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Kicks (zuko x reader) summary; you and zuko feel izumi kick for the first time masterlist

Hi! I really love your writing! I’d like to make a request—maybe a continuation of that other one you did, the “Lord Zuko x Reader story where the reader is his wife.”

This time, the wife (Reader) finds out she’s pregnant. At first, she thinks she’s sick because she starts feeling extremely tired, nauseous, and barely has the strength to complete her daily tasks. She doesn’t realize she’s pregnant since her menstrual cycle has always been irregular, so the possibility never even crossed her mind.

One day, while she’s talking with a servant, she suddenly feels unwell, her blood pressure drops, and she faints. When she wakes up, she’s in her chambers with her husband Zuko at her side, along with a physician. And then comes the big news—she’s pregnant! ❤️✨️

Part 1

The exhaustion came first.

You woke one morning feeling as though you hadn't slept at all, despite having gone to bed at a reasonable hour. Your limbs felt heavy, your eyelids weighted with stones. Beside you, Zuko was already stirring, preparing for an early council meeting, and you forced yourself to sit up despite every muscle in your body protesting.

"Morning," Zuko murmured, leaning over to press a kiss to your temple. In the six months since you'd truly become husband and wife in every sense, these small gestures of affection had become as natural as breathing. "You look tired. Did you sleep poorly?"

"I'm fine," you assured him, though even speaking felt like an effort. "Just... didn't sleep well, I suppose."

He studied you with those perceptive golden eyes, concern flickering across his scarred face. "Maybe you should rest today. Skip the morning audiences."

"I have meetings with the cultural exchange committee," you reminded him, swinging your legs out of bed. The room tilted slightly, and you gripped the mattress to steady yourself. "We're finalizing the Water Tribe artist residency program."

"That can wait—"

"I'm fine, Zuko." You smiled at him, hoping it looked more convincing than it felt. "Really. Just tired. I'll have some tea and I'll be good as new."

He didn't look convinced, but he had his own responsibilities to attend to. After another lingering look, he kissed you properly, a slow, sweet kiss that made your heart flutter even as your body screamed for more rest—and left for his council meeting.

You sat on the edge of the bed for a long moment after he'd gone, trying to summon the energy to stand. This was ridiculous. You were young, healthy, and had never been prone to illness. Perhaps you've been working too hard lately. The cultural programs were demanding, and you'd been staying up late reviewing proposals and correspondence.

Yes. That was it. Just overwork.

You forced yourself to your feet and began preparing for the day.

By the third day, the nausea had joined the exhaustion.

You woke with your stomach churning, barely making it to the washbasin before retching. Nothing came up, you hadn't eaten much the night before, your appetite mysteriously absent, but the heaving left you weak and shaking.

"Are you all right?" Zuko's voice came from behind you, heavy with worry. His hand was warm on your back, steadying you.

"Something I ate, maybe," you managed, wiping your mouth with a cloth. "I'll be fine."

"You said that two days ago." He helped you back to bed, his brow furrowed. "I'm calling for the physician."

"No." You caught his hand. "It's just a stomach bug, Zuko. It'll pass. I don't want to make a fuss over nothing."

"You're my wife. Your health is never 'nothing.'"

The fierce protectiveness in his voice made you smile despite the nausea still rolling through you. "I promise, if it doesn't get better in a few days, I'll see the physician. But right now, I just need rest."

He looked like he wanted to argue, but finally nodded. "At least let me cancel your morning meetings."

You were too exhausted to protest this time. "All right. Just for today."

But one day became two, then three, then a week. The nausea came in waves, sometimes mild, sometimes so intense you couldn't leave your chambers. The exhaustion never lifted, if anything, it grew worse. You found yourself falling asleep at odd hours, unable to keep your eyes open during afternoon meetings, struggling to focus on even simple tasks.

Your ladies-in-waiting exchanged worried glances. The servants whispered. And Zuko's concern transformed into something closer to fear.

"This isn't normal," he said one evening, watching you push food around your plate without eating. "You've been sick for over a week. Please, let me call the physician."

"It's just a prolonged illness," you insisted, though even you were starting to doubt it. "These things take time to pass."

"What if it's something serious?"

"It's not." You reached across the table to take his hand. "I would know if it were something serious. My body would tell me."

But your body was telling you something—you just weren't listening.

Two weeks into the mysterious illness, you could barely function.

Getting out of bed felt like climbing a mountain. Walking from your chambers to the throne room left you breathless and dizzy. You'd lost weight despite Zuko's attempts to tempt you with your favorite foods—everything tasted wrong, smelled wrong, made your stomach turn.

The worst part was the guilt. You had responsibilities, programs to oversee, people depending on you. The cultural exchange initiative was your project, your passion, and it was suffering because you couldn't stay awake long enough to review proposals or meet with delegates.

"You need to rest," Zuko said for the hundredth time, finding you at your desk one afternoon, struggling to read through a letter from the Earth Kingdom. "This can wait."

"It can't." You rubbed your eyes, trying to focus on the blurring characters. "The Earth Kingdom delegation arrives next week. I need to finalize the—"

The room spun suddenly, violently. You gripped the edge of the desk, your vision darkening at the edges.

"That's it." Zuko's voice was firm, final. "I'm calling the physician. Now."

"Zuko—"

"No arguments." He was already at the door, calling for a servant. "I don't care if you think it's nothing. I don't care if you're embarrassed. You're seeing the physician today, even if I have to carry you there myself."

You wanted to protest, but another wave of dizziness washed over you, and you had to put your head down on the desk to keep from falling out of your chair.

Maybe he was right. Maybe this was more than just a prolonged illness.

But what else could it be?

The thought of pregnancy never even crossed your mind. Your menstrual cycle had always been irregular—sometimes you'd go two months without bleeding, other times it would come twice in one month. It was something you'd dealt with since adolescence, something the healers had told you was just your body's natural rhythm. You'd never been able to track it reliably, never knew when to expect it.

So the absence of bleeding meant nothing to you. It was just another irregularity in a lifetime of them.

Three weeks into the illness, you were determined to push through.

The Earth Kingdom delegation was arriving tomorrow, and you had one final meeting with the servant staff to ensure everything was prepared. You'd spent the morning in bed at Zuko's insistence, but now, in the early afternoon, you felt marginally better. The nausea had subsided to a dull queasiness, and while you were still exhausted, you could at least stand without the room spinning.

You could do this. One meeting. Then you'd rest.

You found Mei Lin, one of your most trusted servants, in the corridor outside the guest quarters. She was reviewing the room assignments, her brow furrowed in concentration.

"Mei Lin," you called, walking toward her. "Do you have a moment to discuss the—"

The world tilted.

It happened so fast you didn't have time to react. One moment you were walking, the next your vision was darkening, your blood pressure plummeting, your legs giving out beneath you.

You heard Mei Lin scream your name.

Then nothing.

Consciousness returned slowly, like swimming up through deep water.

You became aware of softness beneath you—a bed, you realized. The scent of healing herbs hung in the air, sharp and medicinal. Voices murmured nearby, low and urgent.

"—should have insisted weeks ago—"

"You couldn't have known, Fire Lord—"

"I should have known. I should have—"

"Zuko?" Your voice came out as barely a whisper, your throat dry.

Instantly, he was there, his hand gripping yours so tightly it almost hurt. "You're awake. Thank Agni, you're awake."

You forced your eyes open, blinking against the soft light. You were in the healing chamber—you recognized the pale green walls, the shelves lined with medicinal supplies. Zuko sat beside the bed, and he looked terrible. His hair was disheveled, his eyes red-rimmed and shadowed with exhaustion. He looked like he hadn't slept in days.

"What happened?" you asked, trying to sit up.

"Don't." His hand pressed gently against your shoulder, keeping you down. "You fainted. Mei Lin said you just collapsed in the corridor. You've been unconscious for almost an hour."

An hour? Fear spiked through you. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"Don't apologize." His voice cracked. "Don't you dare apologize. This is my fault. I should have forced you to see the physician weeks ago. I should have—"

"Fire Lord." An elderly woman stepped into view—the royal physician, her gray hair pulled back in a severe bun, her expression kind but serious. "Perhaps you should let me examine the Fire Lady now that she's awake."

Zuko looked like he wanted to refuse, but he nodded and stepped back, though he didn't let go of your hand.

The physician moved to your bedside, her practiced hands checking your pulse, your temperature, pressing gently on your abdomen. You winced at the tenderness there.

"Tell me about your symptoms," she said. "All of them, from the beginning."

You recounted everything—the exhaustion, the nausea, the dizziness, the loss of appetite. The physician listened intently, asking occasional questions, her expression growing more thoughtful with each answer.

"And your monthly bleeding?" she asked. "When was your last cycle?"

You frowned, trying to remember. "I... I'm not sure. My cycles have always been irregular. Sometimes I go months without one. I honestly can't remember the last time."

The physician's expression shifted—not concern, but something else. Understanding, perhaps. Even... amusement?

"Fire Lady," she said gently, "when you say months, how many months are we discussing?"

"I don't know. Two? Three? It's hard to keep track when they're so unpredictable." You looked between her and Zuko, confused by the strange look on both their faces. "Why? What does that have to do with anything?"

The physician smiled—actually smiled. "My dear, you're not ill."

"I'm not?" Relief flooded through you. "Then what—"

"You're pregnant."

The world stopped.

For a long moment, you couldn't process the words. They hung in the air, impossible, incomprehensible.

Pregnant.

You were pregnant.

"That's—" You started, then stopped. "But I can't be. I would have known. I would have—"

"Your irregular cycles masked the signs," the physician explained, her voice warm with understanding. "It's not uncommon. Some women don't realize they're expecting until quite far along, especially if their bleeding has never been reliable. Based on your symptoms and my examination, I'd estimate you're about three months along."

Three months.

You'd been carrying Zuko's child for three months and hadn't known.

You turned to look at your husband, and the expression on his face stole your breath. He looked stunned, his golden eyes wide with shock, his mouth slightly open. His hand was still gripping yours, but his grip had gone slack.

"Zuko?" you whispered.

He blinked, seeming to come back to himself. "A baby," he said, his voice hoarse. "We're having a baby."

"Yes," the physician confirmed. "Congratulations, Fire Lord. Fire Lady. The nausea and exhaustion are perfectly normal for early pregnancy. The fainting was likely due to low blood pressure, which is also common. With proper rest and nutrition, both mother and child should be perfectly healthy."

She continued talking—something about dietary recommendations and prenatal care—but you couldn't focus on her words. You were too busy watching Zuko's face, trying to read the emotions flickering across it.

Shock. Joy. Wonder.

And then, so quickly you almost missed it, fear.

The physician left after extracting promises that you would rest for the remainder of the day and follow her detailed care instructions. The moment the door closed behind her, silence fell over the healing chamber.

You and Zuko sat there, still holding hands, neither quite able to process what had just happened.

"A baby," you said finally, testing the words. "We're going to have a baby."

"Yes." Zuko's voice was strange, distant. He was staring at your joined hands, his thumb rubbing absent circles on your palm. "A baby."

You studied his face, noting the tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders had gone rigid. "Zuko? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." But he didn't look fine. He looked terrified.

"Talk to me." You squeezed his hand. "What are you thinking?"

For a long moment, he didn't answer. Then, slowly, he raised his eyes to meet yours, and the raw fear in them made your heart clench.

"What if I'm like him?" he whispered.

You didn't need to ask who he meant. "You won't be."

"You don't know that." He pulled his hand away, standing abruptly and beginning to pace. "What if I—what if I hurt them? What if I lose my temper, what if I say something cruel, what if I—"

"Zuko, stop."

"My father burned my face for speaking out of turn." His voice was rising, panic bleeding through. "He tried to kill me. Multiple times. He was a monster, and I'm his son, and what if that's in me? What if I can't—"

"Zuko!" You sat up despite the physician's orders to rest, your voice sharp enough to cut through his spiral. "Look at me."

He stopped pacing, his chest heaving, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"Come here," you said, gentler now.

He hesitated, then moved back to the bedside. You reached for his hand, pulling him down to sit beside you.

"You are nothing like your father," you said firmly, holding his gaze. "Nothing. Do you hear me?"

"You can't know that—"

"I can. I do." You brought his hand to your chest, pressing it over your heart. "I know you, Zuko. I know your heart. I've seen you break down over the deaths of people you've never met. I've watched you agonize over every decision, terrified of making the wrong choice. I've felt how gentle you are, how careful, how desperately you want to do right by everyone."

"That doesn't mean—"

"Your father never questioned himself," you interrupted. "He never worried about being a good parent. He never doubted his actions or feared his own capacity for cruelty. But you? You're terrified right now, and do you know what that tells me?"

He shook his head, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"It tells me you're going to be an amazing father." You cupped his scarred cheek with your free hand. "Because you care. Because you're aware of the potential for harm and you're determined to avoid it. Because you've spent your entire life trying to be better than the man who raised you, and you've succeeded. You've already succeeded, Zuko."

A tear slipped down his cheek, and you brushed it away with your thumb.

"I'm so scared," he admitted, his voice breaking. "I'm so scared of messing this up. Of failing them. Of failing you."

"You won't fail us." You pulled him closer, and he came willingly, resting his forehead against yours. "And even if you make mistakes—because you will, because all parents do—you'll learn from them. You'll apologize. You'll do better. That's what makes you different from him. That's what makes you you."

He let out a shuddering breath, his hands coming up to frame your face. "I don't deserve you."

"Yes, you do." You smiled, even as your own tears began to fall. "And you deserve this. A family. A child. Happiness. All of it."

"I love you," he whispered. "I love you so much."

"I love you too." You kissed him softly, tasting salt from both your tears. "And we're going to do this together. You're not alone in this, Zuko. You'll never be alone in this."

He kissed you again, deeper this time, pouring all his fear and love and hope into it. When you finally broke apart, he pressed his hand gently to your still-flat stomach, his expression full of wonder.

"There's really a baby in there?" he asked, his voice soft with awe.

"There really is." You covered his hand with yours. "Our baby."

"Our baby," he repeated, and this time, the fear in his eyes was tempered with something else. Joy. Hope. Love.

He helped you lie back down, fussing with the pillows until you were comfortable, then stretched out beside you on the narrow healing bed. It was a tight fit, but neither of you cared. He wrapped his arms around you, one hand still resting protectively on your stomach, and you nestled into his warmth.

"I'm still scared," he admitted quietly.

"I know. So am I." You turned your head to kiss his jaw. "But we'll figure it out. Together."

"Together," he agreed.

You lay there in comfortable silence for a while, both processing the life-changing news. Outside, the sun was beginning to set, painting the healing chamber in shades of gold and amber.

"We should probably get back to our chambers," you said eventually. "The physician said I need to rest, and this bed isn't exactly comfortable for two people."

"Can you walk?" Zuko asked, immediately concerned.

"I think so. But maybe... slowly?"

He helped you sit up, watching you carefully for any signs of dizziness. When you stood, he kept one arm around your waist, supporting you.

"If you feel faint at all—"

"I'll tell you immediately," you promised.

You made your way slowly through the palace corridors, Zuko practically carrying you despite your protests that you were fine. Servants bowed as you passed, their eyes curious but respectful. News of the Fire Lady's collapse had clearly spread, and you could only imagine the rumors that would fly once word of the pregnancy got out.

But you couldn't bring yourself to care. You were going to have a baby. Zuko's baby. A tiny person who would have his eyes or your smile, who would grow up knowing love and peace instead of war and cruelty.

The thought filled you with such overwhelming joy that you had to stop walking, had to turn to Zuko and kiss him right there in the middle of the corridor, propriety be damned.

He kissed you back with equal fervor, his hand cradling the back of your head, and when you pulled apart, he was smiling—really smiling, the kind of smile that transformed his whole face.

"What was that for?" he asked.

"For giving me this," you said, placing your hand over your stomach. "For being you. For loving me."

His expression softened impossibly further. "Always," he promised. "I'll always love you. Both of you."

Back in your chambers, Zuko insisted you get into bed immediately. He brought you water, adjusted the pillows three times, and generally fussed until you had to physically pull him down beside you.

"I'm pregnant, not made of glass," you reminded him, amused by his overprotectiveness.

"I know, but the physician said—"

"The physician said I need rest and proper nutrition. She didn't say I needed to be treated like an invalid." You snuggled into his side, resting your head on his chest. "Although I have to admit, I could get used to this level of attention."

He huffed a laugh, his fingers threading through your hair. "You're going to be insufferable about this, aren't you?"

"Absolutely." You grinned up at him. "I'm carrying the heir to the Fire Nation. I think that earns me some special treatment."

His hand drifted down to your stomach again, his touch reverent. "The heir to the Fire Nation," he murmured. "That's... that's really happening."

"It is." You covered his hand with yours. "Are you feeling any better about it?"

He was quiet for a moment, considering. "I'm still scared," he admitted. "I don't think that's going to go away anytime soon. But I'm also... happy. Really happy. And excited. And terrified. And—"

"All of the above?" you suggested.

"All of the above," he agreed with a small smile. "Is that normal?"

"I think so. I'm feeling pretty much the same way." You shifted to look up at him properly. "But we have time. Seven months to prepare, to learn, to figure this out."

"Six months," he corrected. "The physician said you're three months along already."

"Right. Six months." The reality of it was starting to sink in. In six months, you would be a mother. Zuko would be a father. Your lives would change completely.

It was terrifying.

It was wonderful.

"We should tell people," Zuko said. "Uncle will want to know. And Katara, and Aang—"

"Tomorrow," you interrupted, suddenly exhausted again. The emotional rollercoaster of the day was catching up with you. "We'll tell everyone tomorrow. Right now, I just want it to be us. Just for tonight."

He pressed a kiss to your forehead. "Just us," he agreed. "Get some rest. You need it."

"Will you stay?" you asked, even though you knew he would.

"I'm not going anywhere," he promised.

You closed your eyes, feeling safe and loved and impossibly happy despite the lingering exhaustion. Zuko's hand remained on your stomach, protective and gentle, and his heartbeat was steady beneath your ear.

"Zuko?" you murmured, already half-asleep.

"Mm?"

"You're going to be a wonderful father."

His arms tightened around you. "I hope so," he whispered. "I really hope so."

As you drifted off to sleep, you felt him press one more kiss to your hair, heard him whisper something too soft to make out. But you didn't need to hear the words to know what he was saying.

He was making promises to the child growing inside you. Promises of love and protection and a better world than the one he'd grown up in.

And you knew, with absolute certainty, that he would keep every single one.

You woke in the deep hours of the night to find Zuko still awake, staring at the ceiling with that distant look that meant he was lost in thought.

"Can't sleep?" you asked softly.

He turned to you, his expression tender in the moonlight streaming through the windows. "Just thinking."

"About?"

"Everything." He shifted to face you properly, his hand finding yours beneath the covers. "About how much my life has changed. How much it's going to change. A year ago, I was alone. Broken. Convinced I'd never be happy. And now.."

"Now?" you prompted.

"Now I have you. And soon we'll have a child. A family." His voice was thick with emotion. "I never thought I'd have this. Never thought I deserved it."

"You do deserve it," you said firmly. "You deserve all the happiness in the world."

He leaned in to kiss you, slow and sweet and full of love. When he pulled back, his hand drifted to your stomach again—you suspected that was going to become a habit.

"I'm going to do everything I can to be a good father," he said quietly. "To give our child everything I never had. Love. Support. Freedom to be themselves. I'm going to make sure they never doubt that they're wanted, that they're loved, that they're enough exactly as they are."

Tears pricked your eyes. "They're going to be so lucky to have you."

"We're going to be good at this," he said, and it sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as you. "Right?"

"We're going to be great at this," you corrected. "Not perfect—no one is. But we'll love them with everything we have, and we'll figure out the rest as we go."

He nodded, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "Together."

"Together," you agreed.

You lay there in the darkness, wrapped in each other's arms, talking quietly about the future. About names and nurseries and whether the baby would be a firebender. About how to tell your families and how to prepare the nation for an heir. About hopes and fears and dreams.

And slowly, gradually, Zuko's anxiety began to ease. Not disappear—you knew it would take time for him to truly believe he could be the father he wanted to be. But it softened, tempered by hope and love and the knowledge that he wasn't facing this alone.

As dawn began to break, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold, you both finally drifted off to sleep. Zuko's hand remained on your stomach, protective and gentle, and your fingers were intertwined with his.

dewveils

ch. 2 look to windward | firelord!zuko x reader

full provider series here

⋆

you read it once, twice, slower the third time.

it's such a small thing. a normal thing to be invited out to tea by your husband, who has specifically created a gap of time in his crowded schedule just to sit with you. yet that is the part that feels stranger than anything else. not the invitation itself. not even the fact that it comes from him.

but the care embedded in it, so quiet it almost hides in plain sight.

you've been in the palace long enough now to understand how time works here. how nothing in his day is ever truly "free" unless it's carved out with intention sharp enough to cut through council demands, military reports, and the endless machinery of rule.

you turn the words over in your mind.

i would appreciate your company.

dewveils

ch. 1 euclid | firelord!zuko x reader

full provider series here

⋆

the chamber is full.

scribes hunched over long stretches of parchment, wrists flicking as ink-drenched brushes swipe with clinical focus. every word spoken is recorded, preserved in a history you have no say in writing. advisors stand in careful rows, lacquered in armor and heavy silk robes that gleam beneath the torch lights.

the warm air presses into you, sweet at first breath and then cloying, settling thick in the back of your throat. oil. metal. fire. ash. yet expectation hums, low and constant, like something alive. you half-wonder if there is even enough moisture in the room for you to bend to put out the flames.

then, all eyes look to the throne.

no — to the man seated upon it.

and then, unwillingly, on you.

stcrgazerlily

━━━━━━━ 𝐌𝐀𝐌𝐀, 𝐀 𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐃 𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝐁𝐄𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: clark kent x yapper!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: turns out lex luthor didn’t actually want an interview, he just wanted to use you for some scheme he has against superman?

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: CRACK, based on a dream i had, reader is very oblivious, yapper and a bit ditzy? hostage situation but not really, 2.5k words approx

Your high heels click against the polished floor of LexCorp’s reception. The receptionist, a pretty woman with curly hair, is tapping her tablet furiously as she walks you to the elevator.

You play with the corner of your visitor's badge, and briefly wonder why exactly has Lex Luthor finally accepted an interview— with the single clause that the interviewer had to be you.

You shrug, whatever. A job is a job even if it comes from the bald, psychotic man who wants to kill your boyfriend.

The elevator just goes up and up and up until it finally opens. The first thing you see are the views; a darkening blue sky without a single cloud in sight, the skyscrapers and parks, the people and all the hubbub of the city sprawling at your feet. You try to find the Planet or your house, but everything looks so miniscule, like a toy model of the city. Then you see the man at the desk; Lex Luthor is wearing an impeccable suit, sitting on his leather armchair with that supercilious air of his wafting around him.

“Mr. Luthor, hi. Thank you so much for the opportunity.”

He doesn’t meet your eyes, and instead looks at the other woman. “Out, I want no interruptions.”

She quickly nods and scrambles for the elevator.

“Ookay.” You mumble. What a rude man.

“Come, sit,” he gives you a smile— empty and phoney.

You take the chair in front of his and gently set down your recorder and notepad (what can you say? You’re an analogue girl).

“Right, so, the economist section of the Planet—"

“Let’s cut to the chase.” He states.

You blink slowly. “Oh, okay sure!” You hit record. “LexCorp’s shares have fallen twenty percent this week and investors are worried that the company is becoming less and less profitable. Of course this is followed by a recent environmental scandal which leads experts to believe that the company’s value will keep devaluing more and more.” You say that using a single gasp of air. “What measures is LexCorp planning to take?”

Mr. Luthor freezes a split second before turning off the recorder. “I didn’t invite you here to talk about the company.”

“But I’m a reporter?” You tilt your head slightly and pick up the pen, jotting something down. It’s just a scribble really, but small notes the interviewees can’t see always makes them spill more. Though Mr. Luthor doesn’t seem like the type your cheap techniques will work on.

“I know you and Superman are involved.”

Your heart stops. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. Wait— you mentally calm yourself— you have a plan.

“Superman?” Your voice level rises. “Me and,” again volume raised, “Superman? That’s insane. I wish— Superman,” again, “is great.”

Lex pinches the bridge of his nose. “He can’t hear inside this building.”

You blink. “Oh.”

“So,” he says, “you have two options; talk or suffer the consequences.”

You can’t help it, you snort. “Sorry, I know this is super serious but um,” you furrow your brows imitating him, “suffer the consequences. Dude, you’re bald.”

A long silence follows. It’s honestly kind of uncomfortable and you fight the urge to play with your badge again.

Then Lex folds his hands neatly atop the desk. “And yet I’m still the most powerful man in Metropolis.”

But still bald, you mentally reply. You’re beginning to realise this whole interview was a bad idea.

Lex watches you for a long moment before reaching into one of the desk drawers. He slides a folder across the table.

Inside are photographs, printed in full colour and A4. You exiting your apartment building at six in the morning carrying two coffees. Superman hovering beside the fire escape a minute later.

A blurry shot of you laughing at seemingly nothing on a rooftop garden— except, in the reflection of the windows behind you, a streak of red and blue stands just out of frame.

Another photo: you injured after the downtown bridge collapse. Superman landing before paramedics had even arrived.

You stare.

“Oh my God,” you whisper. “These angles are horrible.”

Lex’s eye twitches.

“There are also audio transcripts,” he says tightly. “Three months ago you were mugged outside Hob’s Bay. Witnesses reported Superman arrived eight seconds after you screamed.”

“Well yeah,” you frown, “he’s Superman. That’s kind of his whole brand.”

“You have accessed restricted rooftops owned by LexCorp on six separate occasions. Satellite footage confirms Superman appeared at every location within minutes.”

“Maybe he thinks I’m fun?”

A long silence.

Lex folds his hands neatly atop the desk. “You are either the most accomplished liar I have ever met, or genuinely the most oblivious woman in Metropolis.”

“Thank you?”

“It doesn’t matter.” His voice smooths back into something calm. No, controlled. And when you’re talking about Lex Luthor, that’s definitely dangerous. “The point is that Superman values you. Which means, eventually, he will do exactly what I ask to ensure your continued safety.”

Your stomach drops. “Oh,” you say quietly. Then, after a beat: “That sounds super evil when you say it out loud.”

Lex leans back on his chair. “It is an exceptionally effective strategy.”

He stands first.

The movement is abrupt enough that your chair squeaks against the marble floor. You need to calm yourself, everything will be just fine.

“Well,” he says smoothly, buttoning his suit jacket, “there’s no point continuing this conversation theoretically.”

“Theoretically?”

“You’ll understand.”

He walks toward the far end of the office, where enormous glass doors stretch from floor to ceiling. Even from across the room, the windows make Metropolis look tiny— all glittering lights and ribbons of traffic far below. No wonder this man has a God complex if he’s unable to see the world as it really is.

You scramble up after him, grabbing your recorder. You’ve learnt something very valuable from Lois; never lose your chance!

“Oh my God, are we going outside?” you ask. “Your balcony is bigger than my apartment.”

“It’s a terrace.”

“Rich people always rename things.”

Lex ignores that and presses his palm to a discreet panel beside the door. There’s a low mechanical hum and then the glass slides open.

You have to stop your jaw from hanging open.

Cold wind immediately sweeps inside, forcing you to cross your arms trying to get a pinch of heat.

The terrace is massive; black stone gleams faintly beneath recessed lighting, still wet from earlier morning rain. A shallow reflecting pool runs along one edge, perfectly still except for the ripples created by the wind. Somewhere below, the city groans softly with distant sirens, honking cars, the muted pulse of nightlife. And above all of it towers the illuminated LEXCORP sign in silver letters.

You step outside carefully, your shoes click against the stone. Ugh, its gotten late again and you and Clark wanted to watch that new movie.

“Wow,” you breathe. “This is so evil-coded.”

Lex folds his hands behind his back. “I assure you the architecture critics adored it.”

“Architecture critics also liked brutalism.”

For the first time tonight, the corner of his mouth twitches. But obviously, not an actual smile. It’s Lex Luthor you’re talking about.

He walks to the terrace edge with complete ease, like the hundred-story drop beneath him is nothing. Then he looks up into the night sky, the city lights paint pale gold across his face.

“Superman,” he says calmly.

Nothing happens.

You blink. “That’s it?”

Lex does not look at you. “He’s listening.”

“Oh.” You shove your hands into your coat pockets. “That’s honestly kind of creepy.”

“He has always been creepy.”

You glance upward too, half-expecting a dramatic lightning strike or something. “Sure, bud.”

The sky remains dark and empty. Then five minutes pass, then five more.

Wind whips your hair across your mouth. The cold slowly crawls beneath your clothes, biting at your fingers and ears.

Lex remains perfectly still.

You start rocking on your heels. “So…” you say eventually. “Do you do this often?”

“What?”

“Stand dramatically on balconies waiting for Superman.”

Silence. You almost think he won’t reply.

Then, “Only when necessary.”

“Mm.” You nod. “You definitely practiced that line beforehand.”

His jaw tightens.

Another gust of wind sweeps over the terrace. This one is freezing enough to make you physically recoil. “Oh my God.”

Lex finally glances sideways. “You’re cold.”

“No, I’m auditioning for a role as a Victorian orphan.”

“You should have worn something warmer.”

“I didn’t know I was going to get kidnapped!”

A muscle jumps in his cheek.

“Can I go back inside?” you ask. “I can still see the sky from there and also I value having functioning fingers.”

Lex exhales slowly through his nose like a man enduring unimaginable suffering. “Fine. Go.”

“Thank you.” You immediately hurry back toward the office doors.

The warmth hits your face almost instantly when you step inside again. You sigh dramatically and rub your hands together.

Behind you, Lex remains outside; still waiting and still staring upward. He probably thinks he looks cool or something.

You wander near his desk instead, peering at framed awards and photographs; there’s one of Lex shaking hands with a senator, one with military officials, one bizarrely intense portrait where he’s standing in front of a painting of himself.

You pick it up. “Oh, this one is crazy.”

From outside you hear him. “What are you touching?”

“Your narcissism.” You blink at the picture. “Wow, you even match expressions with the painting!”

“Put that down.”

“You have a painting of yourself.”

“It was a gift.”

“You displayed it.”

“It would have been rude not to.”

You snort.

Then— a sonic boom cracks across the city.

The wind slams violently against the terrace doors hard enough to rattle the glass. Lex straightens immediately.

And suddenly there he is (your heart skips a beat). Superman lands on the terrace with enough force to send water rippling through the reflecting pool. His cape snaps sharply behind him in the wind, boots scraping against black stone as he steadies himself.

His expression is calm, but you know him well enough to recognise he’s everything but. His eyes lock instantly onto Lex. “Luthor.” It sounds accusing.

Lex clasps his hands behind his back again. “You came quickly.”

“You shut down her phone signal.”

“You noticed.”

Superman steps forward once. “What did you do?”

“Superman! Hi!”

His head turns immediately toward your voice. The second he sees you standing inside the office completely unharmed, the tension leaves him so suddenly it’s almost painful to watch. His shoulders loosen first, then his jaw, lastly his eyes soften with open, helpless relief.

And God, he looks at you like you’re the only thing in the room worth seeing. Oh, how you want to kiss him!

“You’re okay,” he says quietly.

You blink at him through the glass doors. “Uh. Yeah?”

He crosses the terrace in a blur and steps inside more carefully this time, like he’s suddenly aware of his own size, his own presence.

A strand of dark hair has fallen across his forehead from the flight over the city. The cold clings to him still, carrying the scent of rain and winter air inside with him. His gaze flicks quickly over you, checking for harm or anything that might indicate fear. His hands hover near your arms for a second before stopping themselves.

“You disappeared,” he says softly. “Your phone went dark.”

“Ohhh.” You wince. “Sorry, Lex and his evil schemes.”

Superman closes his eyes. But not in annoyance but overwhelmingly relieved. “Thank God you’re okay.”

The sincerity in his voice hits harder than if he’d shouted.

“Oh,” you say quietly.

Behind him, Lex steps into the office at a measured pace, every movement and micro expression controlled.

“How touching,” he says dryly.

Superman’s posture stiffens immediately, subtly shifting so he’s standing slightly between you and Lex without even seeming to realize he’s doing it.

“You involved someone who has nothing to do with this.”

Lex arches a brow. “Nothing? That’s not what your behavior suggests.”

“You made your point.”

“No,” Lex says calmly. “I confirmed a theory.”

You look between them. “Wait,” you say slowly. “Are you both having, like… a homoerotic rivalry moment right now?”

Neither man responds. Superman looks briefly exhausted and Lex looks briefly murderous.

You point between them again. “Because the tension in here is crazy.”

Then Superman turns toward you fully, his expression softening almost immediately. “We’re leaving.”

You blink. “Wait, together?”

A pause. “Yes,” he says gently.

“Oh.” You stare at him for a second. “Like, in a journalism way or—”

“In a leaving-this-building-alive way,” Lex interrupts dryly.

You gasp softly. “See? That’s exactly what I mean. The chemistry here is insane.”

Superman actually lets out a quiet breath that might have been the beginning of a laugh. Lex looks deeply offended by this.

Clark— because he feels much more like Clark standing this close— reaches for your coat draped over the back of the chair and holds it open for you automatically.

The gesture is so normal, so domestic and so utterly Clark your heart does a weird little flip in your chest. A doctor needs to check you out, because you cannot be normal whenever Clark Kent is around.

“Thank you,” you mumble, slipping your arms through the sleeves.

His fingers briefly brush your shoulder while adjusting the collar so your scarf isn’t trapped beneath it. Careful and gentle. It sends sparks through you.

“You know,” he says coolly, “human attachment has always been your greatest weakness, Superman.”

Clark’s hand stills against your shoulder.

For a moment the room goes quiet except for the low hum of the city outside and the soft rush of wind through the partially open terrace doors.

Then Superman looks back at Lex, not angry but sure. “No,” he says calmly. “It’s the reason people trust me.”

The words settle heavily into the room, even Lex goes still for half a second.

You look between them again. “Okay wait… that one was kind of hard.”

Lex rolls his eyes and Clark smiles despite himself. It's a small and fond gesture, like he tried not to and failed. Your grin widens.

He looks at you for a moment longer before speaking quietly. “Ready?”

You hesitate. Then glance toward the terrace, toward the open sky beyond it. “You mean,” you say slowly, “like ready ready?”

Clark’s smile widens just a little.

“If you want.”

“Oh my God.”

You hurry toward the terrace doors before your fear can catch up to your excitement.

The cold air rushes around you immediately again, carrying the scent of rain and steel and the electric pulse of the city below. Metropolis stretches endlessly beneath the tower— glowing windows, rivers of headlights, neon signs flickering against wet streets.

It looks unreal from this high up.

Behind you, Lex remains inside the office, watching the two of you in silence.

Clark steps beside you. “You trust me?” he asks softly.

You look up at him; at the cape moving gently in the wind behind him, the curl of dark hair still fallen over his forehead, and the warmth in his eyes.

“Probably concerningly too much, actually.”

His laugh is quiet.

Then one arm slides carefully around your waist. You make a very undignified noise.

“Okay wow,” you squeak. “That’s— wow, you’re very— okay—”

“Sorry,” he says immediately, loosening his hold slightly.

“No! Don’t— I mean, you can— this is fine. Great, actually. Super normal.”

“Hold on.”

“Oh God.”

The world vanishes. One second you’re standing on the terrace— The next you’re airborne.

You instinctively bury your face against his shoulder with a shriek as the city drops away beneath you in a blur of lights and wind and impossible height.

Clark laughs softly above the roar of the air. “It’s okay,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”

Below, through the towering glass windows of LexCorp, Lex Luthor watches the two of you disappear into the night sky together.

Alone in the cold glow of his office.

totallynotashieldagent

Okay, just one more arranged marriage zuko request, IF YOU WANT. Please disregard if it's annoying or stupid. But can we see what it's like the first time they cuddle? Like yes they shared a bed, but that doesn't mean they slept close to each other ya know. I figured it was kinda an opposite ends type of thing. But maybe one night it's very cold, there's a chill in the room that the blankets can't keep out so your body instinctively seeks out the next best thing: your fiery husband on the other end. Maybe it happens a few times in a row, you always wake up and apologize, say it won't happen again, you don't want to overstep. But it just keeps happening, and now zuko takes measures to make sure it keeps happening. Leaving the balcony door open, not stoking the fire properly, replacing the blanket with one just a touch lighter, anything to get you snuggling up to him

SNEAKY ZUKOOOO!!! anon i loooove your brain- it's so good!!!

The first time it happened, Zuko wasn't sure what to do. So, he stayed absolutely still so whatever was happening, didn't stop happening.

Winter had begun, and though it never got so cold in the Fire Nation, tonight was colder than usual. He always knew he ran warm. Being a FireBender and being taught that technique by Iroh, it just was second nature to him to always be warm. Warmer than an average person.

It made sense why you gravitated towards him. You were cold and he was warm. And you just ... moved towards the warmth. Curling against his side, your feet rubbing against his calves, your hand at his chest, your face smushed against his bicep. Anything and everything to just stop you from shivering.

He didn't dare move. He didn't want to spook you. He liked the feeling of you next to him. So close to him. Zuko was slowly losing himself to his fantasiess when he didn't realize that he'd moved his arm, allowing you to curl against his chest and his hand was on your back now, drawing gentle circles when suddenly you jolted straight up. He instantly closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep.

You stared down and your eyes were wide with shock.

"Spirits- What am I doing?!" You mumbled to yourself, whispering apologies and scooted away from him.

He peeked out of one eye and watched you fuss around, find a thicker blanket and curl up in it away from him. He sighed with a frown and turned his back to you and tired to fall asleep. But the feeling of you against him was overwhelming and better than any dream he could've had.

And that's why he's currently doing what he has been doing for the past week.

Every night, he would wake up once he was sure you were fast asleep and try to make the room a little colder. Not uncomfortable or something that might make you sick- No- Just enough that you'd gently, unknowingly, seek his warmth out in sleep.

So far, out of seven nights, he'd succeeded five times. The balcony door left open, the fires under the bed lowered, the blankets changed to the lighter ones-

By the eighth night, he was starting to be shameless about it. He'd stay awake, his arm lightly open, just waiting for you to curl against him due to the awful temperature of the room.

As the night deepened and the temperature dropped further, he simply lay awake. Waiting. And trying not to let the guilt of it all from hitting him. He justified it by telling himself that you wouldn't seek him out if you didn't feel safe with him- And besides... there's nothing with a wife touching her husband?

He knew for a fact that he didn't mind your closeness. And if you minded it- You wouldn't come to him every night as you did.

Unbeknownst to him- You were perfectly aware of Zuko's antics because on the third night, you'd asked the servants why the room was colder than usual and they'd all told you honestly that the Fire Lord had complained that it was too warm, hence the change of blankets and the lessening of the fires.

Honestly, half the time you had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing. Because, whilst Zuko was phenomenal in dancing circles around the councillors and ambassadors, he was absolutely awful at domestic deception.

Worst of all was how he pretended to be asleep. You'd seen the man sleep for months now. He would not know which way was up if he was actually asleep. Hair a mess, limbs everywhere, drooling and mumbling- But when he pretended? He'd be laying straight and stiff, an arm open for you, eyes shut so tight you wondered if he had a headache.

So, tonight, you decided to play it your way.

The night grew darker and the room grew colder. On the other side of the bed, Zuko was pretending to be asleep. Meanwhile, you? You were wrapped in three blankets and curled up into yourself. After ages, you heard an annoyed groan. You could hear him tossing and then laying straight again in wait for you.

Finally, after ages, you decided to put your husband out of his misery. You yawned, and rolled closer. Instant warmth wrapped around you and you let out a sleepy sigh, then felt Zuko relax next to you. You peeked from one eye and saw him smiling as he stared at the ceiling whilst his hand caressed at your back.

"My Lord-" You whispered and his entire body went stiff again, his eyes screwed shut, pretending to be sleeping. "Is my Lord asleep?" You couldn't help the giggle that left you. "My poor husband." You sighed, "Works so hard every day- Sleeps so deeply that he never even knows that his wife seeks out his warmth every night." You saw him swallow visibly.

"You are a cruel woman." He mumbled and you laughed.

"And you are a terrible actor." You shot back.

"Am not-" Zuko pouted, eyes opened to look at you. He sighed and surrendered, his hand continuing its previous movement across your back. "I just- I didn't realize how much better I sleep like this." His body grew warmer to help you not shiver anymore.

"So you decided that instead of talking to me like a grown man, you would commit climactic warfare?" You mused.

"I didn't think you'd agree." He confessed as shame coloured the tips of his ears. "But- But I guess now I can just hold you?" He asked hopefully. "I wouldn't have to resort to... schemes." He laughed nervously, gulping with anticipation.

"Hmmm... I'll figure out a punishment for you yet." You said sleepily, curling next to him.

"I await it with honour." He smiled, his cheek pressed against your head as he allowed his body to tangle and wrap with yours. As he'd been dying to do for ages.

First Meeting

The Night After The Ceremony

Something Gently Shifts

First Kiss

Jealous Zuko

Daily Life With Zuko

Reader is kidnapped by the Denied

Reader and Zuko's first improper kiss

Jealous Reader and Oblivious Zuko

totallynotashieldagent

I sent a request earlier about arranged marriage Zuko getting caught making out in the hallway. I wanted to request a reversed jealous one too, if it's not too much!

So in the one where Zuko was jealous, it was at the event that people were dancing and greeting the Fire Lady. Maybe this time, Zuko has a personal stylist that helps him get ready for events, or maybe just a general daily stylist. She was newly chosen, just before the wedding and all. She picks out his garments to align with the customs of the Fire Nation, she even does his hair in traditional ways and sets his crown and head pieces. Zuko never minded but that's because he's oblivious to the lingering touches or the way she stands too close. But of course, his lovely wife notices and decides she wants to help him instead

OHHH ANON!! this is the yummiest prompt!!! thank youuu!!!!! and let me tell you from experience that loyal men are the DUMBEST of the lot- when they have eyes for their lover- they literally are BLIND to all the other nonsense!!!

It was no secret that the Fire Nation still clung to the ways of the old. Which was one of the main reasons why Zuko had an arranged marriage, one for political alliances rather than out of preference or love. And it was also no secret that majority of people who would be forced into arranged marriages always had lovers on the side. Their spouses would be just for show and for heirs.

That is the belief that Misaki held close to her heart. That just because the Fire Lord was married now, didn't mean that he was unavailable.

She would walk the palace halls as if she had already been chosen. She would do Zuko's hair with more care than needed and she would choose his robes every morning then make sure that she matched someway or the other.

You hadn't noticed it in the beginning. You were still getting your bearings but now that Zuko and you were closely growing closer- It was hard to miss.

This morning, over breakfast, you'd asked Zuko if you and him could get ready for the day together. He'd been more than happy to agree. Any time he could get with you, he treasured it immensely.

Currently, you were on the other side of the bedchambers as multiple servants rushed around do prepare you both for the day. You watched Zuko's hair being done by Misaki. You noticed how her hands lingered at his neck, how instead of using combs and brushes, she smoothed out his hair with her fingers. Meanwhile, Zuko watched you through the mirror, smiling at you shyly as he adored your eyes on him.

You let the maids fuss around you for your robes and jewels. Once you were ready, you walked over to Zuko and Misaki.

She saw you and straightened slightly but still chose to stay closer than needed.

"The Lord's hair is softer than usual. The oils I recommended are working well." She said sweetly, her hands still in his hair.

"Hm? Oh- My wife makes me use them every night." He smiled at you through the mirror.

"It's my pleasure, Zuko." You said softly, sitting infront of him. His eyes quickly leaving the mirror and following you.

"But nonetheless, it was a good suggestion, Misaki." He nodded.

"You're very welcome, my Lord." She cooed. You smiled, a brow raised at her audacity. The rest of the staff exchanged looks and pretended to keep busy. No one wanted to leave the room without having all the gossip.

Seeing your lack of reaction, Misaki grew bolder.

"You know, my Lord-" She began, "It's an honour to be able to serve such a strong leader. Our nation prospers greatly under you-"

"Ah- I can't take all the credit." He laughed. "Most of it goes to Uncle for his advise and my wife for helping me keep my head on straight."

"I meant you personally, my Lord." She pushed. "You are very easy to admire and look up to." Her fingers ran through his hair as she pinned the crown in place. "Many women believe so."

"Oh?" He frowned. "That's not appropriate-" You coughed to cover up a laugh. The staff that was in the room stopped moving altogether and started to listen in shamelessly. "The women of the palace should focus on their tasks and duties. Not get wrapped in idle gossip. I'm simply doing what any Lord should-"

"Zuko-" You interrupted him before he tore Misaki a new one.

"Yes, my love?" He blinked, turning to you.

"I've been watching Misaki do your hair for months now. Maybe I should try my hand in it?" You asked softly.

"You'd- Really?" He beamed at you. "I'd love that. Please do- It would help us spend more time together and by the Spirits, I would do anything to feel your hands in my hair-" He sighed dreamily. "Misaki, you're dismissed. You can go to Akari for a different assignment."

"But my Lord-" She stuttered and gaped at how suddenly the tables had turned but Zuko was already undoing her hard work and taking out the crown, brushing his hair.

"I'm ready for your skilled hands, my love-" He beamed at you and you smiled at Misaki.

"You heard him. You're dismissed." You said sweetly and turned to do Zuko's hair.

First Meeting

The Night After The Ceremony

Something Gently Shifts

First Kiss

Jealous Zuko

Daily Life With Zuko

Reader is kidnapped by the Denied

Reader and Zuko's first improper kiss

starkkat

Tea Leaves & Lost Loves

Summary: Life working as a server at The Jasmine Dragon has always been peculiar to say the least. Turns out that lunatic Jet was right; the staff of Ba Sing Sei’s most beloved tea shop were firebenders. Not only that, but the bitter reclusive server boy? He was the disgraced Fire Nation Prince. So maybe you had no right to be shocked when your awkward work crush returned to the shop, with the crown of the Fire Nation perched on his head.

Pairing: Fire Lord Zuko x fem!reader

Word Count: 4.7k~

Content/Warnings: n/a

A/N: Rewatching the third season of ATLA and I just think the episode where Zuko goes on a date with the girl from Ba Sing Sei was so cute it has been living rent free in my mind. i might do a second part to this bc idk if i rlly like the cliffhanger rip

selfship-quotes

I love soulmates but also this-

qilingxiong

maaarine

Why aren't we talking about the real reason male college enrollment is dropping? (Celeste Davis, Oct 6 2024)

"White flight is a term that describes how white people move out of neighborhoods when more people of color move in.

White flight is especially common when minority populations become the majority. That neighborhood then declines in value.

Male flight describes a similar phenomenon when large numbers of females enter a profession, group, hobby or industry—the men leave. That industry is then devalued.

Take veterinary school for example:

In 1969 almost all veterinary students were male at 89%.

By 1987, male enrollment was equal to female at 50%.

By 2009, male enrollment in veterinary schools had plummeted to 22.4%

A sociologist studying gender in veterinary schools, Dr. Anne Lincoln says that in an attempt to describe this drastic drop in male enrollment, many keep pointing to financial reasons like the debt-to-income ratio or the high cost of schooling.

But Lincoln’s research found that “men and women are equally affected by tuition and salaries.”

Her research shows that the reason fewer men are enrolling in veterinary school boils down to one factor: the number of women in the classroom.

For every 1% increase in the proportion of women in the student body, 1.7 fewer men applied.

One more woman applying was a greater deterrent than $1000 in extra tuition! (…)

Since males had dominated these professions for centuries, you would think they would leave slowly, hesitantly or maybe linger at 40%, 35%, 30%, but that’s not what happens.

Once the tipping point reaches majority female- the men flee. And boy do they flee!

It’s a slippery slope. When the number of women hits 60% the men who are there make a swift exit and other men stop joining.

Morty Schapiro, economist and former president of Northwestern University has noticed this trend when studying college enrollment numbers across universities:

“There’s a cliff you fall off once you become 60/40 female/male. It then becomes exponentially more difficult to recruit men.”

Now we’ve reached that 60% point of no return for colleges.

As we’ve seen with teachers, nurses and interior design, once an institution is majority female, the public perception of its value plummets.

Scanning through Reddit and Quora threads, many men seem to be in agreement - college is stupid and unnecessary.

A waste of time and money. You’re much better off going into the trades, a tech boot camp or becoming an entrepreneur. No need for college. (…)

When mostly men went to college? Prestigious. Aspirational. Important.

Now that mostly women go to college? Unnecessary. De-valued. A bad choice. (…)

School is now feminine. College is feminine. And rule #1 if you want to safely navigate this world as a man? Avoid the feminine.

But we don’t seem to want to talk about that."

xcziel

very good tags from @downwarddnaspiral

van-del

literally saw this tweet this morning

paleo-violet

I saw a dude say with his whole chest that biology isn't really STEM

Take a wild fucking guess as to which major has the most female students

sixth-light

Scientific disciplines with more women have lower funding success rates and researcher quality scores , are considered ‘soft sciences’, and see average pay drop as women enter. This is BECAUSE women do them, not a function of women mysteriously choosing lower-prestige, poorly-paid fields.

spoookyraccoon

Note: have yall seen the tik tok trend bird theory? I've seen a few videos of it and thought we need a clark version so here's my take on it. I hope you enjoy and please let me know if you do! Kisses 💋

You’d seen the trend all over TikTok; wives and girlfriends telling their partners they’d seen a bird, just to see how they’d react. It was such a silly little thing to be excited over, but some of the men’s reactions were so sweet that you just knew you had to try it on Clark.

Thankfully, your boyfriend was about as offline as a man could get. If anyone was safe from catching onto a trend, it was the Kansas farm boy who still forgots his phone needs to be charged at times.

He’d just come home from work, loosening his tie as he stepped through the door. You could see the day in his shoulders--tired, heavy--and for a second, you almost called the whole thing off. But the camera was already set up, and honestly, you’d spent way too long figuring out where to put it.

“Hi, sweetpea,” Clark murmured as he came up behind you, his voice low and warm as a summer evening. He kissed the crown of your head, hands finding your waist. “How was your day, beautiful?”

You smiled softly, leaning into him. “It was good…” you said, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before gasping, dramatically. “You won’t believe what I saw today, Clark!”

His eyes brightened instantly, his smile blooming wide and genuine. “What’d you see, baby?” he asked, already intrigued.

“I saw a bird! One of the red ones that’s been hanging around lately.”

He blinked, then nodded thoughtfully, clearly interested. “Oh! A cardinal? Was it the fluffy bright red one, or the darker skinny one? You know, the bright red ones are usually the males-- not many people realize that!”

You blinked at him. “Really?”

“Oh yeah,” he said, eyes sparkling now. “Pa used to tell me all about ’em when we’d go camping. They never really migrate they stay in the state theyre born in most of their lives. They mate for life, too--cardinals. They take turns feeding each other sometimes. Theyre actually very sweet creatures”

You found yourself smiling so hard your cheeks ached as he kept going, rambling about the birds like you’d just brought home the discovery of the decade.

Somewhere between a fun fact about nesting habits and a story about baby Clark trying to feed breadcrumbs to a confused sparrow, he suddenly decided, very seriously, “We should get a bird feeder for the backyard. That way you can see them more often, sweetheart.”

You could barely hold in your laugh--the camera still rolling as he kissed your temple and started pulling out his phone, probably already looking up “best bird feeders for cardinals.”

Clark Kent, completely oblivious to the internet, had just won the trend without even trying.

marwrite

the one thing clark can't do

summary: it’s no secret; superman can do anything. save worlds, stop disasters, even play the role of a clumsy reporter. but after the day he saved you, there’s one thing he can’t do: forget you.

clark kent x fem ! reader

themes: clark yearning (of course he is), happyish ending, you’re a sweetheart, clark’s an even bigger one, slightly funny, lighthearted. again quite short drabble !! enjoy xox

Clark Kent had tried absolutely everything to get you off his mind.

Throwing himself into his work- rewriting already published articles, shouldering other peoples’ deadlines, even answering the most ridiculous of Superman calls. He saved at least fifteen cats out of trees already and it wasn’t even Wednesday yet, all so he wouldn’t be alone with his thoughts at home.

In all honesty, it was starting to get ridiculous. It was affecting him at work. He kept handing Jimmy the wrong lens, overloading Lois’ coffee with salt instead of its usual sweet counterpart. Clark found himself fumbling his way through articles, missing apostrophes and semi-colons, forgetting to cite certain sources altogether. Hell, he hadn’t even gotten around to interviewing himself yet- that’s how bad it was.

It had been two weeks since that night; the night Metropolis had nearly collapsed under its own weight. An explosion at the power plant had sent a shockwave through the city’s east side, and Superman had been everywhere at once, or at least was trying to be.

He’d carried entire families from burning apartments, lifted debris that weighed more than freight trains, and flown fast enough to blur the horizon. Red and blue barrelled into purple as he stretched himself thin, wishing, praying and hoping it wouldn’t all be for nothing.

He had a duty, a promise to the people; it wasn’t a new feeling for him to hate himself for only being one man. If he could clone himself, he would.

But what he remembered most vividly wasn’t the screams, or the smoke, or even the fire.

It was you.

You were standing on a cracked rooftop, a sheet of flame rising behind you, the ground thirty stories below. You were mumbling a prayer to the universe to help you out; an escape route, a person to share the torment with, anything. You’d been hit very hard by something- he could see the purplish-pink already beginning to form on your arm.

He’d swooped in on instinct, arms outstretched, ready to carry you to safety like so many others that night. Thankfully, you hadn’t been bleeding, but Clark knew better than to take something like that at face value. He needed to get you on the ground, hopefully to a paramedic. He didn’t really have the time to, but that didn’t matter- he’d find it.

Unfortunately, you had other plans.

“Wait,” you’d said, your hand gently pressing against his chest- an almost absurd gesture, considering the difference in strength between you. But he’d frozen all the same.

“There are people still inside,” you’d told him, your voice steady despite the chaos around you. Billows of smoke threatened the sanctity of your lungs, but Clark could see it in your eyes that you didn’t care.

“I’ll be fine, I swear. Just- please, save them first.”

He remembered the way your eyes had searched his, not for reassurance, but for confirmation that he understood. And he had. He’d wanted to argue, to insist, but the sincerity in your expression- the quiet urgency of it- disarmed him. You weren’t afraid for yourself. You were afraid for everyone else.

“Let’s get you somewhere safer first please, ma’am,”

“But-“

“I won’t be able to do any of that with you still up here,” he told you sternly, though your words threatened to melt his façade like ice. “Please. Can I do that?”

You were hesitant, the fearful pounding in your chest multiplying as you nodded. Superman wrapped an arm around your waist and placed you carefully atop a building not too far away from the wreckage, his arms strong and safe and so, unbelievably warm.

But you could still hear the screams, envision the flames. Your mind raced, happy memories of your apartment block being glazed over by grey.

That couple that lived below you, with the two pugs and one cat that hated other people but always seemed to love you. Mrs Drummond on the fifth floor, who baked every Sunday morning and would often take some up to you on the sixth. Mark next door, the quiet single-dad that only ever laughed when his kid was in the room.

Your heart twisted at the thought of any of them being left behind. You did your best, nobody could deny that; you yelled and screamed and called as many people as you could, evacuated as many floors as possible. You’d been so preoccupied trying to help everybody else that the only clear path out had been blocked by debris and flames; resulting in a very stumbled trip to the roof.

It wasn’t a pretty sight. None of it was. It was headline worthy, a tragedy for months to come, something to be remembered years in the future during talks of a city rebuilt and Superman’s greatest quests.

It was so bad, your fear split in half; one side reserved for the people just like you, and the other half for the God that stood before you.

When he turned to fly away, your hand had caught his arm for just a moment.

“Be safe, okay?” you’d said softly, as if he weren’t about to lift half a building off its foundation. As if Superman needed anyone to tell him to be careful.

He nodded, slow and unsure, watching as you let your hand fall, wrapping your arms around you.

He said nothing more, but the warmth of your voice had lingered with him long after the smoke cleared, like the smell of freshly brewed coffee in his apartment in the mornings. It stuck with him even as he collapsed on his couch at home, ripped, battered and bruised, waiting for the sun to come up to give him some relief.

Now, sitting at his desk at the Daily Planet, Clark Kent couldn’t seem to get that voice out of his head.

He’d been typing the same sentence for the last five minutes, staring blankly at his monitor while the newsroom bustled around him. Lois was on the phone two desks over, chewing out a city official about some budget report, while Jimmy was fussing with a camera lens and humming off-key.

Clark’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, but his mind was elsewhere- back on that rooftop, in the golden light of the fire, hearing you tell him to be safe. Reliving the moment you pushed him back ever so slightly, soot and ash marking your clothing, begging him to put other people first.

You were scared. So scared. He could hear it in your heartbeat.

“Earth to Kent,” Lois called, snapping her fingers in front of his face. “You’re writing slower than Steve during off-season. You okay?”

Clark blinked, looking up so quick he felt a slight click in his neck. “Sorry, I was just- uh, thinking.”

“Thinking?” Jimmy piped up with a grin. “About what? You’ve been staring at your screen like it’s a love letter.”

“It’s not a love letter,” Clark said quickly, adjusting his glasses. “It’s an article about urban redevelopment.”

“Uh-huh,” Lois said, raising an eyebrow. “And which part of ‘urban redevelopment’ makes you blush like that?”

Clark frowned, and sure enough, Jimmy leaned over his shoulder, squinting at the monitor. “You haven’t even finished your lead, dude. You got three words and a comma.”

“I’m just… distracted,” Clark muttered.

Lois folded her arms. “You’ve been distracted all week. First you forget your coffee order, then you nearly call Perry ‘Pa,’ and yesterday you accidentally signed an email ‘Best, Calvin.’”

Clark winced. “I typed that?”

“Oh yeah,” Jimmy grinned. “I swooped in before you could finish it with Klein, and Lois made me delete it before Perry saw. You’re welcome, by the way.”

Clark sighed, pressing the bridge of his nose. “I appreciate it.”

Lois leaned forward on her desk. “Alright, Kent, what’s going on? You’re not usually this-“ she gestured vaguely at him- “Well actually, you are. But not this bad.”

He hesitated. What could he even say? That he’d met someone as Superman, someone whose name he didn’t even know but could spot in a crowd in a heartbeat. Someone who’d seen right through him- not through the disguise, but past the cape itself.

What was he supposed to tell them? That he couldn’t shake the thought of you, the look on your face, the scent of your cherry vanilla perfume? That you were an anomaly in his life, because you’d looked at him not like a god or a saviour, but like a man trying his best in an impossible world?

“I guess I’ve just had a lot on my mind lately,” he said softly, deciding against it all.

Lois gave him a long, skeptical look but let it go. “Well, try to keep your head on straight, Clark. Perry’s in one of his moods today. You don’t want to be the first one he sees.”

Jimmy chuckled. “Yeah, he’s been yelling about deadlines since eight a.m. I think he scared the janitor.”

Clark let out a small laugh, the vision of Perry spewing abuse at their janitor and being met with a broom handle back to the face. It had happened before; Tony didn’t take very kindly to unwarranted constructive criticism.

Almost on cue, Perry White’s office door burst open. “Kent! Lane! Olsen!”

Clark flinched slightly. He’d heard the man’s footsteps coming from his desk, but it had startled him all the same- especially the bellow that already cut through the entire Planet’s bustling system.

“Good morning, Chief,” Lois said, her tone genuine yet disinterested. “Got any more deadlines for us today?”

Perry ignored her words, though his facial expression screamed exhaustion. He was holding a folder in one hand and a coffee cup in the other, looking like a man who’d already fought three wars before noon.

“Kent, you’re getting an intern.”

Clark blinked. “Another one?”

He couldn’t think of a worse thing to be assigned today. With his exhausted eyes, an article that hadn’t even been brought to fruition and the constant, swirling thoughts of you plaguing his brain- Clark would have much preferred rotting away at his desk until the clock hit 5pm and he could go home and rot on the couch instead. Or, save another cat. Either worked.

“Yep. Transferred from Gotham News, supposed to be sharp. Figured you could use the help, considering how behind you’ve been lately.”

Lois smirked. “Told you.”

Perry waved the folder, “She’s starting today. Try not to scare her off with all that Kansas charm of yours.”

“I’ll do my best,” Clark murmured, trying to refocus, though his mind was still tangled in thoughts of you.

Usually, he quite liked having the interns; they were often kind, and clueless, and so eager to learn that it brought Clark back to simpler times. He could see glimpses of himself in a lot of them- it was the main reason Jimmy and Lois never volunteered and often let him do it.

Perry turned toward the bullpen entrance. “C’mon in, kid!”

Clark didn’t look up right away. He was still adjusting his glasses, still trying to remember where he’d left off in his 3-word-one-comma article. His thoughts drifted again- to the glow of firelight on your face, to the way your voice had sounded steady even when the world shook beneath you.

He’d gone back for you on that rooftop- of course he did. He didn’t even know why. It wasn’t like he could talk to you, ask you out, take you to dinner in the suit and cape and act like everything was normal.

That would have been weird; to everybody else, yes, but to him too. He didn’t do all of this to get something out of it.

Yet still- he had that hope. A tiny, flickering flame inside of him, that hoped maybe you’d let him walk you home at least. Something small yet significant, a kind gesture that would have at least earnt him your name.

But when he came back for you, you were gone.

He heard footsteps approaching, a voice speaking politely to Perry, something about being honoured to work here. It was soft, familiar somehow, though he couldn’t place why. It made his entire body go rigid.

“Alright,” Perry was saying, commandeering attention by clapping his hands, “that’s Lois, Jimmy. And this is Clark Kent- one of our best reporters. You’ll be shadowing him for the next few weeks. Learn the ropes, get a sense of how we do things around here.”

Clark still didn’t look up, his fingers hovering uselessly over the keyboard. “Nice to meet you,” he said automatically, kind but distracted.

“You too, Clark.”

The voice hit him like a bullet, those three simple words amalgamating into one sharp jolt of electricity. His head snapped up so fast his glasses nearly slipped down his nose.

It felt like everything happened in slow motion. Clark’s heart stuttered as he stared, lips parting in shock.

The new intern stood beside Perry White, smiling nervously, eyes bright in the fluorescent light.

On their arm, a bruise that had just begun to fully heal; leaving a faint, discoloured mark in its place.

The same eyes he’d seen through smoke and ash. The same voice that had told him to be safe.

For a moment, the bustling newsroom fell away. All Clark could hear was his own heartbeat, steady and loud in his ears as a lump formed in his throat.

You.

i really do just love writing half fics like i could have carried on but the block hit me hard after that last paragraph </3 hope everyone's having a looovely day xxx

blondwhxrewrites

Click

You settle yourself back against the cushions of your couch, smoothing out the wrinkles on your white buttoned-up shirt. “Superman—” You can't help the way your lips curl up into a smile as you speak. “It's an honor to finally meet you."

The man sitting across from you straightens up in his chair. His suit is a sharp contrast from the muted greens of your living room, and his bright red cape dangles off the chair behind him, a sight that's almost too surreal to believe. There's something about him you can't explain, like a quiet hum underneath his skin. His face is blank, and yet emotion fills his entire being.

He looks human—unbelievably human.

“Miss.” His voice is like honey, deep, smooth, and if you were anyone else, you probably would've already been on your knees, ready to do anything he says. He seemed to have that effect on people. “It's an honour to meet you too. I've read your stuff.”

“You have?”

He huffs out a small laugh and nods. “Kind of hard not to. It's not just every day that an article comes out of an interview with Batman.”

Realization dawns on you, and your face heats up. “Yes, well,” you clear your throat. “It wasn't an interview per se; it was more like I asked him some questions and followed him around until he answered them. Besides, that was a long time ago.”

“Oh really?” He looks intrigued, like he wants to know more, but won't ask to be polite. It's something that has you grinning without realizing.

Your foot taps against the wood floor, a nervous tick you've never been able to break. Okay, time to change the subject.

“I've seen that you have done some interviews before.” You begin. “So you probably know how this all goes, but I just want to make it clear that if you feel uncomfortable at any time, you can just tell me and we can stop.”

His brow raises. “And here I thought all interviews were supposed to be uncomfortable.” His eyes glint with amusement, and suddenly all the tension in the room melts away.

Your shoulders slump, and air floods your lungs as you finally take a deep breath. You can breathe again.

“Job interviews, yes—” You snicker and lean forward in your seat. Then, your expression softens, and so does your voice. “But this interview isn't like that. I want you to feel like you can speak without it being like a battlefield. I'm not here to pick apart everything you say or twist your words to fit a narrative."

There's a flash of surprise that washes over his face, but it's quickly replaced by a warmth. Butterflies immediately erupt in your chest.

He crosses his arms and leans back in his chair. When he speaks, his voice is surprisingly soft. “Thank you. It's not often that I get to sit down and talk without having to worry about what I say or do.”

Your eyes fall to your lap, and your foot freezes mid-tap. For a few seconds, there's nothing but silence between the two of you. Not uncomfortable, but peaceful, the type of silence that you could easily bask in for hours. You feel his gaze, unwavering as it is, still fixed on you.

It's much different from Bruce's gaze, whereas he was always studying you, Superman seemed to just be taking you in, like you were some sort of force of nature.

He couldn't keep his eyes off you.

It almost reminded you of your boyfriend, Clark.

You immediately push the thought away. You have other things to focus on.

“Does it ever hurt?” You see the confusion on his face, and you immediately add. “Being called an alien?”

“Yes and no,” he's surprised by how easily the answer leaves him. Your gaze rises to meet him, and his adam's apple bobs up and down as he gulps. “I know my origins aren't from Earth, I've long since accepted that. It's not the title of alien that hurts, it's the meaning behind it.”

His once soft expression hardens, and you can almost see the gears turning in his head as he thinks. “I was raised here on earth. My parents are human. And I know DNA-wise that I'm a Kryptonian, an alien, but my mind, my heart, and my soul—that's all human.” He says it so confidently, so certain in himself and his words. It leaves you hanging off every word he says.

"Oh," you almost don't know how to reply to that. You had hoped for Superman to open up, but you never expected him to show this level of vulnerability.

“And what about the whole situation with your parents' supposed message to you? It's been a few months since the message was released, but there is still a lot of suspicion about whether your intentions for Earth are good.”

“I never—” for a moment, his voice begins to rise, but he stops himself. He takes a deep, shuddering breath before finally speaking again. "That message was damaged on my trip to Earth when I was just a baby. Before that, I'd never heard the second part of it, only the first half.”

You watch him, carefully looking for any sign that he was lying—you find none.

His eyes flicker with a guilt only a man as strong as him could carry. “I became Superman to help people, and for my whole life, I thought that's what my parents wanted for me when they sent me here.”

“You were devastated.” The words spill out of you before you can think them through. “And yet you still protect us even after everything."

“It's who I am.” He shrugs, his hand coming up to swipe at his face. You swear it's a tear that he is wiping away.

“It also sounds lonely.” Your gaze falls to the floor, because for some reason you can't find it in yourself to look him in the eye while you speak. "Hiding your identity, having to pretend to be someone you're not, it sounds awfully lonely."

He blinks, looking as if he'd just been called out by his teacher in the middle of class. Completely caught off guard. “I think—” he stops mid-sentence, once again taking a deep breath before answering. “I think I've gotten used to it. All the hiding and the pretending. I've been doing it my whole life—”

There's an unspoken heaviness behind his words. And his expression hardens as he continues. “It's not always lonely, though. I have my parents, my friends—” once again he stops, and his lips purse together in clear reluctance as he thinks over his next words. "And my partner."

You perk up in your seat. Your eyes widen as a small gasp leaves you. “Your partner?”

The corners of his mouth quirk up, and he bows his head to avoid your curious gaze. “Yeah…” He scratches the back of his neck, the tips of his ears flushing red. “My partner.”

“I can already hear the cries of all the single women in Metropolis.” You snort, carefully shifting your body to sit in a more comfortable position.

He tilts his head back and laughs, a full-body laugh that has his shoulders shaking and the corners of his eyes crinkling.

You freeze in your place as the sound registers in your mind.

You know that laugh. You hear that laugh every day. You love that laugh; in fact, some would even say you're obsessed with that laugh.

And just like that, everything clicked into place.

Your expression falls blank as you lean forward and turn off the recorder.

“Clark Joseph Kent.” Your voice is eerily calm as you speak, and Clark's body immediately tenses up, his laughter stopping.

“Oh dear.”

loislanesprotegee

good boy

Clark had given you a key to his place a month into dating. Too welcoming and trusting, in your opinion, and way too quick for the majority vote. He was lucky it landed in the right place. He couldn't help himself! You got off work before he did and he liked coming home to you. He liked having dinner together and entering his place to you so comfortably lounged around. He liked how his place got progressively more "our" place. Your washing mixing with his, your grocery list became one, you started to take over his closet. He loved the addition of you. It made it all the more home to him. Until you let that dog in.

hederasgarden

Of Monsters, Dogs, and Goldfish

Summary: You keep crossing paths with Superman during life-threatening situations, but strangely, neither of you seems to mind. Pairing: David!Clark Kent x F!Reader Word Count: 5.K Warning: General. Fluff, flirting, humor, and romance. A/N: No movie spoilers here. Thanks to Becca, @broadwaybaggins, and @aninnai for looking this over! Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day.

Masterlist ♡ David Corenswet Characters Masterlist

Somewhere in the distance, sirens wail. Metropolis is under attack.

Again.

Outside the small shop where you’re hoping to land a job, a crowd rushes past in a blur of panic. It’s hard to believe that only this morning, your biggest worry was whether you’d make a good impression in the interview. Most of the customers cleared out as soon as the sirens started, but you held onto the hope that the interview would still happen and that you might still walk away hired.

A deep, distant boom rattles the building, sending a fine dusting of plaster drifting from the ceiling like ash. That, apparently, is all the receptionist needs to call it a day. She bolts from her desk, headset still dangling from one ear, and vanishes out the front door without so much as a goodbye. And just like that, you’re alone. Well, almost alone.

There on her desk, still bubbling in oblivious serenity, is a small fishbowl. Inside, one goldfish stares at you with its big eyes, its mouth opening and closing. Behind him, a green plastic plant sways with each subtle vibration as the building trembles.

“She just left you, huh?" you question.

The fish stares.

You glance toward the door, then back at the bowl. “Listen. I have a very strict no-pets policy at my apartment. And I've definitely killed all the herbs I bought from Trader Joe’s. You don’t want to come home with me."

redrebecca

Missed Calls & Make-Ups

Summary: Clark stands you up on your first date. It turns out he has a pretty decent explanation.

A/N: First fic in 3 years!! And about a DC character no less! The things I do for tall brunette men that are kind <3

Warnings: Getting stood up, 24 hour clock mention, cursing, food mention, (extremely minor) injury mention, use of y/n, reader is described as having hair. Girl discovers how to use em dash.

Word Count: 8.2k

Pairing: Clark Kent x fem!reader

The skin of your legs sticks to the pleather upholstery of your chair as you bounce your leg. Face up on the table beside your empty glass, your phone displays the time.

19:37

Your messages and missed calls remain unanswered. He was late. That's what you repeated to yourself, Clark Kent would not have stood you up. Not Clark Kent, who stuttered and stumbled his way through asking you to dinner, a red flush creeping up from his collar. He’d even double and triple checked you were still up for your date as you walked out of the office together on Friday night, a mere 24 hours ago. Clark Kent would not stand you up… so why was he almost an hour late?

If this was any other man, you would have cut your losses after 5 minutes and no text back. But you were so stunned, so ultimately blindsided by the possibility that the Clark Kent could (and has) forgotten about your date. This is what you get for putting him on a pedestal.

Men, you think. Only it comes out more morose than scathing.

spider-mann

made you blush | Clark Kent

it's all just fluffiness

Clark usually blushes too easily for someone who saves the world every day. His ears burn when you compliment him – not just then. Especially when you talk to him, when you pull your chair back only a little to glance at him with a smile when he brings your coffee in the morning.

Jimmy always complains he never gets one. But he’s not Clark’s crush, is he?

And he’s doing it again, right now. His cheeks are tinted in pink as you lean against the edge of your desk, coffee in one hand, a smile tugging at your lips.

“You know” You speak loud enough for only him to hear “I think you organize your ties to match my outfits.”

His eyes go wide behind the glasses. He swears no one can recognize him as Superman.

“What? No, I– uh... it’s just coincidence.”

You raise your brows at him, watching squirm in his seat. The tie is burgundy, only a shade away from your blouse, which can only mean he takes his time at home figuring out what you’re going to wear the next day.

You think it’s overly cute.

And then comes the blush again – slow, spreading from his cheeks to the tips of his ears.

"You look good in red" You add playfully, though your voice is soft.

Clark clears his throat, lowering his head a little as he fiddles with a folder in his hands “Well, you… you always look nice.”

Nice.

You almost laugh.

You know that he can break sound barriers and lift steel like it’s made of feathers. But across the office, surrounded by keyboards and unstoppable murmurs, he stumbles over compliments like a teenager with a crush. Oh, he totally feels like a teenager.

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