summary | under the mistletoe with the dc boys.
pairing | wally west, barry allen, conner kent, clark kent.
warnings | little smut on conner kent, comic accurate conner kent.
For Wally, saying you were the most beautiful person in the world didn’t even come close. Not even close. To him, you were the most radiant, special, perfect woman in the entire multiverse. And yeah—he was completely obsessed with you. He didn’t hide it, wasn’t embarrassed by it, and had zero intention of changing.
That’s why he’d decided that day—right before Christmas—he’d prepare something special for you. A dinner just for the two of you. Something romantic and cozy, with lights, laughter, and that Christmas vibe you loved so much. It was the bare minimum you deserved after being the best part of his life.
Right now, you were curled up together in your shared bed. A few months ago you’d finally taken the step and moved in together after two years of dating. Adults, at last, sharing routines, space, and slow mornings like this one.
“Mmh…” you murmured, your face buried in his chest.
Wally smiled, half asleep, as he traced slow, protective circles along your back.
“Good morning, beautiful.” He kissed your forehead and pulled you a little closer.
“Mmh… I really don’t wanna go.”
The day before, you and your friends—Starfire and Barbara—had decided to go Christmas shopping. You’d loved the idea… until now, when you were half asleep, warm, and trapped against the chest of the fastest hero alive.
“Oh, come on…” Wally chuckled softly. “I don’t want you leaving my arms either, but the sooner you go, the sooner you come back to me.”
You complained under your breath, but you knew he was right. So, reluctantly, you got up, gave him a lazy kiss on the lips, and wandered off to the bathroom half naked. A while later you came out freshly showered, dressed in the outfit you’d laid out the night before.
“I’m heading out, Walls. Don’t miss me too much,” you joked, kissing him again before leaving.
He was still sprawled across the bed, bare chest out, sheets covering him only from the waist down, looking at you like you were the best thing that had ever happened to him.
“See you in a bit, beautiful.” He winked.
The second he heard the door close, Wally used his super speed to peek out the living room window. He didn’t care about being naked around the apartment. He watched you get into Barb's car with your friends, laughing, and a smile slipped onto his face without him even trying.
He’d use your absence to put the plan into action. He’d buy everything he needed and have it all ready in no time thanks to his speed. Easy. Simple. Right?
And it was definitely not simple.
Wally was in serious trouble.
You liked everything. Seafood, meat, bold flavors, fancy dishes… even things he barely knew how to pronounce. Okay, vegetables were a no-go, that much was clear. But still—what did he choose? What was special enough for you?
In the end, he went with the thing you ate the least. You always said it was too expensive. And yeah, it was—but for you? For you, anything was worth it.
He also hit another mall to buy more decorations. One he knew you wouldn’t go to, because what you already had at home wasn’t enough for a night like this. This night had to be perfect.
By the time he got back home, it was lunchtime. You’d texted him to say you were staying to eat with your friends at a restaurant and would come straight home for dinner.
He grumbled when he read it. He wanted you now, right then, in his arms. But at least it gave him more time to prep everything.
Though, honestly, even he didn’t know why he needed so much time when he literally had super speed.
It wasn’t a total disaster, but… it wasn’t your cooking either. The steak was a little overdone, the sauce was improvised and “according to him” tasted better than it looked, and the table had way too many candles because he couldn’t figure out how many made it romantic instead of looking like some weird ritual. Still, he’d tried. A lot.
When he heard the key in the lock, he almost dropped the fork out of sheer nerves.
You stepped into the apartment and the first thing you noticed was the smell. Then the dim lights. Then the candles.
And then you saw him—standing in the middle of the living room, wearing a nervous smile and an apron he very clearly didn’t know how to use.
“…Wally?” you asked, blinking. “What is all this?”
His eyes lit up when he saw you, like they always did.
“Surprise,” he said, opening his arms. “Okay, before you say anything: yes, I cooked, yes, I was brave, and yes… the fire department is on speed dial just in case.”
You brought a hand to your chest, completely overwhelmed.
“You did all this… for me?”
“Obviously.” He shrugged, stepping closer. “I wanted to do something nice before Christmas. Something that’s ours. Even if…” he glanced at the table, then back at you. “It didn’t turn out exactly how I pictured it.”
You walked toward him slowly, smiling softly.
“Wally, this is beautiful.”
“Seriously?” he raised an eyebrow. “Because the steak gave me a dirty look while I was cooking it.”
You laughed, wrapping your arms around his neck.
“It doesn’t matter how it turned out. What matters is that you did it.”
His expression shifted—more sincere, deeper.
“You’re always the one cooking, always taking care of everything, always making things work…” He rested his forehead against yours. “And I wanted, at least for one night, for you to come home and have someone waiting for you with something made just for you.”
Your eyes stung a little. Damn speedster and the way he said things.
“You’re incredible, you know that?”
“I know,” he grinned. “But only because you remind me every day.”
Then, just as you leaned in to kiss him, Wally suddenly stopped.
“Wait!” He pointed upward.
You looked up—and there it was. A mistletoe, hanging crookedly, clearly put up at the last second.
“Since when are you so traditional?” you teased.
“Since I found out it means free kisses,” he smirked. “And according to Christmas rules, you’ve got no escape right now.”
“Oh no… what a tragedy,” you sighed dramatically.
He leaned in, but right before kissing you, he murmured:
“If you survive my dinner, I promise the dessert is actually good. Well… mostly.”
A sweet, warm kiss, full of soft laughter and the distant sound of a forgotten pot bubbling in the kitchen.
The dinner might not have been perfect.
But with Wally West, you in his arms, and a mistletoe hanging over your heads, the night absolutely was.
He was late again. As usual.
"You should have been used to it by now," you told yourself as you checked the clock for the umpteenth time, but the truth was different: it still hurt. Because it wasn't just the lateness; it was the promise. That "I’ll be on time" said with such confidence, such excitement. You knew he didn’t do it out of malice. You knew his other life, his other face—the Flash who was always saving the world… but understanding it didn’t make it weigh any less.
The Christmas dinner remained untouched. Warm lights wrapped around the dining room, and the tree-shaped candles were nearly spent, the wax melting slowly, just like your patience. The spaghetti carbonara—his favorite—was starting to get cold. Everything was ready… except for him.
You sighed, exhausted, finally standing up from the table. You were going to clear up, put the food away, and pretend you didn’t care. You weren’t going to cry. He didn’t deserve your tears. You just wanted to get it over with and go to bed, to forget the night.
Just as you reached out to grab the plates, the lock clicked.
"Honey!" Barry’s voice echoed instantly.
Before you could react, he was already at your side, wrapping his arms around you thanks to his super-speed.
"Forgive me, sweetheart, really," he started to say breathlessly. "A problem came up with some villains and the whole League had to go. It was chaos, I’m so, so sorry. But look at me, look at me..." he added nervously. "I brought you flowers. The ones you like. As an apology. Please, forgive me."
From behind his back, he pulled out a beautiful bouquet, exactly your favorite flowers, and offered it to you with a tired smile.
You just looked at him. That was it. You didn’t reach out; you didn’t move. You didn’t feel that relief that used to wash over you when he arrived, even if it was late.
Barry was exhausted—the stress was visible—but even so… it was always the same. So many times that it was starting to hurt in a different way, deeper.
You crossed your arms and looked down at the floor.
"Oh no, no, no," he said immediately, panicking. "Honey, look at me, please. I hate it when you won't look at me. I hate it when you ignore me, beautiful."
"I’m not ignoring you," you murmured. "I’m tired."
That threw him off more than any shout could have.
"I know you save the world," you added, your voice trembling slightly. "And I know you don’t do it on purpose. But I was here too. Waiting for you. Again."
A heavy silence fell between the two of you. Barry gripped the bouquet, not knowing what to do with it.
"I don’t want flowers," you said at last. "I want you to show up."
Barry swallowed hard and carefully placed the bouquet on the counter, as if he finally understood that it wasn’t the problem… nor the solution.
"I know," he said more slowly, without jokes, without speed. "And I don’t want 'again' to be our story. I don’t want you to get used to me failing you."
You slowly looked up. His eyes were sincere, tired, but truly present.
"Sometimes I feel like I’m competing with the whole world," you confessed. "With the villains, with the city, with the entire planet. And I always lose."
Barry quickly shook his head, stepping a bit closer, but this time without touching you.
"You aren’t competing with anyone. The problem is me, trying to get to everything… and ending up making you feel alone. And that should never happen."
He ran a hand through his hair, nervous.
"Promising you I’ll never be late again would be lying to you," he admitted. "But I can promise you something better: to keep you informed, to always come back, and to never take it for granted that you’ll be waiting. Because you aren’t 'the one who understands,' you are the person I love."
That softened something inside you. Not everything, but enough.
"I just want to feel like I’m a priority too," you said quietly.
Barry smiled softly, that small smile he used only with you.
He reached into the pocket of his civilian clothes and pulled out… a small piece of mistletoe tied with a red ribbon.
"I stole it from the lounge at the Justice League Watchtower," he admitted. "Technically it's a minor crime, but I think it's worth it."
You couldn't help but let out a short, surprised laugh.
"But your impossible," he replied, holding the mistletoe over your heads. "And according to Christmas rules… this requires a kiss."
This time you didn’t hesitate. You moved first, resting your forehead against his before kissing him calmly, without rushing, without super-speed. A warm, real kiss, the kind that mends cracks.
When you pulled apart, Barry held you gently.
"Shall we eat?" he asked. "I can reheat the pasta in literally half a second."
"No tricks," you warned him. "Like a normal person."
"Ouch, that hurts… but I deserve it."
Minutes later you were sitting at the table again, the plates warm once more, the candles small but lit, the lights shining softly. It wasn’t the perfect dinner you had imagined… but it was yours.
And this time, Barry was there. Truly.
The air in the room was thick, heavy with the scent of sex and sweat. Conner wasn’t just on top of you; he was dominating you, pinning his weight against yours while his arms, corded with tense muscle, caged you against the mattress. An animalistic growl vibrated in his throat—a low, possessive note that made your skin shiver.
"Ugh… you’re so tight, babe..." he gritted out, his eyes darkened by pure lust as he watched you come apart beneath him.
The pace was brutal. His hips hammered against yours with a frantic cadence, each thrust deeper and more deliberate than the last. You could feel every inch of him filling you, stretching you, and claiming every corner of your insides.
Your moans were no longer subtle; they were cries of pure pleasure that he devoured with savage satisfaction, reveling in the way your mouth hung open, begging for more, and how your eyes rolled back every time he hit that exact spot.
Without breaking his rhythm, Conner hooked your leg with one hand and hauled it high over his shoulder, opening you up completely for him. The new depth was overwhelming; the friction of his skin against your wetness created a slick, rhythmic sound that filled the room.
"Look at you... you’re so soaked for me," he whispered hoarsely, leaning down to lick your earlobe before nipping it gently. "Just like that, princess. Take it all. You're doing so damn well."
His free hand moved down to your chest, catching and squeezing with an urgency bordering on pain, which only served to skyrocket your arousal. You felt the pressure in your womb coil into an electric knot—an unbearable tension threatening to snap.
Conner, with his superhuman senses, caught the first spasm of your walls clenching around him, the heat rising up your neck, and the way your nails dug into his back. He smirked—a predatory expression fueled by desire—and accelerated. The rhythm became a blur of friction and heat. Just as you felt the climax hit you, he leaned in and kissed you with a needy violence, smothering your screams of pleasure.
Conner let out one last ragged growl as he reached his own limit. With a few final thrusts that made you arch your back against the bed, he emptied himself inside you. You felt the hot, pulsing surge of his seed flooding your interior while he kept pushing, lazy and heavy, wanting to stay as deep as possible.
That internal heat was the final trigger that sent you into uncontrollable spasms, leaving you trembling and spent under the comforting weight of your boyfriend.
With the echo of the spasms still racing through your thighs and the heat of his release dictating the rhythm of your racing hearts, Conner refused to break contact. He stayed over you, heavy and protective, burying his face in the crook of your neck to inhale the scent of your sweat-slicked skin. Your breaths intertwined in the heavy air as your heart rates tried, unsuccessfully, to return to normal.
Conner pulled back just a few inches, enough to look into your eyes with a tenderness that contrasted savagely with the fierce intensity from moments before. His blue eyes sparkled with a mix of adoration and mischief.
"Wait..." he whispered, his voice still cracked and deep from the exertion.
He stretched a muscled arm toward the nightstand, fumbling through the shadows until his fingers found what he was looking for. With an agile movement, he repositioned himself over you and raised his right hand.
Hanging from his fingers was a small, perfect sprig of mistletoe, its white berries shimmering in the dim light. He held it right above your heads, creating a small green sanctuary over the sweat and tangled sheets. A lopsided grin—that trademark Kent smile—lit up his tired face.
"Almost forgot about traditions," he murmured, his warm breath grazing your lips. "Merry Christmas, princess."
He didn't wait for you to answer. He closed the distance with agonizing slowness, savoring the moment. When his lips finally found yours, the kiss wasn't like before; there was no rush or violence, only absolute surrender. It was a deep, wet kiss, loaded with a promise of care, sealing not just the physical act they had just shared, but the bond that held them together under that small branch of leaves.
Your hands slid to the nape of his neck, tangling in his dark hair, while he let go of the mistletoe to cradle your face, prolonging the kiss until the outside world ceased to exist entirely.
“Sweetheart! I’m home!” your boyfriend’s excited voice echoed from the entrance, loaded with that energy of his that always filled the house even before he showed up.
“Clarky!” Your face lit up instantly.
You didn’t even bother walking normally. You practically sprinted down the hallway and threw yourself at him with zero restraint and zero dignity. Clark caught you effortlessly, like you weighed nothing at all, wrapping you in his muscular arms and pulling you tight against his chest.
He smelled like cold air, like the countryside at night—like Clark.
His body was still chilled from the weather outside, but you didn’t care. You clung to him even more, hiding your face in his neck, as if you could make up for all the time you’d been apart just by holding him closer.
“I’ve missed you so much these past few hours,” you murmured, kissing his cheek softly. He received it with a dopey smile.
That was you two. Intense. Cheesy. Hopelessly affectionate. The kind of couple that holds hands in public, kisses without shame, and looks at each other like no one else exists. And if anyone judged you for it… honestly? You couldn’t care less. In fact, the more people stared, the more over-the-top your love became.
“Me too, beautiful,” he said in that low voice he only ever used with you. “Actually… I have a little surprise for you.”
“A little surprise?” You raised your left eyebrow, suspicious.
Because Clark Kent and “little” rarely went together. Plus, he was a hopeless romantic—the kind of guy who’d plan something amazing just to see you smile. You glanced around instinctively, looking for bags, gifts, anything out of place.
“Come here,” he said, giving nothing else away.
He took your hand and carefully slipped one of your jackets from the entryway over your shoulders, making sure it was closed so you wouldn’t get cold. The gesture was so him it made you smile automatically. Then, without another word, you went outside together.
“Mmm… I don’t see anything, love,” you said, looking around.
The night wrapped the Kent farm in near-total silence. The sky was clear, full of stars, and the fields stretched out dark as far as the eye could see. No lights, no noise, nothing special at all… at least at first glance.
Clark let out a low laugh at your confusion and, without warning, wrapped a firm arm around your waist.
“Hold on tight, sweetheart,” he warned. “You wouldn’t want to fall.”
Suddenly, your feet left the ground.
The world shifted beneath you, and cold air hit your face as you started to rise. Your heart shot straight up into your throat.
Instinctively, you clutched his neck with all your strength, like letting go would mean instant death.
“WAS THIS YOUR DAMN SURPRISE?! GIVING ME A HEART ATTACK?!” you yelled, your eyes squeezed shut tight.
Never, ever, in your life would you get used to flying. And Clark knew that perfectly well.
“Hey, hey,” he laughed. “Easy, beautiful.”
With ridiculous ease, he supported you from underneath with one hand, making sure you didn’t move, while the other gently brushed your cheek—slow, soft, grounding you to him.
“You can open your eyes,” he whispered. “You’re safe with me. I’m not going to let you fall. Ever.”
You trusted him. Completely. Blindly.
But still, the thought of looking down terrified you.
“Come on… trust me,” he repeated.
You took a deep breath—then another—until you finally gathered enough courage to open your eyes.
The sky over Smallville exploded with color. Fireworks lit up the night, reflecting off the clouds, the fields, everything. Golds, blues, reds—bursts that bloomed like flowers and faded into sparkling trails.
It was beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.
“Was this… your surprise?” you asked in a whisper, your cheeks burning—not just from the cold.
Clark looked at you instead of the fireworks, like that was what really mattered.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “I didn’t have much time to plan something super elaborate… but when I saw there’d be fireworks tonight, I thought of you. Of how you deserve something nice. Something special.”
You settled more comfortably against him, still floating, the world glowing beneath you.
“It’s nothing big,” he added with a small shrug. “I just wanted to make you smile.”
You looked at him, your heart completely melted, and you understood that with Clark, big plans were never necessary. Because even suspended in the sky, fireworks bursting all around you, the only thing you truly needed… was him.
You were still watching the fireworks, a little in shock, when you noticed Clark shifting awkwardly.
“Hey…” you murmured. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing,” he answered way too fast. “I mean… wait.”
Before you could push him, you felt one of his hands leave you for a second. Then it wrapped back around you—this time with something new swaying just above your heads.
You blinked… and then you saw it.
“Mistletoe,” he confirmed, clearly proud.
You looked up fully. There it was. A small sprig of green mistletoe, perfectly intact, floating above you like this was the most normal thing in the world.
“Clark,” you laughed. “Where the hell did you even get that?”
“Hey, I’m from Smallville,” he said with a shrug. “It just shows up when you really need it.”
You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop smiling like an idiot.
“You know this is cheating, right?” you told him. “We’re literally flying in the middle of nowhere.”
“The rules don’t specify a location,” he shot back. “They just say if there’s mistletoe… there’s a kiss.”
Then he looked at you—that way. Soft. Warm. Like there were no fireworks, no sky, no world below. Just you.
“Besides,” he added quietly, “I’ve been wanting to kiss you since I walked through the door.”
“What a coincidence,” you whispered. “Same here.”
You didn’t wait for him to lean in. You closed the distance yourself, placing a hand on his chest.
The kiss was slow, sweet, filled with that calm only Clark ever gave you. No rush. No noise. Just the two of you floating in the air, the sky bursting with color around you.
When you finally pulled apart, you rested your forehead against his, smiling.
“Okay,” you admitted. “This really was a next-level surprise.”
Clark smiled, a little flushed, holding you closer as the last fireworks lit up Smallville.
“Told you, beautiful,” he whispered. “I’ll always try to make sure magic exists… even if it means pulling mistletoe out of nowhere.”
And there, suspended in the sky, the world glowing beneath you and his arms holding you steady, you knew there was no safer place than that.
