SO HEAR ME OUT . - He is 6 ft 4 and weights 207Ibs soooooooooooooooo . . . HE IS NOT JUST BIG HE IS MASSIVE .
I personally think that Erling enjoys the size difference between you and him. Of course if you are smaller than him , get ready because he is going to use it at his advantage.
Picking you up in every way possible , throwing you over his shoulders like you weight nothing , practically taking you with him everywhere.
He can actually hold you throughout the WHOLE day and it's nothing to him.
And in the sexy times ? !
MANHANDLING ? !
You are being manhandled ALL THE TIME ? !
Even if you have fucked a lot of times you still have trouble taking him all so he always find a way to make you even wetter for him.
Missionary ?
Doggy Style ?
He holds you up in the air not just because it helps you both because of the height difference , it also adds more pleasure - and of course he does it to flex his strong arms to you -
Matting Press and a tummy bulge ?
YES ! ! !
Every time he takes your hands and he places them on top of your lower tummy .
" Can you feel that love ? Hm ? " He asks you every time but you are just so drunk in pleasure that you can't even form a single word .
Or when every time he is about to cum he just crashes you with his body down , hitting the spots that makes you see stars.
In aftercare he makes sure to remind you of your size difference.
" You are so little . " He says to you while leaving kisses all over tour face .
It even applies on how you sleep.
You being tossed around like his teddy bear , waking up beneath him or with a strong arm on your waist.
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I NEED more soft reader. Reader who cries and who's shy and sweet and not strong and independent and bossy all the time (though there's nothing wrong with people who are,I just wish that people like me got a few more fics)
Like I want Clark Kent to fall for a girl who's just as shy and awkward and clumsy as he is!!! I want Logan Howlett to go for the introvert in the corner!!! I want Jason Todd to listen to me ramble when nothing goes my way!
If anyone has ANY fics where the reader is shy or awkward or introverted, PLEASE tag me. (Esp clark kent!!!)
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i just love how his dimples indents are always present even when he talks which begs the question how does anyone pay attention to a SINGLE thing this man says cuz i know i'd be staring directly at it constantly
Summary: Clark Kent was everything you couldn’t stand—nerdy, awkward, painfully nice... Until a collapsed roof forced you into his home for one night. That’s when you discovered Clark Kent has layers… and not all of them are innocent.
Clark Kent x mean!reader. Enemies to lovers. Slow burn. One-shot.
cw: smut.
Irritation simmered under your skin like an annoying gnat. Every time he pushed back those stupid, ugly glasses or tripped over his own leg, you wanted to smack him. Maybe even shake some agility into him.
You were probably going to commit murder before the night was over. And there was nothing you could do about it. Not with your house buried under snow. Not with every neighbor on your street being selfish, conceited snobs.
You were stuck with Clark Kent. The only one who offered you shelter. The one person you absolutely could not stand.
The first day you saw him, he was moving in next door. Your friend had swooned over his blue eyes and dimpled smile, which he handed out so easily. But all you saw was a six-foot-something blundering idiot.
Slouched shoulders. Thick, ugly glasses. Nerdy to the bone. Men like that never appealed to you. You never wasted a second of your time on “adorable.” For you, men were meant to be dangerous. Dark. Broody. Not the type who cheesed at every cat and squirrel, helped old ladies with their bags, and looked like the poster child for goodness.
Ugh. You could not stand him.
He tried to make friends with you, though. He really did.
Shoveling snow from your walkway. Reaching for your bags when you were already juggling them. Waving at you every single time you had the misfortune of crossing his path.
Your response never changed. A nasty glare sharp enough to burn through ice. Then the most disdainful eye-roll you could muster. You didn’t like him, and you never bothered to hide it.
Everyone knew you couldn’t stand him. Everyone but him.
He never stopped being nice. Sweet, even. Maybe if you were made of stone, you’d have weathered by now, slowly chipped away by his persistence. But you weren’t stone. You were titanium. His efforts bounced right off.
Unfortunately, the universe had other plans. Because why else would you come home to find half your roof caved in by the tree in your yard? A mountain of snow dumped in the middle of your living room.
One by one, a series of unfortunate events unfolded.
First, your phone network went out.
Then the stupid car you’d overpaid for refused to start.
You were halfway through preparing yourself to freeze to death when the last person you wanted to see walked up.
The pitter-patter of his flip-flops came first. Then his voice — low, warm, sexy as sin. A voice you swore was wasted on him.
“Uhhh… hi.”
You dragged your eyes up from your dead phone, making sure the glare you sent would drop him on the spot.
It didn’t. He just gave you one of those sickly-sweet smiles, and your blood pressure spiked so hard you nearly blacked out.
“What?!”
The shout cracked from your throat like thunder. Every neighbor in a three-block radius should’ve been checking their windows.
But he didn’t flinch. Not even a twitch.
Your brow rose. Interesting. Stronger men had cowered under that tone.
“I noticed the state of your home,” he said, steady as ever. “I just wanted to tell you… if you need a place to sleep tonight, you can stay at mine. The phone lines are out, and your car doesn’t look like it’s cooperating. It’s not safe to drive in this weather anyway.”
His words slipped through your anger, and you blinked. He was offering you a place to stay. After all the times you’d brushed him off. After every glare and sneer.
Why?
Your lip curled before you could stop it.
“I suppose you want some kind of payment?”
If he thought you were going to put out just for a roof over your head, he had another thing coming.
If he got the implied insult, he didn’t show it. Just shook his head.
"Food and boarding are free for tonight. You’d have to pay if you’re staying longer, though."
His lips tipped into a small smile, clearly meant as a joke.
To your horror, yours did too. The tiniest twitch of amusement, the first you’d ever let slip in his direction.
"Well, you don’t have to worry. I’ll be out of your hair by morning."
He nodded solemnly.
"One night it is."
The way he said it—soft, certain, final—lit an unexpected spark in your stomach. Heat curled low, sharp enough to make your head snap toward him. But he’d already bent to scoop up the bag you’d dropped in your fit of temper, striding ahead as if the words had meant nothing.
So here you were. Perched stiffly on the edge of his three-seater, pretending not to notice how spotless his living room was. Your eyes flicked over shining surfaces, lined-up books, not a dust mote in sight. It was unnerving.
Worse, your stomach growled like a dying beast, stirred by the mouthwatering aroma drifting from his kitchen, and you wanted to crawl into the floorboards.
Will the horrors never end?
Apparently not, because your resolve crumbled in exactly two minutes.
The food was… unfair. All buttery warmth and seasoned perfection. One moment you were lifting the first spoonful, the next your plate was scraped clean and Clark was hovering politely, asking if you wanted seconds.
You didn’t even have the energy to be embarrassed. You’d already maxed out your shame quota for the day.
Instead, you shook your head and mouthed a quick “thank you.”
He smiled again.
And this time, from up close, it didn’t look so bad. Not bad at all.
When he reappeared, there were folded clothes in his hand.
He shifted his weight, almost bashful.
“I, uh… those clothes don’t look very comfortable to sleep in.” His chin tilted toward your blouse.
A smirk tugged at your lips before you could stop it.
Maybe it was the food. Maybe it was the cozy warmth and the homely scent that clung to everything here. Whatever it was, something was shifting, and you were too tired—or maybe too intrigued—to fight it.
Because where his shyness should have turned you completely off, should have had you imagining creative ways to plant a knee in his neck… instead, it stirred curiosity.
So when you reached out to take the clothes, the brief brush of your fingers against his was no accident.
His face split in a full, deep smile. He looked almost proud, as if you’d done him a favor by accepting his clothes instead of the other way around.
He’s adorable, your brain whispered. You waited for your gag reflex to kick in, for your stomach to revolt and send your dinner back onto his polished floor. Nothing happened. Interesting.
“I left you enough hot water for a shower,” he said softly. “You can have the bed. I’ll take the couch.”
After a blessedly warm shower, you were buttoning up his plaid shirt over bare skin when the devil decided to knock again. The shirt hit mid-thigh, longer than your usual sleepwear but far from modest in the home of a man you barely knew.
You eyed the pants he had set aside. There was no way. One leg of his trousers could probably fit your entire body.
Nope. Not happening.
The tiny voice of reason whispered about belts, but you smothered it and flipped it an imaginary finger for good measure.
Clark’s eyes widened when he saw you. That sealed it. You had made the right choice.
You crossed the space between you and him, standing too close. He took a step back.
The devil unfurled its wings.
Maybe this wasn’t such a bad night after all.
You smoothed your voice into pure silk, forcing the iron lady inside you to sit down and behave. “Thank you, Kent, for everything tonight. I really was ready to freeze to death out there.”
He tried to laugh, but it scraped out like a croak.
Sweaty palms. Glasses adjusted. “It’s alright. What are neighbors for… right?”
His nervousness struck a strange chord in you. Something warm. Something that made your smirk curl deeper.
You stepped forward. He stumbled back and landed in a chair, wide-eyed.
You leaned closer, purring now. “Are you sure you don’t want to be paid? I make good money.”
He swallowed hard and shook his head. “No. I don’t want to be paid. I just… are you sure you’re alright? You’ve had a rough night.”
That single note of concern — so sweet, so infuriating — cut right through the haze you’d been spinning around him.
“Excuse me?”
He tried to sit up straighter. You leaned back instead, folding your arms across your chest like armor.
He fixed his glasses again. Your fingers twitched with the urge to snatch them right off his face.
“It’s just that… you’re acting… off.” He bit down on the words, like each one had to be tested before release.
You arched a brow, the picture of haughty disdain.
His lips tugged into a grin. “Ahh. Never mind. There you are.”
Your annoyance tilted into confusion, then snapped back into place. “What is wrong with you, Clark Kent? Can’t you just talk like a normal person?”
He raised one hand in apology, his smile softening though the amusement still danced in his eyes. “I’m sorry. It’s just… for a moment it felt like you weren’t yourself. Now you’re back.”
Your brow furrowed. “I was trying to be nice.”
He nodded as if that explained everything.
“Wait. You want me like this? Treating you like trash?”
He flinched at the curse but didn’t back down. “Not exactly that. But… I think you’re one of the most authentic people I’ve ever met. You don’t pretend to be something you’re not. That’s… refreshing.”
The words caught you off guard.
You shifted your weight, eyes flicking away for the briefest second. “Most people find me off-putting.”
“I can see why they might.” His mouth twitched, teasing. “But I value honesty. Maybe with a little tact, but still.”
You scoffed at that, and to your surprise, he laughed with you. The first real laugh you'd shared together.
Minutes later you found yourselves curled into opposite ends of his sofa, mugs of hot chocolate in hand, trading stories like old friends. The chocolate slid warm down your throat, but sweeter still was the steady flow of his voice, rich and easy, drawing you closer without even trying.
So when your lips brushed his, there was no devil, no voice of reason, only a single undeniable pull. An invisible magnet, impossible to ignore.
His lips moved against yours with no hesitation, no shock, almost like he had been waiting for it. Welcoming it.
A hand slid around your waist, his palm hot through the thin cotton as he drew you close. He pulled back just enough to search your eyes. “Do you want this?” His voice was so soft, it was meant for you alone.
You could only nod, afraid your voice would betray you.
Then he slipped off his glasses and placed them at a safe distance.
Finally, you smirked.
He kissed you again, harder this time, and the world tipped.
Sweetness gave way to hunger. Tongues tangled, breathless and hot, until his hand cupped your head and he sucked your tongue like he meant to drink you down.
Your brow shot high right along with your libido.
No fucking way. Shy Kent?
His hands roamed your body, gentle yet eager, and your pulse climbed with every touch. When he cupped your breasts, he wasn’t clumsy like you’d always assumed he would be—his palms were reverent, kneading until your nipples strained against the fabric. Heat pooled in your belly, wetness already dripping down your thighs.
By the time he pulled back, you were soft, pliant, barely holding yourself upright. Then he stood and stripped with unexpected urgency.
What he revealed made your eyes widen before you collapsed into a delirious laugh.
No way he was packing that while behaving like a bashful boy next door.
He only grinned, dropping to one knee as his fingers moved to your buttons.
“What?” he asked softly, though his chuckle told you he knew.
“You’re… a lot.” You leaned forward, letting him peel the shirt from your shoulders. The warmth of his home made you forget the blistering cold outside.
Your lips brushed his ear as you murmured, “Do you even know how to use it?”
He shivered, then scooped you against him like you were a doll. “That’s for me to know…” His smile turned wolfish. “…and you to find out.”
... And find out you did.
His mouth was all over you, kissing, biting, sucking. Your voice was hoarse from screaming so much, and he hadn't even entered you.
One moment, one hand gripped your throat, the other spreading your thigh as he lapped you up...
The next moment, he was looking down at you, stroking your head lovingly as he whispered sweet nothings, talking about how beautiful you were even when you glared at him as his fingers worked up a flood inside you, making your pussy talk... Loudly.
When he started alternating between slapping your clit and flicking it while his hot mouth suckled your tits, you were gone.
Something inside your head screamed. Who is this beast, and what has he done with Clark?
Two fingers slipped in again and pumped in a fury, wringing out yet another orgasm before he stood, grabbed your hips and pulled you to the edge of the bed... before folding you back like paper.
You'd been fucked in a mating press position before...but this? This was diabolical.
You swore you could feel his dick in your throat when he bottomed out.
Worse still was the way he held your gaze. Those impossibly blue eyes locked on yours, blazing with heat and something far too tender for the way he was splitting you apart.
Each thrust rattled the bedframe, forcing out grunts and mewls as you took him, but the hand cradling your cheek was soft, grounding you. He kissed you between ragged breaths, his lips soft and sweet, as if he needed little reminders not to break you...that you were fragile.
“You take me so well,” he groaned against your lips, though it sounded like a plea. Please take me.
You did. Even as you were sure, you'd be limping come morning.
He fucked you like a brute but touched you like glass.... every snap of his hips bringing you closer and closer to the edge. When you finally shattered again, sobbing into his kiss, he came right with you, his body never once letting you go.
It was some time later when you felt him cleaning you up and tucking you in before collapsing beside you.
You allowed yourself to drift off into blissful nothingness...
Because somewhere between despising him and letting him fold you in half, Clark Kent had stopped being the blundering idiot next door.
And you weren’t sure what the hell that meant for tomorrow.
I recently read a loki x fem! Reader fic on Wattpad back in 2018 and I was gobsmacked!! It became the inspo for one of my OC's and gosh I was craving that story again lmao
So I read it on Quotev. It's titled "Broken Princess" and omg 😳
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Y/n had only been at the Daily Planet for three days when it happened. She was rushing down to grab coffee, still trying to find her rhythm in Metropolis, as she was mindlessly going out of the bullpen she collided with something hard -- almost like she hit into concrete, instead she looked up to see a tall, clumsy reporter carrying way too many cups.
There was Coffee everywhere. He dropped eight cups of coffee, she felt so miserable. Papers on the floor. His glasses askew and cheeks red like he got caught by his mom wanking off.
“I—I’m so sorry,” he stammered, cheeks red.
"Hey, it's okay, I should be the one saying sorry because I don't really watch while walking" She chuckled and crouched down to help, brushing his hand by accident, and for some reason the touch felt like static under her skin. “You really shouldn’t try carrying eight at once,” she teased, offering him a half-smile.
He blinked at her, flustered, trying to think of something clever but only managing to give a shy smile and scratching his head, “I guess I… wanted to impress the office.”
Y/n laughed and shook her head, and stood. “Come on, I’ll get you a fresh one. Least I can do.”
Although he kept denying, but Y/n couldn't let it happen. It was against her morals and this nerdy guy was too pure to be left out like that so she got him a coffee and told that tomorrow she'll be getting those eight coffees.
For the first time in a long time, Clark Kent couldn’t find the words. And Y/n found herself oddly curious about the boy with the shy smile who seemed both entirely ordinary… and something else.
First Kiss 💋:
It was late at the Daily Planet . The newsroom was empty, only the glow of desk lamps and the hum of city lights outside were illuminating the Planet. Y/n and Clark had harboured this secret crush which Lois and Jimmy knew and teased them off. Clark offered to walk her home, just to be safe.
Y/n kept thinking how he always took care of her and made her feel safe. Maybe she was ovulating.
Halfway across the quiet street, she stopped. “Clark?”
He turned, confused, "Yeah? You alright?" and before either of them could overthink it, Y/n rose on her toes and kissed him. Soft, hesitant, but enough to make him forget how to breathe.
She thought she'd crossed the line and was about to pull back but he grabbed her waist and kissed her deeply.
They pulled back, foreheads together, heartbeat racing.
For the Man of Steel, he was surely Man of Jelly from the inside.
First Fight ⚡:
It wasn’t really about the missed dinner. Or the unanswered calls. It was about the walls he kept building, the way Clark Kent loved her but always held something back.
“You don’t let me in,” she snapped, eyes bright with hurt.
“I’m trying to protect you,” he said, voice low, almost pleading.
The silence afterward was worse than shouting. Days turned into weeks, the distance growing heavier than Kryptonite.
But one night, Y/n opened her apartment door to find him standing there all rain-soaked, exhausted, broken in all the ways he would never admit. His voice cracked when he whispered: “I can’t lose you, Y/n. Not you.”
And just like that, her anger melted. Because loving Clark Kent had never been about winning fights — it was about choosing him, every time.
First Rescue 🦸🏻♂️:
The crash happened too fast for her to scream. Metal shrieked, glass shattered — and then, nothing. Silence.
When Y/n opened her eyes, she wasn’t in the cab anymore. She was pressed against Clark’s chest, the city spinning in the blur around them. He set her down gently, hands trembling like he couldn’t believe she was real, alive, unhurt.
“Clark… how did you—”
He didn’t answer. His jaw tightened, his eyes raw with fear. For the first time, she wondered if the boy with ink-stained hands and shy smiles was hiding something far greater than she could imagine.
When She Found Out 🔑:
The sirens cut through the night. Y/n stood frozen in the street as chaos reigned around her. And then she turned around and she saw him. Not the reporter with crooked ties and nervous laughs. Not the boy who spilled coffee on the road.
But the man who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. The man in the cape. The Man of Steel.
Superman. Clark Kent. Her Clark.
Later, when it was over, he found her in the quiet. His hands shook as he pulled off the glasses, his voice barely above a whisper. “Y/n, I didn’t want you to find out like this.”
She looked at him for a long moment, heart breaking and mending at once. Then she reached up, touched his face gently, and said:
“I always knew you were different. I just didn’t know you were mine too.”
First Time 💫:
Clark had always kissed her like she was fragile being gentle, careful, and holding himself back as if one wrong move would break her.
That night, Y/n finally pushed past his hesitation. Her fingers tangled in his shirt, pulling him closer, her voice a low whisper against his lips: “Stop being scared of me, Clark. I want you.”
Something inside him cracked. The kiss deepened, hungry and desperate, months of restraint burning away in seconds. His hands mapped every curve like he’d been memorizing them in secret, each touch firmer, braver.
Clothes fell away. His breath came ragged against her skin, his body trembling with the weight of wanting and fearing all at once. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmured, even then.
Y/n only pulled him down, eyes dark and steady. “It’s never too much. Not with you.”
And when he finally gave himself over — no walls, no holding back — it wasn’t careful, it wasn’t restrained. It was raw and consuming, every bit of love and longing finally unleashed.
Later, when his head rested on her shoulder, he whispered an apology he didn’t need to give. Y/n smiled, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Clark Kent, you’re the only thing in this world that could never hurt me.”
A/n: guys lmk if u wanna have any of these extended slayyy sorry I'm late had exams to study for 😭
Hi , i really wanna write a smut 😺like why to lie but your author dearie has some experience on her sleeves so she wants to share it with y'all and make y'all cry for the guy hahahahah
So a new poll here!!! Scrap that old one I lost motivation (tell me if you really want the firsts of their relationships)
Who should I write the smut on?
Corenswet!Clark Kent x Fem!reader
Steve Rogers x fem! reader
Welling!Clark Kent x fem!reader
Cavill!Clark Kent x fem!reader
Voting ended onSep 8, 2025
I personally wanna do Corenswet
But it's the majority
ITS SO EXPLICIT LIKE IM THROBBING JUST AT THE THOUGHT
It was a gloomy morning, but not for (y/n) , she'd been excited to meet Clark from Friday. He'd gone to Smallville to spend some time with his parents since they missed him too much and he decided it'd be nice and comforting. Clark even insisted on taking her to meet his parents too, but since she had some serious work commitments so (y/n) unwillingly had to deny.
Clark was supposed to be back to Metropolis by 10 am. That meant he'd be back to Metropolis even before (y/n) had her first coffee of the day.
(Y/n)'s phone rang and she saw it was Clark. She picked it up, her voice full of excitement. "Hello baby!" She chirped.
"Hello sweetheart, I just reached here, what are your plans, honey?" Clark asked.
"The usual, I'll come to meet you"
Clark and (Y/n) had been dating for almost a year now and there hasn't been a single date where Clark didn't pick and drop her. He didn't want her to get hurt because she was such a Klutz. However, (Y/n) had insisted on meeting him, that they'd agree to meet on a common spot.
The entire day was going according to their plan until it started raining. Though Clark had some amazing superpowers he didn't like being wet in the rain, especially if he had a laptop. Maybe it was homesickness or else he'd been fast enough to put his laptop back at his apartment and meet (Y/n). Clark started feeling annoyed and started calling her non-stop. His annoyance growing more when she constantly kept declining his calls.
(Y/n) on the other hand was hurrying up to get dressed in the outfit she'd planned the night before and decided to pack an extra umbrella for Clark so that he'd take home. She kept declining Clark's calls as it annoyed her and kept disturbing her in getting dressed. When she finally picked up, he bluntly asked her "Did you leave?". Y/n was stuck, she was still in her apartment, yet to wear her shoes. She just kept avoiding it and hung up again. She knew he'd been annoyed.
She sat in the cab and Clark called her again, "Go back, you don't need to come", he snapped and Y/n felt her face heat up from embarassment because he never spoke to her like this. "Clark, I’m already-” “You don’t understand anything at all, do you?” His voice rose louder than he meant. “I’m standing here getting wet, and I’ve been traveling since four a.m.!”
Y/n froze at his words. He never yelled at her. Never. The guilt stung, but so did the hurt. He then hastily told her to send her location to him, she sent it but then turned it off because she decided to not meet him too, why would he scold her?
Moments later, he called again asking why she turned her location off. She picked up, her voice small “You should go back, you’re tired. I’ll just go to the store. Since you’re not coming anyways I decided I'd turn off the location”. Clark’s temper sparked again.
“GOSH! What do I tell you? You can’t send a simple location to me? Just send it!”.
She quietly hung up again and sent him her location. By the time she finally reached him, the rain had lightened, and so had his tone. He was calmer now, reaching for her hand to guide her across the street, sliding an arm around her waist to keep her close under the umbrella. His touches were gentle and protective, like he hadn’t just raised his voice at her moments ago.
Now Y/n was sulking real bad. She tried so badly to hold back her tears in the cab. She started feeling ugly and wiped her lipstick off and took off her bracelet and kept it in her purse. She tried to get her hand out of Clark's grasp but he was stronger so he just held on tighter. She wasn't even looking at him now, he turned to her and whispered in her ears in an attempt to lighten her mood, "Sweetie, if you resist out here the cops might just take me with them".
Once in the room, Clark excused himself to freshen up, while Y/n quietly slipped into bed. Her eyes stung, her chest heavy. She had been excited since Friday, picked out her outfit, made plans in her head, but now all of that felt wasted. The moment he shut the washroom door, she turned off the lights and got in the bed, tears threatening to spill. She silently started crying and sniffling. Her mind saying things like 'He scolded you, you just annoyed him pretty bad'
Clark came out of the washroom, drying his hair with a towel, the sound of rain still faint against the window. His eyes instantly fell on her, curled up on the bed, her back to him, shoulders trembling. The sight hit him like a punch.
All the excitement she had carried since Friday. The way she’d planned everything just to see him , and he ruined it. His chest tightened, a lump building in his throat. He had traveled since 4 a.m. sure, but she had waited for him with a heart full of love and instead he greeted her with anger.
He had pictured this moment all weekend too : finally meeting her, holding her after days apart. Instead, his impatience and raised voice had shattered it. She had been excited since Friday, it had been obvious in her voice, she picked her outfit, counted hours and he ruined it all before it began.
Sweetheart…” his voice cracked softly.
He sat on the edge of the bed and reached out, brushing his fingertips over her shoulder. The second he touched her, she flinched and the quiet sobs burst into broken, louder cries. She turned away from him, curling tighter, as if even his touch hurt.
Clark’s heart split in two. “Angel, please,” he whispered, his hand trembling as he tried again, resting it on her back. “Don’t shut me out. I’m so sorry. I was tired and it was stupid of me, but I should never, ever take it out on you.”
She only cried harder, hiccuping, her fists gripping the sheets.
Clark’s throat ached, he gulped as he slid under the covers behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist even as she pushed him away weakly. Her hands shoved at his chest, she was really affected by this,but he held her firmly ,not with force, but with the kind of strength that kept her safe. He wanted to fix this soon.
"Don’t do this, sunshine…” he murmured, kissing her hair. “Don’t push me away. You’re all I’ve been thinking about since I left home this morning."
She just shook her head at his statement but still resisted, turning her face from him. Clark caught her hand gently and she tried to pull free. "I'm so sorry, princess." He tried to make the mood lighter again, "See, you're a big girl now. You came all the way here alone to meet me. My big strong girl" he held her tighter against him.
That cracked something in her , her sobs started spilling out harder, louder, her fight melting away as she collapsed into his chest. Clark tightened his arms around her instantly, kissing her damp cheeks, whispering apologies over and over.
"I love you. I love you. I’m sorry, baby. I’ll never let my temper touch you again.”
Her tears soaked his shirt, but he didn’t care. He just kept rocking her gently, his thumb stroking her jaw until her cries softened.
Y/n looked at him and said in a small voice, "you scolded me". Clark could cry at how sad she sounded. He responded, saying, "I'm so sorry, angel." Clark pressed his forehead to hers, breathing her in.
“You’re my angel,” he whispered, brushing a kiss to her trembling lips. “Let me make you forget all of it.”
"You better" she sniffled snuggling into him. Clark just gave a small laugh and kissed her while turning her to lay on her back.
Thank You 🌹✨
A/n: I hope y'all enjoy this. Pls show some love 💕
Do let me know if y'all want a nsfw continuation of the last part.
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Summary: Steve Rogers went in the ice. (YN) passed away a month after Steve Rogers went in the ice because of her grief. Now, He has been awakened and actively involved in the Avengers. Until one day, he sees her, again.
(idk how to make a masterlist 😭 I'd love to learn)
PRESENT DAY, 2012
Steve woke up staring at his modern ceiling in his newly rented apartment thanks to Tony Stark. He was still adjusting in this new century, where people were busy building a quality life but never had the time to live that life properly. While Steve was still busy in his thoughts his phone rang.
'Oh this damn device again!'
He thought, still not properly used to using it. He picked it up to see a text from Fury -
Good Morning Captain, SHIELD out for the day.
Nicholas Fury
Steve furrowed his brows, he felt that Fury always had something to hide, to which he didn't wanna question just yet. Not because he couldn't, but because he didn't want to deal with the modern people for now.
Steve Rogers completed his workout routine and decided to go to a newly opened bookstore in Brooklyn that he read about in the newspaper yesterday. Books had always been something that comforted him, apart from Bucky and .... Her. Steve sighed at the thought of the people of his time, how he missed them and how he regretted not fulfilling that promise he made of returning back to the girl he loved. YN and Steve had been friends since they were kids. YN saw him and loved him before he became Captain America. However, she didn't want him to go for that last time. He promised and failed.
Steve took his bike and left for that new bookstore. On his way he saw how busy life became now, no one had time for anyone. He'd given up the hopes that love still existed in a generation like this.
Upon reaching the bookstore, Steve went in and was taken aback by the nostalgia in the bookstore. The bookstore felt like a wrinkle in time — tucked between steel cafés and blinking neon signs, yet untouched by the decades that had passed. Faded wallpaper lined the high wooden shelves, and a faint melody of Billie Holiday drifted from a record player behind the counter. Dust floated lazily in golden light from stained-glass lamps, and the smell of old paper and worn leather wrapped around Steve like a memory. A brass bell above the door jingled when someone entered, not a sensor — just sound, warmth, and something real. For a moment, he could’ve sworn it was 1943 again.
He went ahead and saw a woman sitting at the reception, who passed a sweet smile at him and asked, "Hello Sir, welcome to our bookstore, how may I help you?"
Steve replied, "I was searching for some historical fiction, could you just help me tell where the shelf is?"
The woman points to the third row of books and he proceeds. Steve's eyes catch the attention of one book - THE GREAT GATSBY- YN's favourite.
He remembers the moment she said that to him
FLASHBACK, 1942
She sat cross-legged on the fire escape in the bookstore, the city buzzing outside, a book in her lap. “The Great Gatsby?” Steve asked, coming with a book about history, looking at her with a fond smile.
“Mhm,” she hummed, not looking up. “It’s tragic and dreamy… like the whole world’s chasing something they already lost.” She finally met his eyes, a playful glint there.
“But don’t worry, Rogers. You’re nothing like Gatsby — you’d never leave someone waiting.”
Steve chuckled, not knowing how much her words would have an impact on him.
Present
Steve shoves the book back on the shelf and moves forward, the woman who came behind him and started jumping to get the same book going unnoticed by him. "Oh man, why did I have to be short? And who in their right mind places Gatsby up so high?!" She whisper yells to herself.
Steve chuckles hearing her, he was the one who placed it at his eye level. being the gentleman he was, he goes behind her , facing her back and picks out the book and hands it to her. Just as the woman turns around to thank him, Steve nearly faints.
It's her.
Yn. His Yn.
Looking the same all this time. How was this possible? Maybe this woman was her granddaughter or something? But how was this possible? Steve had tried finding out about her after New York, he found out that she had passed away a month after he went in ice. How was she standing in front of him? Maybe he had been drinking too much of that wine Tony had gifted him. Heck she even had the same smile. Steve was going to faint until he heard her voice.
"Thank you so much for helping me get the book, it's my absolute favourite!" She smiled politely.
Her favourite? This was his YN's favourite book too? What was going on?! Steve couldn't think properly and maybe the young woman saw the expression on his face and asked him,
"Um are you okay? Do you need to sit down?" All he could do was nod. Kind enough, she led him out after buying the book. She took Steve to a nearby bench and made him sit down. She offered him water.
Steve drank the entire bottle in one go. He looked up to see her staring at him with pity- maybe she'd recognise him? Did reincarnation even exist?
"Thank you, I'm sorry for this" he huffed out to which she just smiled at him and shook her head, "hey it's fine, I owe you some help after all"
Steve gave a small lopsided smile and put out his hand.
"Steve, nice to meet you...."
"Nice to meet you too, Steve. I'm Yn btw"
As their hands shook, both of them felt a wave run through. They retracted it fast enough too. Steve was sure that it was her, his YN was back again.
