sunskisser

[sunskisser]

Lol you are so weird . Writing weird unoriginal fan fiction + you are so cringe .... Don't you get embarrassed ??? As a child that too . Kids in this generation .... You bitches think you deserve a spot on every internet space Lol . You + all other minors on this site can get lost , we don't want you here .

ok...!

[sunskisser]

thank you thank youuu my angel brooke <3 im so happy you liked it hehe

boyfriend?

clark kent x fem!reader, wc 900

cw: reader is concussed, clark worries, idiots in love, lots of fluff

summary: post-concussion, you fall in love with your boyfriend (again)

Clark didn’t consider himself a worrywart. He knew he was often exceedingly, overbearingly kind, and it wasn’t something he was ashamed of. You’d told him once it was your third favourite thing about him, after ‘his love for you’ and ‘his kisses’. He couldn’t deny that those were two areas he did put a lot of effort into.

But the sight of you like this, bruised, battered, and passed out on a hospital bed — it made him want to worry his brains out.

It wasn’t a major injury, Clark knew that. Just a concussion. No blood, no internal damage, no severe pain.

Yet the tiny voice at the back of his head kept blaming him, cursing him for flying around saving the rest of the world while his world took a hit. He didn’t think he could stop feeling guilty till you fully recovered, maybe a while longer.

The feeling of your hand twitching in his snaps Clark back to the present.

He glances over at you, downturned lips and tightly squeezed eyes, peeling them open. Your gaze darts around for a moment before landing on him.

“Hi, honey.”

Your eyes widen slightly. “Hi.”

Clark hums in response, brushing his thumb over your palm. “How’re you feeling, sweetheart? Your head, does it still hurt?”

You don’t respond, eyes glued on him. Your brows pinch together, and your nose scrunches up, like you’re awfully confused but can’t figure out why. Suddenly, you try to sit up.

“Hey, woah,” Clark chuckles nervously, hand immediately jumping up to fold around your shoulder, gently pushing you back down. His other hand slips under the back of your head, a safety cushion as you deflate back onto the bed. “Easy there. You’re not supposed to sit up for a few more hours, remember?”

Blood rushes to your head. “Really?”

“Yeah, really,” Clark nods, palm moving up to cup your jaw. He presses his thumb into your skin.

Like a ripple, redness spreads throughout your face from the spot, bright and shy. He frowns. “Are you okay?” The back of his palm comes to rest on your temple, concern etching itself into his features. “Is it a fever?”

“No,” you say immediately, a little too loud for your liking, grabbing Clark’s wrist as he moves to pull away from your face. You cringe. “I mean, no, sir, I’m fine.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Sir?”

Your shoulders creep towards your ears, shyness written all over you as you let go of his hand. “I don’t… I dunno. Sorry, um, what do I call you?”

Clark realises. He softens, brushing his thumb under your eye. “You don’t remember, do you?”

“Remember what?” you ask stupidly, a pathetic mess from the way he’s touching you. You feel like the sheer amount of prettiness in front of you was going to make you throw up, or maybe pass out again.

“What you call me,” he murmurs, smiling. “Or who I am.”

“Who are you?”

You looked so innocent, so sweetly anxious, that Clark has to stop himself from kissing you dizzy. He loves you, and he’ll have you any way, but the meds made you horribly soft and lovely. Affection felt like an ache in his palms.

He presses both palms to your cheeks. “You like to call me darling, or babe, sometimes. Clark when you’re mad at me, though.”

“Who’s Clark?”

He grins. “Me, silly.”

“Oh.” You pull your bottom lip between your teeth. “Why babe?”

“‘Cos I’m your boyfriend,” he chuckles, love in the crinkle of his eyes. At the horrified look on your face, he can’t help but laugh again. “What, is that so bad?”

“No, no, not bad, it’s just —“ you splutter, looking dazed. You shake your head. “You’re my boyfriend? Mine?”

“Yeah, honey.”

“But you’re so pretty,” you murmur, embarrassed and starstruck all at once, gazing at him like a child would at a lollipop. You reach out to trace the slope of his nose with your pinky, awed. “Really? Are you sure you’re mine?”

It’s Clark’s turn to blush. He bends forward, trying not to grin too wide, and a honeyed kiss to the side of your head. “Yeah, all yours.”

You pull your hands to your face to cover it, curling away from him. Maybe he’s seeing what he wants to see, but Clark swears you’re smiling. “Don’t call me that.”

“What, lovely?” He laughs, fingers wrapping around your wrists to tug them off. “That’s not fair. Let me see your pretty face.”

“Stop!” you giggle, letting your hands drop in favour of letting his come to rest on your cheeks instead. You’re unbelievably bashful, teeth showing in your dopey smile as you gaze up at Clark with the love of a thousand suns. Clark wants you forever.

“I love you, silly girl.” He presses a kiss to your nose, one, two, three to your eyes and lips. “I love you.”

Stunned, you look like he’s just given you the world. He would, if he could.

You happily gather his palms on your cheeks to press onto your lips, your voice into them like a kiss in itself. “I love you, too.”

[sunskisser]

guys pls help me choose a yearbook quote 😭😭😭

[sunskisser]

tortured sleepy girl thursday

[sunskisser]

theme so keeeewwwlll

thanks baby you’re so keeewwwllll <3<3<3

[sunskisser]

[sunskisser]

sannn this theme is so aesthetic and cool i love it🤩🤩🤩

lizzz that’s so sweet thank you i love you!!! 🥰🥰

[sunskisser]

ANGEL!! ur them is quiet literally the absolute cutest!! i love love love it!!

AHHH yay thank youuu my lovely lilypad!!! i love love love you <33

[sunskisser]

walks away with a suspiciously theme-shaped lump in my throat

YAYYYY the crowd cheers 😄😄😄

[sunskisser]

UMM NEW THEME IS SO GORG SAN?? I’m gonna put it in my mouth

do it!!! do it!!!

[sunskisser]

San I absolutely love the new theme!! It’s so pretty!

thank you so so much yas!! im glad you like it <33

[sunskisser]

OBSESSED WITH THIS NEW THEME <3

there are no crumbs left girl u 8 them alllll

AHHH thank u so much aly!!! u are too kind hehe 😋♥️

[sunskisser]

OH. OH THIS THEME ATEEEEEEE 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

HELP MACKIE 😭😭 but hehe THANK U BUTTCHEEKZ 😝❤️🙏

[sunskisser]

i’m so so so in love with your nanny series they’re so amazing (have you perchance read heartless by elsie silver 😍)

i was wondering if you’d do something related to the age gap? like, it gets brought up, maybe by harry, and reader and james expect it to be awkward but then they realise that they both kind of like it, and then that adds to their yearning and it’s all very scrumptious and lovely 🤭

thank you!

ceo!dilf!james potter x nanny!fem!reader (PART SIX)

WC: 3k

CW: age gap (reader is 22 and james is 32); death (not present, occurred in the past); angst; hurt/comfort; fluff; grief

Summary: It's the anniversary of Lily Potter's passing; it raises a lot of emotions and discussions, including how you fit into the family dynamic

A/n: Hi love! Thank you for the request. I did include the discussion of the age gap, but it's near the end! I didn't feel like I could make a whole chapter about it, and I've also been meaning to address the absence of Harry's mother for a while. I think the two topics ended up blending together nicely. Hope you enjoy! I teared up writing this though :(.

Series Masterlist

--

The morning has been quiet, but not a pleasant kind of quiet. It’s been a somber kind of quiet, the usually tittering birds muted by the tension in the air and the sky thick with gray clouds and foreboding rain. You dress Harry in silence, him seeming to note the atmospheric shift without anything being said to him. When James emerges from his room at 9 o’clock on the nose, right on time, his face is schooled in a neutral expression- one you’ve never seen before. You pass the little boy off to his father so you can buckle your shoes properly and grab the gorgeous bouquet of white lilies, wrapped in cellophane, from the front table. 

“You ready?” you murmur softly, almost feeling guilty for disrupting the silence. 

James nods with a small smile, ushering the three of you out the door with a hand placed on your lower back. He buckles Harry into his carseat and then gets situated himself. You don’t bother to say a word. Before backing out of the driveway, James fiddles with the car’s speakers. ABBA begins to play softly and his lips quirk upwards just slightly.

“Hear that Haz?” he calls out, “this was some of Mummy’s favorite music. You remember listening to it last year?”

Harry nods enthusiastically from the backseat, clapping along to the music, although you’re not sure he actually remembers. Still, it’s not your place to suggest otherwise. 

As James begins the drive you sit quietly, mind wandering back to the conversation the two of you had a few days ago.

You’d been sitting on the back porch watching Harry play when James joined you outside, no longer in his work clothes and instead in a casual t-shirt and shorts. You smiled softly over at him, butterflies erupting in your stomach. Ever since your date had been crashed a few weeks ago, there was an undeniable tension lingering between you and the older Potter. Though nothing was ever said explicitly, you felt it in his lingering stares long after you looked away, in the way he didn’t bat an eye when you sat closer than necessary next to him on the couch, and how so many of your conversations were full of subtle innuendos. 

James didn’t return your smile, however. Okay, correction, he did return it, but his own smile was tight and forced. Your heart dropped into your belly. 

“What’s wrong?”

His hazel eyes widened a little, as if taken aback by your quick observation, and he swallowed thickly, adams apple bobbing in his throat. The brunette cleared his throat nervously before quietly muttering, “It’s Lily’s anniversary in a few days.”

Oh.

“Oh. James-”

You trailed off, noticing the pained expression on his face.

“You don’t need to apologize or anything. It’s been four years now. I just- wanted to let you know so you’re aware. I’ll be off for the day, of course, so that we can go visit her.”

“We?”

He looked up at you, his eyes sadder than you’d ever seen them, “Yeah. Harry and I. Even though Lily died when he was so young, I still want him to know who his mother is.”

Your heart twisted and your throat tightened with sympathy, “Yes, of course. Harry deserves to know everything about her.”

You paused momentarily before continuing, “If- If there’s absolutely anything I can do, just let me know. Even if it’s just making dinner or something.”

James was silent and you were worried you said something wrong.

“Come with us.”

Your head snapped up from where you’d been staring at your trembling fingers, “what?”

“Please,” James pleaded, his voice cracking in the process, “I know it’s an odd request and if you don’t want to, I totally get it. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. But, Harry needs- Oh who am I kidding. I need you.”

Despite the gravity of the situation, your body filled with warmth- the idea that James needed, and maybe even wanted, you there for something so significant made you feel important and loved. You couldn’t say no to him, and you didn’t want to either, regardless of how awkward you would potentially feel.

“Of course, James. I’ll always be there for you.”

He grabs your hand as you walk across the grass toward Lily Potter’s grave, Harry on his hip and the flowers in your left hand. The sky is still overcast, but the sun is slowly fighting its way through the clouds, as if reminding you of the good and warmth that still exists in the world. A white marble tombstone comes into view and your heartbeat quickens with anxiety. This is it. 

James lets Harry down and the little boy runs up to the stone, exclaiming, “hi Mummy!”

Tears spring to your eyes. You force them back, instead handing the older Potter the flowers and letting him walk ahead with his son. You observe quietly, busying yourself with setting out a picnic blanket at the foot of the grave to give them both privacy. Vaguely, you hear the sound of crinkling as James unwraps the white lilies from the cellophane and balls it up. You watch through your lashes as he hands the bouquet to Harry, gently urging him to lay them against his mother’s tombstone. The little boy does it with such care and delicacy that you can’t stop the tears from slipping down your cheeks this time. You huff frustratedly and wipe them away. This isn’t your day. You can’t make this about you no matter what you’re feeling. 

James looks back over his shoulder, gesturing for you to come join him. With shaky legs you oblige, coming to stand next to him. He takes your hand into his again, rubbing soothing circles into your skin with his thumb. You’re not sure if he’s trying to soothe you or himself. 

“Sweetheart, this is Lily,” he whispers hoarsely. 

You squeeze his hand reassuringly. A gentle tug at your skirt has you looking down to see Harry standing by your leg, “you can say hi to Mummy. Daddy says she’s listening.”

Your throat tightens with unshed tears and you nod, squatting down to meet the little boy at his level. James follows suit, crouching down next to you. His hand migrates to your back.

“Your daddy is very right, Harry, she’s looking down right now listening to all of us.”

Then, you turn your head towards the tombstone. You press your hand against the cool marble and whisper a hello, introducing yourself. 

“I’ve heard so many lovely things about you, Lily,” you murmur gently, “James just adores you and he tells Harry and I lots of good things about you. Nothing bad, I promise.” You add the last bit, chuckling wetly. 

Harry nods, pushing himself between your slightly spread legs, “it’s true, Mummy. Daddy tells me about you everyday. He says I have your eyes.”

The little boy beams happily, looking up at James as if saying, ‘right? I have mummy’s eyes?’

James nods and presses his lips to his son’s hair, “exactly like your mummy’s, Haz.”

“Mummy’s eyes,” Harry murmurs under his breath jovially. 

You wrap a protective arm around the boy as you rest your chin on his head. Before you lose the courage, you decide to say a little something you thought up- something James doesn’t know about.

“Uhm, Lily,” you say a little louder, steadying your voice, “I just wanted to say that while I’m not you, and I’ll never be you, I care a lot about both of your boys and try my best everyday to do good by them. You have an incredible son who is clever, funny, a firecracker, and just the

sweetest kid in the world. James has been doing a remarkable job raising him and I try to fill in gaps where I can, though it will never replace the hole where you belong. I hope I’m helping him grow into a boy you’d be proud of. As for James, well-” your voice cracks, “though he’s your husband, and I may just be the nanny, I still care about him a lot. He’s a great guy with so much compassion and I see everyday how he leads his life carrying you with him. I’m trying to look out for him for you as best as I can. All that to say, I wanted you to know that they’re so loved and that they both love you so much, and I admire you deeply without having ever met you. Th-thank you for allowing me to be a part of your boys’ lives.”

At this point, a tear has slipped past your waterline unwillingly and you sniffle, trying to cover it up. You feel a pair of eyes burning into the side of your face and you look over to find James staring at you, tears actively falling down his cheeks.

“Th-that was. Beautiful. Thank you,” he croaks, voice cracking repeatedly. His hand finds your face and cups your cheek, brushing your tears away, “And I hope you know that- that you’re more than just the nanny.”

“James-” you murmur, before pulling him into you. 

The three of you sit like that for a while, Harry pressed safely between the two of you as you and James cling to one another. You let him cry into your shoulder, running your fingers through his hair soothingly. If a few more tears spill from your eyes you don’t mention it. 

When James calms down a little you pull back, wiping away his tears like he did yours.

“Why is Daddy crying?” Harry asks innocently.

You take a deep breath before looking down at him, “he’s crying because he loves your mummy.”

His little brows furrow, “but love is a happy emotion and Daddy is sad.”

You run your hand over Harry’s hair, “love can be a lot of things, baby. Yes, love is a very happy thing, but you can feel love in a lot of ways. He loves your mummy very much, which means he is sad that she can’t be here with us, even if she is watching over and listening.”

“Oh,” he murmurs softly, understanding slowly passing over his features. Harry leans in and hugs James tightly, “I love you, Daddy. And Mummy loves you too. She told me so.”

James sniffles and hugs his son back, “oh yeah, is that so?”

The little boy nods seriously, “she also said you need a haircut.”

A startled laugh escapes the older Potter and he squeezes his son tighter, “that sounds about right. Mummy never liked my hair long.”

You chuckle lowly as you observe the interaction, “that was very nice, Haz. Now why don’t we give your Daddy a minute to talk in private, like all mummies and daddies do.”

With one hand you guide Harry towards the blanket. The other gives James’ shoulder a quick squeeze. He smiles at you both, gratitude and affection shining in his eyes. You distract Harry with the strawberries you brought- Lily’s favorite- while you let James talk to his wife in peace.

You all spent the morning at the cemetery before going to lunch at Lily‘s favorite restaurant. Now, the three of you are back at Potter Manor, spending some time together in the living room. Harry is on the ground playing with his toys, James beside him. You’re tucked into an armchair by the fireplace, a mug of tea in your hands. You watch the two Potters play together, the distinct feeling of being an intruder heavy on your chest.

The morning had left you feeling heavier than you’d like to admit. Of course, you love Harry and you care about James, but you feel more acutely aware than ever of your otherness. It will always be true that Lily was James’s first love and first wife. She left an unfillable hole in James‘s heart forever. Similarly, Lily will always be Harry’s mom no matter how much you love him, care about him, and feel protective of him- as if he’s your own. The love that you feel for Harry and the ever-growing crush you have on James is beginning to feel a lot more like guilt. What right do you have to feel so deeply for the two boys that belong to Lily? You’re just a 22 year-old nanny who has a crush on her boss and a pseudo-maternal relationship with your charge.

You down the rest of your tea, hoping it will ease the pressure in your throat. It doesn’t, and you let out a frustrated side.

James looks up at you, “alright?”

You nod, but you don’t think James believes you. Luckily, Harry draws his attention away with an eager, “Daddy!”

“Harry!” he responds, matching his son’s tone and energy exactly. 

The little boy toddles over and climbs into his dad’s lap, “will I ever have a mummy again?”

James freezes, eyes widening, and you nearly choke on your spit. 

He recovers quickly, “Hazza you do have a mummy, remember, we just visited her today?”

“B-but, I mean like all the other kids! Their mummies take them to the park and kiss their boo-boos and-“

“Harry I-“ you begin.

“It’s okay, I’ve got it,” James says softly, offering you a warm, genuine smile. 

Still, you want to shrivel up and die.

“Mummy will always be your one and only mummy. But, if you mean will you have another woman someday who loves and takes care of you like a mummy, yes, I think you will.”

Harry’s face furrows into a contemplative pout as he tries to process the words that James is saying. Eventually, his eyes light up with understanding, “I already do, Daddy!” He points to you, “she’s my new mummy.”

Bile rises in your throat, “n-no, Harry, I’m not, I just-“

“But you love me and take care of me! Doesn’t that make you like my mummy?” He asks, confused.

Your mouth opens and closes silently like a fish. You don’t know what to say. Of course you love the little boy with your whole heart. But you’re not his mom. You also can’t explain to him that you’re just the nanny- that you’re just paid to take care of him. That would either confuse him or break his little heart. 

“Of course she loves you and takes care of you,” James interjects, thankfully, “but lots of people can love you and take care of you and not all be like a mummy. Like Auntie Marls.”

Harry thinks quietly for a moment, “mummies usually come with daddies, so that means you need a mummy too, daddy? A new mummy would have to be my mummy and your mummy?”

“Uh- well, yes. I suppose you’re right,” James agrees awkwardly.

The younger Potter calls your name, “do you love Daddy like other mummies love other daddies?”

Your breath hitches, sending you into an unflattering coughing fit, “Harry-“

He interrupts, “or do you not love Daddy because he’s too old?”

James’ eyebrows shoot into his hairline and you barely suppress a shocked laugh, “uhm, no, that’s not- your daddy’s age doesn’t bother me at all. I happen to think he’s handsome, fun, and smart,” you confess bluntly, refusing to make eye contact with him.

“Daddy, do you think she’s too young?”

James looks beyond flustered and uncomfortable and under different circumstances you’d find it adorable. 

“N-no, Haz. She’s beautiful, and kind, and takes care of both of us.”

Harry’s green eyes twinkle with delight as he looks between the two of you. He settles his hands on his hips, looking years beyond his age, and huffs dramatically, “then why don’t you love each other like all mummies and daddies do?”

“Why don’t you worry about your toys, buddy,” James offers, running his hand over his son’s messy curls. 

Harry huffs once more before settling down, easily getting distracted again by his action figures. 

“I’m gonna go wash this,” you murmur, gesturing to your mug before hightailing it out of the living room. 

You find your way into the kitchen and lean against the sink, trying to calm your racing heart. 

“I’m so sorry about all of that-“

You whip around, inhaling sharply at the sudden intrusion. 

“Sorry,” James mutters apologetically, “didn’t mean to scare you.”

You turn back to the sink, rinsing out your cup and reaching for the soap, “please don’t apologize for either. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Well, thanks for going along with his antics, at least. I don’t really know where that all came from. He’s never asked about having a new mum before.”

The sudsy hot water runs through your fingers as you clean the mug thoroughly, “it’s natural at this age for him to be curious about everything. He’s thinking and learning and observing so rapidly. I mean-“

James catches your wrist as you fling your hands about anxiously and animatedly, “hey.”

You still, eyes daring to find his hazel ones, “please don’t feel bad about any of it. Obviously, you’re not Lily, and I’ll always make sure he knows who his mum is, but I think the fact that Harry sees you as a mum is just a nod towards how amazing you are with him. You really do love my son. Thank you for that.”

Your shoulders relax and you nod, “I do, James. I love him so much it hurts. Of course I’ll never replace Lily, and I wouldn’t dream of it. I just hope I can help to fill that void until you fall in love with someone you can imagine raising your son with, even if it’s not with who you originally planned.”

You set the mug down and turn your body towards him completely, “I know she’s out there somewhere.”

James’ gaze falls heavy on you and you clear your throat uncomfortably, “did you, uh, really mean what you said about not thinking I’m too young? Because if that’s the case I’m sure I know some people my age who would be interested.”

His breath hitches and his brows furrow with- discontent? He doesn’t answer your question. Instead, he responds with another question, “did you really mean it when you said you didn’t think I was too old?”

Unlike you, James doesn’t offer to set you up with anyone. Instead, he holds your gaze, eyes burning with passion and want. 

“Ye-“

“Daddy!”

You both look away from one another, attention fixed on Harry once again.

[sunskisser]

HAHAHA i wish <//3 but thank you for enjoying rese love you 🩷

boyfriend?

clark kent x fem!reader, wc 900

cw: reader is concussed, clark worries, idiots in love, lots of fluff, i’m sorry if this sucks cos it’s not proofread

summary: post-concussion, you fall in love with your boyfriend (again)

Clark didn’t consider himself a worrywart. He knew he was often exceedingly, overbearingly kind, and it wasn’t something he was ashamed of. You’d told him once it was your third favourite thing about him, after ‘his love for you’ and ‘his kisses’. He couldn’t deny that those were two areas he did put a lot of effort into.

But the sight of you like this, bruised, battered, and passed out on a hospital bed — it made him want to worry his brains out.

It wasn’t a major injury, Clark knew that. Just a concussion. No blood, no internal damage, no severe pain.

Yet the tiny voice at the back of his head kept blaming him, cursing him for flying around saving the rest of the world while his world took a hit. He didn’t think he could stop feeling guilty till you fully recovered, maybe a while longer.

The feeling of your hand twitching in his snaps Clark back to the present.

He glances over at you, downturned lips and tightly squeezed eyes, peeling them open. Your gaze darts around for a moment before landing on him.

“Hi, honey.”

Your eyes widen slightly. “Hi.”

Clark hums in response, brushing his thumb over your palm. He’s trying not to let his worry show. “How’re you feeling, sweetheart? Your head, does it still hurt?”

You don’t respond, eyes glued on him. Your brows pinch together, and your nose scrunches up, like you’re awfully confused but can’t figure out why. Suddenly, you try to sit up.

“Hey, woah,” Clark chuckles nervously, hand immediately jumping up to fold around your shoulder, gently pushing you back down. His other palm slips under the back of your head, a safety cushion as you deflate back onto the bed. “Easy there. You’re not supposed to sit up for a few more hours, remember?”

Blood rushes to your head. “Really?”

“Yeah, really,” Clark nods, hand moving up to cup your jaw. He presses his thumb into your skin.

Like a ripple, redness spreads throughout your face from the spot, bright and shy. He frowns. “Are you okay?” The back of his palm comes to rest on your temple, concern etching itself into his features. “Is it a fever?”

“No,” you say immediately, a little too loud for your liking, grabbing Clark’s wrist as he moves to pull away from your face. You cringe. “I mean, no, sir, I’m fine.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Sir?”

Your shoulders creep towards your ears, shyness written all over you as you let go of his hand. “I don’t… I dunno. Sorry, um, what do I call you?”

Clark realises. He softens, brushing his thumb under your eye. “You don’t remember, do you?”

“Remember what?” you ask stupidly, a pathetic mess from the way he’s touching you. You feel like the sheer amount of prettiness in front of you was going to make you throw up, or maybe pass out again.

“What you call me,” he murmurs, smiling. “Or who I am.”

“Who are you?”

You looked so innocent, so sweetly anxious, that Clark has to stop himself from kissing you dizzy. He loves you, and he’ll have you any way, but the hit to your head made you horribly soft and lovely. Affection felt like an ache in his fingertips.

He presses both palms to your cheeks. “You like to call me darling, or babe, sometimes. Clark when you’re mad at me, though.”

“Who’s Clark?”

He grins. “Me, silly.”

“Oh.” You pull your bottom lip between your teeth. “Why babe?”

“‘Cos I’m your boyfriend,” he chuckles, love in the crinkle of his eyes. At the horrified look on your face, he can’t help but laugh again. “What, is that so bad?”

“No, no, not bad, it’s just —“ you splutter, dazed and increasingly abashed. You shake your head. “You’re my boyfriend? Mine?”

“Yeah, honey.”

You’re stumped.

“But you’re so pretty,” you murmur immediately, embarrassed turning to three parts awe, gazing at him like a child would at a lollipop. Starstruck, you reach out to trace the slope of his nose with your pinky. “Really? Are you sure you’re mine?”

It’s Clark’s turn to blush. He bends forward, trying not to grin too wide, and a honeyed kiss to the side of your head. “Yeah, all yours.”

You pull your hands to your face to cover it, curling away from him. Maybe he’s seeing what he wants to see, but Clark swears you’re smiling. “Don’t call me that.”

“What, lovely?” He laughs, fingers wrapping around your wrists to tug them off. “That’s not fair. Let me see your pretty face.”

“Stop!” you giggle, letting your hands drop in favour of letting his come to rest on your cheeks instead. You’re unbelievably bashful, teeth showing in your dopey smile as you gaze up at Clark with the love of a thousand suns. Clark wants you forever.

“I love you, silly girl.” He presses a kiss to your nose, one, two, three to your eyes and lips. “I love you.”

Stunned, you look like he’s just given you the world. He would, if he could.

You happily gather his palms from your cheeks towards your lips, your voice into them like a kiss in itself. “I love you, too.”

[sunskisser]

DAE I LOVE U ANGEL GIRL!!! thank you thank you ♥️♥️♥️

boyfriend?

clark kent x fem!reader, wc 900

cw: reader is concussed, clark worries, idiots in love, lots of fluff

summary: post-concussion, you fall in love with your boyfriend (again)

Clark didn’t consider himself a worrywart. He knew he was often exceedingly, overbearingly kind, and it wasn’t something he was ashamed of. You’d told him once it was your third favourite thing about him, after ‘his love for you’ and ‘his kisses’. He couldn’t deny that those were two areas he did put a lot of effort into.

But the sight of you like this, bruised, battered, and passed out on a hospital bed — it made him want to worry his brains out.

It wasn’t a major injury, Clark knew that. Just a concussion. No blood, no internal damage, no severe pain.

Yet the tiny voice at the back of his head kept blaming him, cursing him for flying around saving the rest of the world while his world took a hit. He didn’t think he could stop feeling guilty till you fully recovered, maybe a while longer.

The feeling of your hand twitching in his snaps Clark back to the present.

He glances over at you, downturned lips and tightly squeezed eyes, peeling them open. Your gaze darts around for a moment before landing on him.

“Hi, honey.”

Your eyes widen slightly. “Hi.”

Clark hums in response, brushing his thumb over your palm. “How’re you feeling, sweetheart? Your head, does it still hurt?”

You don’t respond, eyes glued on him. Your brows pinch together, and your nose scrunches up, like you’re awfully confused but can’t figure out why. Suddenly, you try to sit up.

“Hey, woah,” Clark chuckles nervously, hand immediately jumping up to fold around your shoulder, gently pushing you back down. His other hand slips under the back of your head, a safety cushion as you deflate back onto the bed. “Easy there. You’re not supposed to sit up for a few more hours, remember?”

Blood rushes to your head. “Really?”

“Yeah, really,” Clark nods, palm moving up to cup your jaw. He presses his thumb into your skin.

Like a ripple, redness spreads throughout your face from the spot, bright and shy. He frowns. “Are you okay?” The back of his palm comes to rest on your temple, concern etching itself into his features. “Is it a fever?”

“No,” you say immediately, a little too loud for your liking, grabbing Clark’s wrist as he moves to pull away from your face. You cringe. “I mean, no, sir, I’m fine.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Sir?”

Your shoulders creep towards your ears, shyness written all over you as you let go of his hand. “I don’t… I dunno. Sorry, um, what do I call you?”

Clark realises. He softens, brushing his thumb under your eye. “You don’t remember, do you?”

“Remember what?” you ask stupidly, a pathetic mess from the way he’s touching you. You feel like the sheer amount of prettiness in front of you was going to make you throw up, or maybe pass out again.

“What you call me,” he murmurs, smiling. “Or who I am.”

“Who are you?”

You looked so innocent, so sweetly anxious, that Clark has to stop himself from kissing you dizzy. He loves you, and he’ll have you any way, but the meds made you horribly soft and lovely. Affection felt like an ache in his palms.

He presses both palms to your cheeks. “You like to call me darling, or babe, sometimes. Clark when you’re mad at me, though.”

“Who’s Clark?”

He grins. “Me, silly.”

“Oh.” You pull your bottom lip between your teeth. “Why babe?”

“‘Cos I’m your boyfriend,” he chuckles, love in the crinkle of his eyes. At the horrified look on your face, he can’t help but laugh again. “What, is that so bad?”

“No, no, not bad, it’s just —“ you splutter, looking dazed. You shake your head. “You’re my boyfriend? Mine?”

“Yeah, honey.”

“But you’re so pretty,” you murmur, embarrassed and starstruck all at once, gazing at him like a child would at a lollipop. You reach out to trace the slope of his nose with your pinky, awed. “Really? Are you sure you’re mine?”

It’s Clark’s turn to blush. He bends forward, trying not to grin too wide, and a honeyed kiss to the side of your head. “Yeah, all yours.”

You pull your hands to your face to cover it, curling away from him. Maybe he’s seeing what he wants to see, but Clark swears you’re smiling. “Don’t call me that.”

“What, lovely?” He laughs, fingers wrapping around your wrists to tug them off. “That’s not fair. Let me see your pretty face.”

“Stop!” you giggle, letting your hands drop in favour of letting his come to rest on your cheeks instead. You’re unbelievably bashful, teeth showing in your dopey smile as you gaze up at Clark with the love of a thousand suns. Clark wants you forever.

“I love you, silly girl.” He presses a kiss to your nose, one, two, three to your eyes and lips. “I love you.”

Stunned, you look like he’s just given you the world. He would, if he could.

You happily gather his palms on your cheeks to press onto your lips, your voice into them like a kiss in itself. “I love you, too.”

[sunskisser]

awh thank you so much shay i love you!!! and right who couldn’t love this loverboy 😭💕

boyfriend?

clark kent x fem!reader, wc 900

cw: reader is concussed, clark worries, idiots in love, lots of fluff

summary: post-concussion, you fall in love with your boyfriend (again)

Clark didn’t consider himself a worrywart. He knew he was often exceedingly, overbearingly kind, and it wasn’t something he was ashamed of. You’d told him once it was your third favourite thing about him, after ‘his love for you’ and ‘his kisses’. He couldn’t deny that those were two areas he did put a lot of effort into.

But the sight of you like this, bruised, battered, and passed out on a hospital bed — it made him want to worry his brains out.

It wasn’t a major injury, Clark knew that. Just a concussion. No blood, no internal damage, no severe pain.

Yet the tiny voice at the back of his head kept blaming him, cursing him for flying around saving the rest of the world while his world took a hit. He didn’t think he could stop feeling guilty till you fully recovered, maybe a while longer.

The feeling of your hand twitching in his snaps Clark back to the present.

He glances over at you, downturned lips and tightly squeezed eyes, peeling them open. Your gaze darts around for a moment before landing on him.

“Hi, honey.”

Your eyes widen slightly. “Hi.”

Clark hums in response, brushing his thumb over your palm. “How’re you feeling, sweetheart? Your head, does it still hurt?”

You don’t respond, eyes glued on him. Your brows pinch together, and your nose scrunches up, like you’re awfully confused but can’t figure out why. Suddenly, you try to sit up.

“Hey, woah,” Clark chuckles nervously, hand immediately jumping up to fold around your shoulder, gently pushing you back down. His other hand slips under the back of your head, a safety cushion as you deflate back onto the bed. “Easy there. You’re not supposed to sit up for a few more hours, remember?”

Blood rushes to your head. “Really?”

“Yeah, really,” Clark nods, palm moving up to cup your jaw. He presses his thumb into your skin.

Like a ripple, redness spreads throughout your face from the spot, bright and shy. He frowns. “Are you okay?” The back of his palm comes to rest on your temple, concern etching itself into his features. “Is it a fever?”

“No,” you say immediately, a little too loud for your liking, grabbing Clark’s wrist as he moves to pull away from your face. You cringe. “I mean, no, sir, I’m fine.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Sir?”

Your shoulders creep towards your ears, shyness written all over you as you let go of his hand. “I don’t… I dunno. Sorry, um, what do I call you?”

Clark realises. He softens, brushing his thumb under your eye. “You don’t remember, do you?”

“Remember what?” you ask stupidly, a pathetic mess from the way he’s touching you. You feel like the sheer amount of prettiness in front of you was going to make you throw up, or maybe pass out again.

“What you call me,” he murmurs, smiling. “Or who I am.”

“Who are you?”

You looked so innocent, so sweetly anxious, that Clark has to stop himself from kissing you dizzy. He loves you, and he’ll have you any way, but the meds made you horribly soft and lovely. Affection felt like an ache in his palms.

He presses both palms to your cheeks. “You like to call me darling, or babe, sometimes. Clark when you’re mad at me, though.”

“Who’s Clark?”

He grins. “Me, silly.”

“Oh.” You pull your bottom lip between your teeth. “Why babe?”

“‘Cos I’m your boyfriend,” he chuckles, love in the crinkle of his eyes. At the horrified look on your face, he can’t help but laugh again. “What, is that so bad?”

“No, no, not bad, it’s just —“ you splutter, looking dazed. You shake your head. “You’re my boyfriend? Mine?”

“Yeah, honey.”

“But you’re so pretty,” you murmur, embarrassed and starstruck all at once, gazing at him like a child would at a lollipop. You reach out to trace the slope of his nose with your pinky, awed. “Really? Are you sure you’re mine?”

It’s Clark’s turn to blush. He bends forward, trying not to grin too wide, and a honeyed kiss to the side of your head. “Yeah, all yours.”

You pull your hands to your face to cover it, curling away from him. Maybe he’s seeing what he wants to see, but Clark swears you’re smiling. “Don’t call me that.”

“What, lovely?” He laughs, fingers wrapping around your wrists to tug them off. “That’s not fair. Let me see your pretty face.”

“Stop!” you giggle, letting your hands drop in favour of letting his come to rest on your cheeks instead. You’re unbelievably bashful, teeth showing in your dopey smile as you gaze up at Clark with the love of a thousand suns. Clark wants you forever.

“I love you, silly girl.” He presses a kiss to your nose, one, two, three to your eyes and lips. “I love you.”

Stunned, you look like he’s just given you the world. He would, if he could.

You happily gather his palms on your cheeks to press onto your lips, your voice into them like a kiss in itself. “I love you, too.”