Mornings With Superman (and Krypto Too)
David Corenswet! Superman x Female Reader
Warning ⚠️: Purely fluff, maybe grammar error and maybe some punctuation errors
Word Count:~900
A/N: This request made me feel giddy 🤓, Happy Reading ❤️
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The smell of cinnamon and coffee pulls you gently from sleep. For a moment, you’re still in that hazy in-between, wondering if it’s just a dream but, then the scent deepens, rich and warm, undeniably real. You stretch under the covers, the early sunlight peeking through the curtains, and with a soft yawn, you pad barefoot out of the bedroom.
The kitchen glows golden in the morning light, and there he is your boyfriend, shirtless, humming softly to himself, flipping French toast in the pan like it’s second nature. His hair is still tousled from sleep, and there’s a smear of powdered sugar on the counter.
You sneak up behind him and wrap your arms around his warm waist, pressing your cheek against his back, “Hey,” you murmur.
He glances over his shoulder with a grin. “Hey, sleepyhead,” he says, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Go sit nicely. Breakfast’s almost ready.”
You pout a little but obey, sliding into a chair at the kitchen island, chin in your hand as you watch him plate up the golden slices of toast with care. He brings everything over with two mugs of coffee, setting them down before pulling you into his lap instead of the empty seat beside you.
“I thought you told me to sit nicely,” you tease.
“This is better,” He says, arms circling your waist.
You end up feeding each other bites of French toast, giggling as powdered sugar ends up on your lips and he tries to kiss it off. There’s a moment where you lean in for a kiss and your timing is just slightly off, his nose bumps yours and you both break into laughter.
You’re so caught up in the sweetness of it, of him, of this morning, you don’t notice the soft thud of paws or the gentle snuffling sound. Not until a suspiciously large bite disappears from one of the remaining slices.
“Krypto!” you gasp, and sure enough, the dog is sitting there, tail wagging, looking entirely too innocent for someone who clearly just stole a very syrupy piece of toast.
“He waited until we were distracted,” you say, eyes wide with disbelief. “He planned this!”
“I like his tactics,” Clark says through his laughter, stroking Krypto’s head fondly.
You glare at Krypto in mock betrayal. “You absolute toast thief.”
He sits, all proud and noble like he’s just saved the world instead of stolen breakfast. A little bit of powdered sugar sticks to the corner of his snout, and he licks it off slowly, smugly, like he knows exactly what he did and feels no remorse.
“Oh, he’s not sorry,” you say, pointing accusingly.
“He’s never sorry,” Clark says. “He’s a criminal. A fluffy, four-legged criminal.”
Krypto barks again, this time with a little hop of joy. Then he pads closer and gently brushes his paw against your leg, like he’s politely asking for seconds.
You glance down at him. “Your dog is impossible.”
Clark smirks, tugging you closer again. “He’s more your dog. He listens to you more.”
You blink at him. “He’s got us wrapped around his finger.”
Krypto lets out a single triumphant bark, then, without breaking eye contact, drags his tongue across a sticky trail of syrup on the table.
You stare at him. “Oh my God, he’s taunting us.”
Clark snorts. “He’s asserting dominance.”
“He’s a dog with breakfast crimes and zero shame, “ You added.
“Hey,” he says, turning to you with a sly smile, “I respect the hustle.”
Then, quieter, gentler, he leans in and presses a quick kiss to your cheek, warm, affectionate, barely there, but enough to make you melt a little.
You groan. “Seriously? Is there syrup on everything now?”
“Just the best parts,” he says, nuzzling you.
You give them both the most done-with-this look you can muster. “You two are a walking disaster. One of you steals my food. The other licks my face.”
Krypto barks again. You don’t know if he’s offended or proud.
Clark shrugs. “And yet…” You already know what’s coming, and you roll your eyes as he says, “You love us.”
You glance at the sticky table, the dog with zero remorse, the man whose lap you’re still in despite everything and wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. You sigh dramatically, resting your forehead against his regardless, “Unfortunately,” you mutter, “I really, really do.”
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