you as you rode him.
"Just like that," he moaned against your skin. "God... you're perfect."
And in that momentâsweat-slicked, breathless, moving in tandem like your bodies had been made for thisâyou knew you were doing more than good.
You were unraveling him.
Your hands tangled instinctively in Clark's thick, slightly damp hair as he continued to kiss across your chest, lips brushing over sensitive skin with a reverence that made your head spin. Each thrust, each grind of your body against his, sent another jolt of pleasure through youâdeeper, more consuming than the last.
His mouth moved with purposeâkissing the swell of your pecs, the curve of your shoulder, the hollow of your throatâhot breath ghosting across your skin between every worshipful press of his lips. He groaned softly each time you clenched around him, his voice low and hungry, humming directly into your skin like a prayer meant for no one but you.
You were losing control.
The pleasure was mounting quickly nowâburning low in your belly, curling tighter and tighter with every thrust of Clark's hips and every dirty, tender word he whispered against your chest.
"God, you feel so good... You're amazing... I've never wanted anyone like this..."
Your breathing grew shallow, erratic, your fingers gripping his hair tighter as your hips rocked more frantically against his. You could feel the pressure building to a breaking pointâwhite-hot and relentless.
"Clarkâ" you gasped, barely able to get the words out between moans. "I'mâfuckâI'm so close."
He pulled back just enough to look up at you, sweat beading along his brow, his pupils blown wide. And the second he heard your voice falter like that, desperation heavy in your tone, he was already thereâready, willing, eager to help you fall apart.
His hand moved between your bodies without hesitation, fingers wrapping firmly around your dick. He stroked you in perfect rhythm with your movements, palm slick from the sweat glistening on your skin, his thumb brushing over your leaking tip with just the right pressure. His grip was confident but careful, perfectly attuned to your body like he knew exactly what you needed and when you needed it.
"That's it," he whispered, voice hoarse and breathless as his mouth hovered near your ear. "Let go for me, baby. You're so closeâI can feel it. I want to see you fall apart."
You buried your face into his neck, moaning his name as his hand worked you faster. The pleasure swelled to an unbearable peak, your entire body trembling, vision blurring at the edges as everything inside you coiled tight.
And thenâ
You came.
It hit you like a storm, hard and consuming, your whole body tensing before waves of release crashed through you, leaving you breathless and clinging to him like he was the only thing anchoring you to the world. Your dick pulsed in his hand as hot ropes of cum spilled across both of your stomachs and chests, your mouth falling open in a soundless gasp that eventually gave way to a moan so raw, so beautiful, it echoed faintly in the loft.
Clark held you through it allâarms tight around you, lips brushing your temple, his voice low and full of awe. "That's it, baby... You're so beautiful like this..."
You could barely speak, your head lolling against his shoulder, your entire body buzzing with pleasure and release. He didn't let go. He kept holding you like you were the most precious thing in the world.
Every nerve ending was tingling, oversensitive and glowing, Clarkâs palm gently rubbing circles between your shoulder blades.
And yet, even as you were riding that high, Clarkâs dick was still buried deep inside youâthick and pulsing, hard as ever.
He kept moving, but slower now. Measured. Gentle. His thrusts became long and smooth, dragging his dick out of you almost completely before easing it back in, careful not to overstimulate you as you recovered. Every movement made your overstimulated hole twitch, and every brush against that sweet spot deep inside you reignited flickers of pleasure in your already sensitive body.
You hummed softly, lips brushing the curve of his neck, still catching your breath. But soon, those flickers of heat began to build again. And your bodyâgreedy and achingâbegan to crave more.
âClarkâŚâ you murmured, lifting your head just enough to meet his eyes. âYou can go faster⌠harder.â
He blinked, his lips slightly parted, brows lifting in surprise. âYou sure?â
You nodded, your voice soft but filled with hunger. âI want it. I want you.â
Clarkâs jaw tightened, a deep growl forming in his throat. His fingers dug a little deeper into your thighs as he adjusted his position beneath you, shifting just enough to give himself better leverage. Then, his hand slid up your back and cradled the base of your neck, steadying you.
âI need to ask you something first,â he whispered, voice low and gravelly. âCan I cum in you?â
The question made your heart skip. In your clouded, pleasure-heavy mind, it wasnât even a debate. You were already so full of him, so connected, so completely his in that moment.
âYes,â you breathed, almost instantly. âCum in me, Clark. I want to feel it.â
That was all he needed.
With a sharp inhale, he gripped your hips tighter and began to thrust upward with newfound urgency. The slow, delicate rhythm was goneâreplaced with the kind of motion that made your entire body bounce in his lap. The sound of skin slapping skin echoed softly in the barn loft, a steady, rhythmic pulse of raw need and love.
Your ass jiggled from each powerful thrust, the motion so intense you had to brace your hands against his chest, nails digging slightly into the hard muscles beneath your palms.
âFuck,â Clark groaned, eyes fluttering shut for a second. âYou feel so good, baby⌠so good. I love youâI love you so damn much.â
Your lips found his neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses against the warm column of his throat. The heat of his skin, the faint scent of sweat, the wild thrum of his pulseâeverything about him was intoxicating. You started sucking and biting gently, marking him with love bites, even though you knew the marks wouldnât lastânot on his Kryptonian skin.
But Clark moaned anyway, a guttural sound that rumbled from deep within his chest. Even if your love bites couldnât bruise him, he could feel them. The warmth of your mouth. The pressure of your lips. The message behind every kiss.
âYouâre driving me crazy,â he grunted, voice rough and unsteady. âSo fucking goodâŚâ
His thrusts became erratic, his grip on you almost trembling now as his climax surged closer. You could feel it in his every movementâthe desperation, the tension, the need.
Then with one final, deep thrust that hit so perfectly it made your vision blur, he stilled.
And you felt it.
Hot and thick, Clark spilled inside you with a broken moan, burying his face against your shoulder as he held you tighter. His dick twitched with each pulse, warmth flooding you deep and slow, and it was so much, so overwhelming in the most euphoric way.
You stayed wrapped around him, breathing in sync, your heart pounding against his as his body trembled beneath yours. There was no distance between you, no space. Just heat. Love. Connection.
And even though the marks on his neck wouldnât last, the memory of your love would linger in both of you forever.
YOU AND CLARK remained wrapped around each other in the warm, golden stillness of the barn loft, your bodies tangled, hearts still beating in sync. The scent of sex and sweat lingered in the air, mixing with the faint scent of hay and wood, and the string lights above you flickered softly, casting a dreamy glow over everything.
Your body felt like jellyâsoft, boneless, completely spent. Every inch of you buzzed with the aftershocks of your climax, and the deep, filled ache in your ass was an ever-present reminder of just how thoroughly Clark had claimed you. You could still feel his cum warm and slick inside you, and it sent a shiver of satisfaction down your spine.
Clark's arms remained secure around your waist, holding you with a tenderness that made your chest ache. His skin was hot beneath your fingers, his body still humming with energy... but not nearly as exhausted as yours.
Of course not.
"You're barely winded," you muttered into his skin, smirking against the curve of his neck. "That's not fair."
Clark chuckled low in his throat, the sound vibrating through your chest. "I did hold back," he said, his voice playful but just smug enough to make your eyes roll.
You pulled back slightly and gave him a half-hearted glare, though the heat behind it was nonexistent. "Hold back? Clark, my legs forgot how to function."
As if to prove your point, your thighs trembled when you tried to shift, drawing a soft groan from your lips as your muscles screamed and the tender stretch of your entrance reminded you exactly where you'd beenâand who you'd taken.
Clark looked entirely too pleased with himself.
"I'm going to be feeling you for a week," you grumbled with faux exasperation.
He leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, the curve of his smile against your skin tender and teasing. "Then I guess I better carry you everywhere."
You couldn't help the laugh that escaped you, breathless and soft. You pressed your forehead to his, basking in the comfort of being so close, so completely known and wanted.
After a few more moments of comfortable stillness, you felt Clark shift beneath you. His dick, finally softening, slipped out of you slowly, making you gasp quietly at the loss. He moved carefully, never letting you go, guiding you down onto the mattress with that same protective care he always gave.
He hovered over you now, bracing himself on one arm while the other rested lightly on your chest, his fingers tracing idle patterns across your skin. His weight was warm, reassuring, and his gazeâGod, his gazeâfelt like sunlight.
Clark studied you like you were something rare and sacred, something he still couldn't believe was his. His eyes moved across your face, your flushed cheeks, your parted lips, the way your chest rose and fell as you tried to catch your breath. Then lower, to the sheen of sweat glistening on your skin, the faint red marks he'd left with his hands, and the satisfied, blissful way you melted into the bed like you'd just lived through something transcendent.
"You look..." he began, then paused, as if words failed him. His thumb brushed your cheekbone, and he smiled, eyes soft and full. "So damn handsome right now."
You leaned into his touch, heart fluttering. "You're going to make me cry if you keep talking like that."
Clark leaned down and kissed you slow, deep, like he meant every word. When he pulled back, you stared up at him, your fingers brushing through his damp hair as you whispered, "That was... incredible. Clark, I've never felt anything like that. You were amazing. This was amazing."
He held your gaze like it meant the world to him. "Yeah?" he asked softly.
You nodded, a tired but happy grin pulling at your lips. "Yeah. This was perfect. I never want to stop... not being like this with you."
Clark's expression softened even more, something almost vulnerable flickering in his eyes as he leaned in again, resting his forehead against yours.
"Then don't," he whispered. "You never have to."
And in that momentâbare, messy, flushed and blissfulâyou knew you didn't need anything else. Not when you had him. Not when you had this.
HOURS HAD passed and the barn loft was filled with nothing but the sound of soft music and whispered promises. The mattress was a mess of tangled sheets and flushed memories. You and Clark had barely lasted an hour after the first round before desire pulled you back underâtwice. Now, hours later, your bodies were spent, but your stomachs were screaming for attention.
Which led to the current scene: the two of you tiptoeing barefoot into the quiet Kent farmhouse like guilty teenagers returning past curfew.
You were dressed in Clark's oversized flannel shirtâunbuttoned at the top, revealing your collarbone and the faint red marks scattered across your chestâand a pair of his loose-fitting boxers that hung comfortably on your hips. Your hair was still a mess, and your skin glowed with the unmistakable sheen of post-bliss. Clark, meanwhile, looked equally debauched. He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of drawstring pajama pants that clung low on his waist, his tousled hair and flushed cheeks giving away every intimate detail the two of you hadn't spoken aloud.
The microwave whirred softly in the corner as leftovers reheatedâClark's mom's famous meatloaf and mashed potatoes. You both leaned against the counter, pretending to be casual, but your bodies told a different story. His hand rested low on your back, fingers slipping just beneath the hem of the borrowed shirt, while your own hand was gently stroking the line of muscle along his side. Every now and then, your hips brushed, your mouths lingered too close, kisses stolen between soft laughs and low murmurs.
"Pretty sure we burned off every calorie," you joked, nuzzling your face into his bare shoulder.
Clark smirked and dipped his head to nip at your jaw. "We're about to put them right back."
You giggled, hands sliding down to toy with the waistband of his pantsâjust as a very deliberate ahem sliced through the moment like a blade.
You both froze.
Slowly, almost comically, your heads turned toward the soundâonly to see Jonathan Kent standing at the edge of the kitchen in flannel pajamas and slippers, arms crossed, a single brow raised in quiet judgment.
Clark instinctively straightened, his hand pulling back from your waist as though burned, though the guilty blush rising in his cheeks gave it all away.
"Hey, Dad," he said, clearing his throat, trying to act nonchalant. "We, uh... woke up hungry."
Jonathan's eyes flicked down to your attireâhis son's shirt hanging off your shoulders, your legs bare except for a pair of loosely tied boxers. Then to Clarkâhalf-naked, disheveled, with faint love bites peeking out from the curve of his neck. He didn't say a word at first, just gave Clark the kind of look only a father couldâa mix of "I know exactly what you've been doing" and "please don't make me talk about it."
"Uh-huh," Jonathan finally said, dry as ever. "Hungry, huh?"
You were trying so hard not to laugh, but your lips betrayed you, twitching at the corners as you bit down on your smile. Clark shifted beside you, clearly trying to find a hole in the floor to crawl into.
Jonathan looked between the two of you, then let out a tired sigh. "Just... don't stay up too late," he muttered, rubbing his eyes before turning and disappearing down the hallway.
The moment he was gone, you and Clark locked eyesâequal parts mortified and amused. And then, you both burst into quiet laughter.
"Oh my God," you whispered, clutching your stomach. "I've never been so embarrassed and so full of adrenaline at the same time."
Clark groaned, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. "We're never living that down."
You kissed the top of his head, giggling softly. "You're lucky he didn't ask what round we were on."
Clark pulled back with a mischievous smirk. "Good thing he didn't come an hour earlier."
And as the microwave beeped and you both turned to collect your food, you couldn't help but think that this nightâawkward moments and allâwas absolutely perfect.
the bedframe had been protesting for a while now, groaning every time you pushed forward, but it was nothing compared to the way clark was breaking apart underneath you. he was lying face-down when it startedâsprawled out like some huge, helpless thing, his chest pressed to the mattress and his hips tilted up for you. he was so warm it felt like you were melting into him, every thrust slow and deliberate, every drag of your cock through his tight hole making him cry out. âpleaseâŚâ his voice cracked, muffled against the pillow. âplease, i canâtââ
you bent down until your mouth was right next to his ear, your chest to his slick back, your weight keeping him pinned flat. âcanât what, sweetheart?â you asked, sweet as honey, even as your hips ground in, forcing him to feel every inch.
âi canât think,â he whispered, almost sobbed, as you rolled your hips again. âyouâre- mmhâso- so mean.â
âthatâs all?â you murmured, kissing his damp temple. âi thought the man of steel could handle a little slow fuck.â
âiâi canât,â he whimpered, and then bit the pillow to muffle a sob when your next thrust landed deep, slow enough that he could feel every pulse of you inside him.
âoh, clark,â you cooed, moving your hand down to hold his waist steady as his muscles trembled. âlisten to yourself. youâre shaking like a leaf. and all iâve done is put you on your belly and fuck you nice ân slow.â
âyouâre so-oh mean,â he gasped, pushing back against you instinctively, desperate for more.
âam i?â you pulled out all the way, just to watch him squirm. his body clenched around nothing, back arching as if to chase you. âyou know whatâs mean, baby? mean would be leaving you empty.â
âdonât, noââ he pleaded instantly, voice breaking. âdonâtâdonât do that. i need- it.â
âoh, you need it, huh?â you sank back into him in one long, deep stroke, until you were buried all the way to the hilt. he cried out loud, hands clawing at the sheets, thighs trembling underneath you. âlook at that,â you murmured against his ear. âbig, strong clark kent, and all he can do is beg me not to stop fucking him.â he was sobbing now, but the sound was so wet and needy it went straight to your cock.
âdonât stop,â he begged, louder this time, words shaky and strained. âplease, please, iâll be good, i swear.. i justââ
âyouâre already good,â you said, punctuating the words with another slow thrust that made him arch like a bow. âgood and ruined. you feel how tight you are, clark? holding on to me like youâd die if i left?â
âi- nghhâcanâtââ his voice dissolved into a long, broken moan.
âshhh,â you whispered, rocking into him with a slow, devastating rhythm. âyou donât have to think. just let me do it. thatâs what you want, isnât it? to lie here and let me use you until you forget your own name?â
clarkâs answer was incoherentâjust a desperate, choked sound that ended in a sob. you kissed the side of his neck, soft and patient. âthatâs a yes, isnât it? you like being my good boy.â he nodded frantically into the pillow, unable to form words.
âsay it for me, baby,â you coaxed, thrusting deep enough that he gasped again. âsay you like it.â
âi like it,â he whimpered, voice wrecked. âi like it, i like it so muchââ
you smiled against his skin and wrapped a hand around his cock, grinding into him while stroking him in time. his hips bucked wildly, torn between thrusting back on your cock and forward into your fist. you held him still, controlling every movement.
âshh. let me. let me do it, clark.â
âplease,â he whispered, raw and pleading, and you felt him tremble from head to toe. âdonât stop, donât stop, donât stopââ he came undone fast, his hips jerking helplessly, his release spilling hot between his stomach and the bed as a sob tore out of him. he clutched at the sheets like a lifeline, shaking, cumming so hard he saw white behind his eyes.
but you didnât stop. you kept moving, slow but relentless, letting him feel every single stroke even as he trembled under you, too sensitive to bear it. âsensitive now, hm?â you murmured sweetly, dragging your teeth over his shoulder. âyou can take it. youâre superman. you can take anything i give you.â
clark whined, trying to twist away from the overwhelming pleasure, but you just pinned him down harder. âshhh. weâre not done,â you said, pulling out just far enough to flip him onto his back. his chest was flushed and heaving, eyes glassy, lips red from biting them.
âlook at you,â you whisperer, cupping his face as you lined up again. âtears all over your pretty face. gorgeous.â clarkâs hand caught your wrist, but he didnât push you away. instead he nodded, shamefaced, and that was all the permission you needed.
you hooked his knees over your arms and slid back into him, slow but deep, and the sound he made was sinfulâhigh and needy, his head rolling back on the pillow as he clung to you.
âthatâs it,â you whispered, beginning to move again, faster this time, but still with that same devastating control. âlet me see you, baby.â
his tear-filled eyes, half open, locked onto yours, his face contorted to a facial expression that was a perfect mix of a pout, pleasure and pure, unfiltered want.
This man doesnât fuck. Of course not, not if it were up to him, of course. He makes love. Focuses on every reaction that you give, using that damning super hearing of his to listen in on how your breath hitched when he goes down on you. Using his stupidly big hands to feel you up, his fingertips tracing over every crevice and dip in your body.
And when he finally managed to get inside you? Despite the struggle , because we all know heâs WELL endowed. Gosh. He mumbles soft thank youâs under his breath, gazing down at you with those pretty blue eyes, lips parted with soft moans that stumble along the thin line of being considered a whimper, his fingers digging into the dip of your back as he held you as close as possible.
Coming is damn near optional to him. His first priority is you, and if youâre too tired to keep going, heâll gladly mumble a soft assurance and pull out, kissing along your hairline gently as he soothed your trembling thighs, his orgasm long forgotten and thrown aside. Because youâre his everything, his sunlight that keeps him going.
Pathetic little me living my pathetic little life. @charliedakotariley - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
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