Sunlight filtered through the curtains, warm against the tangled sheets where your bare skin peeked out. You were still asleep, peaceful and soft, lips parted, face turned toward the pillow. Clark stirred beside you, naked and quiet, eyes fluttering open with the kind of look only reserved for you.

He shifted closer, pressing his chest against your back, nuzzling into the curve of your neck. His arms wrapped around your waist, slow and tender, like he needed to feel every inch of you just to breathe right. His lips brushed your shoulder, not to wake you just to feel you. Just to remind himself you were his.

One hand slid up your stomach, fingers tracing lazy circles like his body couldn’t help but reach for yours. His thigh hooked around you, pulling you impossibly closer, clinging like he hadn’t already spent the entire night tangled with you.

You stirred slightly, and he smiled into your skin, whispering something only half awake but full of meaning “Don’t wanna get up, wanna stay right here.”

Clark Kent, your husband, your hero, wrapped around you like his whole world was in that bed and maybe it was.