KRYPTONITE IN RED
Pairing: Clark Kent x Wife!Reader
divider by: @cafekitsune word count: 1.2k synopsis: With the kids gone for Halloween, you decide to take advantage of the rare moment of peace and quiet, and give Clark a surprise. a/n: Sorry to anyone who was hoping it would end smutty, I just wasn't in the mood to write it. We're keeping this fluffy instead.
The house was blissfully quiet—something that almost never happened in the Kent household. Kon was at Titans Tower, the team having decided to host a Halloween sleepover, while Jon was spending the night with Damian. For once, you and Clark had the farmhouse entirely to yourselves. No trick-or-treaters, no emergency calls for Superman, no kids running through the halls. Just peace.
You smiled faintly as you studied your reflection in the mirror, your pulse quickening. The costume was… well, daring would be an understatement. The deep blue bodysuit left your legs bare, showing off the curve of your ass, while clinging onto every curve like a second skin. The iconic S crest stretched proudly across your chest. The red cape fell in a perfect sweep, brushing the backs of your thighs as you turned. And the boots—shiny, crimson, and thigh-high—completed the look. You doubted they’d stay on for long, but that had been part of the plan.
You adjusted the cape over your shoulders and caught the faintest flush in your reflection. This was ridiculous. Bold. Something you hadn’t done since you and Clark first started dating. Back then, you’d both been reckless in your affection—stealing secret kisses in hallways of gala’s, sneaking away from meetings, you’d even convinced Clark to have fun with you in your office once, taking joy in corrupting the southern gentleman.
Marriage, kids, and the endless duties of Superman had quieted that kind of spontaneity. Life had become a careful balance of responsibilities, late nights, and half-finished conversations interrupted by emergencies only he could handle. You didn’t resent it—not when you loved him so deeply—but it had been a long time since you’d done something just for you two.
Tonight, you were changing that.
Downstairs, the familiar creak of the front door reached your ears, followed by the soft rumble of Clark’s voice. “Honey? You home?”
Your heart gave a flutter of excitement, as the sound of heavy boots against the hardwood carried up the hall.
You couldn’t help the slow grin that spread across your face. “Bedroom!” you called back, giving one last glance at the mirror.
A moment later, Clark appeared in the doorway, his black hair messy and slightly damp from the evening rain. His glasses were a little fogged from the cool night air, his expression distracted—until he looked up.
And froze.
For several long seconds, he didn’t move. The world’s strongest man, the alien who’d faced gods and monsters without blinking, stood utterly still, eyes wide, mouth parted in stunned silence. His gaze traveled from the familiar symbol stretched across your chest to the curve of your hips, down to the flash of red boots peeking out beneath the cape.
You tilted your head, trying—unsuccessfully—to hide your smirk. “What’s the matter, Smallville?” you teased, voice soft but laced with amusement. “Cat got your tongue?”
He blinked once—then again—his mouth opening, closing, then opening once more, as if words were a foreign concept he was trying to remember. A flustered breath escaped him instead, his voice failing utterly. His eyes dropped again, this time tracing the crest over your heart before sliding lower, cheeks reddening as his gaze lingered on your exposed legs.
“Is that—” he began, his voice rough, the words catching in his throat. “Is that a… Superman costume?”
You stepped toward him slowly, purposely adding some extra sway to your hips. “It is,” you murmured, lips curving into a knowing smile. “Thought I’d try on something you might like.”
His gaze followed you helplessly, blue eyes darkening as the distance between you disappeared inch by inch. His glasses slipped a little down his nose, the faintest flush rising along his cheekbones. “I—uh—definitely like,” he managed, swallowing hard. “I just… wasn’t expecting—wow.”
You arched a brow, fighting the smile that tugged at your lips. “Wow?” you echoed, teasing. “That’s the best the Man of Steel can do?”
His throat bobbed as you stopped right in front of him, so close that he could feel the warmth radiating off your skin, the faint brush of your breath against his jaw. His chest rose and fell in shallow rhythm, the composure that had carried him through countless battles unraveling in your presence.
Reaching up, you caught the edge of his glasses and slid them gently from his face, setting them on the counter beside you. The faint clink of metal against wood filled the quiet space.
“Don’t need these tonight, do you?” you whispered, your voice like velvet.
His lips parted, eyes darkening hungrily. “No,” he said softly, almost reverently. “Not tonight.”
You giggled, the sound light and teasing as your fingers slipped beneath the hem of his shirt, tracing the firm planes of his abdomen. His muscles tensed under your touch, and the small, involuntary sound he made sent heat flooding through you.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” he murmured, his voice deep and edged with a growl that made your stomach flutter.
Before you could reply, he moved. In one motion, his arm snaked around your waist, pulling you flush against him in a single, fluid motion that left you breathless. The cape tangled between your bodies, warm hands exploring familiar curves as if for the first time. His other hand drifted upward, fingers tracing the edge of the S emblazoned across your chest.
“You know,” he murmured against your ear, his breath hot against your skin, “I think this might be considered copyright infringement.”
You gasped in mock outrage, pressing your hand to his chest as if scandalized. “Guess you’ll have to arrest me then, officer.”
His lips curved into a slow, dangerously amused smile—one that promised all kinds of sin. The bashful, choir-boy embarrassment faded from his face, replaced by something far more hungry. Gone was the modest Kansas farm boy; in his place stood your husband, who was utterly intent on savouring every inch of you.
His hand slid lower, fingers tracing the curve of your ass before landing a firm, unexpected smack that made you gasp.
“I think I can come up with a fitting punishment,” he murmured, voice roughened by desire. The sinful smile remained, tugging faintly at the corner of his mouth as his thumb brushed soothingly over the spot his hand had just claimed, earning a small breathless moan from you.
Before you could retort, he swept you off your feet—literally. With effortless strength, Clark lifted you into his arms as though you weighed nothing at all. You let out a startled laugh, breathless and half-dizzy from the suddenness of it, your hands clutching at his shoulders for balance.
Giggling, your fingers moved down fumbling at the buttons of his shirt, as his mouth found yours both tender and hungry for you.
Later, when the costume was discarded somewhere on the floor and the two of you lay tangled in the faint glow of the moonlight shining through the windows, Clark brushed a thumb over your cheek and whispered, “You know, I save the world every day, but I think you just found my true kryptonite.”
You smiled sleepily, tracing the faint marks he’d left against your skin. “What, temptation?”
He chuckled quietly, pressing a kiss to your forehead, his breath warm against your skin. “You.”
And as the autumn wind rustled the cornfields outside and the pumpkins flickered out one by one, Superman held his greatest weakness close and called it the perfect Halloween.
