#superma

His chest rumbled under your cheek, the laugh low and easy. “I can sweat.”

You lifted your head enough to squint up at him, narrowing your eyes in mock suspicion. “Oh yeah? Prove it.”

He grinned, dimples flashing like they always did when he was about to be insufferable. “That’s… not how it works.”

With a dramatic sigh, you flopped your head back onto him. “Unbelievable. I’m married to a man who can fly halfway across the planet without stopping for water breaks, but I’m the one lying here sounding like I just climbed a thousand flights of stairs.”

Clark tilted his head, pretending to consider it. “To be fair,” he said, voice slow and teasing, “you did just do a lot of… cardio.”

You smacked his chest, half-laughing, half-scandalized, and he caught your hand easily, as though he’d known you’d do it. He lifted it to his lips, brushing a soft kiss against your knuckles. The shift was so seamless it almost startled you—his playfulness melting into something quieter, steadier, something that lived deeper in his chest. He laced your fingers together, grounding you. “I like this,” he said softly.

“Being married?” you teased, though your voice had softened, too.

“That too.” His smile curved, but his eyes stayed thoughtful, intent on you. “But mostly this. No noise. No emergencies. No one needing anything from me. Just you and me.”

For a moment, silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken things. The last few weeks had been a whirlwind—planning and guest lists, family arriving in waves, the chaos of the ceremony, the rush of the reception, the endless goodbyes before you slipped away. You hadn’t realized how tightly you’d been wound until now, until the world finally quieted and left only this—him, you, and the soft hush of the sea.

“What do you think forever looks like?” you asked, voicing the thought that had been circling in your mind since the vows, the kind of question that felt both too big and too intimate to put into words.

Clark shifted, angling himself so he could see you better. His hand slid gently along your face, brushing away a strand of hair that the breeze had teased loose. His thumb lingered at your temple as his gaze softened. “Honestly? I think it’s this. Coming back to you, no matter what the day throws at me.” His voice dropped into something quieter, vulnerable. “And maybe one day… a farmhouse in Kansas. Kids running around the yard. Holidays where Ma makes way too much pie and insists everyone eat three slices.”

Your lips curved, warmth pooling in your chest. “You’re telling me the man of steel wants to be a suburban dad?”

“I don’t know about suburban.” His grin tugged crooked, playful again. “More like… rural dad. Coaching little league. Fixing fences. Definitely embarrassing our kids in front of their friends.”

You laughed so hard you had to bury your face against his chest, shoulders shaking. “You would be the dad with terrible dad jokes, wouldn’t you?”

He bent his head to kiss the crown of your hair, feigning mock offense. “I’ll have you know my dad jokes will be excellent. Legendary, even.”

“Oh no,” you groaned, still laughing. “Our poor kids.”

“They’ll love it,” he insisted with mock gravity, though his grin gave him away. “They won’t admit it until they’re older, but they’ll secretly love it.”

You tilted your head up, studying him in the dim lamplight. His features softened under your gaze, his smile touched with something tender that reached his eyes. Your chest ached in that warm, unbearable way love always seemed to. “ I married a farm boy with world-saving tendencies and aspirations of being a legendary dad-joke connoisseur.”

“And don’t forget husband,” he murmured, leaning down to capture your mouth in a kiss that was lingering and unhurried, the kind of kiss that felt less like a spark and more like an anchor. When he finally pulled back, his voice was quiet but certain, steady as bedrock. “That’s the best part.”

Your throat tightened, words caught somewhere you couldn’t reach. Instead, you threaded your fingers into his hair and kissed him again, trying to pour into him all the things language could never hold. Outside, the waves rolled on endlessly, but here, wrapped up in him, the world felt impossibly small, impossibly simple, as if the only thing that mattered was the space you both filled together.

When you finally drew back, your forehead resting against his, you whispered, “Okay. Farmhouse, kids, too many pies, legendary dad jokes. But can we add something?”

His eyes softened, the answer immediate. “Anything.”

“Vacations like this,” you said, voice hushed, almost a prayer. “Sun, ocean, no one finding us. Just us, being love-drunk and ridiculous.”

Clark’s smile deepened, his dimples carving familiar grooves into his cheeks as he tucked you even closer. “Deal,” he said, the word steady, full of promise. He pressed his lips to your hair, his voice low and certain. “Forever.”

You let yourself sink into the moment for a few beats longer, cheek pressed to his chest, listening to the steady drum of his heartbeat. It was grounding, that sound — stronger than anything else in the world, yet steady and gentle, like a song written only for you. His hand traced lazy circles on your back, his warmth sinking into you until it felt like your bones themselves were exhaling.

And then, suddenly, something electric jolted through you. A bolt of restless energy you couldn’t explain.

You sat up abruptly, sheets falling in a chaotic heap around your waist. The room’s soft lamplight caught in Clark’s eyes as he blinked at you, startled.

“Uh—what—?” He pushed up onto his elbows, messy hair falling into his face. “Did I do something?”

“No,” you said quickly, already grinning as an idea bloomed like a spark catching fire. “I just… want to go for a swim.”

His brows shot up, and he turned his head toward the open balcony where the ocean breeze whispered through gauzy curtains. Beyond, the private pool glimmered in the moonlight, its surface alive with silver ripples that mirrored the restless waves below the cliffs.

“A… swim?” he repeated slowly, like he was testing the word. “Now?”

“Yes. Now.” You gestured toward the water, the anticipation bubbling in your chest. “A night swim. Look at it—it’s perfect.”

Clark opened his mouth as if to argue, then shut it again. And then—shockingly, hilariously—he stuttered. Actually stuttered.

“You—you mean like—uh—” His gaze flicked down at the state of your tangled sheets, at your bare shoulders, before jerking back up to your face. His whole expression went adorably, unmistakably red. “Like skinny dipping?”

You blinked at him. And then you burst into laughter so sudden and loud you had to clutch your stomach to keep from doubling over. “Oh my god!”

His ears flushed crimson, and he looked exactly like the flustered farm boy you’d first met, not the man who had just kissed you senseless. “What? I just—well—we’re—” He gestured helplessly at himself, at you, at the general state of very little clothing, his words falling apart in a tumble.

“You’re so cute,” you managed, leaning over to press a kiss against his hot cheek, still laughing. “No, sweetheart, I’m not going to traumatize my shy farm boy with skinny dipping. I meant with swimsuits.”

The relief on his face was instant and hilarious, though the blush refused to fade. He huffed a laugh, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe himself. “I wasn’t traumatized,” he muttered. “Just… surprised.”

“Mmhm,” you teased, slipping off the bed and tugging the sheet around your body like a toga. “Surprised and pink as a tomato.”

He grinned sheepishly, running a hand through his already wild hair, which only made it worse. “Can you blame me?”

You winked, already heading for the chair where your swimsuits had been left in a careless heap. “Come on, Kent. I don’t want to waste the moonlight.”

A few minutes later, the two of you stepped out onto the balcony. The warm night wrapped around you instantly, salt and jasmine thick in the air, the ocean below breathing its eternal rhythm. The villa lights behind you glowed, but out here it was silver—moonlight spilling across the pool’s surface, stars reflected so perfectly it looked like you might fall into another sky if you dove deep enough.

You dipped your toes in first, hissing softly at the perfect warmth. The water embraced your skin like silk. “See? Worth it.”

Clark followed, moving with that casual grace that seemed to belong only to him, even when he was just lowering himself into a pool. The water lapped at his shoulders, catching the light across the lines of muscle and the curve of his smile. He looked impossibly luminous, like the night itself had decided he was its favorite.

“Okay,” you admitted, letting yourself float onto your back, arms spread wide as you gazed up at the endless sprawl of stars overhead. “This might be even better than the bed.”

He swam closer with a few easy strokes, the water barely daring to ripple against him. His hands found your waist under the surface, warm even here, and he tugged you gently against him.

“Better than the bed?” His voice was low and playful, teasing, vibrating through the water and into your chest.

You laughed, slipping your arms around his neck, water dripping from your hair into his. “Don’t get me wrong, the bed has… plenty of perks.” You punctuated the words with a quick kiss against his lips, tasting chlorine and salt air. “But this? You, me, stars, no one else in the world? This is the kind of thing you dream about when you’re a kid.”

His gaze softened, his blue eyes catching the moonlight like reflections of the sky itself. “I used to lie out in the fields in Smallville and look up at the stars,” he murmured, voice quiet and sure. “I always wondered who I’d get to share moments like this with.” His hand brushed your cheek, reverent, and then he pressed a kiss to your forehead, lingering there, his words a whisper against your skin. “Turns out, I was waiting for you.”

The sound of the waves blurred, the night seemed to still around you, and your heart ached in the best possible way. You melted against him, letting yourself drift in the safety of his arms.

“God, Clark. You’re going to ruin me with lines like that.”

He chuckled softly, the sound echoing in his chest as he held you closer, his breath warm against your temple. “Guess that’s the plan.”

Clark’s hands settled firmly at your waist as you floated against him, the water holding you both like glass made liquid. His touch was steady, anchoring, and for a moment you let yourself drift—arms spreading wide, head tilted back, letting the silver glow of the moon sink into your skin. The warm air wrapped around you, mingling with the cool kiss of the water, and for a breath it felt like you were weightless in every sense.

“Careful,” Clark murmured, his voice low, almost tender, as his thumbs traced along your sides to balance you.

You cracked one eye open, biting back a grin. “Honey, the pool is not that deep. What exactly do you think is going to happen to me?”

He gave you that look—pure, earnest farm-boy sincerity softened by just enough bashfulness to make your chest ache. “Well, what if you slip?”

A laugh burst from you, echoing across the still surface of the pool. You splashed a hand against his chest, sending droplets scattering like diamonds under the lights. “Oh no, not slipping in the world’s most shallow luxury pool. How tragic.”

He blinked water out of his lashes, grinning wide enough for dimples to appear. “Hey, don’t underestimate slipping. I’ve seen it ruin a perfectly good day.”

“You’re a dork.”

“And you’re—” His hand darted suddenly through the water, flicking it up in a small wave that smacked you right in the chest.

You gasped dramatically, sputtering even though the water barely grazed your chin. “Clark Kent!”

“What?” His face was all mock innocence, lips pursed, though his dimples betrayed him utterly.

“Oh, it’s on.” You lunged forward, cupping both hands to send a spray right at his face. It landed beautifully—his hair plastered wetly to his forehead, droplets clinging to his lashes as he shook his head like a ruffled dog.

“Really?” he said, voice dropping into that deep, mock-menacing tone you knew so well.

“Really,” you shot back, trying to kick backward out of his reach. But of course, it was hopeless. He moved with infuriating ease, as if the water were nothing at all. In a blink, his arms were around you, solid as stone and twice as unyielding.

You squealed as he swept you clean out of the water, lifting you high like you weighed less than a feather. “Clark! Put me down!”

“Hmm.” He spun you once, slow and deliberate, the pool lights turning into streaks of gold and silver around you. “Maybe I like having you right here.”

He lowered you back into the water with exaggerated care, his strength tempered by a gentleness that never failed to undo you.

Clinging to his shoulders, breathless from laughter, you pouted. “Unfair. You have super-speed. This is cheating.”

His eyes softened, the teasing giving way to something warmer. “Super-speed has nothing to do with it,” he murmured, brushing a strand of wet hair away from your face. His fingers lingered against your cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw as if he needed to memorize it. “I just don’t want to let you go.”

The banter dissolved, swallowed by the hush of the night and the quiet weight of his words. The water lapped gently at your shoulders as his gaze searched yours, and then he leaned in.

His lips found yours slow and unhurried, a kiss that was less fire and more gravity—an inexorable pull that made the rest of the world fall away. The pool lights haloed him in soft gold and pale silver, every inch of him impossibly luminous against the dark. The ocean beyond whispered, the breeze stirred, but here it was just him, just you, and the taste of salt and warmth between your mouths.

When you finally broke apart, foreheads touching, your breath came out as a whisper against his lips. “We’re going to prune if we stay in here all night.”

A smirk curved across his mouth, his dimples deepening as his arms tightened around you. “Then I guess I’ll just have to carry you back.”

“Clark,” you warned, though your fingers still curled into the back of his neck, unwilling to release him.

He tilted his head, feigning thought, his grin taking on that unmistakable mischief. “Unless, of course, you’re planning to skinny dip after all…”

You shoved his shoulder, half laughing, half scandalized, sending another spray of water between you. “You’re never living that down.”

His chuckle rumbled through his chest, warm and steady, as he dipped his head to kiss the corner of your smile. “Good,” he murmured. “Means I’ll always have something to tease you with.”

Eventually, you gave in to your own warning. The two of you had been floating and laughing in the pool for so long that your fingers were starting to wrinkle like raisins, the skin puckering in tiny, perfect ridges. Moonlight sparkled across the water, bouncing off your wet hair and damp skin, and the world felt impossibly quiet and infinite around you.

“Okay,” you said, holding up your hands dramatically, wrinkled fingers splayed like evidence in a court of law. “Evidence. We’re pruned. We need to get out before we wither completely into raisin-land.”

Clark caught one of your hands before you could drop it and pressed his lips to your wrinkled fingertips like they were the rarest treasure. “Still perfect,” he murmured, voice low and warm against your skin.

You rolled your eyes, though the tightness in your chest betrayed how much that simple act of tenderness had touched you. “You’re so sappy,” you said, though your lips curved despite yourself.

“Only for you,” he grinned, and in one fluid, effortless motion, he scooped you up bridal-style from the water, lifting you as if gravity itself had decided to bend in his favor.

You squealed, arms tightening around his neck. “Clark! You’re dripping everywhere!”

“Correction,” he said, voice mock-serious, “we’re dripping everywhere.” Water cascaded down his chest and shoulders, tracing the line of his muscles, and yet he carried you with such ease that it made your heart stutter. “Besides, it’s not like the floor minds.”

“Superman,” you said with mock sternness as he set you gently onto one of the lounge chairs, “you’re going to get us banned from luxury villas.”

He crouched in front of you, draping a fluffy white towel around your shoulders and tucking it close, his hands gentle, reverent even, as though you were made entirely of glass. “Worth it,” he said, eyes twinkling, voice low with that quiet certainty you loved so much.

You softened, reaching out to brush wet curls back from his forehead. He caught your wrist, pressing a gentle kiss to your palm, before grabbing his own towel and beginning the struggle to dry his hair. The sight of Clark Kent—world’s most powerful man—wrestling with a fluffy white towel was enough to send you into helpless laughter, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes.

“What?” he asked, muffled through the fabric, feigning offense.

“You look like a giant puppy that just got a bath,” you managed between giggles.

He dropped the towel dramatically, eyes wide and indignant. “A puppy?”

“A very large, very dimpled farm puppy,” you clarified, barely able to keep your laughter contained.

Clark’s expression flattened in mock seriousness for a heartbeat before he lunged, tossing his towel over your head and laughing as you flailed beneath it. “Take it back!”

“Never!” you shouted through the terrycloth, the sound of your own laughter making your stomach ache in the best way.

When he finally freed you, both of you were breathless, hair sticking to wet skin, cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling like moonlight on water. He leaned in close, eyes twinkling, voice soft but teasing. “Careful, Mrs. Kent. Keep this up and I’ll carry you straight back to bed.”

Your heart stuttered at the sound of “Mrs. Kent” on his lips. You grinned, mock serious but secretly melting. “That’s supposed to be a threat?”

He answered with a kiss—slow, deliberate, impossibly tender—and the answer was obvious.

Minutes later, true to his word, he scooped you up again, arms firm and unyielding as if carrying you were as natural as breathing. You clung to him, legs wrapped around his waist, and he carried you inside like it weighed nothing at all. He set you gently on the bed, still damp but radiating warmth, and fussed over you with a care so intimate it made your chest ache—toweling off your legs with careful, practiced strokes that felt impossibly domestic and impossibly intimate all at once.

“Clark,” you murmured, watching him, the corner of your lips curving in affection, “you don’t have to baby me.”

“I know.” His smile was boyish, earnest, heart-stopping in its sincerity. “But I want to.”

And just like that, the room shifted. The playful chaos of the pool faded into the quiet, love-drunk peace that only existed between the two of you. You curled into him beneath fresh sheets, skin still damp and soft, his arm around you like a shield, your head tucked under his chin, your heartbeat in sync with his steady, comforting rhythm.

The ocean whispered through the balcony doors, each wave a gentle, silver pulse, and Clark’s warmth wrapped around you like the safest place in the world.

“Best honeymoon ever,” you whispered sleepily, eyelids heavy but spirit soaring.

“Forever’s just getting started,” he murmured back, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your hair.