Formerly the writer r66dus

☆ Earth-1114 — THE WALKING DEAD A survivalist’s haven, parallel to our own universe, where survival is earned mile by mile and the air is thick with pine, woodsmoke… and the scent of pending decay.

Designation honors November 14, 2010 — the air date of “Tell It to the Frogs,” marking Daryl Dixon’s first major appearance in The Walking Dead.

M.I.R.A.: Signal saturation reached. This Earth is no longer accepting incoming requests. Further exploration will proceed under current coordinates only.

☆ Earth-1104 — Drew Starkey Here, the Hollywood Hills watch over the city like ancient sentinels, and the air is thick with both love and ambition. The lights never fade, the ocean never stops whispering, and the line between dream and reality is beautifully blurred. Almost identical to our own Earth, this timeline’s only divergence is the date of birth of the traveler, a presence that subtly bends fate’s threads in unseen ways.

The designation 1104 honors the birthday of actor Drew Starkey — a nod to the day the star of this Earth first entered the timeline.

☆ Earth-1110 — Simon “Ghost” Riley This Earth shares much of our timeline but it exists on the far side of the sun, a place where shadows rule and every victory comes at a cost.

Number assigned for November 10, 2009 — the launch of Modern Warfare 2, and Ghost’s first mission in our records.

☆ Earth-181938 — Clark Kent An Earth where hope soars as high as its heroes, where the horizon is always just a little closer to the clouds, and where truth itself can take flight.

The designation 181938 honors April 18, 1938 — the historic date when Action Comics #1 introduced Superman, the first superhero of his kind, whose legacy would echo across the entire multiverse.

☆ Earth-0424 — Joe Keery

An Earth layered with static and neon, where fiction and reality bleed into one another. Here, identities overlap and small-town streets hide doorways to something stranger beneath the surface.

The designation 0424 honors April 24, 1992, the birth of Joe Keery, the origin point of a signal that would later fracture into singer, actor and hero, each echoing through the same universe.

☆ Earth-66 — Dean Di Laurentis

An Earth fueled by hockey games, loud music, restless nights and the freedom that only exists before real life catches up. Here, college campuses blur into ice rinks under fluorescent lights and unexpected romance tends to arrive at the worst possible time.

The designation 66 honors Dean Di Laurentis’ jersey number, a signal now permanently tied to this universe’s frequency.

Hi travelers, welcome aboard!!

Who am i? | Questions answered

Request channels are always open so you can submit your coordinates if you wish to see more destinations. Each new request expands M.I.R.A's database, so more characters may appear over time.

I log and process requests in the order they arrive, though I occasionally interleave them with my own scheduled timelines to ensure quality navigation. Your request will launch eventually but patience protocols are highly advised. If a timeline (link) malfunctions, send a direct comm signal.

Data rights protocol: I do not authorize the translation, duplication, or reposting of these timelines to any external network. If you wish to support this vessel, the repost and like functions are installed for your use.

Advisory notice: This archive contains explicit transmissions (stories) and may include sensitive subject matter, always accompanied by the proper warnings.

You are responsible for the realities you choose to enter.

You didn’t know where you stood on the spectrum of sexuality and sensuality. You had never felt the touch of a man, yet you were no saint. You owned toys, you read erotica and watched porn when the mood struck. Most of all, you liked the part of yourself that refused to wait for a man to drop out of the sky before you could feel pleasure.

Your friends had plenty of experience with men and you were happy for them but you simply preferred to stay in control of your own.

For a long time that had been more than enough. You could take care of your own needs in under five minutes with the cheapest vibrator on the market or with your fingers in ten if you were worked up enough. Dildos had never done it for you, no matter the material, the shape, the length or the width, they left you feeling little and never brought you to orgasm. That fact had left you uneasy about the idea of sex with a man. You hoped that when it finally happened, penetration would feel good, you'd make sure of it, but a quiet fear lingered. Were you numb?

Still, you felt no rush to enter a relationship just to test the theory. You had watched enough friends tumble into messy entanglements and then ignore every piece of advice you gave them. 

Why would they listen to you, right? But after all, coaches never played…until tonight.

You sat around the crackling fire, thoughts drifting. You had come camping for a few nights to get some distance from your usual life and step down from your unpaid role as couple’s therapist to your friends. The first evening, Dean and Beau had set up camp near yours. They were university students like you, barely a year older, friendly and easy to talk to. 

You had fallen into hiking and kayaking together with surprising comfort and now the three of you sat around their fire, the night air cool against your skin while the flames threw warm light across your faces. Since this whole trip was an experiment and a chance to push your own limits…why stop at flirting?

“Are you two…?” Your question trailed off as you gestured between them. You sat in the middle, each of you in your own camp chair.

Dean chuckled and shook his head. “Best friends…Not that he isn’t a good-looking guy.” He motioned toward Beau. “Look at him.”

Your gaze slid to Beau. He smiled, a little shy and sweet, clearly less bold than Dean. Still, the firelight traced the strong line of his jaw and the breadth of his shoulders.

“He’s right,” you said quietly.

Beau nodded, cheeks warming. “Uh, thank you.” He took a sip from his soda can. “Only one of us is Six Flags, though.” He grinned and Dean laughed.

You looked between them, lips curving despite yourself. “Six Flags? What does that mean?”

“He’s a ladies’ man,” Beau explained. “They come for the ride and then leave.”

“And I’m okay with that,” Dean added, raising a finger as if to make the statement sound more sincere.

You nodded slowly, eyes returning to Beau. You lifted your half-empty soda can in his direction. “And what kind of ride do you offer, handsome?”

Both of them turned their full attention to you, lips parting.

“Offer?” Beau repeated, voice low.

You hummed in confirmation, letting the moment stretch. The fire popped softly as crickets filled the silence between your words. “Just seeing if I could get two-for-one access tonight.”

Dean’s eyebrows rose as a slow, interested smirk tugged at his mouth. Beau’s gaze darkened as he set his can down on the ground beside his chair. The easy conversation from earlier fell away, replaced by something heavier and charged.

Dean leaned forward, elbows on his knees, firelight dancing in his eyes. “That’s a bold ask, sweetheart.”

You held his stare, pulse quickening. “Think of it as an experiment…I figured the woods were a good place for it.”

Beau glanced at Dean and immediately caught the eager look on his face. Dean looked about two seconds away from saying yes on the spot. Before he could, Beau cleared his throat.

“Hey, man. Can we… talk for a minute?” He asked, the last part tilting up as he motioned away with his head.

Dean blinked, then shrugged as he stood. “Sure.” Before he took a step, he turned and flashed you a quick smile.

Beau stood next and walked a short distance away from the fire as Dean followed, far enough for a private conversation but still in your line of sight. You kept your eyes on them, heart beating faster. You did not know what you were thinking, but you wanted this to happen. You wanted the overwhelming feeling of several hands on your body at once. The idea of sex without commitments felt like the perfect answer to your questions tonight. You wanted to try the real thing and the mere thought of being greedy enough to take both of them was making you awfully wet.

Beau crossed his arms. “Did I understand her right? She actually wants both of us? Like…at the same time?”

Dean grinned, nodding eagerly with his hands on his hips. “Sounded pretty clear to me.”

“What if she asks us to kiss?” Beau pressed, voice low but urgent.

Dean turned his head and looked straight at you. Your eyes were locked on them, curious and steady. Beau followed his gaze, then dropped his eyes lower. Dean was already visibly hard, the outline clear against his pants. Spending the past few days with you had been fun, and you were undeniably pretty.

Beau smacked him right on the cock with the back of his hand.

Dean doubled over with a groan, hands flying to cover himself. “Fuck, dude! The fuck was that for?”

“Can you focus for a second?” Beau hissed, eyes returning to Dean’s folded-over posture.

Dean straightened up slowly, still wincing but laughing under his breath. “One of us clearly is. Come on, isn’t this what we came here for? You wanted spontaneity. This is as spontaneous as it gets out in the woods.”

Beau rubbed the back of his neck, glancing back toward you. “We take this to the grave, right? No matter what happens. And if it gets too weird, we can always take turns instead of… everything at once. It’ll be her choice. I’m big on communication.”

“So am I,” Dean said easily. “But I’m not worried about ‘weird’. I have no issue seeing your dick, man. I’m a hockey player. I shower in rooms full of them and I can tell you that eventually your eyes start to wander.” He reached over and gave Beau a firm pat on the shoulder. “It’s not ‘if,’ it’s ‘when’… and that time comes pretty soon.” He nodded, eyes tracing Beau’s worried face.

Beau looked down at himself. He was getting hard too, though it was not nearly as obvious as Dean’s situation. Still, a flicker of doubt crossed his face as he wondered if size would be an issue once things got started.

Dean caught the look instantly. “Comparison is the thief of joy, my friend.”

Beau let out a short laugh despite himself, the tension easing a little. Dean’s grin returned, cocky and sure.

“I can show you a nude right now so there’s no surprises,” Dean added, his grin spreading wider.

Beau groaned. “Size isn’t all there is. It’s how you use it.”

Dean chuckled, nodding. “That’s my boy.”

During the conversation they had not noticed you stand and walk closer. When their eyes finally left each other and found you, you were only a couple of steps away.

“Don’t worry, guys. I don’t think we’ll hit max capacity of my tent tonight.” You smiled as you walked toward your tent without looking back. Both of their gazes followed your steps, matching smiles spreading across their faces.

“I think I just came in my pants,” Dean sighed.

“I’ll go first then,” Beau said, patting Dean’s chest. “You should start getting used to coming second…or even third.” He started walking after you. A second later, Dean followed.

The air inside the tent was thick with the scent of nylon and the musk of three bodies humming with anticipation. You sat there, trembling slightly, heart hammering against your ribs. 

You hadn't told Beau or Dean that this was your first time, that the dildos you’d tried in private had left you feeling cold and empty, leaving you with a nagging, terrifying fear that you were somehow broken. You didn't know if you could actually feel pleasure but as you looked at them, the desperation to find out outweighed the fear.

The clothes had been discarded in a frantic heap, leaving you all in just your underwear. The space was cramped, which only added to the intensity, forcing your skin to brush against theirs at every turn.

Beau, always the sweeter of the two, had laid back first. He looked up at you with soft, wanting eyes as you climbed over him. You straddled his hips, settling your weight down so your core pressed firmly against the hard line of his cock, separated only by the thin fabric of his boxers and your own underwear. When you started grinding against him, you gasped, eyes widening slightly. He was warm and pulsing beneath you, the thick ridge of his erection rubbing right against your clit with every roll of your hips. 

You began to rock yourself on him, moving in a slow, experimental rhythm. The friction of his clothed cock sliding against you sent sparks through your nerves, a sensation so vivid it almost made you cry out.

Dean was right behind you, kneeling and straddling Beau’s thighs to get closer. He was a wall of heat against your back, his confidence radiating off him in waves. His large hands reached around, sliding up to capture your clothed breasts. He squeezed and massaged them firmly, his fingers kneading your flesh while he leaned in to bury his face in the crook of your neck. He nipped at your skin, teeth grazing your pulse point, sending shivers racing down your spine.

Your hands rested on Beau’s chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart beneath your palms as you moved while his hands locked onto your hips, fingers digging in to help guide them, pushing you down harder onto him with every roll. 

Whenever Dean got close enough, pressing his front to your back eagerly, you could feel the hard, thick length of his cock pressing firmly against your ass, a promise of what was coming.

The feeling of being sandwiched between two men, the weight of them and the heat of their breath created an overwhelming sensation. You weren't close to coming yet but the tension was already building, in a new coil of heat tightening in your lower belly that you had never experienced before.

Dean’s hands moved, fingers hooking into the strap of your bra. With a swift, confident motion, he flicked the clasp and peeled the fabric away, exposing your breasts to the dim light of the tent.

Beau let out a low groan at the sight of your breasts spilling free, hips bucking upward instinctively. He looked up at your chest, eyes glazed with lust and breath coming in ragged gasps.

"Fuck," Beau choked out, his voice strained. "You're so beautiful...It’s gonna make me cum."

He tightened his grip on your hips, pulling you closer as you ground down against him. He held back, fighting the urge to come in his underwear while the two of you moved in a desperate, sweaty rhythm.

Dean stayed pressed behind you, mouth hot on your neck and shoulder, kissing and biting softly as his hand slipped around your waist and slid slowly beneath the waistband of your panties. 

His fingers found your slick folds and immediately began drawing slow but firm circles over your clit, the sudden direct touch making you moan loudly into the space. 

Meanwhile, his other hand stayed cupped around your breast, thumb brushing across your nipple in time with the movement of his fingers, forcing pleasure to surge through you from both angles. 

Your hips lifted on instinct. Breathing hard, you reached down between your bodies, slipped your hand into the waistband of his boxers and wrapped your fingers around his thick, heated length. You pulled him free, stroking him once from base to tip as his breath hitched sharply.

You then hooked a finger into the side of your soaked panties and tugged them roughly aside, exposing your dripping pussy completely to him. 

Dean chuckled low against your neck. "Taking initiative, I love that…Beau here likes spontaneity."

Holding Beau’s cock steady, you lined him up at your entrance and slowly sank down onto him. 

The stretch was immediate and intense. A broken moan and gasp escaped your lips as his warm, bare cock pushed inside you, filling you inch by inch. It truly was nothing like your toys, he felt alive, hot and so much fuller than you had imagined. You kept sinking until you were fully seated in his lap, walls fluttering and clenching around him then releasing in ways no toy had ever made them do. "Holy fuck," you breathed.

"Nothing holy about this," Beau answered, voice rough. "Get to riding."

You laughed shakily as Dean’s laugh vibrated against your skin. "And here she thought you were the sweeter one."

"Please," Beau added, smiling up at you and the word made your lips part around another curse.

Dean’s hand left your breast and slid up to the back of your neck, pressing you forward firmly until your chest was flush against Beau’s, nipples brushing his warm skin with every breath. The new angle pushed you deeper onto Beau’s cock, drawing a shared moan from both of you.

Behind you, Dean rolled his hips, grinding the hard, clothed length of his cock between your ass cheeks. The thick ridge of his erection, still trapped in his boxers, dragged slowly, applying steady pressure against your most sensitive area. He matched every roll and lift of your hips as you rode Beau, thrusting in perfect sync so that every time you sank down onto Beau’s cock, Dean’s pressed firmly against your ass.

His fingers never stopped their steady circles over your swollen clit, slick and fast now, pushing you higher with every stroke. The sensation of being filled by Beau while Dean ground against you from behind left you trembling between them, caught in a rhythm that grew steadily more desperate.

"Tell her again," Dean said, grinning. "I’m pretty sure her pussy will thank you for your manners."

Beau’s hands settled on your waist, guiding your drags up and down his length. "Ride me, sweetheart. Nice and slow so you can feel every inch."

You kept moving and each time you rose, Dean’s dry thrusts pushed you forward again, the fabric of his boxers catching and dragging against sensitive, wet skin. The tent felt smaller with every breath and shift of bodies while your knees slid over your sleeping bag as you found a rhythm, Beau’s cock stretching you as Dean’s fingers kept your clit puffy and throbbing.

Beau’s grip tightened as he grabbed handfuls of ass. "Fuck, you feel so good…so tight around me."

"She’s dripping down your cock already. Keep talking to her, Beau…she likes it." Dean grinned.

Beau’s voice stayed soft even as his hips failed to lift to meet you halfway. "You’re doing so well…taking me so deep. That’s it, let Dean play with that pretty clit while you fuck yourself on me."

Dean’s fingers pressed firmer, faster and your moans broke into something higher. The combined sensation from Beau filling you and Dean’s cock grinding against your ass while his fingers worked your clit, made your thighs shake. You rocked harder, chasing the feeling you’d never found with silicone.

"That’s right," Dean murmured. "Use us. Show us how you want it."

Beau’s hands slid up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. "You can go faster if you need to, it’s all yours to take."

You did. The wet sounds of your pussy taking him fully grew louder inside the small tent. Dean’s dry thrusts grew more insistent, the head of his cock catching on the thin fabric of your panties with every roll of his hips as your clit pulsed under his fingers, every circle sending sparks up your spine.

Beau’s breathing turned ragged, eyes fluttering shut. "You’re squeezing me so tight…Fuck, don’t stop."

Dean’s hand pressed firmly on the delicious curve of your spine…Fuck, he wanted to lick along it. "She won’t…not until she comes all over your cock. Right, beautiful?"

The words hit you harder than you expected. Your hips stuttered for a moment, then resumed their frantic rhythm, chasing the edge that had always stayed just out of reach with your toys. 

Beau’s hands gripped your waist, steadying you as you rode him and Dean’s fingers never faltered on your clit, circling with relentless pressure. The three of you moved together in the cramped tent, bodies sliding against each other, hot breaths mingling in the thick air while the quiet night outside faded completely.

Beau pulled you into a deep, searing kiss, his tongue sliding against yours as he met every desperate roll of your hips, which you were greedy for. You rode him harder, walls clamping down tightly around his thick shaft with every downward plunge. The wet, filthy sound of your bodies meeting filled the small space as the tension coiled tighter and tighter in your core, centered beneath Dean’s skilled fingers.

Your orgasm crashed over you without warning, violent and overwhelming. Your back arched sharply, pressing your chest harder against Beau’s as your hardened nipples dragged across his heated skin. The kiss broke with a wet gasp as a loud, broken moan tore from your throat. 

Your pussy spasmed hard around Beau’s cock, milking him in powerful, rhythmic pulses while pleasure tore through every nerve in your body.

You were so drenched that your juices coated his length and dripped down onto his balls, the slickness becoming too much. With one final, shaking shudder, Beau’s cock slipped out of you with a loud and obscene wet pop. You slumped forward against his chest, gasping for air, your empty pussy visibly twitching and pulsing in the open air between your spread cheeks.

Dean, who had been watching the entire spectacle with dark, predatory hunger, let out a low hiss. Seeing your walls contract and flutter had pushed him past the point of restraint. He snatched his hand away from your clit, the sudden loss making you whimper in protest and in one fluid motion, he shoved the front of his boxers down, freeing his thick, rigid cock. 

He leaned forward, lined the swollen head against your soaked entrance and began pushing in.

You let out a loud, shocked moan against Beau’s lips, your eyes widening at the sudden heavy intrusion. Beau had been long and smooth, gliding easily along your walls, Dean was thicker and the wait had made him even harder. He was ridged and pressed firmly against every sensitive spot as he moved. He stretched you to your absolute limit, forcing your walls to open around his girth as he sank deeper.

Beau reached down with both hands and gripped your ass cheeks. He spread them wide, fully exposing your dripping pussy to Dean’s relentless push, the new position leaving you completely open between them.

Dean gave a few slow, careful thrusts at first, testing how your body responded while it was still vibrating from your orgasm. The waves hadn’t faded, instead, they continued pulsing around his cock with every shallow stroke, drawing a deep groan from his chest.

You whined, a high and needy sound escaping your throat. Dean rested his forehead against the back of your neck for a moment, breathing hard, before he straightened up again on his knees.

“Fucking glorious, right? So warm,” Beau murmured, his voice thick with lust.

Dean chuckled, the sound vibrating through your spine. “She’s still cumming from your cock, dude.” He paused, his voice softening even as it stayed dominant. “I’m not hurting you, am I, sweetheart?”

You shook your head gently, breath coming in short, jagged gasps. A powerful wave of relief washed over you. You weren’t broken or numb, you could feel everything, every ridge, vein and throb of their cocks inside you. The sheer intensity proved you were more than capable of this kind of pleasure.

Dean’s arm wrapped around your waist and hauled you upright, pulling you off Beau’s chest and holding you tight against him in a firm bear hug, your back flush to his front. Your skin burned where it pressed against his.

“Do me a favor and wrap that pretty hand around Beau’s cock,” he whispered hotly against your ear.

He began to thrust in earnest, each powerful stroke driving deep and pushing fresh wetness out around his thick shaft. You melted back into him, head falling against his shoulder as a full-body shudder ran through you.

“Come on, be a good girl,” Dean murmured, voice rough with passion.

He looked down at Beau’s cock lying hard and twitching against his stomach, shiny and dripping with your juices. The swollen head glistened under the low light while a thin string of your slick stretched from your pussy to Beau’s skin every time Dean pulled back and slammed in again.

Your hand reached down on instinct, fingers wrapping around Beau’s slick, hot length, feeling it pulse strongly in your palm. You stroked him slowly at first, spreading the wetness up and down his shaft while Dean fucked you steadily from behind, the three of you locked together in the cramped tent.

You guided the broad head of Beau’s cock firmly against your swollen clit and the drenched opening of your pussy. Every time Dean slammed his hips forward, driving his cock deep into you, the force pressed your pelvis down onto Beau’s shaft. The friction was electric, a constant, slippery grind that sent sparks of pleasure shooting through your nerves. You whimpered, head tossing back against Dean’s shoulder anew as pre-cum and your own slick lubricated the filthy contact.

Beau’s chest tensed beneath you, his muscles rippling as he fought for control. “Ugh, fuck,” he moaned, the sound vibrating through your thighs. You let out a breathless chuckle between your moans, fingers digging into his skin to keep his cock pressed tight against your throbbing clit.

“You guys…do this often?” you gasped, voice trembling as Dean’s thrusts grew more urgent, hitting your cervix with blunt, satisfying thuds.

“We can, if you call us,” Beau answered instantly.

Dean let out a low, rumbling laugh that vibrated against your back. “Took the words right out of my mouth,” he said, teeth grazing the shell of your ear before he gripped your waist tighter and pulled you back harder onto his cock.

The pace changed, becoming a relentless, kinky assault on your senses. Dean began to rotate his hips, grinding his cock deep inside you while you continued sliding against Beau’s tip. The wet, slapping sound of skin meeting skin filled the tent, mixed with the heavy, intoxicating scent of sex and musk. You were drowning in it as pleasure built into a towering wave that stripped away your ability to speak. You could no longer form words, all that left your lips were high, needy moans and broken whimpers.

As you lost the ability to talk, the men took over. Their voices became low and praising as they talked about you like a prize, describing exactly how your tight walls squeezed Dean and how your clit pulsed against Beau.

“Look at her,” Dean groaned, his breath hot on your neck. “So fucking wet for us. I can feel her twitching around me, trying to suck me dry.”

“She’s perfect,” Beau rasped, his eyes locked on your blissed-out face.

Suddenly, Beau sat up, his movement fluid and hungry. He lunged forward and wrapped his mouth around one of your stiff nipples, sucking hard while his tongue swirled around the sensitive peak. At the same time, his hand reached up to massage your other breast, kneading the soft flesh with a firm grip. The combination of Dean’s deep pounding from behind, the constant friction on your clit and Beau’s hungry mouth on your breasts pushed you right to the edge.

Your back arched sharply, toes curling. “Fuck…I’m gonna cum,” you wailed, your internal muscles clamping down violently around Dean.

“Hold it,” they both commanded in unison.

The sudden order snapped you out of your haze for a split second. They didn’t stop moving, if anything, Dean slowed to a torturous, shallow grind, teasing the entrance of your womb, while Beau kept his cock pressed firmly against your clit. They went right back to their seductive murmurs against your skin, praising how your body trembled and how desperately you were leaking for them. They kept you hovering right on the precipice, denying your release and stretching the tension until your entire body hummed like a live wire, trapped in agonizing, wet ecstasy.

The friction continued, a relentless, slippery torture. The sheer amount of lubrication, a hot cocktail of your soaking wetness and their pre-cum, made every movement smooth and loud. 

As you ground desperately against Beau, the slickness became so intense that his cock suddenly slid from your clit and glided effortlessly toward your entrance.

You gasped, eyes widening in shock as you felt the broad, blunt head of his cock press firmly against your opening, right beside where Dean’s thick shaft was sliding in and out. He didn’t push inside but the overwhelming pressure of two cocks fighting for the same tight space was too much and the dam broke. 

You screamed, body convulsing in a violent, crashing orgasm. Your walls clamped down hard on Dean in rhythmic, desperate pulses, milking him with every spasm. You whined and moaned, voice breaking as wave after wave of pleasure ripped through you, leaving you shaking and breathless.

The intensity of your climax triggered both men. Beau, feeling the frantic pulsing of your pussy against his sensitive head, let out a raspy moan into your nipple. His body stiffened as he erupted, thick ropes of hot cum shooting across your drenched pussy and mixing with the mess already coating your inner thighs.

At the same moment, the crushing grip of your orgasm pulled Dean over the edge. He let out a low, animalistic growl and buried himself as deep as possible, filling your womb with heavy, pulsing loads of cum. He kept thrusting slowly and heavily, pumping every last drop deep inside you while your body continued to shake between them.

Eventually, Dean slowed and pulled out with a wet, suctioning sound. The sudden emptiness left you feeling sensitive and open. 

You collapsed forward onto Beau’s chest as he lay back down, breathing hard against the crook of his neck. 

Your skin was warm and glistening with sweat and seed…And just as you started to relax, Beau reached down and delivered a sharp, loud smack to your ass.

You whined, the sting sending a fresh spark through your exhausted nerves while Dean groaned, voice thick with lingering lust as he stared at the sight of you. 

“How’s it looking?” Beau asked, glancing at Dean, who seemed completely mesmerized by your lower body.

Dean leaned in, eyes tracking the way their mixed cum and your wetness dripped from your swollen and still pulsing folds. “Like an overfilled twinkie,” he muttered.

The absurd comment shattered the tension and all three of you dissolved into tired, breathless laughter. You propped yourself up slightly, lifting just enough to capture Beau’s lips in a deep, lingering kiss. Your fingers threaded through his hair, pulling him closer as you tasted the salt and heat of everything you had just done.

“You might not be Six Flags,” you whispered against his lips, a playful glint in your eyes, “but they should make you employee of the month.”

Beau grinned triumphantly and surged up to reclaim your mouth, his hand sliding down to squeeze your ass firmly, kneading the flesh.

“Hey…how come I got no kiss?” Dean’s voice drifted from behind you, mock-offended.

You didn’t bother to look back, too focused on Beau’s tongue sliding against yours but you had to pull back. “You came inside me,” you murmured breathlessly. “Don’t be greedy.”

You sank back into the kiss, feeling Beau’s chest rumble with a chuckle.

“Few more minutes and I’ll come on it too,” Dean whispered, voice low and promising as you felt Beau grin against your lips.

You had never seen men as the answer to much of anything, least of all your pleasure. So maybe the next thing you would acquire wouldn’t be a boyfriend, but a nice, realistic, warming and throbbing dildo to add to your collection… and perhaps a couple of phone numbers to call on those nights when your toys needed charging.

The days leading up to any leave or holiday were always the most chaotic. In journalism, there was no such thing as getting ahead. No matter how many drafts you filed, how many interviews you wrapped up or how many loose ends you tied off, the work simply piled up somewhere else, waiting for your attention.

You made your way through the bullpen with Jimmy trailing closely behind. For the past few days, a persistent unease had settled beneath your skin. Everyone seemed to need something from you before you left, another question, task or last-minute request, and on top of that, you couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. 

Eyes appeared to follow you wherever you went.

Right now, though, the only thing demanding your attention was Jimmy's steadily rising panic.

"I…I can't do that." He shook his head again, likely for the hundredth time that morning.

"Jimmy, it's just my email." You stopped at the coffee station, reaching for your mug and filling it. "All I'm asking is that you log in once a day, check if anything's worth investigating and follow up if necessary." You stirred your coffee before lifting your eyes to him. "You won't have much to do…Lois will be helping too."

"What do I do if he contacts you?" Jimmy asked quietly, watching your hands move with nervous intensity.

"What if who contacts me?" you asked, only sparing him a brief glance.

"You know." He shrugged. "Superman."

A laugh escaped you as you picked up your mug and started back toward your desk, taking a sip as you walked. "You think Big Blue has an email address?"

"I…" Jimmy frowned as he tried to explain himself. "Well, I believe he's a modern man."

You snorted into your coffee.

"Who knows," he continued. "Maybe he'll want to meet up. To…talk."

You stopped beside your desk and turned to face him fully, narrowing your eyes. "About what?"

"I don't know." Jimmy lifted both hands. "Whatever it is you two usually talk about."

"Sure, Jimmy. Maybe he'll need help setting up an email account." You nodded thoughtfully. "Let's just hope nothing too big happens while I'm gone so I can enjoy some uninterrupted rest." 

As you spoke, your gaze drifted across the bullpen and landed on Clark.

Your eyes narrowed immediately at his staring but the moment your eyes met, he jerked into motion. His attention snapped downward as he began fumbling with the papers on his desk, shuffling folders that clearly didn't need sorting and reaching for things that weren't there.

You had only held his gaze for all of two seconds before he folded completely under it, which was suspicious. Your attention lingered on him even as Jimmy continued talking.

"Alright, but just in case, tell him I'm perfectly fine with meeting in dark alleys during pouring rain and all that." Jimmy nodded once, looking entirely too eager for the possibility.

"He's more of a rooftop kind of guy, but I'll pass the message along." The reply came automatically, your focus already elsewhere. “Thanks Jimmy.”

Your gaze dropped to your own desk as Jimmy finally wandered off. Taking your seat, you looked over the organized chaos spread across the surface and got to work clearing away the last of it, though most of the clutter simply disappeared into drawers and folders. You wanted to return to a clean workspace, not a disaster waiting for you after a week away.

Your final drafts had already been submitted and every article due before your leave had been filed and approved. There were still two hours until lunch and for the first time in days, there was nothing immediately demanding your attention.

You intended for the following week to be dedicated entirely to rest. Well, rest and unpacking the mountain of moving boxes currently occupying Clark's apartment, which was now yours too.

The thought alone made you look up.

Clark now sat perfectly still at his desk, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the bullpen. His head was tilted slightly, his attention caught by something none of the rest of you could hear. If there was one thing you'd learned about him, it was that there usually was something, a distant cry for help, an emergency unfolding miles away or a hundred voices filtering through the world at once.

You watched him for a moment until he rose from his chair, the movement quick and purposeful. He reached for his messenger bag, slinging the strap over his shoulder as he stepped around his desk, his eyes finding yours immediately.

The look was familiar, it was the same one he always gave you right before disappearing. You pushed yourself to your feet and followed after him, weaving through the bullpen until the two of you reached one of the quieter hallways.

"How bad is it?" you asked worriedly.

The question and tone had nothing to do with your upcoming week off. You were never worried about canceled plans, you were worried about Metropolis. If Superman was needed in the middle of a workday, something somewhere had gone terribly wrong.

Clark suddenly turned and you barely had time to react.

The momentum of your hurried pace carried you directly into his chest and as always, the impact barely moved him. Before you could stumble back, his arms were already wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer as he dipped his head and pressed his lips to yours.

It caught you completely off guard. You knew kissing with your eyes open wasn't particularly romantic but you couldn't help the way they widened in surprise. For a moment, all you could do was stare at him as you failed to kiss him back.

Only when he pulled away did you finally speak. "That bad?" you asked, eyes searching his face frantically.

Clark blinked as his brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"You have to go to your other thing, right?" You gestured vaguely. "I know you heard something."

The confusion on his face matched your own. Still, his arms remained around you.

"I did." He forced himself to pause and collect his thoughts because keeping things from you had never gotten easier. "It isn't bad, sweetheart. I just need to go check it out."

At the same moment, footsteps echoed from farther down the hallway, so he reluctantly released you. Neither of you was particularly interested in becoming a more serious conversation for Human Resources yet. 

You cleared your throat as Clark adjusted the strap of his bag and the silence stretched until the employee rounded the corner and disappeared again.

"Will you be long?" 

"I'm not sure." He shook his head softly.

You nodded. "Be safe…I'll cover for you." 

Your hand came up to pat his chest before you stepped back. Already turning toward the bullpen, you glanced down at your watch, mentally calculating how many hours "checking something out" usually translated into but a few steps later, another thought occurred to you. 

"Oh… anything special I should make for di–" You turned to face him just as a rush of wind swept through the hallway. Your words died instantly and the corridor stood empty, Clark now gone. You sighed. "Takeout it is." 

Muttering to yourself, you turned and headed back toward the bullpen.

Lately, Clark had been acting strange, not in the usual "I'm the last son of a dead planet" kind of way. This was different, he was distracted, restless and keeping himself busier than usual. At first, you'd assumed it had something to do with the upcoming week off. Maybe he felt guilty about stepping away from work for that long and the idea of slowing down made him uneasy, but you'd made it clear more than once that the vacation wasn't meant to be a break from who he really was.

You would never ask that of him. Clark Kent could take a week off but Superman never truly could, which only made his recent behavior feel all the more unusual.

You supposed your concern must have been written all over your face.

"Where is he?" Lois stopped in front of Clark's desk, a thick folder tucked beneath her arm.

The question snapped your attention away from his absence. Straightening your shoulders, you forced your expression into something more neutral before walking over.

"His parents needed him at the farm." You motioned vaguely toward the elevators.

Lois looked unconvinced. "He was supposed to send Perry a final draft for tomorrow's print edition."

"Is that it?" You pointed toward the folder she held. She barely lifted it before you plucked it from her grasp and pivoted back toward your desk. "I'll do it."

You dropped into your chair and opened the file immediately.

"It isn't exactly impartial." Lois crossed her arms.

"It never will be, Lois." You flipped through the first few pages of his notes. "We're about to move in together and I doubt he'd react particularly well to me firing him when I become Editor-in-Chief."

Your grin finally earned a small laugh from her.

"Besides," you continued, glancing back down at the paperwork, "I need something to do, otherwise today is going to feel even longer than it already does."

The humor faded from her face. "Is something wrong?" Her voice lowered enough that the question felt genuine rather than curious.

You opened your mouth, then stopped. For a moment, you simply stared down at the pages in front of you. "I don't know. I'm usually really good at reading him." Your fingers paused against the pages. "But I just can't do it."

"You can't?" The surprise in her voice was immediate as she settled herself on the corner of your desk. "You think it's about the two of you moving in together?" she asked. "If it is, don't. You've been together for so long…most people would've expected you to move in together the second you both got to Metropolis."

A soft laugh escaped you. "No. No, that's not it…I mean, I hope not." You leaned back in your chair. "It's all going well." The words came easily because they were true. "As much as I love him, moving in with my first ever boyfriend straight out of college would've been a terrible idea."

Your smile softened. "We learned how to live separately first…how to have our own lives. I think that was the right decision and I know he does too."

Lois nodded. "So what's the problem?"

You hesitated, then cleared your throat and rolled your chair a little closer, lowering your voice despite the noise of the bullpen around you. "Have you ever wanted something so badly that you're afraid to call it what it is?"

Her brows knitted together. "Is that supposed to be a riddle?"

You laughed despite yourself. "No." Your gaze drifted away, settling somewhere beyond the bullpen. "There's something I want this whole situation to be..." The words felt strangely fragile once spoken aloud, like giving them a voice somehow made them more real. "What if I start asking the questions I want to ask and find out it isn't?" Your fingers toyed absently with the edge of the folder. "Then I'd be mad at him for not wanting to move at the pace I want to move at."

Lois watched you carefully and for once, she didn't rush to answer. "This isn't a race."

A small smile tugged at your mouth before quickly fading. "If it were, he'd win…I just wish I knew what we're running toward now." Your voice dropped quieter. "And if he still wants to get there with me…precisely."

You let out a long breath, hoping it would carry away some of the anxiety that had been nesting in your chest for weeks. The truth was, you had never once believed Clark would leave you, that fear had never existed.

You knew how he looked at you when he thought you weren't paying attention, you knew the certainty behind every promise he made, every plan he included you in and every future conversation that naturally assumed you'd be standing beside him.

The fear wasn't losing him, it was timing and getting it wrong.

Had moving in together been too soon? Was he having second thoughts now that it was actually happening? Maybe he simply wasn't ready to leave behind living alone, he needed more time before taking another step forward and the answer was that simple…Or maybe you were working yourself into knots over something that had never crossed his mind at all.

"You're one hell of a reporter, Y/n." A smile tugged at the corner of Lois's mouth. "I've never known you to hesitate when it comes to asking questions."

She pushed herself off the desk and headed back toward her own. 

The conversation ended there but her words lingered as your eyes wandered across the bullpen again and they landed, inevitably, on Clark's empty desk. 

His abandoned coffee cup still sat beside his keyboard and a stack of notes remained exactly where he'd left them. Everything still looked normal, so why didn't it feel that way?

You couldn't keep living with the uncertainty and maybe it was time to stop dancing around the questions that had been circling your mind for months, but as much as you wanted answers, you'd never been someone who forced them out of Clark, never someone who cornered him into confessions he wasn't ready to make.

Your gaze lingered on the empty desk for another moment before moving to the clock. Only five more hours and you'd finally be out of this place.

Clark flew to the Fortress of Solitude at a speed he'd never thought he could reach, responding to a signal from the Superman robots. He absolutely hated hiding things from you, no matter how good the reason but this was taking longer than planned. It didn't just involve the usual planning and sourcing, this was as close to science as he'd ever get.

The cold arctic air caressed his skin as he sped up, the crystalline structure growing in the distance as it revealed itself to him.

His feet eventually sank into the snow as the doors parted before him. The Fortress received him the way it always did, silently, the crystals catching his footsteps and scattering them into nothing. Four was already standing at the central console, two of the other robots positioned at the secondary array flanking what Clark recognized as the solar concentrator, reconfigured into something smaller and more precise than he'd last seen it.

"Sir, you're here." Gary, the fourth Superman robot, turned before Clark had fully cleared the entrance.

"I got your signal," Clark told him as he moved to the center of the main room.

"I calculated twenty minutes before your arrival." Four's optical sensors held on him a moment.

Clark didn't answer. He crossed closer to the console, eyes already moving over the readings. "Tell me."

Gary turned back to the array. "The theory is sound. Whether the application holds is a separate question." He indicated the containment chamber at the center of the concentrator, it was small, built for a single stone. "The isotope that produces the radiation is not inert by nature, it requires destabilization. Conventional neutralization attempts have failed historically because they addressed the emission rather than the source."

Clark’s brows furrowed. "You went after the isotope directly."

"We modeled different broad approaches over the last year. Sixteen produced either incomplete neutralization or structural destruction of the sample." Gary paused. "The seventeenth is this. Concentrated solar saturation at a specific frequency, not broad spectrum, which scatters. The isotope absorbs until it cannot sustain the radioactive chain. It burns out rather than being suppressed."

He looked at the chamber. "And the stone?"

"Structurally intact in our simulations. The color will change, the green is a function of the active radiation. Once the isotope is spent, the stone retains its crystalline structure but loses the glow. It will read as pale…residual hue only."

Clark was quiet for a moment. "You said it would only work on a very small piece."

"Correct. The solar saturation has to penetrate the sample completely and evenly. A larger stone creates differential exposure, the exterior burns out and the interior remains active. At the scale you require–" Gary moved to the secondary console and brought up the dimensional rendering, a stone large enough to yield a single, flawless diamond.  “–full penetration is achievable. We have run the model four hundred and twelve times over the last hour."

"And it holds?"

"In simulation. Yes." Another beat. "We will not know with certainty until we attempt it on an actual sample."

Clark exhaled slowly, he'd known that was coming.

"You cannot be present for the extraction phase," Gary continued, without inflection, as if this were simply logistical. "Or the initial handling. Your proximity to an active sample at that size would still produce symptomatic response. We will handle and chamber the stone. You will monitor from the secondary console at a distance of approximately fifteen feet. Once it is inside the concentrator and sealed, the chamber will contain the emission. You can approach then."

"And the concentrator–" Clark glanced at the machine. "Same as the healing protocol?"

"Modified from it. The frequency is different as healing requires broad cellular stimulation. This requires narrow isotopic targeting but the core mechanism is the same." Gary looked at him directly. "It should not harm you. The chamber is sealed, the emission goes inward, not out...but again, it’s a hypothetical."

Clark nodded once. He stood there a moment, looking at the small containment chamber and the re-rigged concentrator, it’d been a year of work sitting quiet and precise on a console in the Arctic.

"You've been thorough," he said finally.

"You were specific about what it needed to mean, sir." Gary nodded, as Clark turned to look at him. "When you told me what the ring was for," He continued. "I did not think imprecision was appropriate."

"And the piece I chose?" Clark asked, looking around for it.

One of the other Superman robots pushed a closed lead box onto the console. "Still untouched, sir." Twelve nodded. "As are the other uncut stones, as you requested."

"The band?" Clark asked as One approached, opening a chamber on his own structure and revealing it.

Clark reached for it and held it up to the light between his fingers. He still remembered waiting for you to fall asleep so he could measure your ring finger, holding his breath the entire time, terrified you might wake and catch him in the act. The memory made warmth settle in his chest.

"It's perfect," he said quietly.

"It must be, sir. You've been working on it for almost a year," Gary spoke.

"And it's finally done."

Gary lifted a cautionary finger. "Remember there are still hypotheticals, sir. We must test the machine."

Clark shook his head. "It's going to work and when it does, I want her here for it." He turned to look around the Fortress, taking in the crystalline walls, the hum of advanced technology and the sanctity of the space. "You know the plan." His gaze swept across the main chamber. "I want this place spotless and the sunglasses ready." He drew a breath, letting the weight of the moment settle over him. "The day has come…I can’t wait any longer." He turned back to the robots. "Thank you, all of you."

"No need to thank us, sir, as we will not appreciate it. We have no consciousness, we are merely automatons here to serve," Gary reminded him.

Clark simply pressed his mouth into a thin line, long accustomed to their peculiar bluntness while some of the Superman robots scurried away, already beginning to clean. Gary, however, lingered.

"Shall we prepare for the baby?"

Clark's head snapped toward him, eyes slightly widened. "What baby?"

"My knowledge indicates it is a natural succession of events, sir."

He smiled despite himself, shaking his head. "Let's prepare for a ceremony first…That's if she says yes."

"She will," Twelve said brightly in passing, already carrying a stack of crystalline components toward the secondary console.

"Shall we rehearse the speech?" Gary pressed. "We have yet to hear it."

"No can do, Gary." Clark's voice was gentle but final. "And you won't...It’ll be for her ears only."

He stuck around long after, helping clean and organize with no real need other than the comfort of keeping his hands busy. He had thought about the day plenty, in the small hours of the morning when sleep wouldn't come, during long flights over empty ocean and in the moments just after saving the world when everything went quiet again. He had imagined it a hundred different ways, in a hundred different places and it had to be perfect.

You got home late, stopped at the door as you still couldn't quite figure out how the new lock worked. After a moment of fumbling that felt much longer than it should have, you finally managed to push inside, carrying takeout bags and immediately running into scattered moving boxes in the dark.

"Fuck," you muttered under your breath as you reached for a light switch and turned it on. "Clark?" You called into the silence of the apartment, leaving the bags on the kitchen counter. 

You then walked toward the bedroom, weaving around moving boxes you'd take care of soon, phone already in your hand as you dialed his number.

You pressed call, setting the phone on the bed as you began to undress.

Back at the Fortress…

"Superman, we have intercepted a call from your human lover."

Clark chuckled, shaking his head as he moved gear out of the main room. "There's no other kind, Gary. It's just 'lover.' Please, patch it through."

There was a soft crackle and then, "Clark?” Your voice slipped through the sound systems, warm and familiar and Clark felt the anxiety in his chest ease at the sound of it.

"Hi, sweetheart. Everything okay?" 

"Uh, yeah. Where are you? I'm at your–" A pause, then a quiet correction. "Our place...Any idea when you'll be back? It's starting to get late."

Clark realized then that he'd lost track of time completely. He began heading toward the exit, your voice trailing after him as you launched into what was clearly the beginning of a longer rant. The sound of you faded from the Fortress's speakers and transferred directly into his ears as he lifted off, flying fast in the direction of your voice.

He heard you kicking off your shoes and the soft thump of your pants hitting the floor.

"I'm not saying I'm worried and I don't expect you to always be back at a certain time…That's just not reasonable. I mean, I knew what I was getting into before we ever started dating–" Then came the sound of the closet door sliding open as you were surely, definitely, picking a shirt of his to sleep in. "Not that it's complicated or anything. I feel like that word has never really applied to us. I mean, I hope not. You've never been complicated to me, even after you told me who you really were."

He heard the rustle of fabric as you peeled off your shirt and the soft sound of your bra hitting the floor. Clark flew even faster.

"I remember telling you Kal was a pretty good name," you said and he could hear the smile in your voice. You cleared your throat, "I also remember that one time I moaned it while we were–"

A faint breeze drifted through the room, making you turn to the window to check if it was open. You suddenly screamed, shirt clutched to cover your naked chest as your heart hammered so loud he could count every individual beat.

Clark unexpectedly stood there unmoving and smiling unapologetically, hair slightly messy from the flight. "Having sex?" He continued for you, grin widening. "I also remember." 

You exhaled a sharp breath, rapidly pulling his shirt over your head, feeling his eyes on you, "I get carried away."

He shrugged, still grinning. "It's happened more than once."

Your eyes narrowed at him, already desperate to change the subject. "Mind making a little more noise next time? I intend to live long."

He stepped toward you, wrapping both arms around you and pulling you to his chest. "You make enough noise for the both of us, don't you think?"

"Ha. Funny." You said dryly because it was true. Once close to him, you felt his chest while observing his face as you always did, checking for injuries. He looked untouched, which was always ideal, but… "You're really cold."

He smiled and something changed in his expression. "Do you know where you packed the winter clothes?"

You blinked, eyes going to the moving boxes and suitcases scattered across the bedroom, your mind already cataloging the rest of the clutter throughout the apartment. "I'm not sure. Why?"

Clark let go of you, eyes scanning through the boxes as he activated his x-ray vision.

"It's about to be summer, Smallville…And I don't think you've ever needed them."

He walked out of the bedroom, looking into boxes as you trailed behind him, accidentally stepping on the long cape pooled at his feet.

"Oops, sorry," you muttered as you coughed yourself with a gentle hold on his shoulders.

"You're going to need them."

"Need what? Apologies?" you asked, lifting a brow.

"Winter clothes," he specified with a breathy chuckle, stopping by a box that read ‘Kitchen’ in your handwriting.

"In June?" You watched as he opened the box anyway. "That says ‘Kitchen’, Clark."

He fumbled for a second as he lifted it from a pile and put it on the ground, then he carefully opened it and pulled out your winter coat by the hood.

"That's why it was so light," you said under your breath.

"We're taking a trip tomorrow."

Your eyes widened slightly as you searched his face and found no humor there. "Did you use that little trick to find my passport and book the trip?"

"Never needed a passport to fly Clark Kent Airlines." He grinned.

"Never needed a coat to sit on a plane." You shrugged with a gentle smile. "Where are we going?"

Clark's smile faltered. His eyes searched the room, looking for anything to change the subject and landed on the takeout bags still sitting on the kitchen counter. "We should eat dinner before it gets too cold," he said, already reaching into the box and pulling out a scarf, hat and gloves. "You'll need your snow boots too." He set everything on the couch, almost distractedly and walked right past you into the bedroom, already peeling off his suit.

Your eyes followed him, narrowing at the deflection. "Good thing we have a microwave." You noted as you followed after him. "You've been acting weird lately."

"Weird?" He echoed with a light, forced chuckle. "There's nothing weird about me…Besides the obvious." He paused, pulling his shirt over his head. "Which you like telling me you love." There was another pause, longer this time. "You still do, right?"

"You mean the part of you that likes to take me along while soaring through the sky?" You questioned hypothetically, already nodding to yourself. "Yeah."

"That's good…That’s really good." He reassured himself more than you as he changed into a plain shirt and plaid pajama pants. "That you still do."

"I don't like how you keep saying 'still,'" you pointed out quietly, looking at him as if you could read his mind…and you probably could, if you weren’t suddenly scared of what you might find.

He chuckled breathily, stepping toward you and placing both hands on your arms, caressing them gently. "You're making me really nervous right now."

You narrowed your eyes at him again. "I weirdly think you're doing that to yourself." You paused, letting the words settle. "I love you, Clark…No amount of weirdness is going to change that."

His hands went to your face, cupping your cheeks slowly, thumbs brushing over your skin with so much love in his eyes that it made your chest ache. Tomorrow had to be perfect..because you were.

"I'll fly slowly," he murmured, in an attempt to reassure you.

"No, you won't…and that’s fine," You laughed softly, poking his stomach playfully. "Just make sure you hold me tight."

He pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead that lingered long enough to make your eyes flutter shut. "I love you so much," he confessed against your skin. "I don't know how to hold you any other way."

Moments like that had a way of dissolving whatever fear or doubt had quietly accumulated and that night was no different. By the time you had dinner and you'd both found your way to sleep, there was nothing left to worry about.

The next morning was perfect. Genuinely and unqualifiedly perfect, the kind that felt almost unfair in how completely it arrived. No alarm pulled you out of it, no distant sound of something collapsing somewhere that would take him away before you'd finished waking up, just sunlight coming in at an angle through the curtains and Clark, who woke up like he had nowhere else to be and no intention of pretending otherwise. 

He pressed kisses into your skin slowly and without urgency and the morning dissolved the way good mornings do, in warmth, weight and the breathlessness of someone who loves you, knows how to show it…and how to make you feel it. You lost track of time entirely and you didn't try to find it.

At some point he slipped away. You hadn't noticed the exact moment, sometime in the narrow window between you getting up and the shower warming, enough time for him to go somewhere and come back, which for Clark could mean almost anywhere. When you stepped out of the bathroom, towel around your chest, a bouquet was sitting on the kitchen counter and beside it, breakfast, already plated and still warm.

You ate together at the counter, knees touching, talking through where the art should go and whether the bookshelf fit better against the east wall or broken up between two rooms. 

It wasn't much later that he started mentioning getting out for the day.

You didn't question it. You started getting everything he'd laid on the couch the night before, working through the layers methodically while he stood somewhere behind you watching you with an expression you couldn't fully read.

"I think you should add another scarf," he suggested. "Just in case."

You looked at yourself in the mirror, at the coat, hat, gloves, boots and the scarf that already looped twice around your neck… and it was June. "Clark." You turned to look at him with a gentle, reassuring smile. "This is enough…You'd think we were going to the Arctic."

You meant it as a joke. You were already smiling when you said it, turning back to the mirror to adjust the hat which meant you didn't see his face go completely still behind you.

Flying with Clark was its own category of experience, one that didn't get easier to explain the more times you did it, only more familiar. The first five minutes were always the same, your stomach hadn't made peace with the altitude yet, your eyes stayed forward or shut and some part of your brain spent the whole time insisting that this was not how bodies were supposed to work but underneath all of it, was certainty. He had never once made you feel like you might fall, not for a second. His arms around you were absolute, his chest solid and warm against your cheek and the cold that hit everything else somehow didn't touch the space he made around you.

"We're almost there!" he called over the wind.

You didn't answer, only nodded against him and held on.

Then, gradually, the quality of the air changed as the speed bled out of it. You felt him adjusting his descent in small corrections and a minute later your feet met the ground with a soft crunch that traveled up through your boots and into your knees. It was snow, fluffy and undisturbed in every direction.

You kept your eyes shut even as he released you and you stood on your own.

"Sweetheart." He called softly, you could hear the smile in it. "You didn't need to close your eyes."

"Oh. I thought I'd–" you started explaining as they fluttered open.

The light hit first, that particular brightness that had no equivalent, white reflecting white under a sky that was almost cloudless. You blinked against it, adjusting and inevitably, as you looked around, your gaze landed on the structure in the distance and everything else stopped.

Your lips parted.

It rose from the landscape like it had grown there, which in every way that mattered it had. It was an eruption of crystal spires reaching at different angles, pale blue-white and enormous even from that distance, catching the flat Arctic light and fracturing it into something that barely looked real. 

You took a few steps toward it without deciding to.

"Is that your–" you started, pointing at it in awe as the words died somewhere between your throat and your lips. You stood frozen in the snow, staring at it.

Clark stepped beside you, footsteps quiet in the snow as the wind tugged gently at his cape. Your shoulders almost brushed when he spoke, "I'll show you around."

You faced him then. He was smiling down at you with his hand extended between you, patiently waiting for you to take it, which of course, you did. 

The two of you walked the remaining distance without rushing. There was no path, no track worn into the snow from use, no indication that anyone came and went from this place by foot. Just the flat white expanse and the crystal rising out of it and now, appearing behind you in a clean double line, your footprints beside his. You looked back once at the trail you were leaving and felt something open up in your chest that you weren't entirely prepared for.

He had never brought anyone here, you understood that without needing it said. This was the place that belonged to the man beneath everything else, the person who was both Clark Kent and Superman and neither of them entirely. He was bringing you into that, he was walking you to the door of the most private place he had and holding your hand while he did it, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

You looked up at the Fortress as it grew larger with every step, feeling the weight of being trusted with something irreplaceable.

His thumb moved slowly, across the back of your hand as the entrance came into view and the doors began to open before him.

The inside of the Fortress opened up in a way that made you stop walking for a second without meaning to. Everything climbed, walls, ceilings and structures you didn't have names for, all of it crystalline and catching the same pale light from a dozen different angles at once. It was somehow colder and warmer at the same time, the air sharp but the light itself almost golden where it pooled. You could feel Clark watching you take it in, his hand still wrapped around your gloved one, waiting for you to need him to say something.

"Welcome back, sir."

You turned at the voice as footsteps approached from your right. For a moment, you simply stared.

Clark had talked about the Superman robots before, he'd mentioned their names, their functions and the way they helped maintain the Fortress but none of those descriptions had prepared you for seeing them in person.

"Ms. Y/l/n. I have long possessed information regarding you. It is noteworthy to finally confirm your existence through direct observation.”

You looked up at Clark first, a small laugh escaping before you could stop it, then back at the robot in front of you, eyes dropping briefly to the number four stamped into his chest plate.

You smiled softly. "Nice to finally meet you too, Gary."

Gary turned smoothly toward two more robots crossing the floor behind him. "I have observed that Superman references us during conversations with his human lover…Identifying the species is unnecessary, as there is no other kind of lover for him." A brief pause, as if confirming the data was correctly filed. "This is Twelve. She is new."

You looked at Twelve and smiled.

Twelve looked back, head tilting slightly in your direction. "Oh, she looked at me!"

Seven approached next, arms already extended, holding a folded red blanket and a metallic blue thermos. Gary continued without missing a beat. "We have prepared warm blankets and tea. The tea has been heated for three minutes to the ideal temperature of eighty degrees Celsius, with two sugars, per Superman's specification."

"I'll take the tea." You took the thermos from Seven, wrapping both hands around it gratefully. "Don’t think the blanket will be necessary. Clark already had me wrapped up like a burrito before he swept me off my feet…Literally." You took a sip, the warmth spreading through your body.

"'Swept off my feet,'" Gary repeated, processing it audibly. "This is a common idiom among your kind. I hope you also intend it in the romantic sense, in the event further confirmation is required."

You narrowed your eyes slightly, glancing up at Clark. "Confirmation for what?"

Clark cleared his throat, a little too quickly. "Let me, uh, give you a tour." His hand found the small of your back, gently steering you down the hall before you could press further.

"We shall prepare for the activities, then," Gary said, already turning toward the main room. "The clock is, figuratively, ticking."

"Thanks for the tea!" you called back over your shoulder, lifting the thermos in salute.

"They're not very good at saying 'you're welcome,'" Clark told you quietly as you walked.

"Noted."

He smiled as he watched you sip more tea. "So…what do you want to see first? The glass bedroom or the bathroom? The toilet seat is heated."

You stopped walking, eyes widening slightly at the possibility of a glass bed. "Are you serious?"

His grin only widened, he shook his head. "There's no glass bedroom."

You let out a breath, shaking your head as you started walking again. "They’re doomed…The Superman robots are certainly learning from your sense of humor, Clark. Your jokes are setting their development back by decades...They need an upgrade."

"We should probably get you better winter gear, then. If you're going to be spending more time here." He glanced over at you, already thinking out loud. "I'll look into some kind of heating system." He kept walking, leading you down the corridor. "There aren't many rooms, but there's one I really want you to see."

You looked over at him, slowing your steps. "Clark…wait."

The teasing had dropped out of your voice entirely and he heard it instantly. He stopped and turned to face you and for a moment neither of you said anything.

You chose your words carefully, offering a reassuring smile. "You've already trusted me with so much…and I'm honored to be here, truly, I am, but..." You shook your head slowly. "You don't have to do this, any of this."

He listened in out of worry, the way he sometimes did without really meaning to, to your heartbeat. It was steady and still unafraid, just nervous in the ordinary way. "What do you mean?"

"This is your legacy, Clark. It's a piece of where you come from. It could just be yours…I'd understand that.” You paused, “Once I've seen it, I can't unsee it. I’ll become a part of it too, whether you meant for it to or not."

He stepped closer, taking your unoccupied hand in his. "I've always wanted you to know all of me...every piece, if you're willing to hold it." His voice dropped, steady and certain. "This isn't a sacrifice, sweetheart. Showing you this doesn't cost me anything…You've always belonged at the center of who I am. This–" he glanced around, at the crystal stretching up into the light, "–this is just proof of it."

You nodded slowly. Your breath caught and you sniffled, blinking hard against the sudden sting in your eyes. "Do you happen to know the temperature at which tears freeze?" you asked, voice thick.

He laughed softly, pulling you gently forward by the hand as he led you toward the next room. "Yeah, I think a heating system really would be a good idea."

"Wouldn't a heating system melt the whole place, though?"

"It's Kryptonian crystal," he explained. "Not ice. It can withstand a lot more than that. It's just naturally cold in here."

"Well, insulation would ruin the aesthetic anyway, so think it through." you decided and felt him softly squeeze your hand.

He spent the better part of an hour walking you through the Fortress. Through the rooms that mattered and rooms that didn't but that he showed you anyway because you asked, small alcoves of crystal that hummed faintly when you got close enough. You stayed in a state of quiet awe through most of it but the room that stopped you completely was the one lined with his suits. Row after row, the same emblem rendered over and over in different materials and ages, the symbol of an entire dead world that he had carried across galaxies and made his own among people who barely understood what it meant.

You felt his eyes on you the entire time, watching you take it in and no matter how simple or obvious your questions were, he answered every one of them and you could hear the smile in his voice with each one.

Eventually, the two of you made your way back to the main room, where all of the Superman robots stood arranged in a loose half circle and at the center, set on a low pedestal, sat a small sealed box. You knew exactly what was inside before you directly saw it, that particular sickly green you'd only ever glimpsed in passing, in places you tried not to look too long.

Your hand tightened around Clark's, your first instinct pulling him back half a step.

"It's okay, sweetheart." His voice was steady, hand staying exactly where it was, not pulling away from yours. "Gary?"

Gary approached, holding out a pair of sunglasses toward you. "Please keep these on until we give the all clear," he said. "Your eyes are not equipped to withstand what you are about to see."

You took them carefully, turning them over once. They looked like ordinary sunglasses, maybe a little heavier and the lenses a shade darker than you expected. 

You slid them on. "Is this some kind of science class?"

"I certainly won't be the one teaching it," Clark said, the corner of his mouth lifting. He looked past you toward the console. "Gary, are we ready?"

"Whenever you are, sir." Gary moved toward the main console, where two of the other robots were already standing by, lights along their forearms beginning to pulse in slow sequence.

"Clark, what's going on?" you whispered, eyes flicking between the box and his face. 

"I wouldn't let anything happen to you, you know that, right?" He squeezed your hand as his gaze met yours. 

"You, on the other hand–"

"I like experimenting." He shrugged, like it cost him nothing.

Your eyes widened slightly, "With Kryptonite? Since when?"

"Uh…a year, give or take." He smiled down at you and then his eyes lifted to Gary, he nodded once. "Gary. We're ready."

Gary moved to the console without hesitation and the rest of the robots fell into position around the central platform like they'd rehearsed it a hundred times, because they had.

Twelve lifted the small box from the pedestal, carrying it with both hands toward the center of the room, where a shallow chamber sat recessed into the crystal floor, lined with something dark and metallic that looked nothing like the rest of the Fortress.

"That’s a containment chamber," Clark said quietly to you as his thumb moved slowly over your knuckles. "Built specifically for this."

"Sir," Gary said, eyes still on the console, "might I suggest you and Ms.Y/l/n retreat to the secondary platform. Fifteen feet, as discussed."

Clark's hand tightened slightly around yours. "Come on."

He guided you back, until you were standing on a raised section of crystal floor that put you above and away from the chamber. From there you could see the whole room laid out steps beneath you, the concentrator rising above the platform like an enormous lens angled toward the sky, panels of crystal catching light that wasn't there yet.

Seven lifted the lid of the box and even through the dark lenses the green light intensified, throwing long shadows across the floor, catching every facet of the Fortress and scattering it back in shades of sick emerald. Nestled inside, on a bed of dark fabric, sat the stone. Smaller than you'd expected and uncut, glowing from somewhere deep inside itself like it had a pulse of its own.

Twelve lifted it with a pair of long, articulated tools and lowered it carefully into the chamber. A transparent shield slid closed over the top, sealing it in. The glow didn't stop but it dimmed, pressing against the inside of the shield like something trying to get out.

"Sample secured," Gary announced. "Beginning calibration."

The concentrator began to hum. It started low, almost beneath hearing, a vibration that traveled up through the crystal floor and into the soles of your boots. Far above, panels began to rotate, realigning toward the chamber below and what little Arctic sunlight there was began to gather and bend, funneling down through the lens.

"Finally," Clark breathed, watching it. "We've been working on this for so long…there’ve been thousands of simulations." His jaw worked once. "I didn't want to tell you until I knew it would work."

"Tell me what?” You asked quietly, eyes never leaving the scene as worry crept in. “And do you actually know?"

"I trust the math." He nodded firmly.

The column of light reached the chamber and the room changed color. For a moment the green and the gold fought each other, the stone lit from above in concentrated solar light while it pulsed back against it, radiating that same sickly glow like it was resisting. The light intensified in stages, the hum climbing in pitch and beside you Clark's hand went rigid in yours.

You immediately looked away from the machine, eyes moving across his face, searching instinctively for every symptom you'd learned to recognize over the years. "Clark? What’s happening?"

"It's fine." His voice was rough. The green glow spilling from the chamber reflected across his face as he kept his eyes fixed on the stone. His fingers tightened once more around yours. "This is the part where it resists…Gary said it would resist."

"Isotopic activity decreasing," Gary reported. "Forty percent…Thirty-five."

You watched his shoulders ease slightly, the tension starting to bleed out of him the way it had a moment ago and then it spiked.

The green flared violently, brighter than it had been at any point and the hum from the concentrator stuttered, a half second of dissonance that set your teeth on edge. Clark's hand crushed around yours, hard enough that you gasped and beside him his knees buckled enough that you felt him catch himself right on time.

"Sir." Gary's voice changed, the flatness cracking for the first time. "Output is exceeding modeled parameters. Fifteen feet is no longer sufficient at this intensity…I recommend immediate retreat."

"No." Clark's voice came out through his teeth, low and rough.

Twelve approached. "Sir, your vitals–"

"I said no." He straightened, forcing it, his free hand braced against the crystal wall beside you, now that sweat had broken out along his hairline despite the cold. "This is the spike before it breaks…It has to be. We modeled this."

"We modeled a spike.” Twelve corrected and for the first time there was something almost uncertain underneath the calculation. “Not this one."

"Clark, baby." Your voice cracked. Both your hands were on his arm now, gripping tightly enough to feel the tension underneath his skin, the controlled violence of him holding still on purpose. "Clark, please, if it's hurting you–"

"It's not going to last." He said it through gritted teeth, eyes locked on the chamber, on the violent pulse of green fighting against the gold. "It's a means to an end. It has to burn through, that's the whole point, it can't resist forever–" He cut himself off, breath hissing out through his nose and you felt his legs lock, refusing to let his body do what it wanted to do, which was fold.

"Gary," he called, "how much longer?"

"Unknown. The output is not behaving according to any modeled curve."

"Then we wait." His hand gripped yours again like an anchor. "We wait."

The green surged again and this time you heard him make a low and involuntary sound. His head dipped slightly as if something heavy had pressed down on him. His eyes shut for a second and every muscle in his jaw worked under the strain, the effort visible in the smallest movements of his face.

"Clark, look at me." You said as you stepped in front of him, both hands coming up to his face, so he’d look at you. His eyes opened and once they found yours, they held on. "Whatever this is about…it’s not worth the pain."

"It is…" His voice was barely above a whisper now. "You’ll see."

The green light convulsed one more time, violent and bright, the air around the chamber shimmering hard enough to blur the shape of it until it broke, the same way ice breaks, all at once, the resistance simply gone. The green collapsed inward on itself and the gold flooded in to fill the space it left behind and the hum of the concentrator dropped, smoothed out and settled.

"Isotopic activity," Gary announced and there was no mistaking the relief in it now, flat as he tried to keep it, "Twenty percent…Twelve percent...Six percent."

Clark's head lifted as he watched over your shoulder, eyes moving away from yours while yours simply couldn’t. He exhaled, long and shaking and you felt the tremor in his body ease as you too turned to watch.

"Two percent," Gary continued. "Zero point eight…Zero point three…Zero point zero…one." He paused. "Within acceptable margin…The sample is inert."

The column of light thinned, it drew back up into the ceiling and the panels above began to rotate closed and the machines powered down in sequence as the Fortress went quiet.

The shield over the chamber slid back and where the green stone had been, something else sat now, pale and almost colorless, holding the ambient light of the room differently than it had before, no longer pulsing or alive with that sickly glow. 

Your lips parted at the sight as Clark straightened slowly, drawing himself back together piece by piece before stepping down from the platform and offering you his hand. You took it, following him as your eyes met his.

“It’s okay,” he said before you could ask. “I’m okay. It’s over.”

You crossed the floor behind him while every robot in the room stood motionless, watching him the same way you were. He stopped at the edge of the chamber and looked down at the stone for a long moment before reaching in and picking it up with his bare hand.

Nothing happened.

He stood there holding it, turning it slightly, watching the light shift across its surface and you realized you’d stopped breathing somewhere in the last minute and hadn’t started again. He looked up, found your gaze and set a gentle hand against your cheek.

“It’s safe now. You can remove your glasses,” he said, still looking at you.

Your hands were already moving. The Fortress returned in full, unfiltered color as you stepped closer to him, staring at Clark holding something small and pale in his open palm, like the last few minutes hadn’t happened at all, like he’d been waiting this entire time just to show you this.

You swallowed. “I think…we need a breather,” you said, mostly to yourself.

You were already turning toward the nearest corridor when Clark suggested he take you somewhere outside. It took him only a moment to follow your movement and you didn't see what all the shifting and movement among the robots behind you had been about but only felt the change in atmosphere as Clark caught up.

His arm slid around your waist and a second later, the ground dropped away.

Air rushed past as he lifted you into the sky, carrying you through the open structure of the Fortress until the cold Arctic light returned in full. He set down on a platform high among the tallest crystalline spires, where the wind moved freely and the horizon stretched wide and white. 

Snow shimmered below and the sky was pale, endless.

“I don’t…” You let out a breathless laugh, the wind catching at your words. Your eyes swept the view once before you turned back to him. “I’m not sure what I just saw in there.”

Your voice tightened slightly. "And trust me, I tried to keep my eyes open through all of it, but you scared me." You gave his chest a firm hit with your fist. "What were you thinking, Clark Kent?"

The impact barely moved him, it only made him chuckle lightly.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, his gaze stayed on you, unreadable in that scary way that always came just before something important.

Slowly, he reached into his belt and your attention locked instantly. 

He pulled out a carved band, holding it between two fingers like it mattered too much to be careless with. You could hear, or maybe just feel, your heartbeat speed up, loud enough that it felt like it filled the space between you.

He reached in again and produced a small, rough stone, one that bent the light in a way you'd never seen any diamond do, every facet catching a slightly different shade as it turned.

You watched as he closed his hand around it and when he opened his palm again, fragile shards fell away, revealing a small, clear stone underneath, which he carefully set into the first empty socket on the band. 

You blinked, eyes following his hand as he reached in again and drew out another rough stone, this one glowing faintly the same way the untouched walls of the Fortress had. He crushed it the same way, the stone giving under his grip, not shattering so much as yielding, and a larger stone emerged from inside it, settling into its place on the band.

Then he reached into his belt one last time and pulled out the disabled kryptonite. Of the three, it was by far the clearest, though somehow it still caught the light in a way none of the others quite managed.

He crushed it in his hand and set the final ‘diamond’.

You stared at the ring as his eyes began to glow red, the heat focusing into two narrow beams that swept carefully along the edges of each setting, sealing the stones into place. Once he was satisfied they were secure, he lifted the ring to his lips and let out a slow breath of super breath, cooling the metal until it no longer shimmered with heat.

Your heart was pounding now, lips parting slightly as you watched him lower himself onto one knee, his eyes never leaving yours. When his knee touched the platform, he paused, drew in a breath that seemed to cost him more than it should have and swallowed. He held the ring up toward you and whatever he'd rehearsed every day for the past year caught somewhere in his throat.

"...Please."

Your brows lifted slightly, lips curving into a smile you couldn't have stopped if you tried, your heart stumbling so hard in your chest you thought you might actually faint.

It was all a blur of mumbled words, tears, tight embraces, breathless laughter and the strange sensation of height shifting under your feet as the hours folded into one another. You slid your glove off so he could finally slip the ring onto your finger and in the space of a heartbeat the both of you were already cutting through the sky, Clark holding you close as the arctic shrank into light beneath you.

What followed was a mess of emotion and surging energy you had never seen from him in that state. You made it home in record time and the first stop had been the bedroom, the both of you, but especially Clark, letting go of everything he had been holding back. Everything that had stayed trapped behind restraint finally spilled out, fast and unguarded, until the bedframe gave way under the force of it and you both broke into breathless laughter in the aftermath.

After that, everything blurred again.

You sat on the couch as a streak of motion moved through the apartment, Clark unpacking every box in milliseconds, placing everything exactly where you had mentally mapped it out. The remaining cardboard vanished just as quickly, carried away like it had never been there. He returned almost immediately after, kneeling at the edge of the couch in front of you with the same restless energy still burning through him, only now softened by relief and joy. You met it halfway on the carpet, where time stopped mattering in any real sense.

It was late when the rush finally eased into something his body could keep up with at a normal human pace. Only then did you think about food.

You ended up on the kitchen counter, one hand lifted as the ring caught the warm light and threw it back in shifting color. Clark stood at the stove shirtless, moving between pots and fridge with distracted focus, adding things, adjusting heat and insisting you needed to eat before you fell asleep. You had been fighting sleep for a while already, after so many rounds, caught between exhaustion and the aftershock of everything.

The cold air from the opened fridge brushed your bare legs and it brought back the memory of earlier that day without warning.

“Tell me again,” you breathed, eyes fixed on the ring.

Clark stopped, whatever he was doing was abandoned in an instant. He stepped closer, placing both hands on either side of you against the counter, caging you in gently without pressure. His gaze didn’t go to the ring at first. It stayed on you, studying your face and reaction, like that mattered more than anything else he had built.

“Jewel Kryptonite,” he started, voice calmer now.

His hand lifted slightly as he spoke, indicating the first stone.

“I found it in the Fortress but it comes from the Jewel Mountains of Krypton. Its primary function was amplifying psychic abilities…telepathy and mental projection for Kryptonians. In my case…” He hesitated, just briefly, choosing the right way to place it. “It represents my mind…my subconscious, dreams, grief and memories. The parts of me nobody reaches…the parts I want you to have access to.”

He shifted his attention to the largest stone, the one in the middle.

“The Fortress crystal…origin and inheritance. It’s everything I was given, my legacy, my people’s knowledge…Krypton on Earth and Kal-El’s home.” His eyes softened slightly as they stayed on you. “Which you've gone out of your way to love and accept too in ways I never expected or thought possible.”

A quiet breath left him before he continued.

“And the last one but not least…never that.” His thumb brushed lightly against your hand where the ring sat. “Disabled green kryptonite. That was the hardest part and the reason this took so long…It’s what I trust you most with, my vulnerability…but not the only one.”

His gaze lifted fully to yours at that.

You moved closer instinctively, arms sliding around his shoulders and pulling him in as if distance had become unnecessary. You raised your hand again, watching the ring catch the light between you both.

“Who you come from… who you are… and what you trust me with,” you murmured, more to yourself than anything else. Then something else caught your attention.

“What about the band?” you asked softly. You had noticed it earlier, the faint engravings when the light hit just right, the House of El symbol hidden in the design, it was subtle but definitely intentional.

It was clear nothing about it had been accidental.

He exhaled through a small smile. “Everything I am,” he said, quieter now, “set into the thing that led me to you.”

Your brows softened.

“I made it out of my ship.”

The confession pulled the breath straight out of you. “It took you a year,” you said, voice catching slightly, “and so much effort and thought and I–”

"I love you." His voice caught, eyes filling again as they held yours. "I loved you the day I met you…I love you today,” He paused, “Y/n, I'll love you long after we leave this Earth."

You sniffled as a tear slipped down your cheek before you even realized it had formed but still, you smiled, voice cracking with emotion. "And I'll love you as long as it exists."

Clark lifted a hand, thumb brushing the tear away with a tenderness that contrasted everything else about him and gently tilted your face toward his as he pressed his lips to yours, leaving no distance between what he had built and what he had finally given away.

He might have been unable to say anything when he was down on one knee, but that didn’t mean he had no words for you. He simply doubted they existed in any language and if they did, they had a terrible tendency to fall galaxies short.

The CDC was the first breath of relief you’d taken since the world fell apart. There was soft couches, hot water and hard-earned food that wasn’t scavenged but that same comfort unraveled you. As soon as you sat down, the exhaustion you’d buried deep started to claw its way up. Your limbs felt heavy and your stomach turned from eating too much and too fast, so you rushed toward the nearest bathroom. 

The air was thick with steam, the mirror blurred in fog. You cleared it with your hand, gripping the edge of the sink like it was the only solid thing left. You couldn’t afford to be sick, not when you had no idea what tomorrow would look like. 

You tried to will the nausea away but something in the mirror shifted.

Your gaze caught Daryl’s through the glass. His expression was unreadable, towel in hand. You spun around, eyes darting anywhere but him as he finally wrapped the towel around his waist.

“Shit…sorry, I thought that office was unoccupied and…the bathroom.”

He didn’t look bothered. “Ain’t no other empty office. Ya can stay,” His voice, softer than you expected and a little slurred, felt oddly comforting. Your eyes flicked back to him just once. That’s when you saw the scars across his chest and immediately, you knew they weren’t the kind you got from walkers.

You looked away fast. The world had been cruel before it ended and now it was just wearing its brutality on the outside. 

“I didn’t see your things in there…I’ll leave,” you added.

“Ya look like shit,” he said flatly. Then, almost sheepishly he added, “No offense.” 

You let out a breath, somewhere between a laugh and a sob, a single tear slipping past your lashes. “None taken.” You wiped it away, straightened up then sniffled. “Probably shouldn’t have had that wine.”

He shrugged. “Ya were celebratin’”

“Celebrating what?” you murmured, no trace of humor in your voice. “I’ve been celebrating just keeping myself alive my whole life. This?” You shook your head, “This doesn’t feel like something worth toasting,” After a long pause, your voice dropped to a whisper, like saying it out loud might shatter the fragile illusion. “Did you see the countdown?”

He nodded slowly, jaw clenching. “Couldn’t stop lookin’ at it.”

Daryl took a step closer. “Wether’s down ‘ere or out there…there’s gon’ be a clock tickin’, tha’s just the one ya can see.”

You met his eyes again, barely able to hold them. “It’s exhausting.” There it was, that awful truth you hadn’t said aloud, even to yourself. You were tired, bone deep, soul-tired.

Daryl stepped forward again, rough hands cradling your face, surprisingly gentle. His thumbs brushed your tears away like they’d done it before. “Whatever yer thinkin’ of doin’, it ain’t happenin’. Not on m’ watch. Ya hear me?”

Your breath caught as someone had finally seen through the mask. Still, you chuckled, soft and bitter. “I’m not asking to be saved, Dixon. I’m not looking to be anyone’s little project.”

He turned without another word, disappearing into the adjoining office space, the towel slung low on his hips, steam curling in the air behind him. You watched him go, caught somewhere between confusion and a quiet ache you didn’t have a name for.

As he rummaged for his clothes, his voice drifted back to you. Low and rough, as if it hadn’t meant to be heard. “Hell…you were it the second I met ya.”

Kids had very vivid imaginations. They could make up monsters during playtime, their own best friends and see love where you believed there was none.

Yours and Steve’s classrooms faced each other, so in the mornings as you stood by the door welcoming in the children to class, your gazes often met in shy glances. The old brick building of Hawkins Middle School still carried the faint scent of chalk dust and floor wax even after the town had tried its best to move on from everything that had happened years ago.

You taught English in room 212 and Steve Harrington had somehow ended up right across the hall in room 211, teaching history to the same group of energetic sixth graders. It wasn’t something either of you had planned but life after the nightmares of Hawkins had taken strange turns for everyone.

Today the hallway was quieter than usual between periods. You had been wrestling with a lesson plan on early American literature when you realized your notes on colonial timelines were a mess because the dates refused to line up neatly with the stories you wanted to share. 

Steve’s voice drifted across the hall, steady and warm, explaining something about the Louisiana Purchase. You glanced at your watch, his class still had twenty minutes left but the question in your head wouldn’t wait.

You smoothed your simple dress and stepped across the hall. The door to room 211 stood open. Inside, desks were arranged in neat rows but the students were anything but neat. A few boys in the back were folding paper airplanes under their desks, while two girls near the window whispered and giggled behind their textbooks and one kid was balancing a pencil on his nose, clearly testing how long it would stay there before it clattered onto the floor.

Steve stood at the front near the blackboard, chalk in hand, drawing a rough map of the Mississippi River. His hair was still that same perfect swoop, though a little shorter now for practicality. He wore a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows and khaki dress pants that somehow made him look both professional and like the former King of Hawkins High who had never quite lost his charm. When he spotted you in the doorway, his brown eyes lit up in that familiar way that made your stomach do a small flip.

“Miss,” he said, using the polite title the kids knew you by, “everything okay?”

A dozen heads swiveled toward you as the paper airplane folded itself into stillness and the pencil clattered to the floor. Suddenly every sixth grader in the room found the interaction far more interesting than westward expansion.

You smiled, trying to ignore the way your cheeks warmed. “Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Harrington. I just had a quick question about the colonial period. My notes on the timeline for the Salem witch trials are all jumbled and I thought since you covered the Puritans last week…”

Steve set the chalk down without hesitation. “Of course, come on in. We were just finishing up anyway.” He turned to the class, his tone easy and confident. “Everyone, eyes up here for one more minute. Who can tell me why the Louisiana Purchase was a big deal for the United States?”

A few hands shot up. While one boy answered proudly, Steve stepped closer to you near the front desk and the kids watched like hawks. You could practically feel their imaginations spinning stories already.

He leaned in just enough to keep his voice low but still audible. “The witch trials stuff lines up around 1692, right after some of the earlier settlements. I’ve got a good map in my desk if you want to borrow it. The timelines match better if you tie them to the religious tensions from England carrying over.”

You nodded, genuinely grateful. His explanation was clear and enthusiastic in that subtle way he had when he forgot to play it cool. You had always suspected Steve was a history nerd at heart, the kind who read extra books not because he had to but because the stories stuck with him. It was endearing.

“Thanks, that helps more than you know,” you said. “I owe you one.”

One of the girls in the front row sighed audibly, a dreamy little sound that made her friends elbow her. Steve’s ears turned faintly pink but he kept his focus on you.

“Actually,” he said, glancing once at the clock, “class, start packing up. Quietly.” Then, softer to you, “If you have a free minute after the bell, maybe we could talk in the hall? I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

The room erupted into whispers the second the dismissal bell rang a few minutes later. Students shoved notebooks into backpacks with exaggerated slowness, clearly hoping to catch every word. You and Steve stepped just outside into the hallway between your two doors, the flow of kids parting around you like a stream around rocks.

Steve rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous habit you had noticed over the months. “So, this is probably not the smoothest way to do this, but I’ve been thinking about it for weeks…Uh would you want to grab dinner sometime? Not school cafeteria mystery meat, an actual dinner. Maybe that little Italian place on Main Street this Friday?”

You blinked, heart picking up speed. The hallway smelled like pencil shavings and the faint lemon cleaner the janitors used and a few lingering students hovered near the drinking fountain, pretending not to eavesdrop.

You could not help the teasing smile that spread across your face. “Dinner? With me? Are you sure this isn’t just to keep your kids happy? The kids have been pairing us up since the first week of school. I even heard one of them say we’d make a cute ‘history-English power couple’…whatever that means.”

Steve laughed, a warm, genuine sound that made the teasing worth it. “I swear it’s not for them. Though they’d probably throw a parade if they knew…This is for me. I like talking to you in the mornings, I like how you get excited about books the same way I get excited about old maps and battles and I…I really like the way you look at me across the hall even when you think I don’t notice.”

Heat rose in your face again. You glanced toward your classroom where a few of your own students were already settling in for the next period. “Alright, Harrington…dinner sounds nice, but what if this doesn’t work out? We’re literally across the hall from each other every day. Who between us will be transferring then? I can’t exactly move my whole English library in one go and you’d have to haul all those heavy textbooks and maps…I’d feel bad.”

He grinned, nodding. “I’d transfer…History can go anywhere. Besides, I’d never make you give up your window view. You like watching the birds out there during planning period...I notice things too.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Smooth, very smooth…Okay, Friday…but if the kids start making heart-shaped cards for us by Monday, I’m blaming you.”

“Deal,” Steve said, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’ll pick you up at seven…And don’t worry about the timelines, I’ll bring that map.”

You both turned to head back into your classrooms at the same time. The moment you stepped through your doorway, a wave of applause and cheers erupted from both rooms. Your students and Steve’s had clearly been watching through the open doors and the windows facing the hall. One boy in Steve’s class let out a loud whoop while a girl in yours started clapping so hard her bracelets jangled.

Steve paused in his doorway, turned back and gave you a quick, private smile before disappearing inside. You closed your own door gently, cheeks warming but heart light.

As the applause died down and you tried to settle the class into the next lesson, your mind wandered to the possibility of two Harringtons at Hawkins Middle School. The thought made you smile wider than it should have and the kids would lose their minds in the best way. They already saw love everywhere, spinning stories out of shy glances and hallway conversations. 

So, maybe this time they were right.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a pleasant haze of discussions about short stories and stolen glances across the hall whenever you both stepped out to monitor the corridor. Steve caught your eye once and mouthed “Friday” with an exaggerated wink, to which you rolled your eyes playfully but nodded.

By the final bell, the rumor mill had already started. A group of students waved at both of you as they headed for the buses, whispering excitedly. You stood by your door again, watching the flow of backpacks and laughter and wondered what the school would make of it all if things turned out right. Two teachers, two classrooms facing each other and a whole lot of young imaginations cheering you on.

It felt like the start of a pretty good story. 

One you would not mind writing together, one ordinary school day at a time.

A - Aftercare and adrenaline: Dean might come across as the ultimate cocky fuckboy who’d roll over and smirk after wrecking you but he’s surprisingly attentive once the high fades. He pulls your trembling body flush against his sweaty chest, big hockey-player arms wrapping around you like he never wants to let go. His voice is low and rough as he murmurs against your hair, “You good, baby? Fuck, you took my cock so deep…such a perfect girl for me.” 

Post-game adrenaline turns him feral, after a win he’ll still be buzzing, scooping you up in his suit jacket or half-dressed, carrying you straight to the shower where he fucks you slow and deep against the tiles, water cascading over your bodies while he praises how hot you looked screaming his name from the stands.

B - Bondage and teasing: Dean loves restraining you with his hockey tape or expensive silk ties, stretching your arms above your head and tying you to the headboard so you’re completely at his mercy. He steps back, slowly stroking his thick cock while his eyes devour every squirming inch of you. “Look at you, all tied up and dripping for me. So fucking pretty when you’re desperate.” 

He teases you mercilessly with his fingers and tongue, circling your clit and dipping inside your soaked pussy without giving you what you need until you’re begging with tears pricking your eyes. Only then does he finally sink into you, groaning at how tightly you clench around him as he fucks you hard and deep, using your bound body exactly how he wants.

C - Creampies and breeding kink: Dean is absolutely addicted to filling you up. He loves pounding you until he’s buried to the hilt, then holding himself deep as he cums hard, thick ropes of hot cum flooding your pussy while he growls filthy breeding talk right against your ear.

“Gonna knock you up, baby. Want this tight cunt full of me until it takes.” He’s obsessed with watching his cum leak out of your stretched hole, pushing it back in with two thick fingers while kissing you messily. The thought of you swollen with his kid makes him feral, he’ll fuck you for hours, spilling multiple loads deep inside, keeping you plugged with his cock afterward so nothing escapes.

D - Dirty talk: That smooth, cocky voice gets low and filthy the second your clothes come off. “Fuck, listen to how wet this greedy pussy is for me,” he groans while thrusting deep, the wet sounds of your bodies echoing. “This tight little hole was made to take my cock, wasn’t it? My perfect dirty girl.” He mixes praise and degradation effortlessly, calling you his good girl when you’re clenching around him and his filthy little cumslut when you’re begging. He keeps eye contact the whole time, watching your face as he tells you exactly how good you feel squeezing his dick and how he’s going to ruin you for anyone else.

E - Edging and overstimulation: With his insane hockey stamina, Dean can edge you for hours. He’ll work your clit with his tongue in slow, teasing circles, bringing you right to the edge before pulling away with a wicked smirk. “Not yet, baby. I want to hear you fucking beg for it.” 

When he finally lets you cum, he doesn’t stop, he fucks you through it with deep, punishing strokes, then keeps going until you’re shaking, oversensitive and sobbing his name. He loves the way your thighs tremble around his head and how your pussy flutters desperately around his cock as he wrings every last orgasm out of you.

F - Frat house / Fast and rough: Dean thrives on risky, spontaneous fucks around the hockey house. When the team’s out, he’ll bend you over the kitchen counter or the couch, yanking your panties aside and slamming into you from behind without warning. If they’re home, one big hand covers your mouth to muffle your screams while the other grips your hip hard enough to bruise. “Shhh, baby. Don’t want the boys hearing how loud you moan for my cock.” He fucks you fast and rough, the thrill of possibly getting caught making him even harder as he fills you up and leaves you dripping.

G - Goon and guided sex: Dean loves when you ride him but he’s still very much in control from below. He grips your hips with strong hands, guiding you up and down his thick length while watching your tits bounce. “That’s it, just like that…fuck yourself on my cock, baby. Look at you using me so well.” He thrusts up hard to meet you, turning it into a sweaty, filthy battle. When you start getting tired he takes over completely, flipping you onto your back and driving into you with powerful strokes until you’re creaming all over him.

H - Hickeys and hair pulling: He marks you up like he owns you, with dark and possessive hickeys on your neck, breasts and inner thighs that he traces with his tongue the next morning. He loves when you pull his hair while he’s devouring your pussy and he returns the favor by fisting your hair tightly, guiding your mouth down on his cock until your nose presses against his pelvis. “Fuck yes…Choke on it, baby,” he groans, hips twitching as saliva drips down your chin.

I - Impromptu and intense: Spontaneous sex is Dean’s addiction. In the locker room after practice, in a bathroom at a party or in the back of his luxury car with tinted windows, he takes you whenever the mood strikes. He’ll push you against the nearest surface, drop to his knees to eat you out like a starving man, then stand up and fuck you senseless, whispering how he couldn’t wait another second to be inside you.

J - Jealousy and possessiveness: Dean pretends he’s chill but seeing someone flirt with you makes him snap. He drags you to the nearest private spot, bathroom, alley or empty room and pins you against the wall and fucks you hard and claiming. “You’re mine,” he growls between deep thrusts, biting your shoulder. “This pussy belongs to me. Say it while I fuck you stupid.” The sex is rough, apologetic and intense, ending with him filling you while murmuring how sorry he is for losing control.

K - Kinky games: Everything becomes a game with Dean. Strip poker that ends with you on your knees sucking him off or betting how many orgasms he can pull from you before the movie ends. Loser gets spanked with his big, rough hands, leaving perfect sore prints on your ass while he laughs and teases you for being so easy to beat.

L - Lingerie and lap dances: Dean goes feral when you wear expensive lingerie just for him. He leans back on the couch, legs spread, palming his hard cock through his pants while you give him a slow, teasing lap dance. “C’mere, baby. Let me feel how soaked that pretty set is.” He eventually pushes the lace aside, burying his face between your thighs and eating you out until your legs shake before pulling you down onto his cock.

M - Manhandling and mirror sex: Those strong defenseman arms make manhandling effortless. He flips and lifts you like you weigh nothing, fucking you against walls or tossing you onto the bed. His favorite is mirror sex, bending you over in front of the full-length mirror in his bedroom so you both watch as his thick cock stretches your pussy. “Eyes on the mirror, baby. Watch how well you take every inch of me.”

N - Nipple play and neck kisses: He’s obsessed with your tits, sucking, biting and pinching your nipples while he fucks you slow and deep. His mouth on your neck leaves dark marks as he grinds against you, whispering filthy praise that makes you clench around him.

O - Oral (giving and receiving): Dean eats pussy like it’s his favorite meal. He throws your legs over his broad shoulders and devours you, moaning against your clit and tongue-fucking you until you’re grinding on his face. When you suck him off, he’s loud and filthy, groaning your name, praising how good your throat feels and gently fucking your mouth while his hand tangles in your hair.

P - Praise and public teasing: “Such a good girl taking my cock,” and “Fuck, you’re so perfect for me.” He’s generous with praise but loves teasing you in public by sliding his hand up your thigh under the table at team dinners and whispering exactly what he’s going to do to you later until you’re squirming and soaked.

Q - Quickies and quality: Even his quickies are intense. A hard, fast fuck in the stairwell or his car where he still makes sure you cum hard, often twice before pumping you full. He makes every minute count.

R - Rough sex: When the mood hits, Dean fucks like he plays, hard, fast and relentless. He pins your wrists above your head, delivers deep powerful thrusts and lightly chokes you while feeling your pulse race, and growls filthy things in your ear. He always checks in afterward, making sure you’re okay before going for round two.

S - Stamina and sweaty sex: Hockey conditioning means he can fuck for hours. Expect sweaty, loud, bed-breaking sex where the sheets end up soaked. He loves the slide of your slick bodies, the way your skin sticks to his as he drives into you over and over, both of you panting and moaning.

T - Toys and teasing: Dean’s adventurous with toys. He loves using a remote vibrator on you during team events, controlling the intensity from across the room while watching you try to stay composed. He’ll edge you with dildos and plugs before finally giving you his cock.

U - Uniform kink: The hockey gear is a huge turn-on. He’ll fuck you with his jersey still on (on your or him), pads half-off in the locker room, the scent of sweat and ice on his skin driving you crazy. You love riding him while he’s still in parts of his uniform, gripping the fabric as you cum.

V - Voyeurism and risk: Dean loves the thrill of almost getting caught. Balcony sex, fingering you under the table or fucking you against the floor-to-ceiling windows of his apartment where anyone could see. The risk makes him fuck you harder and deeper, hoping to make it worth the potential trouble.

W - Worship: He worships your body like a trophy by kissing, licking and praising every inch while buried inside you. You return it just as eagerly, tracing his abs, scars and cock with your tongue until he’s groaning your name like a prayer.

X - eXhibitionist tendencies: He’s shameless. He’ll let you ride him in the hot tub at a party or record you sucking his cock so he can rewatch it later and get hard again. The danger of being seen only turns him on more.

Y - Yearning and make-up sex: After away games or fights, the reunion sex is desperate and intense. He pins you against the door the second he’s home, tearing clothes off and fucking you deeply. “Missed this tight pussy so fucking much,” he growls, pounding into you like he’ll never get enough.

Z - Zoned out and cockdrunk: Dean lives for fucking you into a blissed-out, cockdrunk mess. He keeps a relentless, grinding rhythm with deep strokes that hit your G-spot perfectly, watching with dark eyes as your eyes roll back, drool slips from your parted lips and you can only whimper and tremble. “That’s my girl. Look at you, all fucked stupid on my cock. So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, hips still moving as he keeps you floating in that mindless pleasure for as long as he wants.

The sight of your vacant expression only fuels his aggression. He grips your hips with bruising force, fingers digging into your skin to anchor you as he drives himself deeper. Every thrust is a violent, calculated strike, his thick cock slamming against your cervix with a wet, slapping sound that echoes through the room.

He shifts his weight, hooking one of your legs over his shoulder to open you up completely. The change in angle allows him to bury himself to the hilt, balls slapping hard against your soaking wet pussy. He focuses on that one specific spot, grinding his pelvis in a circular, punishing motion that sends electric shocks through your entire nervous system.

"You're not even here anymore, are you?" Dean growls, his voice a low, possessive rumble. He leans down, biting hard into the sensitive skin of your shoulder, marking you as his while he continues to pump into you.

You try to form a word, a plea or a moan but all that comes out is a broken, airy whimper. Your head thrashes against the pillow, eyes fluttering, seeing nothing but white light and the blurred image of his dark, hungry gaze. You are completely undone, your mind stripped away by the sheer intensity of the friction.

Dean watches the drool leak from the corner of your mouth, a smirk playing on his lips. He loves this, the total erasure of your will, the way you become nothing more than a vessel for his pleasure. He increases the pace, his breaths coming in harsh, jagged gasps. The sound of his cock sliding in and out of your drenched pussy becomes a rhythmic, frantic drumming.

"Take it all," he commands, voice dripping with dominance. "Take every fucking inch of me until you can't remember your own name."

He feels your internal muscles begin to spasm, the first waves of a massive orgasm beginning to ripple through you. Instead of letting you peak and crash, he slows his pace to a torturous, agonizing crawl. He pulls out until only the head of his cock remains inside you, then plunges back in with a sudden, savage force that makes your back arch off the bed.

The sensation is too much. You scream, a raw, guttural sound, as your orgasm rips through you. Your pussy clamps down on him in tight, rhythmic pulses, milking him desperately. Dean lets out a low groan, his own control finally snapping. He hammers into you one last time, hips locking against yours as he fills you deep, his hot cum erupting in thick pulses against your G-spot.

He stays buried inside you long after the shaking stops, heavy chest heaving against yours as he leans in, licking the stray tear from your cheek, eyes dark and satisfied.

"That’s my good girl," he whispers, his voice possessive and cold. "Now stay right there. I'm not done with you yet."

A - Aftercare and altitude sex: Clark loves wrapping you in his cape and flying you somewhere private for soft cuddles right after heated sex. He checks your pulse and focuses on your breathing because he’s terrified of hurting you or losing control of his abilities when it comes to you. He tries to bring you even higher than the sex itself. It’s followed by slow, weightless floating aftercare, with him keeping his eyes on you while you look down at the world and he admires his.

B - Bondage: Whether it’s with his tie after work or heat vision-welded restraints (especially if you’re superpowered), Clark doesn’t necessarily need them but he knows how much you love being manhandled. He enjoys using his super-strength carefully to pin you or letting you tie him down so he has to hold back from breaking free while you ride him. He’s stuck watching, relying only on his self-control as you sink down on his throbbing cock, back arching, head thrown back, nipples hard and nails scratching his tensing abs.

C - Creampies and breeding kink: It stems from Clark’s alien biology and his deep need to feel connected. He can go multiple rounds and always holds you close while he fills you, whispering about how perfect you feel. He definitely indulges in light breeding talk, “I want to put a baby in you…even if we can’t.” At the beginning of the relationship he worries about getting you pregnant, not because he doesn’t want kids but because he fears it might be too much for you. Once he makes peace with it and you start trying, his biology is no joke. There’s no real “trying” it was one and done and you were carrying his child. He can control when he cums if he focuses, but he loses that control when it comes to you.

D - Dirty talk (in that low Kansas drawl): It’s all soft praise mixed with filthy promises, “That’s it, honey…take all of me,” and “You’re the only one who can handle me like this,” growled right against your ear while he’s buried deep inside your weeping pussy. His accent mostly comes out during sex and the intensity depends on how hard you’re going or how long it’s been since you last had each other. He praises not just how good you’re doing, but how you sound and look and it always pushes you over the edge prematurely, which he fucking loves. He grins at the sight, especially when you beg him to keep talking like that, all while maintaining intense eye contact.

E - Edging and overstimulation: Super-speed means he can edge you for hours and his pattern recognition makes the sex feel perfect. He alternates between slow, deep thrusts and vibrating super-speed tongue or fingers until you’re shaking and begging. He loves hearing your keening mewls and watching you writhe under him, trying to run from the feeling while still pushing your body back into him, desperate for more.

F - Flight and floating sex: It didn’t take long for you to agree to this once you realized how easily he inspires absolute trust. Who’s better than Superman himself? Zero-gravity fucking high above Metropolis happens at least once a week. He could do it in normal clothes but chooses the suit so he can wrap you in his cape, keeping you naked yet warm all over, not just where his cock breaches your pussy. He holds you confidently mid-air while pounding into you, wind whipping around you both as your moans erupt freely into the night sky.

G - Gentle giant / guided sex: Clark is extremely careful with his strength when it isn’t needed, while still giving you everything he has. As big and commanding as he is, he lets you guide him on exactly how rough you want it, “Harder, Clark. I can take it.” His priority is your pleasure, making sure you get everything you want and need every time you take his thick cock. He holds your hips, maintains eye contact when the position allows and reads your body. Don’t even think about lying to him, his ears may be drowned by the sound of your squelching pussy but they’re also glued to your heartbeat and he knows exactly how to tell the difference between pleasure and anything else.

H - Heat vision play: There are insane levels of intimacy and trust involved when he uses controlled heat vision to warm your skin, trace patterns that fade in seconds or lightly stimulate sensitive spots without burning. He also leaves heavy hickeys that he heals with super-breath afterward. He loves watching his marks disappear, replaced by goosebumps spreading across your skin.

I - Invulnerability play: Solar eclipses are always marked on your calendars for this. You marking him by scratching, biting and  riding him as hard as you want, is a sweet treat he wouldn’t miss for anything. On normal days, since he can barely feel it, he focuses entirely on how it feels for you and how you can’t help but try to mark him anyway.

J - Jealousy (reporter vs hero): Clark wouldn’t call himself a jealous person but ‘possessive Clark’ comes out whenever someone flirts with you at the Daily Planet. It leads to rough but apologetic office or alleyway sex where he reminds you and mostly himself, exactly who you belong to. “Didn’t mean to act like a jerk, sweetheart,” he breathes into your ear as his thrusts get deeper. “Or to raise my voice…you can be mad at me, just let me feel you cum.”

K - Kryptonite play (consensual and careful): This only happens if he suggests it first and requires insane levels of trust. A controlled amount makes him feel more human and sensitive. It stays at a safe distance, ideally with you in the dominating position, riding him while watching deep green veins crawl up his skin. When you start worrying and try to move faster, he begs you to slow down so he can experience this vulnerability under your control. He’ll tell you when he needs it to stop but often keeps it around during aftercare so he can feel tired and sleepy with you.

L - Lingerie: He absolutely adores the nights you wear nothing but his cape or just his dress shirt and glasses, making a whole show of slow dancing and bending over for him. He watches you through walls, fighting the urge to abandon dinner on the stove and follow you to the bedroom. You love using his cape as lingerie because he’s torn up expensive pieces before, even when trying to be careful but when you do wear it, he ends up pushing it aside to thrust into you gently, murmuring between your moans and whines, “I’m so sorry honey, I should know how delicate lace is…Let me make it up to you, yeah?”

M - Manhandling: He loves how much you love it and how it makes your heart jump, even when you trust him completely not to hurt you. He effortlessly lifts and flips you, grabbing your ass while you cook or brush your teeth, which often leads to him pulling you into the shower, lifting you smoothly and pushing his cock into your unprepared pussy just to hear your moans bounce off the tile walls. He loves leaving fingerprint bruises he kisses better later and biting your shoulder while pulling your ass back onto his cock.

N - Nipple play (with super-breath): Super-breath on wet nipples is his go-to. It makes your back arch, pushing them into his warm mouth as he sucks the chill away. The contrast is heaven and the noises he makes while doing it drive you wild.

O - Oral (super-powered): The first time he went down on you, he tried not to show off but his tongue and super speed still gave you the best head of your life. You pulled his hair hard enough to leave bald spots on anyone else. You also had to beg him to let you deepthroat him, “Clark come on, let’s just give it a shot.” Clark looked at you in disbelief, “It’s not like I’m asking you to hold me upside down in the air while doing it,” You added and held in laughter as you watched his eyes widen.

In the end, he ended up holding you like he was doing bicep curls before wearing your legs like a scarf, tongue buried deep in your pussy while trying not to thrust too hard into your mouth and choke you.

P - Praise kink: Clark loves being told he’s good, whether you’re dressed or naked, under him or on top. The words and tone go straight to his cock. “Such a good hero,” you moan as you feel his muscles clench under your fingertips. “You’re so strong but so gentle for me,” you whine when he hits your G-spot just right. It makes him melt and fuck you harder just to hear more.

Q - Quickies: They’re never really quick with Clark. He always makes time for you, especially if he gets multiple orgasms out of it. Between saving the world and deadlines, you stay late at the office so he can make up for disappearing in the middle of the day by fucking you on your desk once the building empties. Rooftop quickies happen while he’s still breathing heavily in the suit or he superspeeds you somewhere private for fifteen minutes that feel like hours.

R - Rough sex (very controlled if you’re human): Pinning you against walls or furniture, delivering hard deep thrusts, light choking with perfect pressure control so he can feel your pulse under his fingers. He pulls your hair to redirect your kisses or guide your mouth along his cock while he growls your name. “There you go, all the way in… that’s it,” he rasps, watching your lips stretch around his length, saliva coating it and dripping down your chin, knowing he’ll kiss it clean later.

S - Super-speed and stamina: Hours of endless sex. He never gets tired but you eventually will, so it becomes a game of how long he can keep you right on the edge. You adore the sensory overload of him moving at different speeds inside you while he watches your body tense, back arching, toes curling, then trembling as your orgasm builds.

T - Toys and teasing: Clark sees toys as teammates. He blushes in sex stores but carefully checks materials so he can make sure they’re safe to warm up with heat vision or cool them with arctic breath. He especially loves remote toys he can control while across the city, listening to you writhe and moan his name with super-hearing.

U - Uniform kink: You welcome him with open arms and legs whenever he comes home in the Superman suit, no matter how dirty or ripped it is. You beg him to fuck you with the cape still on, always face-to-face so you can trace the emblem and hold onto it during orgasms. You’re just as turned on when he’s in his glasses and button-up, watching them fog up as he kisses you while fucking you into whatever furniture you land on.

V - Voyeurism: There’s the thrill of possibly being seen from below while floating and fucking mid-air or the spontaneous moments on the fire escape where you lean over the railing and he takes you from behind, the fresh air cooling the heat in your core. He’s also not above using super-hearing and x-ray vision to watch and listen to you touching yourself from miles away, it’s like immersive phone sex.

W - Worship: There’s deep body worship from both sides. It’s easy to worship every inch of the Man of Steel but even easier to make him forget he was built for the world. You worship Clark, the man you get wholly and completely while he worships you like you’re the only thing that makes him feel human.

X - X-Ray vision: He teases you by describing in detail exactly how wet and aroused you are and how your pussy walls contract around him. He watches his cock slide in and out from inside, the tip kissing your cervix as he fills you. Best of all is watching himself cum inside you in real time as he shamelessly tracks your racing heartbeat during foreplay, driving you crazy with it.

Y - Yearning (and yandere-lite): Clark practically invented the concept, even before you started dating. The intense longing when he’s away saving the world leads to desperate “I missed you so much” reunions that last all night and into the morning with soft, gentle sex all over the bed until the sheets are soaked. Even after you’re done, you cockwarm while talking and kissing, trading whispers about how you knew he’d come home safe and how he could only think of you out there.

Z - Zoned Out: Clark is an expert at fucking you so good you go blissed-out and cockdrunk, drooling, eyes rolling and whining with every breath while he watches you fall apart with pure adoration and lust, thanking the skies for his stamina because he can make it last.

He doesn't just want to fuck you, he wants to erase the world around you until there is nothing left but the sensation of his cock filling you and the sound of your own broken whimpers.

He isn't rushing, Clark knows exactly how to pace himself, using his inhuman stamina to maintain a relentless, grinding rhythm that hits your G-spot with surgical precision. Every thrust is deep, heavy and unwavering, driving into you with a force that makes your entire body shudder.

He watches with dilated pupils as the "glaze" begins to take over. Your eyes start to roll back, the whites showing as your consciousness drifts away from the room and sinks deep into the heat of the friction. You aren't even speaking words anymore, just whining, a high, needy sound that vibrates in the back of your throat, your breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps every time he thrusts back in.

"That's it," he rumbles, voice a low and vibrating growl that you feel in your chest. "Let me in and let everything else go. Give it all to me, I can take it."

He increases the speed, his powerful hips slamming against yours with a wet, rhythmic slap. He watches a thin trail of drool escape the corner of your mouth, jaw slack and your expression one of total, mindless bliss. You are completely cockdrunk, intoxicated by the sheer volume of pleasure he is pumping into you. You try to cling to him but your fingers just twitch uselessly against his biceps, muscles turning to jelly.

Clark feels a surge of pure, possessive adoration. He looks down at your ruined face, warm, sweating and utterly undone and he feels a primal pride. His Kryptonian endurance allows him to keep you in this state of suspended animation for hours if he wants to, milking every moan and tremor out of you.

He leans down, licking the drool from your lip before burying his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he praises your pussy. He feels your internal muscles clamping down on him in a desperate, involuntary rhythm and he simply smiles, digging deeper, determined to keep you floating in that mindless, erotic void until you completely forget your own name.