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[nathaslosthershit]

~ Natalia’s Bookshop ~

~ 𝐀𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐞 ~

Side blog for other writing - @liahaslosthermind

~ 𝐈𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 ~ (Masterlist)

Everything you can read right now!

~ 𝐒𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐈𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 ~

My bookish writing!

~ 𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐟𝐨 ~

Dont see what you are looking for? Request it! Here is a list of rules for what to request

~ 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐩 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 ~ (Coming soon)

Check out all past and current events. Mark your calendars for new ones coming up!

[nathaslosthershit]

Hi folks,

Long time no see! Not sure how many of you (if any) are still here. With my junior year of college finally over, I am finding more and more of a desire to write come back. I have a few half written things I hope to get out soon (thank you to the Blind Items!Kimi anon cause I have been thinking more and more about the series since and want to pick it back up, starting with your ask)

I promise nothing because I too often go back on my promises to create an upload schedule as hard as I try (adhd is a killer yall) but I just wanted to update anyone who is still here!

All the love,

Natalia 🫶

[codeblue2]

[pucksandpower]

MINNEAPOLIS IS A WAR ZONE RIGHT NOW. WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT SURVIVAL.

I sat down a few days ago to write a standard “Know Your Rights” post for everyone on the ground in the Twin Cities. I wanted to tell you about the Fourth Amendment. I wanted to tell you that they need a signed judicial warrant to enter your home. I wanted to give you the script to say “I do not consent to this search.”

But I realized I would be lying to you if I said that mattered right now.

The reality on the streets of Minneapolis is that ICE is operating as a lawless, paramilitary force. They are pulling people out of cars without cause. They are snatching people off the street. We have seen them murder innocents like Renee Nicole Good and Alex Pretti, and face zero consequences. When federal agents are tearing gas peaceful protestors and ignoring court orders, “legal rights” feel like a fairy tale.

You cannot recite the Constitution to a jackboot on your neck and expect it to save you.

So, screw the “legal” advice. If you are in Minnesota, or if you are anywhere in this country watching this nightmare expand, here is the SURVIVAL advice.

IF YOU ARE IN A VIOLENT ZONE / PROTEST:

Do not engage alone. ICE relies on isolation. If you see them grabbing someone, do not physically intervene unless you have the numbers to de-arrest safely (and know what you are doing), but do not let them operate in the dark. Film everything. Stream it. Scream. Make sure they know the world is watching.

Biometrics are dangerous. Turn off FaceID/TouchID on your phone. If you are detained, they will try to force your phone open. Set a long, alphanumeric passcode.

If you are near the protests, wear nondescript clothing. Cover identifiable tattoos. Carry saline for tear gas. Write a lawyer’s number on your arm in permanent marker.

FOR EVERYONE (CITIZEN OR NOT) DEALING WITH ICE:

If they knock, DO NOT OPEN THE DOOR. It doesn’t matter what they say. It doesn’t matter if they say they just “want to talk” or “check your papers.” Unless they batter that door down (which is rare but happening), you keep that physical barrier between you and them. Talk through the door. Slide nothing under it.

Scrub your social media if you are undocumented or organizing. Use Signal with disappearing messages. ICE is using data dragging and AI surveillance, don’t make their job easier by posting your location in real-time.

Know your neighbors. Who is vulnerable? Who has a safe basement?

Minneapolis, we are with you. We see you. We are screaming with you. The law has left the building, so we have to protect each other.

Stay safe. Stay together. Don’t let them take anyone else.

[nathaslosthershit]

Protect yourself, protect your neighbors.

[nathaslosthershit]

So happy for my Steelers but why tf do they always have to make me SWEAT? Like can we please just win a game easily

[lesbianjaxsondart]

how is this the same woman btw

[nathaslosthershit]

The wonders that New York can do to a Utah boy

[unwastelandunbaby]

thinking david corenswet is hot is the most embarrassing reputation ruining annoying thing I could have done tbh like ohhh my god really? tall big muscles dark hair and blue eyes kind man is hot? god fucking really. are you fucking stupid I hate myself. oh you think superman is hot? fucking superman? groundbreaking type shit going on here oh my god he’s tall should we tell everyone he’s tall and his jaw is nice wow she thinks the attractive man is attractive. you and everyone else. is pizza your favorite food too. fuck you. everyone look at her she thinks SUPERMAN is hot boundaries are really being pushed over here should we get her a medal because she thinks Mr Smile is easy on the eyes. “hear me out” and it’s a fucking marching band. should we call people magazine. vanilla. I DISGUST myself. summer blockbuster. I should be killed

[calamitous-luv]

aftermath

Pairing: dcu!superman x fem!reader Tags: 18+ MDNI, Superman (2025) SPOILERS, takes place right after the movie, fluff, angst, mutual pining, slow burn, acquaitance to friends to lovers, FUCK IT WE YEARN, canon typical violence, mention of a joint, fade to black smut, nudity, non-explicit description of animal cruelty, reader's nickname is Zen, reader wears skirts, reader has a shitty dad (haz classic) Summary: coming back from a grueling jury duty, you find that your apartment was destroyed by the dimensional rift. you have no other choice than to move back in with the love of your life/best friend, Clark Kent. Only, he doesn't know you're in love with him. Word count: 10.5k

Dr. Zen

11.28am

[Picture sent]

Smallville

What the fuck

I came back from jury duty to find Superman busted my building's electrical wiring AND plumbing? 

11.30am

[Picture sent]

Was there a dimensional rift here??? 

Smallville

11.31am

Yes

Sue LutherCorp

11.32am

Sorry

I will come by tomorrow to help you pack

Where are you staying tonight?

 

Dr. Zen

11.36am

Marriott

Smallville

11.37am

Okay 👌

11.40am

Can Lois have an exclusive interview about the case if she comes and helps? 

Dr. Zen

11.40am

Yes

11.42am

No Jimmy unless he brings his car.

And donuts. 

Your things are mostly packed away neatly in boxes, thanks to Clark running the team like the Navy. Dishes, fine china, an alarming number of boots, dresses, and leather jackets. Unfortunately, your comfy yellow couch didn't make it out of Metropolis’ latest catastrophe. 

You mourn the loss of half of your books and vinyl collection. They're probably deep in the proton river. Damn you Lex Luthor. 

Lois is still sorting through your closet. Clark is packing away the remainder of your trinkets. Jimmy has assigned himself to your snack cabinets. 

“—He was about to get off because of a technicality. Illegally obtained evidence,” You explain, taping shut yet another box. You raise your voice a little, “So you flew with Mr. Terrific? In his… flying saucer? To save Superman from a pocket dimension prison?”

Clark lets out a soft chuckle at the memory. Clearly, the event did not leave any traumatic marks in his brain at all. 

“Yes!” Lois yells from your closet. “Is this Chanel dress Cat's? It says ‘Cat’ on the hanger.”

“Actually yeah, I've been meaning to get that to her,” You say. “Can you—”

“I'll take it!” Jimmy abandons the box of candies he's been filling up on your kitchen counter, and makes a beeline for Lois. 

Clark walks over with the last box of your trinkets. “You know the Infinite Monkey Theorem? That a monkey, given a typewriter and an infinite amount of time will probably write the complete works of Shakespeare?”

You raise an eyebrow. “I'm familiar, yes.”

“Imagine that, but with an infinite typewriter and infinite monkeys,” He says. “That's Lex's Superman hate bots.”

“They came up with hashtag supersh—”

“Zen,” Clark interrupts with a sigh. 

“Supersh—”

“You don't have to say it.”

“Hashtag supershit?” you say quickly, before he can interrupt again. Clark groans, but the twitch of his lips betrays him. “Lex Luthor, a genius billionaire with an army of engineers at his disposal, decided to mind control a bunch of monkeys as bots instead of… I don't know, program a couple lines of code for it?”

He nods. “Yep.”

“Seems highly inefficient,” You comment. “Though it irritates you to no end, so I guess it is efficient.”

Clark scrunches his face in protest. “Shut up.”

“Okay, this is the last one,” Lois carries the last box of your clothes, stacking them on top of the others. Jimmy is holding a Chanel shopping bag with a donut on the other hand. “What was it that convinced you he was guilty?”

“The way he talked about the victims, the women. Like he's doing God's work by killing them. The smile on his face every time the prosecutor put their pictures on the screen,” You explain. “Doesn't Mr. Terrific look super hot during battle?”

Clark sighs, again. “Zen.”

You ignore him, wiggling your eyebrows at Lois. She grins, “Smoking.”

As the four of you carry the boxes, some going into your neighbor’s stolen Costco cart and some carried by Clark, Jimmy fiddles with his camera. 

“So Zen,” He says, nudging your elbow with his. “Can I also get a quote from a disgruntled citizen regarding the aftermath of the dimensional rift incident?”

Clark furrows his eyebrows. “Come on, man.”

“What?” The photojournalist exclaims. “It might pressure insurance companies to cover Superman-related damage.”

You grin. “Gladly.”

Clark bumps his forehead on the back of your head in response.  

Jimmy and Lois leave after an early dinner. It's just you and Clark, in this apartment, reminiscent of your grad student days at Metropolis University. The only lights come from the city below, and from the kitchen. 

You hand Clark his hot chocolate and take your seat next to him. 

You can't lie—you miss this. The moments when time slows down, only you and Clark, in this living room, before you both have to grow up and get actual jobs. Back then, you'd have a joint and Clark would happily snack on some waffles at one in the morning. 

His face is illuminated by the city lights. Orange and blue, making the nuclear fusion in his irises dance. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” You ask, folding your legs in. “I mean, it's a pretty Earth-shattering discovery—about your parents’ message. Amongst other things?”

Clark chuckles. “Amongst other things?”

“Krypto got kidnapped, you watched an innocent man get killed in front of you, you almost died, you had to fight your own doppelganger—should I go on?”

Clark shakes his head. “Okay that's—”

“Some people would call these traumatic events, Hannah Montana.”

His hand touches yours on the space between your bodies, fingers coiling around your palm. You grip them back just as tight. 

“Remember that spring break, when I took you to the farm?” He asks. “You told me about your parents. You told me that you're jealous of me because I was living proof that it doesn't need violence to be strong.”

You nod. 

“You didn't mean that because I'm from Krypton. You remember what you said?”

You throw your head over the back of the sofa. “Because it takes strength to be kind, and you're the kindest person I know.”

“Yeah,” He smiles, all teeth and dimples. “My parents–my birth parents–I didn't become Superman for them. Remember that other thing you said about your dad?”

You tilt your head to recall it. 

“Just because he sent me money doesn't mean he can tell me what to do. What am I, his prostitute?”

Clark laughs. “No, the other thing.”

“The only reason I will follow his footsteps is to track him down to drag him to hell myself?”

“Golly, I should be more specific,” He says with a smile, dimples and all. “About who you are. And you said this, not tweeted.”

“Oh!” You sit up straighter. “I am what I am in spite of him.”

“That one.”

“I said that because you thought he sent me to kill you!”

Clark throws his head back in laughter. “I don't know what you're talking about. I never doubted you for a second!”

With your free hand, you pick up a decorative pillow and swing it to his face. He barely flinches. Then, you bring your intertwined hands and press a kiss to the back of his. 

“I'm glad you survived, Huckleberry,” You grin. “Which, I should probably thank Lois and Mr. T more for that. Do you think he'll like cookies or a flower arrangement more?”

Clark groans, pulling his hand out from yours. “No–”

“'M serious, star boy,” You say, reaching for your phone to place an online order from your favorite florist. “What kind of flowers say, thank you for saving the world and my best friend?”

“No. No. No–” Your phone is snatched from your hand. “It's his literal job, okay? And he's a multi-millionaire. I'm doing this for free! You should get me something!”

“Did you at least manage to snag a sample of the Kaiju that Luthor released?”

He looks at you incredulously. “No?”

You smirk. “I bet Michael did.”

“Oh, he's Michael now? Okay, that's it. I'm not making you coffee tomorrow,” Clark teases, walking towards the kitchen with the glasses. 

“What?” You whine, chasing him. “No, babe, I'm sorry. You make the best coffee! Clark—”

This apartment was yours first. 

Like, come on. Floor-to-ceiling windows on the 25th floor of one of the tallest apartment buildings in Metropolis? Walking distance to the subway and yet still a good distance away from the city that you don't hear the hustling and bustling after 10pm? Granite counter tops and marble floor?

On a journalist salary? Please. 

You met Clark during a science communications class, an elective for him, and for funsies for you. You were breezing through your doctorate, and he was completing his degree in robotics engineering. 

“Can you help me open this up?” You asked the guy sitting next to you, who was half asleep on his laptop. 

Swirling bright blue eyes blinked up at you, as if he was surprised you were talking to him. 

You raised an eyebrow, awaiting his response. 

“Right, yeah,” He took the water bottle from you and twisted open the cap with ease. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.”

After that, Clark became a sort of ally in that monster of a class. Seventy students from other majors, eager undergrads, with an annoying TA, and you've got a 6’4” pure muscle to power through them. You knew small things about him, like, how he grew up on a farm in Kansas, how he wants to be a journalist to do good—and then, how his roommate was kicking him out so the girlfriend can move in. 

“Maybe I should look through Craigslist,” He murmured once, scrolling through apartment listings near campus. “These prices are insane.”

“Craigslist is how people get trafficked, Ranger Rick.”

“I'm desperate,” he groaned. “I need to move out by this weekend.”

You had looked at him, then, hunched posture and all. A baseball cap put on backwards, flannel softer than clouds, blue eyes desperately scanning the words on his screen. 

“Do you cook, Kent?” You asked. 

“Yes. Amazingly.”

You smiled. “Amazing.”

It was a no brainer for you, really to offer him your space. You did have quite the bleeding heart for your friends. Besides, the place is in your name. And if it pissed off your parents? Well that's just a reward for being a generous person. 

“I figured Neuroscience is a lucrative field,” Clark whistled. “But I didn't think grad students are paid this well.”

“We're not,” You told him. “This is a bribery gift from my dad.”

Clark whistled. “Golly.”

On Monday, your interview with Lois Lane made the front page. Every news outlet has covered the trial of the Green Creek Killer, but Lois managed to come up with a fresh angle, sharp, smart, and most importantly, not dehumanizing. 

You stare at the scans of the Kaiju that Michael sent you over the weekend, then replayed the battle to create a model, trusting his algorithm to do the process before you recheck it yourself. 

A serial killer seems menial amongst Superman's adventures. 

It makes you feel left out, sometimes, as you are not in on the whole superhero thing. You don't know what it's like, walking into battle, having accelerated healing, or flying. You do know the secret identity of two superheroes, that's got to count, right? 

Your computer beeps. You scan the results before sending Michael a message. 

You

11.24 am

Not enough brain activity to indicate a more intelligent life form. Nothing to indicate hunger, just breathing. Air and fire. 

Rapid cell growth is catalyzed by the sun. 

That is closer to a lizard or a plant depends on how you look at it. 

Michael Holt

11.24am

So what is it? 

You

11.25am

My best guess? Lex's own lab experiment.

Contains DNA sequences of similar species from at least 3 different planets. 

Michael Holt

11.25am

11.26am

Great. Just great.

You

Or you could say it's… Terrific?

Michael Holt

11.28am

You're lucky you own half your lab. 

11.29am

Meet me at the loading dock.

Fifty thousand monkeys are in the loading dock. Holt Industries employees are cataloging crates, feeding yelling monkeys, and cleaning monkeys dropping off the floor. 

Okay, maybe not fifty thousand monkeys. Maybe only a hundred or so, but it’s a hundred more than you’d like in your lab.

“Michael,” You drawl to the man standing tall, supervising, out of his Mr. Terrific disguise. “Why are there monkeys in my lab?”

“These aren’t all for you,” he says, arms crossed, tone flat like always. “I’ll give you a group to study, see if Luthor’s treatment towards them has any impact on their brain activity. The rest will be studied for other fields that we accommodate here.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And the goal? For funsies?”

“For science,” he corrects. “And rehabilitation.”

“Rehabilitation?” You repeat. “Superman is rubbing off on you.”

His eyes fall to you. “Quit messin' around. Go back to work.”

You give him a mock salute. “Sir, yes, sir!”

Surprisingly, even with (probably) brain-damaged surprise monkeys, you still get home before Clark. The apartment is empty and dark, with a window open for his coming and going. You decide to wash off the monkey aura that seems to cling to your clothes.

Clark, or, in this case, Superman, comes back through the open window to you leaning over the kitchen counter, scrolling on your phone, clad only in your bathrobe. He almost falls over with the way his knees give out from underneath him at the sight. 

“‘Sup Supes,” you greet without looking up from the tiny screen. “French toast?”

His heart stutters. Gone is the Superman persona. “Yeah—yeah, let me just—”

Clark should be over this. Over you. 

Over the feelings of content domesticity that blooms in his chest every time he gets to come home to you. Over the feelings of awe and pride at your brilliance. Over the feelings of like he's the only person in the world when you're nice to him. 

When you smile at him, when you care about him. 

Gosh. A cold shower doesn't help him much. 

You're clothed when he comes out, thankfully. Still leaning on the counter, this time stabbing and munching your piece of French toast like it owes you money. Two pieces are sizzling on the pan. The smell of burnt sugar and cinnamon fills the room. 

“Work was that bad?” He asks, when he notices the chamomile as your chosen beverage. Clark leans next to you, still keeping a safe length apart. For his sake. 

You turn off the stove, then plate stack the rest of the French toast on top of the rest of the pile. Clark helps himself to three pieces, and you drizzle some maple syrup on top. 

“Call me Elphaba the way I've got an army of monkeys in my lab,” You say, shoveling another piece to your mouth. Clark moves to the dining table. You follow begrudgingly. 

“Why monkeys?”

“Your Shakespeare monkeys,” You clarify. “We're trying to figure out what's up with them before we can decide if they can be rehabilitated.”

Clark pauses mid-chew. He decides to take another second to finish chewing, swallows, then pops another piece in his mouth. His voice is clear when he finally says, “And if they can't?”

There's something about that tone. That judgemental Clark Kent tone reserved for people and things and opinions he may slightly disapprove or disagree with. That subtle questioning a seasoned journalist is trained to do. 

Unfortunately for him, you are fluent in Clark Kent. “That's above my paygrade, Clark. This whole thing is outside of my specialty, you know that?”

Your specialty being aliens. Monkeys aren't exactly from outer space. 

“I'm just saying—you're doing animal studies. Like they are lab rats.”

“They are test subjects.”

Clark puts his fork down and turns to you. Blue eyes staring straight down to your soul. “They are living beings.”

“Yes, and we are trying to rehabilitate them or did you miss that part?” You say, because Clark doesn't have a monopoly over being mean during a fight. “All I'm trying to find is if Luthor's mind control has any lasting effects on their brain activity. That's it. I'm taking it one step at a time.”

You take your empty plate away and put it in the dishwasher. 

When your eyes find Clark again, there's an apology written all over his face. 

“If we release these monkeys into the wild, it is going to be an ecological disaster. Here in Metropolis, they have started to become an invasive species—please don't start on the phrasing. It's scientific, not stigmatizing.”

“Okay,” He says.

“Okay,” You echo. 

Clark calls you Zen because of a group project. 

It was you and two other people. Both equally as stupid as they were lazy, with you carrying the whole thing. Clark, leaving his own group, found you in the corner of the class, sitting crisscrossed on an empty desk with your eyes closed. 

You looked at peace, if not for a second. He thought you looked pretty, too. 

“What are you doing?” He asked, sitting on the floor. He was so tall still that his shoulder brushed with your knee. 

“Finding my zen,” You said, eyes still closed. “I'm trying to think about something nice and peaceful, but it's hard with those bumbling idiots fucking everything up.”

A pause, as Clark debated on if he really was going to tell you more about himself. If you would actually care. 

“How do you feel about cows?”

“Cows?” You asked, tilting your head just a touch. 

“Yeah, cows. We have lots of them. Horses, too, for a while, before we downsized,” Clark said. “My Ma and Pa, they have a farm in Smallville, Kansas. I helped out.”

You didn't respond, but Clark could hear your breathing evened out, heartbeat steadying. So he continued. 

“In the morning, just after sunrise, the yellow sunlight hit just right. It gives this glowing golden shine over the grass, and it smells like butter and cinnamon because my Ma would make her pancakes,” He reminisced. “You can hear the trees rustling, the birds singing. And there's this sunflower patch where the flowers are so tall they swallow me whole. I swear you can hear them sing in the wind.”

You bumped your knee to his shoulder, catching his attention. There was a soft smile on your lips, softer than anything Clark had ever felt in his life. 

“Found your zen, yet?” 

And when you nodded, jumping off the desk to join him on the floor, the nickname stuck. You had been calling him a different nickname every time in retaliation. 

“Your hometown sounds nice, Kent,” You said. “You have to take me sometimes.”

“Maybe,” Clark stood up, extending a hand to help you up too. You took it. “Do you practice Buddhist teachings often?”

“I'm a scientist, cowboy,” You told him. “I don't believe in gods. Buddhism is the only one that doesn't have a God. I like how they roll.”

You just finished grabbing coffee with Cat, walking the last stretch of your commute to work when one of Michael's T-Spheres zooms past your head. You stifle a groan, totally not in the mood for yet another alien attack.

Sure enough, your technically-boss is flying up ahead in his flying fucking chair.

You keep walking, because frankly, you just got this dress back from a dry cleaning switcharoo and you don't want it ruined. 

But of course, living in Metropolis does not give you that luxury. Not a minute later, as you're waiting to cross an intersection, you are hit with a sticky goo that smells weirdly like blueberries and frangipani in a ditch. 

You open your eyes to find Superman flying nearby with a grimace on his face. 

“Come on, Supes!” You groan. “This is vintage Vivienne Westwood!”

“I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'll be back, promise!” And he flows off. 

“Yeah I'll cover for him at work,” You jump at the voice, too distracted by your own annoyance to notice Lois standing there, a microphone in hand to cover the attack. “You want some tissues?”

You shake your head. “No, I can change at work. Thanks though. See you around, Lane!”

Clark visits you at your lab. You received an email to confirm clearance for him fifteen minutes ago. He had to come in as Clark because at least he's sensible enough to decontaminate his suit from alien goo. 

He looks devastatingly handsome like that. He has always looked devastatingly handsome to you, but especially then, when the blue lighting from the decontamination chamber highlights his eyes and his lips. His stray curl sits perfectly on  top of his head. 

Fuck him for looking that good after he forced you to work in this Holt Industries-assigned jumpsuits.

You hand him a pair of goggles, so he can see what you see on the hologram screen. 

“What are you looking at?” He asks, putting the goggles on. 

“Preliminary scans from the monkeys,” You answer, tapping your fingers on the tablet. 

Clark shakes his head, in awe. “Wow, this is—.”

A chuckle escapes from your lips. You can't help it. As brilliant as his super-intelligence is, Clark makes it look oh-so-adorable. He smiles as if he had won something. 

“Okay, you see this scan? That's control. Same species of monkeys, but had a normal monkey life,” You point. “That's the Shakespeare monkey's.”

“They're way different," he points. “Why? I’d expect the Shakespeare monkeys to have more brain activity than a normal monkey, but this doesn't seem like their prefrontal cortex is more developed.”

“Because their brain was stimulated so much that idle state activated their pain receptors,” You slide your finger down, pointing to a model of a monkey brain with markers. “Impulse control and emotional regulation function are fucked, basically.”

“What the hay,” Clark marvels. 

“They also lived in conditions with lack of sunshine, natural prey, and natural predators,” You continue. 

Clark turns to you, mouth agape in surprise and confusion. “What does this mean?”

You pull up another scan. This time an MRI. “See that grey square at the frontal lobe? That's a device Luthor installed. These monkeys aren't thinking for themselves, Cronkite. They were trained with a dataset, controlled by an algorithm.”

“Like a living, breathing LLM, ” He breathes out. “So can they be rehabilitated? Back to normal monkey ways?”

You take off your goggles, welcoming the pristine conditions of your workspace as a break from the onslaught of information. Clark follows suit. 

“I'm not gonna lie to you, Steve Irwin,” Clark doesn't like your resigned sigh. “It's going to be real fucking hard and expensive. I don't know if anyone's going to want to bleed money for this.”

Clark clenches his jaw, eyes downcast on the shining floor. Clean as a whistle. 

“I'll tell you this, though, off the record,” You continue. “Mr. T has the idea to wipe their previous program and give them a new dataset: monkey behavior. We're consulting with zoologists and botanists and environmentalists and all the ists there could possibly be.”

His voice is small when he speaks. “What if that's not enough?”

“This monkey wrote hundreds of hashtag supershit tweets,” You try to joke, make it a little lighter, but it doesn't land. 

Clark only shakes his head. “Doesn't matter.”

You understand. Of course, you do. He's the epitome of the best humanity can be. Of all the good in the world. Of course he can't let a bunch of monkeys die just because they were mind controlled. 

“Look,” You take a deep breath. “You clear out the immediate danger, save some lives, but there are people who have to deal with the aftermath. Our infrastructure isn't exactly built with alien attacks and crazy billionaires in mind.”

Lois wrote about the people of Boravia who called for justice after the death of their president in the hands of Hawkgirl, about the people of Jarhanpur who had to rebuild. Perry published a community op-ed about the DoD losing control and power. 

And Superman will face that danger when he has to, but he gets to go to his fortress and go back to being Clark Kent afterwards. 

“I'm sorry,” You say when he doesn't respond. You type your code to the tab, and a box comes down the chute you usually use to transport samples and small equipment. “I have something for you.”

Clark takes his seat across from you, still contemplating, still reeling, but now curious. 

You slide the box closer to him and he opens it without hesitation. 

It's an earpiece, sticks to the skin like it's a magnet. Clark can tell it is not. It's small enough to not be noticeable. 

“We don't want to repeat the whole school fiasco and I know how hard it is to think quickly on the ground, mid-fight, considering all variables,” You start. “This connects you to dispatch so they can inform you where the evacuation points and triage centers are. To minimize victims and property damage.”

“And you?” He asks, pointing to your smart watch. “Does it connect to you?”

“Just alerts,” You answer. “Why?”

Clark clears his throat. “Can you—can you connect this to you so I know you're safe?”

You smile. “More than that, ET. I'll tell you where to go so you don't kill me.”

His grin is blinding again. Bright, bright, bright. “Wouldn't want that.”

There was a 6-foot-4-inch-head-full-of-curls reason why you had to move out. 

It was the way he speaks, so gently that it strains your ears to try and hear him. It was the way he touches, soft and sure and it will send you into cardiac arrest. It was the way he smiles, the way he knows you inside and out, the way he's good and you are not so good. 

It was to protect yourself. 

You have seen the dates he went out with. Hell, one of them was a colleague from work. She had come to you, two weeks in, saying he's the best man she's ever going to find. Only for him to end it. 

“I can't even be mad at him,” She told you over lunch once. “He was so sweet. And he's right, of course. We didn't really click. But God, it was devastating to lose him, even after only a couple of weeks.”

You have seen the devastation. She cashed in the entirety of her annual leave when it happened. 

You couldn't afford that. If her two-weeks-of-dating resulted in that much chaos in her life, what is it going to do to your months (years) of repressed feelings? You would inevitably fuck it all up, like you did a lot of things, then you'd lose him completely as a bitter ex. 

Clark didn't understand it at first. He said, if anyone's moving out it should be him. You didn't care. You told him the apartment feels like a chain by your father and him being there made you feel better. 

He didn't argue much after that. You could still see his sadness leaking out of his skin. 

It was a challenge, navigating between both your schedules to have weekend brunch together. Between your fellowship at STAR Labs over at Central City and his freelancing between publications, every meeting felt precious. 

You missed him, but you also felt like you were breathing again. 

An article written by Lois Lane changed everything. 

An op-ed about Lex Luthor being in cahoots with the government at the front page of the Daily Planet. How his arsenal of weapons is being paid off by the American tax payers through DoD purchases and tax breaks. It sat on the restaurant table with Clark glancing at it a few times. 

“Sometimes, it feels like there's no hope, you know,” You wiped your mouth with a napkin, nodding towards the paper.

“Why not?” He asked. 

“What can we do, Gandhi, against guns and money?” You chuckled humorlessly. “If I have a fraction of the power those metahumans at LordTech have, I know who I'm going after.”

“Zen, that is called assassinations.”

You shrugged. “People will die either way.”

“At least you know they're not doing any harm,” Clark defended. “They're funded by LordTech to protect and serve.”

“Sounds very cop-y to me. You know, that's the police's motto,” You snort. “They are good until Maxwell Lord decides they are evil. What we need is someone with a moral compass. That'd be the day.”

The next weekend, Clark took you back to Smallville. It was Christmas, and Clark had taken you there almost every year since you've known him. So you could feel what it was like to have a family that loved you, he said. Ouch, Clark, you said to him. But the sentiment was appreciated nonetheless. 

You didn't expect him to show you his powers, though. You didn't expect to receive a crash course of his birth planet and the multiple accounts of federal crime Martha and Jo committed just to adopt him. 

“All this time, you could've turned off the smoke alarm in three seconds but you decided not to?” You said when he took flight. 

“Why the fuck are we wasting money on a microwave?” You exclaimed during his showcase of heat vision. 

“You let me suffer during that heatwave last year?” You threw your arms out in frustration as he blew freezing air out of his lungs. 

“I fucking hate you, Kent,” You said, holding on to him for dear life as he suspended you both above the clouds. You could see the stars, constellations shining brighter than they ever were from the ground. 

“I know,” He laughed, the stars twinkling in his eyes. “I have been thinking about what you said. I've been trying to find who I am. And my parents—my biological parents—sent me to protect humanity, lead them to be better.”

A God amongst men, as the media would call him later. But you knew then while he was different, he was still Clark Kent from your science communications class who could reel your anger in just by talking. 

Clark Kent who had never said a swear word in his life. 

Clark Kent, who's gentle and kind and gets flustered when you compliment him. 

You didn't believe in God, but you'd worship him anyway. 

You smiled at him. “Clark Kent, you are goodness personified. If anyone can make humans more human, it's you. Which is ironic since, y’know, you're an alien.”

He beamed at you, all shining and bright, bright, bright. “I wish I could show you my fortress.”

“You have a what—?”

The next morning, after he finished his farm chores, Clark took you to a lake nearby, probably the one thing that kept his already spread out neighbors from hearing him take off and fly. 

It felt serene, with Martha's homemade lemonade and Clark's signature homemade sourdough sandwiches between you on that boardwalk. Your feet were crossed underneath you, Clark's flannel tied around your shoulders. 

“Why did you choose to tell me?” You asked him, moving your gaze from the glimmering water to your best friend. 

Clark's arms hugged his raised knees loosely, half a sandwich in his hands. “I want you to know.”

“Yeah, but—why?” You pressed, confused. “Not that I don't appreciate it, but we don't live together anymore. It'll be easier for you to keep it a secret, the less who knows the safer it is, right? You'll get nemesis and stuff.”

His grin is infectious. “You're gonna sell me out?”

“I mean, when you found out who my dad was, you asked if he sent me to kill you,” You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Now I know it's not just for writing shit about LuthorCorp.”

“Because I want you to know,” he repeated, feet nudging your knee. “Because you know me better than anyone. Because you looked out for me all these years and I want you to know I can look out for you, too.”

A breeze brushed his curls, enhancing his softness. His eyes were locked on yours, begging you to understand what he was saying. You did, but you wouldn’t let yourself bask in the sureness of his feelings. If he was going around to play hero, you wouldn’t be the only person he was looking out for. 

You had to share him with the world, and you weren’t sure if you were prepared for that. 

You shifted your gaze back to the lights on water, “Are you sure it’s not because of my brilliance? You need help in programming your robots, don’t you?”

Clark laughs, “Yes, amongst other things.”

Something is wrong. Something is deeply, deeply wrong and you feel it in your bones when you wake up that morning. 

Clark has already left, meaning you have to deal with the chills alone. The horizon of Metropolis skyline seems to be mocking you as you get ready for the day.

It's stupid, to worry this much. If something is wrong you know Clark will come to your rescue. But you still can't shake the feeling of being watched. 

You put on your earpiece to reassure yourself that Clark is at the end of it. 

Michael Holt

9.47am

Bio's cohort. Chips unresponsive. 

Your status? 

You

9.48am

Normal. 

Any reason? 

Michael Holt

9.48am

Breach attempt at 0900 hours. Immediately contained and traced. 

9.49am

Check your email??? Damn. 

You

9.50am

And? Source? 

Michael Holt

9.50am

You're not going to like this. 

There were three main reasons why Michael Holt, a.k.a Mr. Terrific, hunted you down at STAR Labs to come work under him. 

One, because you are brilliant. Two, because Clark has declined to join the Justice Gang (Pending Trademark) and he needed something to keep him somewhat contained, and three, because of who your father is. 

There are three reasons why you said yes. One, because you are brilliant. Two, because he gave you free reign over your research. And three, because you want to keep an eye on Clark as best as you can. 

And here you are. 

Your monkeys, your circus, and unfortunately, you are the clown. 

“Superman, which quadrant are you handling right now?” You ask through the earpiece. 

“West of LuthorCorp,” He answers back. “Zen, this is your dad's doing?”

“Unfortunately,” You sigh. “Terrific, any updates on the chip?”

“It's hard to scan when they're covered by fur, skin, bone, skull, brain matter, and constanty—omph—moving! No, that's really expensive! First the dog and now a monkey?”

You look around your lab, where every one of your colleagues have evacuated. It's eerily empty, unlike the usual bustling and hustling of overachieving scientists, save for the beeping of some robot assistants.

The moment you open what the bio engineering people call the Sanctuary, the silence is cut with the screeching of at least two dozen monkeys.

“Supes, I need your help,” You call. “The facility is on lockdown so you have to—”

A loud boom startles you. Clark dust off the concrete particles from his shoulders as he approaches you from the Superman-sized hole in the wall. 

“Did you break a wall in my lab?” Mr. Terrific’s voice complains in your ear. 

He shrugs, “Technically, it’s Zen’s lab.”

“Cut it from my paycheck!” You tell him, before turning to Clark. “I need you to grab me one of those.”

Clark raises an eyebrow. “One of the monkeys?”

“Yes.”

“You want me to go grab you a monkey?”

“Yes, Superman, I'd like you to grab me a monkey, please.”

Clark waits for you to input the access code to open the giant terrarium. The door hisses open, and he grabs the first monkey that jumps out gently. 

This is why you ask for him and not Guy. 

The monkey fights him, but Clark barely flinches. You lead him to an empty slab, a mask in hand ready for anesthesia. 

“What are we doing?” Clark asks, wary that you might hurt the monkey. 

“We're taking out his chip,” You explain. “A simple procedure like a brain biopsy.”

Clark hums. “I don't know if I like ‘simple procedure’ and ‘brain biopsy’ in the same sentence.”

A new voice crackles in your ear. It's Hawkgirl. “Since when are you an expert in neurosurgery?”

“Zen did her residency for two years before deciding dealing with patients is not her specialty,” Clark answers with ease. He positions the now unconscious monkey on the slab. 

You power up the machine the bioengineering team designed specifically for extracting tissue samples from odd aliens. This time, it's just an odd monkey. Your hands grip the handles that control the delicate robotic hands. 

“It's not there! Fuck!” You swear. “The chip is in a different place than I anticipated. I need you to guide me.”

Clark moves behind you, chest pressing against your back as he places his hands on top of yours on the handles. He stands towering the machine, so his x-ray vision isn't obstructed. 

You can feel the material of his suit against your lab coat. You feel his annoyingly soft hands against yours. You feel his breath against your neck as he positions himself to your level. 

Fuck. You know he can feel your heart beat going a mile a minute. You wish he'd chalk it up to adrenaline. 

You try to not let his closeness distract you. Pretty easy when you hear explosions outside. 

His hands are gentle when he moves. 

“This is very unnerving,” He whispers in your ear. You shiver despite trying not to. “How are you so calm right now?”

“Would you like me to freak out, Supes?” 

“Okay, there we are,” He says. “Right there. About half an inch deep.”

You put in the order for an extraction, the small metal chip makes a soft clink as it falls into a petri dish. You put in another order for a close up on the machine. 

A T-sphere flies past you, open and ready to receive the chip so Mr. Terrific can reprogram it. 

“If you two are done cuddling, I'd take that chip, thank you very much,” His voice is modulated. “And Superman, we need you out there.”

The T-sphere flies away, leaving you with Clark. 

You gently move the sleeping monkey into your arms, its head spotless like nothing ever happened. There's a quarantine pod at the other end of the lab, so you set the monkey down with a blanket on one of the moving robotic cart before putting in the instructions. 

“I have to round up some monkeys now,” Clark says, eyes blue and bright and desperate despite his teasing tone. He pauses then, hesitates, before saying, “Zen, you are the kindest person I know. I think it's important for you to know that.”

You swallow, unsure on what to say. You know what it means, coming from him, you just don't know if you are ready to unpack that yet. 

Out of all the adventures you and Clark have gone through together, this is the first time you have actually teamed up with him. 

This is what you wanted. Excitement, middle of the action. 

“Superman—” You start to say. What are you going to say? Be safe? He's Superman. That you love him? He's Clark. “I'll see you soon.”

Clark smiles like he knows something you don't, and then he flies away. 

The minute you step outside after ensuring the monkey is safely sleeping in a quarantine pod, chaos greets you. You can see Mr. T hovering above the street, dodging mind controlled monkeys as he tries to rewrite the chip. 

“Okay, we have got to stop these monkeys,” Guy yells out. “They just keep coming!”

“I'm trying to create a hive mind so we don't have to cut them open one by one!” Says Mr. Terrific. 

You look around. Despite the army of monkeys, this is the least weird incident this city has. There is minimal damage, considering the ringer aliens have put downtown Metropolis through. Maybe some broken street lights and windows. You know from your earpiece that assembly points and first responders are untouched. 

“Anybody got an eye on my dad?”

You know, though, as soon as you ask the question, where he is. Only one building with this much computer power to control hundreds of monkeys. 

“Guys, redirect everything to LuthorCorp's building. It is deserted,” You say through the earpiece. 

A crackled reply of Guy's voice, “You're—break—ing up—under—stand—copy.”

Well shit. 

The elevator you take plays a Beethoven tune. It's comical how pristine everything is, despite the dimensional rift that tore through the building a week ago. The lights flicker, but everything else seems to be in order. 

It's not hard to find your dad. The back up command center is indicated in big block writing that can be seen in the arcade style building, on the top floor. 

He's screaming at an engineer who looks like he's had enough verbal abuse for the day. 

“Lex's second rate engineers can control these monkeys with a few lines of codes!” He yells, spraying spit all over the guy. “And you're telling me you can't even bring those monkeys here?”

Ah. That explains why the monkeys, while violent, move in a seemingly random pattern. 

“Look, it's not that simple—someone's tampered with the chips and it's a lot more area to cover compared to the pocket dimension,” The engineer explains. 

“I don't give a shit!” Your dad stomps his foot like a child throwing a tantrum. “Those are my money, my chips, my monkeys. You better get me back my investment—”

Kindest person Clark knows. Here we go. 

“Or what?” You ask, announcing your presence, because you just have to. Tips of multiple guns held by multiple robot mercenaries are on you immediately. “Luthor is in prison, so you can't sue him. Sue the board? You are the board. So what are you trying to accomplish exactly?”

You dad straightens, but toning his suit jacket in an attempt to compose himself. “Is it so wrong to take back what's mine, daughter of mine?”

“Okay seriously, that was so cringe. This is why I never liked Lex,” You grimace. “This is animal cruelty, dude. Worst case scenario, terrorism!”

He scoffs. “Do you know how much money I put in this little project? Lex promised me war, but his obsession with that alien has always been a nuisance.”

You fake a shock. “Wow, really? No!”

“You know, both of you, running around like you know better than everyone else, but at the end of the day, you're both just a disappointment to me,” He muses. “At least he was useful, if not for a second.”

The words sting more than you'd like to admit. Maybe he still has some hold over you after all. All those years doing everything he wants, trying to gain his approval, all for nothing because you were not evil enough for him. 

Enough is enough. 

“If I was ever useful to you, I'd hand Superman a gun to shoot me myself,” You say. 

Before you can say more, a girl stands up from her computer. “Sir, none of the chips are responding now.”

You let out a breath. Slowly, not giving out your win. 

Your dad doesn't react in the way you expected him to. It's not big, explosive emotions. Just a resigned sigh before turning around, stepping into a private elevator. 

“Where the fuck are you going?”

He tilts his head. “To protect more of my investments, of course.”

You notice it a second too late. 

The elevator door closes, the floor number going down, down. The engineers inside the room look at each other, confused on what to do next. Then, one of the robot mercenaries steps up, presses a button on his wrist, and the ticking starts. 

Oh shit. 

You run to the floor to ceiling windows, but your attempt to break it is futile. Bulletproof glass. Obviously. You close your eyes and whisper. 

“Clark?”

“Zen, where are you?” Comes his response. “I've been trying to reach you!”

Signal dampener. Of course. You dad is nothing if not careful. 

“Listen, you're not going to make it in time. Clark, I—” 

“No!” He yells. “No, I'm on my way!”

The beeping is faster. The engineers are scrambling towards the locked emergency exit staircase. A lot of them wait for the next elevator, jumping up and down in panic. Some hide underneath the table like it'll protect them. 

“Clark, I—I need to tell you that—I—” Your voice cracks and you sigh, closing your eyes, bracing for impact. “Fuck it. You know.”

You hear the explosion before you feel anything else. 

The glass breaks first, then silence. The ground shifts beneath you. 

You open your eyes when you don't feel any pain. A red force field is the first thing you notice, protecting you from the blast, before the ground crumbles from your feet and you are free falling. 

Gravity pulls you down by your chest, the opposing force pulls you just as hard by your stomach. You want to throw up. 

The sky is red. And it's loud. So loud. 

A T-Sphere flies close and you can hear Mr. Terrific telling you to grab onto it. It can't make you fly but it will slow you down. 

Your fingers barely graze it. The red dissipates from your vision and you can feel nothing but a strong hold on your body. 

You wrap your arm around his shoulders instinctually. Like the first time he ever took you flying. 

You hold him closer. 

“Clark says you are a genius,” Martha Kent said with a smile on her face. It was the first time you've ever visited Kent's farm. The first Christmas you didn't spend alone. 

You shook your head. “No, I'm—I'm not like, metahuman level or anything.”

“She graduated high school at sixteen, ma!” Clark gushed. “She has an MD and a PhD!”

“Still working on that PhD,” You chuckled. 

“A proper genius, then,” Jo Kent smiled. He turned to Clark. “Would ya help me shovel the barn, son?”

Clark smiled, because of course he did, before following his dad out the door. 

You moved to the sink before Martha could beat you to it. You had already intruded enough, and you wanted to make yourself useful just a little bit. She still insisted on drying the plates with you. 

“You know, Clark talks about you all the time when he calls, said you saved him multiple times,” Martha mused. “I'm surprised ya ain't together.”

You smiled faintly. “It's not like that, with Clark and I.”

“You don't see him that way?” You paused your movement. She noticed. “I apologize if I'm being too forward, honey.”

“No, no, it's okay,” You said with a shake of your head. “Clark is—Clark is like the sun. And I'm—I'm just a moon. Or Icarus. You know? Losing him would—it would devastate me.”

You had known you flew too close for a while. You had known he already burned you alive. 

“Oh, look at ya, you're also a big ol’ softie for him, aren't ya?” her eyes crinkled when she smiled. “Love is always worth it honey, no matter how short it lived.”

You swore Clark's eyes shone brighter when he came back. 

“What do you want for dinner?” You ask the second your feet touch the apartment floor. You shuffle to the kitchen, ignoring the adrenaline in your body and the hammering in your chest. 

“Dinner?” Clark parrots, following you with his boots off. “You're asking me about dinner?”

“Uh, yes?” You say, discarding your dirty lab coat on the floor. Everything feels itchy and suffocating. You open the fridge to check for anything you can make, only to find a pack of Gatorade and some yogurt left. “Do you think the pilaf place is still open?”

“Come on, Zen,” He sighs, frustrated. “Stop, okay? Stop—”

“I'm hungry, aren't you?”

You don't notice how close had gotten, not until he spins you around and closes the fridge door when he does. 

The first thing you see is the way dirt and dust cling to his suit. Then, you notice the scratches on his hands, slowly, going up to his neck, his face. 

“Can you get rabies or is viral infection an exclusively human thing?”

Clark runs one hand through his face, keeping the other next to your shoulder against the fridge. “Zen, please.”

You swallow. “What?”

“You almost died!” He points out. “Some people would call that a traumatic experience.”

Your shoulders shake as you chuckle. “I didn't. Die, I mean. Still traumatic."

“But you could have,” he says, his voice catching. “Do you know how scared I was? I couldn't reach you for eight whole minutes and it feels like the sky just caved in. I tried to pick out your heartbeat but everything was so loud all at once.”

His eyes are shining, from the supernova in his irises and from unshed tears. There is a small pout to his lips, pressed together in frustration. The shake of his body is so small that you almost miss it. 

“My—my dad had a signal jammer with him,” You explain weakly. “Then he rigged one of Luthor's robots into a self-destructing bomb—god, how are—how are the others?”

“The Justice Gang's got them,” he takes a deep breath. “Zen, why would you confront your father alone?”

Why did you? 

“Because I didn't think he'll try to kill me, Clark, obviously.”

Clark moves away, just an inch back to try and control his frustration with you. “But he did, and—and I couldn't get to you in time. You do realize that, yeah? I couldn't get to you in time.”

“Mr. Terrific did.”

“If he had been a split second later—”

“But he hadn't!” 

“I was supposed to protect you!”

“And I was supposed to have your back!” You match his raising voice, but the effort hurts your head instead. You let your body hinge on the fridge door for support. “But I didn't! And you almost died. I guess we are even.”

Clark sighs. “You were quarantined, for jury duty against the most prolific serial killers of our time. I don't hold that against you.”

“Doesn't matter,” You shake your head. “Doesn't matter now.”

He takes a deep breath. “I—I don't know what—I don't know what I would've done if I lost you.”

You take his right hand, balled into fist on his side, and press it to your heart. “Clark, Michael got to me in time. You got to me in time and I'm right—here. Alive.”

His breathing slows down and you watch as he blinks back the tears that threatened to spill out. His fingers curl around yours tighter, still feeling your beating heart. 

Clark lifts them up to his lips, pressing it ever so gently against the back of your hand. Your heart flutters, like the chambers are leaking. His eyes never leave yours once. 

“I didn't know,” He confesses after a beat. 

You know what he is referring to. “How come?”

“I thought—I thought you and Mr. T—Michael are—and, and—you never said anything—” Clark's forehead falls into yours now, your noses brushing as light as feathers. “I—please, Zen.”

You don't know what he's asking for. You say it anyway. 

“If I loved you less, Clark, I would've written sonnets and given you speeches,” You confess, your free hand moving to cup his face. Your thumb smooths out the dirt on his cheekbones. “But it chokes me from the inside out.”

So you let your love for him leak out of every tip  of your fingers, every hellos and goodbyes and be-safes so said to him, every nicknames, every food you cooked, and everything you do. 

He calls your name. Your real name. Not Zen, not doctor. You. Then he takes that leap with your hand in his and sends you both flying when his lips finally meet yours. 

Not flying literally in your cramped kitchen, of course. 

You find that kissing Clark Kent elicit the same sensation as free falling from the LuthorCorp building: your heart lurching as gravity pulls you down. This time though, the gravity pulls you towards him, if that's possible. 

His lips are chapped from the fight, yours are probably too. Your hands trail from his shoulder to his neck, to his hair. Clark lifts you up and sits you on the kitchen counter. 

“I don't want to lose you,” you whisper to his lips. “If we don't work out, when I inevitably fuck it all up—”

“You won't,” he captures your lips again. “I won't let you.”

You push him back just a fraction of an inch. “Promise me.”

“I promise,” He kisses you again, hands on your waist, on your back, he's everywhere. “I'm not letting you go. I'm yours, until the last star burns out, and even then.”

When you first moved back in, you were half surprised that Clark left the place almost exactly as it was. There were some trinkets, a cork board in the middle of the living room, and a pothos plant cascading from the bookshelf. But the rest was the same. 

Especially your room. 

The red nightlight you insist is helpful for your circadian rhythm, the dark blue paint on your walls littered with hand painted golden stars, and the trinkets lining your dresser, your vanity. 

Clark kept it like a tomb. Like a shrine. Like he knows someday you'll be back. And you did. Everything is the same except that you woke up next to him, drowning in the lazy haze of this love. 

You watch a reluctant Clark get ready for work, spending more time staring at your sheet-covered body instead of actually putting on clothes.

You stand on your knees on the bed, hands roaming his chest, his Kryptonian-toned stomach, before settling on his shoulders. You keep your face inches from his. 

Clark's hands held you by your waist, tracing down to your ass, your thighs, anywhere he can reach. 

“Don't you have work to go to, Newsies?” You tease. 

“Don't you?” He says, voice deep and rough like he's restraining himself. His lips chase yours, but you don't let him have it. 

“Mandatory week off, because y'know, I almost died.”

Clark groans, in pain. “Please don't remind me.”

Your fingers run through his curls, messing his already-messy bed head. Clark's forehead falls into yours, taking a deep breath to ingrain your scent to his brain for the whole day. 

“I thought you wanted to drop by the Fortress to fix your suit, hm?” you remind him. “Just because you made the front page three times in a row, doesn't mean Perry will tolerate your tardiness.”

His nose traces your neck, your jaw, and you know he feels the shivers down your spine. “But I have a really pretty, super sexy girl on my bed whom I've been in love with for years.”

Kisses, all over the skin he can reach—shoulder, neck, jaw, cheek, and then your lips. This time, you let him, and you let yourself savour the feeling. 

His hand moves to your backside, then, and you pull away. 

“Clark,” You protest with a giggle when he keeps chasing your lips. “You're going to be so late!”

“What's new?” He captures your lips again, and again, and again.

Lois Lane 

10.15am

Want to give an official statement on the monkey invasion? 

Dr. Zen

10.30am

Anything for my favorite journalist

Don't tell Clark I said that

Lois Lane

10.35am

Too late. Now he's pouting

[Picture sent]

10.36am

Drop by? 

Dr. Zen

10.36am

Absolutely

Lunch? Or brunch? 

Lois Lane

10.40am

Anything I can eat while typing pls

“Jimmy, how the fuck did you get that shot?” You ask, rice platter in hand. 

Jimmy is showing you the pictures he took during what they have fondly called the Monkey Invasion on the screen as he munches on the gyro you brought him. 

“Climbed a lampost and I was just like, upside down for a second,” He explains like it's not a big deal. You share a look with Lois, who just shrugs. “Worth it though, you look hot.”

You were free falling from the sky with Superman on the corner, racing towards you. 

“So a disgruntled LuthorCorp investor, you say?” Lois asks, eyes narrowing. She knows you're hiding something, and she's toeing your limit. “Do you know who?”

“I've never done business with LuthorCorp, Lois,” You answer easily. “Pull up their website, maybe then I can point him out from their Our Team page.”

“The company's website has been down since last week,” She points out like you don't know. 

You shrug, “What a shame.”

His heavy footsteps alert you with his presence first. You turn your head to see Clark marching across the bullpen, phone in his ear. His tie is askew, two buttons of his shirt are undone, and the lapels of his oversized suit are folded wrong. 

The alert on your smartwatch said a boat failed to anchor near Bakerline half an hour ago. 

“Yeah, Ma—” You hear him say. Smile on his face when he sees you perched on his desk in a tight little skirt. 

There is something blooming in his chest when he sees you. It's not the first time, seeing you like this with your skirts and in his work place, but it's the first time to see you when he can openly show his admiration. His affection. 

The sunlight filters through the large window, creating a halo around your head. Your hair glistens, your smile glitters, as you greet him. 

You wave your fingers and he forgets his ma on the other like is waiting for his answer until she calls his name again. 

“I finally told her I love her—yes,” He stops at his desk, eyes not leaving you. His grin, if possible, gets wider. “She says hi—” a pause. His face is getting redder by the second. “Yeah—Ma—come on—last night, actually.”

Clark's hand finds your bare thigh, just above your knee. There isn't anything sexual about the gesture, just—reassuring. Like a greeting. 

“Okay, I have to go back to work now—okay, I love you!” Clark slides his phone on his desk, bashfully peering at you from behind his glasses.

“Hi,” You say, grinning. 

His face flushes again. “Hi.”

Clark takes a second to stare at you unabashedly, smile never wavering. You let him. He can't believe you're just letting him love you so openly like this. 

Someone clears their throat. “Hi to you too, Kent.”

Clark pales at the sound of Perry, his editor. Lois tries to cover her snort but fails miserably. Jimmy uses his screen to cover his own laugh. 

“Sir,” He straightens, before correcting himself. “Perry.”

Perry raises an eyebrow. “Unlike you to be behind to report on the action yesterday.”

“Miss—Miss Lane is the one covering yesterday's Monkey—Monkey Invasion, sir.”

Lois smiles when Perry's eyes move to her figure, hunched over her keyboard. She points to you. “We are actually in the middle of an interview with the woman of the hour.”

You jump from Clark's desk, extending your hand with a bright smile, introducing yourself. “—Head of Extraterrestrial Research and Development Lab of Holt Industries, sir.”

He takes your hand. “You're the one who stopped the monkeys?”

“With the help of the Justice Gang and Superman, of course,” You answer easily. “They all have this neuro-altering chip embedded in a part of their hippocampus, you see—so I had to perform a craniotomy—”

“I got it, I got it,” Perry then turns to Lois. “Can you get a quote from Superman?”

Lois looks at Clark, an eyebrow raised expectantly. Clark jumps at the realization that the attention is back on him.

He nods quickly. “Definitely. Superman will definitely give a quote.”

Perry's eyes narrowed at Clark's disheveled appearance, wanting to question it. Before he can, though, you offer him a take out bag.

“Can I interest you in some gyro, Mr. White?”

His attention is on you again, eyes going up and down your frame as if to assess you. Though still suspicious, he decides that falafels are a good compromise. “I'll take this. Get back to work!”

The four of you watch as Perry slams the door to his office, drawing his blinds down. 

“I don't think it's possible to fall in love with you even more,” Clark says, breathless, still with that smile. His hands come up to your waist, but stays barely touching, as if he's waiting for your permission. 

You turn to face him, hands reaching up to fix his shirt and his tie, watching him swallow. You smile sweetly, “I got your favorite platter with extra lamb and garlic mayo.”

Clark's smile is blinding, arms fully circling your waist now, tightening ever so slightly. “I stand corrected.”

“Look, not that we're not happy you guys finally pulled yourself together long enough to get together this time” Jimmy drawls. “But Zen, you need to approve at least one of these pictures.”

Clark frowns at Jimmy's screen, where the picture of you free falling is blown up. His arm tightens around your waist. “Not that.”

Jimmy groans. “Come on!”

“Do I have to be so—front and center?” You ask, tilting your head. 

“Well yeah, you're the hero,” Lois chirps, turning her screen so you can see the working title of her article. 

NEUROSCIENTIST STOPS “MONKEY INVASION”: animal welfare concerns amidst LuthorCorp's aftermath

“Maybe lose the focus on me. I don't have a secret identity, Lois,” You scrunch your face. “What about the previous picture?”

Jimmy frowns, clicking for the previous picture. It's a monkey's grinning face, hanging upside down from a lampost. 

“Yeah okay that works,” he shrugs, going back to his computer. 

The click-clack of designer heels on the linoleum flooring cuts through the conversation in your little campfire. Cat Grant struts in with the dress you had for her, curls bouncing perfectly with every step. 

“Maybe you can cover today's Superman safe on that boat, Clark,” She says, turning on the news.  It plays out that Clark has to get underwater to stop the weirdly massive boat. 

Clark sighs, disliking the idea that he has to actually go back to work instead of spending the day with you. 

“And that is my cue, if we're finished here, Lois?” The journalist only hums as her fingers are typing furiously. You turn to Clark, “I'll see you at home?”

His grin turns dopey. “Yeah, I'll see you at home, darling.”

As you walk away from the bullpen, giving Cat faux kisses on her cheeks as a good bye, Jimmy's attention is still on Clark, whose attention is on your retreating figure. Clark's cheeks are red up to the tips of his ears, a smile on his lips as you walk away. 

Jimmy turns to Lois and Cat. “I don't know if I find Pining Clark or Simp Clark more insufferable.”

Cat shrugs. “I don't care as long as I still get time with my favorite shopping partner.”

You are back at the Kent’s Farm, after Clark convinces you that his Ma wants to finally meet his girlfriend. Nevermind that you visit almost every year already, and that sometimes, she calls you just to talk. 

Martha is as doting as ever, while Jonathan’s greeting hug lasts a little longer than usual. You swear there are some tears in his eyes, but you can’t prove anything. 

It’s past midnight. You stay in the guest bedroom because Clark’s bed is not big enough for two people. It’s barely big enough to fit Clark. 

Still, Clark sneaks into your room like a teenager, grinning sheepishly when he realizes he has woken you up. 

“Whatcha doing, baby?” You ask, voice heavy with sleep. 

“I miss you,” he says, climbing onto the double bed with you. You can hear his pout. 

You move to make space, but it barely fits. Clark pulls you towards him so half your body is resting on his. “Can’t handle even one night without me, huh?”

“Now that I know how sleeping next to you feels like, I’m never going back,” he murmurs to your hair, his arm around you tightening. 

Even after months, he still makes your heart flutter and your face hot. It’s unfair. 

You both sit in the peaceful silence, only the sound of cicadas in the distance lulling you back to sleep. You feel his steady, thumping heartbeat underneath your hand and you take comfort in it. 

Right before you doze off again, Clark nudges you. 

“I’ve been wondering,” he whispers. “How come you didn’t know that I love you?”

“What do you mean?”

“If you had known that I love you too, would you have told me you love me sooner?”

“I don’t know, probably,” You answer, then retract. “Maybe not, but I would be less afraid if I had known.”

“So how come you didn’t know I love you?” He asks again. “You are the most brilliant person I know and I don’t think I was subtle either.”

You pull yourself away slightly, just enough to look at him. He obliges, ocean eyes meeting yours.

“Because you were, still are, my best friend, honey. We have each other’s back, we take care of each other. Romantic love has nothing to do with what we had. Romantic love has everything to do with me wanting to kiss you, though.”

He lets out a breathy laugh, one you can feel his stomach moving under your arm. Clark bends down and captures your lips with his. “Right again, my darling.”

[nathaslosthershit]

This is AMAZING!! Genuinely, so well thought out and such a complete and fascinating plot with incredible writing to pair! I was invested from the beginning and was not disappointed! Amazing work 🫶

[nathaslosthershit]

Hello! I got a request Clark going to his first father/daughter dance with his little girl! She could be his wife/gf's adopted baby or his. I just can imagine him being SUCH a good dad and seeing his little girl all dolled up to dance with him just ugh! I appreciate anything you can do!

You can read it here!

I changed up the request a little, I hope you don't mind. I didn't even mean to the words just kinda came out of me like that lol. It was really fun for me to write and I think I fell much deeper in love with Clark because of it lol.

I used to go to a father daughter dance with my dad, so this request really meant a lot to me to write. I hope I did it justice!

[nathaslosthershit]

𝐀 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐑𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫

Clark Kent x Single mom!reader, (Brief memory of) Clark Kent x non reader!girlfriend, (Platonic) Clark Kent x OC [Reader's Daughter] Summary: When your daughter's father is about to let her down once again, Clark is there to take his place. Read original request here!

Warnings: Deadbeat father (Reader's ex), Single Mother!Reader, Clark is too sweet! A/N: Wrote this at my desk where I have a framed photo of my dad and I at a father daughter dance! I used to love going to those <3

Clark had always wanted a family, he hadn’t ever really envisioned his life without one. He wanted to raise a child, wanted to give another kid the same love and comfort that his parents, Martha and Jonathan Kent, had given him. He wanted to love a child enough to sacrifice exactly what his Kryptonian parents had for him. 

But if you had asked Clark a few years ago if he wanted girls or boys, his answer would have been “a healthy child is all I need”.

He still shared the same sentiment. Kinda.

“What is this?” Clark asked as he picked up the picture frame. 

“Oh god, I forgot I had that one there.” His girlfriend at the time blushed, walking over to stand next to the Kryptonian. “It’s my Dad and I. We used to go to this Father Daughter Dance every year. I must have been… around seven years old then. I remember I was so pissed that I had lost both my front teeth the day before. I told my dad I wouldn’t smile for the picture.” 

Clark grinned, pointing to the huge smile the young girl was wearing in the photo. “What happened?” 

“He told me that my missing teeth made me look like I got into a fist fight and that I looked ‘badass’” She laughed. 

Clark tried to listen as she went on to talk about their dinner plans, but all he could think about was having his own little girl, getting to do those special events with her. 

Today, if you asked Clark, he would still say that a healthy child was priority #1, followed by a mumbled admission that he would really love to have at least one daughter though.

You had practically steamrolled yourself into Clark’s life. Almost out of nowhere, the pretty journalist he had run into from time to time who worked at a rival newspaper to the Daily Planet had become so much more to him. 

You’d both fallen hard and fast, but also unapologetically. 

After five years together, longer than you’d ever been with someone, you and Clark had seamlessly added each other to your lives. You both lived together, you knew he was Superman, he would often read your daughter, Clara, bedtime stories, everything between you two was perfect. 

It hadn’t been easy to allow Clark to meet your daughter. Clark trusted everyone, but you didn’t hold the same sentiment. Having been burned, especially by Clara’s bio dad, far too many times. 

Still, it wasn’t hard to see how much both you and your daughter had needed Clark. You needed a partner that didn’t balk at the idea of meeting you in the middle, a partner who you could rely on and trust 100%. Clara had needed someone in her life to show her that there are good people, to see that there was no settling for someone who refused to go above and beyond for you. 

And Clark? Clark had a partner he could spend 1,000 years with and never feel like he got enough time, someone who could handle both Clark Kent and Superman, someone he could envision both in an apartment in Metropolis and a farm in Smallville. Someone who came with a daughter whose drawings decorated Clark’s desk at work, who was always willing to rewatch a Star Wars movie with him. 

Though everything was picturesque much of the time, there was always someone to bring down the mood. 

Clara’s bio father.

“He’s not coming, Clark.” You confessed, voice breaking as if it just hit you exactly what that meant.

“What do you- No, there is no way he isn’t-”

“He’s not!” You raised your voice, immediately regretting it at the thought of Clara overhearing. 

“But, that doesn’t make sense. How could he? He promised her-” Clark started to pace, rubbing his eyes as he tried to wrap his mind around your words. 

“Because this is what he does, Clark! He promises to do better, promises to be better. It's like when he promises to come to Clara’s birthday every year and never shows up. Or like when he promised he wanted to have a child with me and was going to stick around, but left me alone while in labor, only to come back and tell me he was giving up his rights. It’s what he does.” You threw your hands up, exasperated. It was always the same exact shit with your ex. It’s why you didn’t want to tell Clara about the dance in the first place. “He didn’t even have the decency to tell me that he wasn’t coming, I had to get a text from his new girlfriend instead.”

You took a deep breath, “Now, I have to go tell Clara. God, she is going to hate me for this.” Wiping tears off your cheeks, you turned to Clark, “I suggest you get out of here, she is about to throw a tantrum like never before.”

“I’ll do it.” 

You paused for a second, registering his words, “What do you mean?” 

“I’ll tell her. Let her be angry with me, not you.”

“Clark, I can’t ask that of-”

“You aren’t asking, Honey.” He said, taking a step closer to you before wrapping his arms around your shoulders. “It isn’t fair that this falls on your plate. Maybe she will take it better after hearing it from me.” Clara had loved Clark since the moment you introduced the two of them around five years before.

“She won’t. She will probably tell you she hates you, or blames you for taking her father away.” The glazed look in your eyes told Clark this wasn’t a prediction but rather a pattern.

“Well then, let her hate me instead of her mom.” 

Clark was in the living room before you could reply.

The scene in front of him was heartbreaking. Clara sat on the couch in her puffiest and sparkliest dress anxiously watching the door before turning back to fix her dress. Clara noticed Clark walk in, immediately perking up as she saw the familiar face. “Clark! Do you like my dress?” The six year old asked as she twirled, giggling as her dress swayed with her.

Clark gulped, feeling his heart break even more as the seconds went by. “I-it’s beautiful, Clara. But can I talk to you very quickly? It’s something serious.” He asked. Clara’s body language changed instantly as she sat back down on the couch, moving over to give Clark room to sit next to her. 

As he hesitated, trying to figure out how best to break the news, Clara spoke over him, “My dad isn’t coming, is he?”

“Unfortuntelly not, munchkin.” Tears pricked the Kryponian’s eyes as he watched the little girl deflate. “I am so sorry, Clara. I can’t imagine how disappointed you feel. Your momma feels awful about it.”

Clara looked up at him, “She does?”

“Of course she does. She was so excited for you to get all dressed up and dance the night away.” Clark replied. 

Clara looked away for a moment, as if debating what to do. He could practically see the moment the idea hit her. 

“Will you go with me?” Clara asked, wringing her hands as she looked down at her lap, unable to meet his eyes. 

Clark would have been less surprised if the six year old had outright smacked him. “You-you want me to go with you?” 

Clara took a deep breath, “Well,” her tiny fingers anxiously played with the ladybug ring she wore on her pointer finger, “I just thought… maybe you could go with me because my daddy won’t. You don't have to if you…”

Clark cut her off there, stumbling over his words as he choked back tears, “Oh- of course I’d love to go with you, munchkin. Oh gosh, I wish I had more time to plan. I would have gotten flowers, and I probably should have pressed my suit. You know, my ma is always yelling at me about making sure I always have a nice suit ready in case of anything.”

“She yells at you even though you are an adult?” Clara asked, giggling at the thought. 

“Oh yes, especially now that I am an adult. Always tells me ‘Clark, you represent Smallville when you are out in the big city, you have to make a good-”

“What is going on in here?” You asked, finally coming into the room. Clark felt the familiar pang of tears when he saw how red your eyes were. 

“Clark said he’d go with me to the dance!” Clara bounced off of the couch, launching herself at you with impressive speed for a six year old in tiny wedges she called her “fancy girl shoes”.

You looked up in surprise, “You offered to go with her?”

Clark’s face blushed deep red as he rubbed his neck, “She asked me. I told her that… y’know, and she asked if I could go instead. Is-is that okay?” He realized at that moment that he probably should have asked you. Gosh, how could he be so inconsiderate to not ask your feelings on the matter. It didn’t matter that that he had been with you since Clara was not even two, of course you would be-

You noticed Clark’s spiraling and stopped him right there, “Of course that is okay. Are you kidding? I couldn’t think of a better situation. Why don’t you go and get ready, I don’t want you two to miss all the dancing.”

As Clark left the room, you crouched down to Clara’s level, fixing a few pieces of her hair. “You really wanted Clark to go with you?” You asked.

“Yeah! I don’t think he is a very good dancer, but he is funny! And I didn’t want you to be sad.” She admitted, making your heart clench. 

“Why would I have been sad, baby?”

“Clark said you were sad my daddy couldn’t go.”

Gods, this girl was really testing your ability to hold back tears. “Baby, I was sad that your daddy couldn’t go because I thought it would make you sad. I don’t want you to be sad, I always want to make you happy.”

“Going with Clark would make me happy.” Clara shyly admitted. 

“I think it would make him even happier to take you. I know you two will have the best time in the world.” You said, kissing the top of her head.

After saying goodbye to Clara, you caught Clark by the elbow while she was busy trying to fit her lip balm in her unnecessarily overfilled purse. “Not the romantic night we were planning, but I think it will still be good. Thank you for doing this for her, Clark.” You said, kissing him quickly. If you took even a second longer, you knew you’d be hearing “ewws” from Clara. 

“I know, I promise to make it up to you. But also, it's more like she is doing this for me. I am honestly really excited.” Curse this stupidly sweet Kryptonian and his charming words.

“Take lots of pictures for me, and please don’t step on her toes too much.” You said, watching as the two walked out the door, heart fuller than you thought possible.

[nathaslosthershit]

I'm currently pregnant and the microwave story made me laugh. Today I cried because I felt like my cat doesn't love me anymore haha.

This may be one of the best comments I've ever gotten on a fic I wrote lol.

Very happy you enjoyed! It was inspired by a breakdown I had over the new microwave my roommate got. I may have not been pregnant but I was high and very hungry for leftover mac and cheese lol.

Hope your cat gets their act together 😓 very rude of them.

[nathaslosthershit]

𝐌𝐢𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐌𝐞𝐥𝐭𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧

Clark Kent x Pregnant!reader Summary: She knew her husband meant well when he bought the insanely expensive microwave, but she couldn't help but curse his existence when crying on the floor at 11 pm while in her third trimester because she can't open the stupid thing. Warnings: Pregnancy hormones, Swearing, Mentions of battles, Suggestive (like barely implied), Unedited (I'll get to it) A/N: Thanks to everyone who voted, I will have the runner up out tomorrow! As always- requests open!

You loved Clark more than words could say. But actions could, and agreeing to grow his meta-human baby was proof enough of how much you loved him, how much you were willing to suffer for him. 

Truth be told, you had wanted to have kids with him, had even begged after he had come home from another attack on Metropolis.

You’d been worried sick, which wasn't unusual for the wife of Superman.

There really needed to be a support group for the spouses of heroes. 

After 3 years dating and 2 years married, you should have gotten used to it. The push and pull of being absolutely terrified for Clark while also more than a little turned on watching him sacrifice himself to save the city he loved simply because he could. 

This time though, it felt different. 

A school bus of children had been caught in the aftershocks of battle, and you watched as your husband led each and every child to safety, watched each child’s scared face turn into ones of pure adoration, trust, and happiness as they realized their favorite superhero had come to save them. 

Clark had come back battered but not broken, which meant you felt less bad about ogling him as he sprawled out on your balcony and soaked in the sun. 

Clark turned his head at the sound of his wife’s racing heart and hitched breath. He may have looked every bit the beautiful Kryptonian in the golden light, but Clark believed you looked every bit the natural beauty that could truly only be found on earth. 

He certainly couldn’t miss the way your eyes didn’t hold the concern and fear he usually saw in them after a fight, but instead held something more… heated.

7 months later you stood in your kitchen, cursing the beautiful alien you’d married, slamming your palm against the microwave door like it owed you money, hoping that the inanimate object would realize your patience had run out and you were not above destroying the damned thing. 

Having a meta-human baby was not for the weak, but Clark did everything he could to make things easier.

Hence, the new microwave. 

Your old one had been perfectly fine. It had come with the two bedroom you both had moved into 5 months prior and was relatively new but you had complained once about the lack of a mute button, how the beeps felt like judgement you every time you were using it in the middle of the night. 

Clark, who took any discomfort of yours as a personal failing, had spent far too much of his following workday trying to find a replacement. Which is how you ended up with the most advanced, and most expensive, microwave on the market. 

And now, two weeks into your third trimester, you were two seconds away from ripping the damn thing out of the wall. 

For twenty minutes you stood in the kitchen trying to open it. Your cold leftovers had become room temperature, your bed was killing you, and the microwave refused to yield even when you tried begging. 

“Fuck this stupid fucking thing, and fuck my sweet, dumb fucking husband.” you muttered, angrily slamming your phone on the counter as you looked through the entire online manual only to find nothing on how to open it. 

It wasn’t Clark’s fault, you knew that. If he’d been home, he would have flown across the world to get you whatever food you wanted as fresh as possible. But he was still finishing his front page article for the Planet and he wasn’t your keeper, he didn’t need to be there every second. 

Still. This was his fault. Somehow.

Despite being an alien who’d faced death a hundred times over, very few things terrified Clark Kent like his wife did. 

She wasn’t necessarily a scary person, but the intensity of his feelings for her, loving someone so… fragile compared to himself, haunted him. 

So when he came home to find her, in all her pregnant misery, red-eyed and sobbing on the floor, his heart just about fell out of his chest. 

“Honey, are you okay? What happened? Where are you hurt? Is it the baby?” He asked, dropping to his knees in front of her, cradling her face as he scanned her for visible ailments in a panic. 

Wrong move.

She sobbed even harder. 

“C-Clark- please it’s- fuck, Kent, give me a second!” She shoved his hands away, trying to catch her breath. 

Giving his wife a moment, Clark moved to sit next to her, his freakishly long legs (as she lovingly called them) bumping into hers. 

After a long moment, “T-the microwave.” she admitted, voice breaking. 

“I’m sorry?” Clark replied, unsurprisingly confused as he glanced up at the new appliance. 

“It doesn’t work.” 

He couldn’t stop the smile from his face, both in relief that both his wife and child were okay, and in amusement that it was the microwave that brought her such distress. 

“What do you mean? I’m sorry, Honey, if I knew it was defective I wouldn’t have gotten that one.”

She huffed, stretching out her arms and gesturing for him to help her up, “It doesn’t open.”

She usually enjoyed seeing the slight tilt of his head in confusion, but in that moment it only made her want to throw the damned thing at him. 

“I opened it earlier and didn't see any problems,” he offered.

Whatever the right response was, that was not it. 

“Well, I am sorry that not everyone is a fucking alien with superstrength, Kent, but your pregant and hungry wife can’t open the fucking piece of shit so I would really like some support instead of doubt.” She replied, turning away from him and crossing her arms, refusing to meet his eyes even when he moved to stand right in front of her. 

Refused to so much as look in his direction, even when he softly grabbed her chin and tilted it up, a gesture that usually melted her. 

Clark’s shoulders sagged, “You’re right. I am sorry. Can you show me the issue?” He asked, genuinely upset he had hurt her.

She rolled her eyes, walking over and pulling the handle. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t open.

What was surprising was the fit of laughter Clark fell into. 

“Are you serious, Clark? What’s funny about this?” 

“I-I’m sorry.” More laughter. “No really it’s not even funny.”

Despite this, he continued laughing. 

After a few breaths, Clark softly chuckled as he walked over to the appliance, opening it with absolutely no effort. 

“Honey, see this button on the handle? You need to be pressing it while you open it. It’s a child lock. I thought it would be good to have, in case… well, in case the baby starts flying early.” He hesitated, then added with a wince, “I didn’t realize when they said child-proof, it would also apply to pregnant women.”

There were few things that truly terrified Clark Kent after all he had been through. The way his wife looked at him in that moment, though, Clark didn’t see anything ever being scarier. 

[nathaslosthershit]

Hi friends, I have two fics in the works but wanted to know which you all were more interested in! I will probably post the winner tomorrow evening.

Which first?

𝐌𝐢𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐌𝐞𝐥𝐭𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧||Clark Kent x pregnant!reader

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐒𝐞𝐞𝐬 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐂𝐚𝐧'𝐭||Clark Kent x preschool teacher!reader

Voting ended onAug 18, 2025

Info on each:

𝐌𝐢𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐌𝐞𝐥𝐭𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧: She knew her husband meant well when he bought the insanely expensive microwave, but she couldn't help but curse his existence when crying on the floor at 10 pm while in her third trimester because she can't open the stupid thing.

Edit: Read here!

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐒𝐞𝐞𝐬 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐂𝐚𝐧'𝐭: Her boyfriend of 3 months was hiding a secret, but she couldn't figure out what it was. Another partner? A secret family? Some strange fetish? Who knew all it took was a collapsed building and a near death experience to find out.

As always- Requests are open! I'd love to get some ideas from you all as well!

[nathaslosthershit]

𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐖𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐝 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈𝐭 𝐇𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐓𝐰𝐢𝐜𝐞

Clark Kent x Editor!Reader Loose continuation to "'Dork' Personified" Summary: The chances of working with, befriending, then dating two different superheros are significantly low... but apparently not zero Warnings: Foul Language, Mentions of Spiderman (crossover ig), Written and not edited while I am super high so apologize

A/N: Overwhelmed by the support on my first Clark fic, so happy people enjoyed it. I'd love to write more so requests are always open!

Clark Kent had been through a lot in his life. He had fought beasts, other metahumans, evil billionaires with far too much money and time at their disposal, but nothing had left him feeling as terrified as he did at the present moment. 

He watched as she read over an op-ed, mumbling about grammar mistakes and cursing the bloodline of the metropolitan man who ‘forced her to read through his bullshit piece and try to salvage what few molecules of intellectual commentary there are’.

His girlfriend of 7 months was the most opinionated person Clark Kent ever knew. Her lack of apology for her strong opinions and inability to hide how she felt is what had drawn him to her in the first place, especially when she had criticized Superman to his face the second she found out he was a “fan” of the Kryptonian.

Though he loved her for her sometimes rather brazen personality, it still terrified him, especially when he realized that he had to confess to her he was the man she had so lovingly called “Super-panties” in reference to his red trunks.

He knew she didn’t hate Superman, just that she had already been loyal to her home’s own superhero, Spider-Man, for years and wasn’t one to change up suddenly. 

But, whether unfortunately or fortunately, Clark had found himself deeply in love with the woman and knew from experience that relationships never lasted long when he couldn’t tell his partners why he would have to suddenly leave and end up ghosting them for days. He knew he couldn’t stand to let another good thing fall through the cracks because he couldn’t balance both identities. 

“I need to talk to you.” Clark said, sitting beside her on the couch. 

She didn’t look up from the piece of paper on her lap, filled with so many red marks from her pen that he wasn’t sure a single original word of the writer’s would be left. 

“What's up?” She asked as he watched her cross out an entire sentence, writing a simple "absolutely not” in the margins.

“It’s serious, can I have a moment?” He asked, scooting closer and putting a hand on her thigh.

She finally looked up, noticing the serious look on his face but deciding not to comment on it… yet. “Sure, I have a headache after reading this garbage so I could use a break.” She drawled, hoping to wipe the downright terrified look on her boyfriend’s stupidly handsome face. 

It didn’t work.

“Clark, you look constipated, what’s wrong?” She finally asked, speaking in a soft tone she rarely used, seemingly reserved only for the man she had fallen hard and fast for.

“I have to tell you something and I don’t know how you will react, or if it will hurt our relationship.” Clark responded solemnly. 

She raised her eyebrow at this, “You’re making me nervous, Kent.”

He could feel his heart threatening to beat out of his chest. “Just know that, I really have… big feelings for you.”

She snorted, “Big feelings, huh. Just what every girl wants, a man who has ‘big feelings’ for her.” She teased. 

He knew what she was doing. The teasing may have come off as rude when he was clearly in distress, but Clark knew she had only done it to distract him. The hand placed on his own a confirmation of her desire to help. 

“I love you.” He said. He hadn’t said it before. She had, once, when they were going to bed about a week before. But she had been half asleep when she had uttered the three words he had desperately worked to earn from her and when he turned over to ask her to repeat herself, she was already snoring softly. He hadn’t asked her about it since, chalking it up as a mistake brought on by exhaustion. 

Her breath caught at his words, she looked away as she tried to blink back tears. He doubled down. “I really, really love you, honey. I need you to know that.” He cooed, bringing his hand to rub circles into her back. 

He watched her tense under the contact. “If you are about to tell me you cheated, Kent, I don’t want to hear it.” 

That caused him to straighten up quickly. “N-no, never. Honey, I swear to you, I would never do such a th-”

“Then what is it, Clark? You look like you’re going to throw up and you are confessing your love to me while worried I am going to leave you. What are you trying to tell me?” 

He took a deep breath. 

“I’m Superman.”

Clark didn’t know what he expected. Disbelief, confusion, disgust, terror, betrayal maybe. He had been prepared for all of that. What he hadn’t expected was to watch his girlfriend of 7 months double over in laughter she couldn’t control, tears streaming from her eyes. 

After a few minutes of uncontrolled howls, she put a hand up, telling Clark to pause, as if he hadn’t been sitting deathly still the entire time as he tried to figure out what was going on. 

“Honey? Are you-”

“Please, Clark.” She wheezed. “I need a moment.”

She looked up at him for the briefest second, letting Clark see none of the negative emotions he had expected from her.

He let out a breath. 

After a few more beats, in which she sat back on the couch and tried to catch her breath, she finally spoke up. “I’m sorry, Kent. That was probably not the reaction you had expected.”

“N-no it wasn’t. What the hay was that? Is the idea that I am Superman that laughable?” He asked, hurt laced in his tone at the realization.

“No, no of course not. I just- I had actually kind of suspected it a few times, but I had brushed it off because the chances of it happening again are so-”

“Wait, wait, stop. Chances of what happening?” He asked. 

She sighed, sitting up straighter as she took both his hands in hers. While meant to be a comforting action, Clark felt anything but at the moment. 

“When I was in New York, I started dating a guy I had been friends with for a long time. Eventually, I sort of… came upon the realization that the man I was dating was the secret identity behind Spider-Man.” She explained.

Clark shook his head in confusion. “I-I’m sorry, are you trying to tell me you dated Spider-Man?”

“Yep.”

“Spider-Man is your ex?”

“Yes, Kent.”

Clark paused for a second. “Should I be more offended that he is still your favorite hero? Does this mean that I get to be your favorite hero now?” He asked, hopeful. As much as he loved her, he was getting tired of her Superman slander. 

“Well hold on now, you are asking for a lot from me.” She teased. “You, Clark Kent, are my favorite hero. That being said, even before I started working with him, before we became friends, before we were dating, Spider-Man was always my favorite. Plus we broke up on good terms, so I still need to be convinced that Spider-Man is worse than Super-panties.”

Clark rolled his eyes, pulling his hands out of her grasp. “You know, I thought you’d stop that when I confessed.” He huffed, before pausing. “So, you really have known and dated two superheroes?” He asked, still in disbelief. 

“Well, technically I guess it’s two and a half, but I never dated Batman so-”

“Wow, that makes me feel much- wait you know Batman?” Clark asked.

She let out a sigh, trying to figure out how once again to explain all the unbelievable shit she has been through. “When I was at the Bugle, early in my career, I had… written a series of pieces on him, all of them equally unflattering. Despite my unyielding criticism, he reached out to me to try and quietly settle this one-sided hatred, off the record.”

Clark blinked, he wasn’t even sure he would be brave enough to face Batman after writing a critical article. “Wow, how did that go?”

“I ended up writing an even nastier piece, I mean it was rough. Despite the Bugle’s reputation as a… sensationalized gossip rag,” she snorted, “I wasn’t even allowed to publish it. So instead… I sent it to him.”

Clark just stared at her, his mouth slightly ajar, before he seemed to snap out of it.

“Didn’t you think sending something like that to a person like him isn’t such a good idea, honey?” 

“I did consider it, but frankly I thought Gotham had been blowing too much smoke up his ass and he needed to know what other people thought of him.” She admitted, watching Clark cringe at her choice of idiom. “It honestly worked out for me. See, I didn’t tell him I wasn’t allowed to submit it, so instead I threatened to publish it if I didn’t get a personal interview. He ended up relenting and I got a piece that gave me a ton of publicity, even got me a promotion. Now we have a more… understanding relationship. Plus I wouldn’t have gotten my job at the Planet without him.”

Clark’s eyes went wide, “W-what do you mean?”

“Bru-” she stopped, almost slipping up. She wasn’t sure what the code was among superheroes about secret identities but she’d rather not risk anything. “Batman has some… connections at the paper. He knew I was looking for something else and I think he believed I would be less of a pain in his ass if I was an editor so…” 

“So, you have a type.” Clark finished, a teasing grin on his face. 

“I don’t think it’s my type, I think I just attract a certain kind of man.” She corrected him.

Clark looked at her and her infuriatingly smug smile and felt his chest become tight with the adoration he had for her. 

Her face turned serious but sincere, “I love you, Clark Kent, Superman and all.” She confessed. 

“I love you too, honey, Spider-Man fangirl and all.”

He kissed her before she could say whatever snarky retort he saw form in her head. 

[nathaslosthershit]

~ 𝐒𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ~

*Requests currently open for Clark Kent/Superman only. I will be adding Lois and Jimmy eventually but I want to figure them out better first!

𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐭

"𝐃𝐨𝐫𝐤" 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐝

She couldn't understand why Jimmy got all the attention when the perfect man was right next to him.

𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐖𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐝 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈𝐭 𝐇𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐓𝐰𝐢𝐜𝐞

The chances of working with, befriending, then dating two different superheros are significantly low... but apparently not zero

𝐌𝐢𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐌𝐞𝐥𝐭𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧

She knew her husband meant well when he bought the insanely expensive microwave, but she couldn't help but curse his existence when crying on the floor at 11 pm while in her third trimester because she can't open the stupid thing.

𝐀 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐑𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫

When your daughter's father is about to let her down once again, Clark is there to take his place.

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐒𝐞𝐞𝐬 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐂𝐚𝐧'𝐭 (Coming Soon)

Her boyfriend of 3 months was hiding a secret, but she couldn't figure out what it was. Another partner? A secret family? Some strange fetish? Who knew all it took was a collapsed building and a near death experience to find out.

[nathaslosthershit]

"𝐃𝐨𝐫𝐤" 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐝

Clark Kent x Editor!Reader [Job is really only for additional description] Summary: She couldn't understand why Jimmy got all the attention when the perfect man was right next to him. Warnings: Cursing, Superman slander said in front of Superman, Crude comments made (by reader) about a coworker (Clark)

A/N: Long time no see, I'm still writing for F1 (I have a Lando fic on the way) but now I write for Superman as well! Hope you all enjoy! Requests open!

She arched her brow, watching as Jimmy held court in front of a small cluster of interns who could often be found gathered around his desk. Their eager smiles and nervous laughter were almost as entertaining as Jimmy’s ability to juggle charm, conversation, and work all at once. While it was no longer a shock to witness the kind of pull the man had, it was still one of her favorite parts of the day. 

Lois spun her chair toward the Planet’s newest editor, knee bumping into hers just as the last intern finally took the hint that Jimmy wasn’t going to pursue them, no matter how many flirty comments and batted eyelashes they threw his way. 

“How many hearts have you crushed today, Olsen?” Lois teased. 

Jimmy swiveled to face them, a sour look on his face. “You say that like I enjoy it. I can’t help it if people just…” He gestured vaguely to himself, “can’t resist all this.” He finished, faux arrogance in his tone.

“I don’t get it,” the editor spoke flatly. 

Lois barked out a laugh, “Thank you! Finally, I’ve tried to tell him for years that most people don’t ever experience… whatever that is.” 

Jimmy rolled his eyes, “You two are really sweet, you know that?”

“No, Jimmy I mean- I can understand it.” She corrected, causing both Lois and Jimmy to raise their eyebrows. “Not like that. You are a great guy, Jimmy, just… I wouldn’t have pegged you as the office’s resident eye candy.”

Jimmy feigned offense, one hand clutching his chest while Lois’ eyes lit up. 

“Well, who would you nominate then?” Lois asked, ever the investigative journalist. 

“Kent,” she replied without hesitation, as if the question was as simple as what color the sky was. 

A beat of silence passed as her coworkers registered her words.

“Clark Kent?” Jimmy asked, sending her an incredulous look. 

“Yep.”

“Him?” Jimmy pointed across the bullpen. Clark was at the coffee station, ineffectively blotting at a fresh coffee stain on his shirt, the tower of napkins in his hand threatening to fall. 

She didn’t even flinch. “Absolutely.” 

Most would have probably been turned off by such a sight, but that clumsy man had wormed his way into her heart, and she wasn’t about to be put off now. 

She looked back at her coworkers’ aghast faces and instead of backing out, she doubled down. “I’m serious, he is the total package.” She answered, only slightly cringing when he dropped the stack of napkins, sending them everywhere. 

“Well, good news for you.” Lois spoke up, watching the scene in front of her with both amusement and pity, like watching a toddler throw the tantrum to end all tantrums over a dropped ice cream cone. “I don’t think you have much competition.” 

They all watched as Clark walked away, presumably to the bathroom to try to save his shirt.

“Wait, seriously, him?” Jimmy asked once more. 

“Okay, ignoring the… latest disaster,” she said, “you’re telling me you don’t notice? Six-foot-something, 200 pounds of pure farmboy muscle, a beautiful face hiding behind those... unfortunate glasses, and still somehow manages to be the nicest guy in the building. That man is the word ‘dork’ personified in the best way possible,” she sighed longingly, “I’d climb that skyscraper like Spider-Man if I didn’t think it would kill him.” 

Her answer was met with stunned silence, that was until Lois once more started laughing so hard she would have fallen over had she not already been sitting, the loud noise making Jimmy wince.

Deciding she had made her point, she turned around and took a post-it from her desk, scribbling a quick note before grabbing the Tide Stick from her bag, placing the two things on Clark’s desk before walking away. 

There were many moments in Clark’s life where he wished he hadn’t had Kryptonian hearing, most of them inappropriate to talk about in the workplace.

This, however, was a moment where he just wished he didn’t make a fool of himself whenever he heard things not meant for his ears. He had been across the room refilling his coffee when he heard what she’d said. The shock alone from such a confession was enough to make him spill half the cup down the front of his clothes. 

She hadn’t been at the Planet long, but she’d made a strong impression on Clark from the moment she walked in. Having transferred from the Daily Bugle in New York, Clark hadn’t known what to expect from his new coworker. 

He certainly hadn’t expected… her. 

She was kind and polite, but anyone who talked to her for more than a minute knew she was opinionated and utterly unafraid to say so. She was truthful, unapologetic about it, and she wasn’t one to hide her true feelings on something in order to save face.

It’s what Clark liked most about her. 

The first day they met, Lois had lovingly introduced him as “Superman’s biggest fanboy”. Instead of politely laughing, she’d just smirked and took the moment to tell him just what she thought of the “Midwest jerkoff with his panties over his leggings”. 

As Superman himself, he probably should’ve been offended. Instead, Clark had surprisingly found himself fighting a smile. 

When he finally returned to his desk, shirt damp and still slightly stained, the Kryptonian was surprised to find a stain remover pen with a note attached:

Don’t know how much it will help, coffee’s a bitch to get out. Maybe you and I could grab some one day to make up for the one you spilled?

It was a good thing he was facing away from her, Clark thought, because his entire face went hot, accompanied by a smile so big it hurt his cheeks. He waited a moment, forcing his grin into something less embarrassing, before turning to face her desk. 

She sat there working, gaze firmly on her screen, not even sparing him a glance.

But the accelerated heartbeat he heard told him everything.

A/N: I want to bully him so bad then kiss his stupidly beautiful face. Hope you enjoyed! I have a kinda part 2 of this! You can read here

[pucksandpower]

Red Bull should have promoted Y/N to Team Principal. The disrespect for our girl is wild.