u + me = <3
clark kent x fem reader
summary: you thought the biggest challenge of your relationship with clark kent would be everything that came with him also being superman: him risking his life every day, the sudden disappearances, and the interrupted dates.
you were wrong.
it was taking care, with him, of a kryptonian teenager who would rather be anywhere else. and coming to terms with the possibility that maybe everyone who thought the two of you had no idea how to be the family she needed... might actually have been right.
word count: 4.1k moods/warnings: fluff, slight angst, established relationship. the images are just for vibes!! there are no physical descriptions of reader other than being shorter than clark. mentions of sex. reader has anosmia (doesn't really come up here, but it'll be important later if you want to read more ^ ^). reader has a lot of hobbies. reader lost her family in a house fire. no y/n. four was actually sooo fun to write. as always, english isn't my first language 😭 i really did try my best, but please let me know if you spot any grammar mistakes!! kara is around 16–17 years old in this. i'm planning to turn this into a series, so if you enjoy this dysfunctional little family, please please please let me know. i'd LOVE to keep writing them <3 a/n: i started writing again after a long time, so i was a little rusty. this whole idea came from the supergirl series and thirteen-year-old kara being totally ready to raise baby clark, only for adult clark to leave her with the danvers 😭 i just thought the dynamic between a teenage kara and clark trying to figure all of this out with a girlfriend would be really cute and funny anddd a little sad. hope u like it!!! <3
The apartment was completely empty.
The white walls still smelled of fresh paint, and every step echoed across the hardwood floors without a single piece of furniture to soften the sound.
Once the realtor finished showing you around, you wandered through the place together.
Clark was studying it with the kind of focus you'd expect from someone diffusing a bomb.
You were already deciding where the couch would go, which wall would be perfect for hanging paintings, and where your shoes would inevitably end up piling together.
It wasn't until you reached the hallway that you frowned.
"Babe."
Clark looked up from the kitchen.
"Yes, honey?"
"It has three bedrooms."
"Uh-huh."
"It's just the two of us."
"Yeah..." Your boyfriend didn't seem to understand what the problem was.
"So why do we need three bedrooms?"
"Because it can be your studio," he answered as if it were obvious, gesturing toward one of the empty rooms.
You raised an eyebrow.
"My studio?"
Clark nodded as he stepped into the empty room, taking in the walls, the window, and the late afternoon sunlight spilling across the floor, already picturing it as yours.
"You can put your pottery wheel here. Your easels and sewing machine would fit a lot better. We can keep all your yarn, your brushes... You wouldn't have to pack everything away every time people came over. You'd have more space. More privacy, hon." He said it so naturally that he didn't seem remotely aware of how enormous that gesture was.
To Clark, there had never been another option. It was simply logical.
Your silence made him turn around.
"Unless you don't want to... We can keep looking."
"No. It's perfect." You shook your head. "It's just... I've never had a studio before."
He smiled with that quiet tenderness that seemed woven into his very existence. After crossing the room, he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. "Well... now you do."
In that moment, you knew you couldn't have chosen a better man to build a life with.
"What about the third bedroom?"
Clark pursed his lips, thinking.
"We'll figure something out."
Months later, you'd discover your boyfriend had always known you'd eventually claim the third bedroom too. Simply because there wasn't enough room in your studio for all your hobbies.
"Sweetheart."
You looked up from the sculpture you were restoring.
Clark was leaning against the doorway of the museum's conservation studio, wearing that smile reserved exclusively for you.
"Ready?"
He almost always picked you up after work. It didn't matter if it was raining, if you got out late, or if Perry White had just sent him across Metropolis to cover a story.
The only thing capable of stopping him was a criminal particularly determined to destroy the city.
Other than that... he always found his way back to you.
Sometimes you'd walk home together.
You loved wandering through the city together as the sun began to set, stopping for ice cream along the way or simply talking about nothing at all while your hands stayed intertwined.
But whenever you were too tired to walk, Clark would simply pick you up and fly you home.
Dating Superman definitely had its perks.
Like flying all the way to the museum just because he missed you... and discovering halfway through having sex in the employees' restroom that the walls were surprisingly sturdy.
Over the next few months, the apartment stopped feeling new.
The first thing anyone saw upon walking in was a photograph of the two of you kissing beneath the falling snow the day Clark asked you to be his girlfriend, just above the pressed flowers from the bouquet he'd given you that afternoon. Beside it was the first front page he'd ever made at the Daily Planet. Farther inside the apartment—framed just the same—was your name written across the sky in clouds by Clark.
A half-finished scarf rested over the back of the couch in the living room.
The bookshelves were crammed with novels, plays, and CDs that Clark insisted on organizing by author, while you kept rearranging them by color just to mess with him.
And perched on a shelf, a cactus was slowly dying because neither of you could ever remember to water it.
In many ways, the apartment had become a museum of your relationship.
One afternoon, Lois showed up with an urgent lead she needed Clark to look into.
You were knitting tiny hats for the Fortress robots. Clark was reading.
She watched the scene for a few seconds before saying that you acted like grandparents.
She took it back a week later after walking in on the two of you hurriedly pulling your clothes back on in a storage room at the Daily Planet.
You were heartbroken when Clark refused to ever have sex there again.
It had taken time to get there. To find that perfect balance between peace and chaos.
Getting used to Clark had never been the difficult part.
It was getting used to the man who disappeared halfway through dinner because a bridge had collapsed, who showed up late because someone needed saving, who sometimes came home bruised and battered.
And who, despite everything, always smiled the moment he saw you.
Little by little, Clark learned how to quiet your fears. And little by little, you learned to stop waiting for the worst every time he disappeared.
Because loving each other was easy.
Maybe you knew how to restore paintings that had survived for centuries. Maybe Clark knew exactly what words to write to expose an injustice.
You painted, knitted, made pottery, drew. He could lift buildings with his bare hands.
But loving each other...
That was the one thing that never seemed to take any effort.
It was perfect. Ridiculously perfect.
Then your phone vibrated against the worktable.
"We need to talk after work. Not over the phone."
"So... you're taking care of Clark's cousin now?"
The question breaks the silence that has settled over lunch with your friends for nearly a full minute.
The three of them have just heard your very condensed version of the past few weeks.
You simply take another sip of your coffee.
"Well, I'm not doing it alone. It's... Clark and me."
One of them frowns.
"Clark."
You nod.
"The same Clark you've only been living with for a year?"
"Yes."
"Your boyfriend—not your husband—who's always late 'cause he keeps having... 'emergencies'?"
You grimaced.
"Yeah..."
"And now you're raising a teenager?"
"We're not raising her."
They look at you like you've completely lost your mind.
"Girls..." You sigh. "I chose this. I'm an adult. I'm his partner. And... Kara didn't have anyone else."
That part, at least, is completely true.
You've been extremely careful about how much you tell them. After all, you can't exactly say: "She's an alien teenager whose planet exploded. Her cousin happens to be Superman, who also happens to be my boyfriend."
So you've simplified the story.
Kara is Clark's cousin. She lost her entire family. And now she lives with the two of you.
That's enough.
One of your friends sighs.
"So... how's that going?"
The question catches you off guard.
You think about your answer for a second before forcing a smile.
"Good."
The three of them fall silent again, exchanging a glance before turning back to you.
"Three days ago you texted us saying that girl hated you."
"She doesn't hate me..." You let out a small, embarrassed laugh, though you don't sound entirely convinced. "I was being dramatic. She's been through something horrible. She misses home. She misses her family. She doesn't know anyone here."
Your gaze drops to your coffee.
"I know what that's like."
They immediately understand what you mean, but you try to lighten the mood before any of them can reply.
"We're doing better."
Absolutely no one at that table believes you.
Especially not you.
Two weeks earlier, when Clark sent you that message, he apologized for scaring you, but he still arrived at the museum earlier than usual.
You were already waiting for him, your coat on and purse slung over your shoulder, as always.
The only thing that was different was the knot twisting in your stomach.
"We need to talk."
You'd been living together for a year, and the only recurring argument you'd ever had was about the obscene amount of salt you insisted on putting on almost everything you ate.
You had no idea what could possibly have led to this conversation.
And it terrified you.
Clark came walking toward you, a backpack slung over one shoulder, moving with that slightly awkward gait he always had whenever he was nervous. But he wasn't alone.
Walking beside him was a girl. A teenager.
You blinked several times, your gaze darting between the girl and your boyfriend—already wearing an apologetic look.
Before logic had a chance to intervene, your brain reached the most catastrophic conclusion imaginable.
That's his daughter.
Clark has a daughter.
Your boyfriend—the one you've been living with for a year—has a daughter he's somehow never mentioned.
The air left your lungs.
He noticed the exact moment the color drained from your face, immediately hurrying toward you with one hand half-raised.
"No," Clark said, already sounding dangerously close to panicking. "No, it's not that. It's not what you're thinking."
Without taking your eyes off him, you whispered, horrified. "You have a daughter?"
"No!" he hissed back.
The girl looked between the two of you with obvious confusion.
He took a deep breath. "She's... my cousin."
Suddenly, you remembered how to breathe.
A second later, your fist was already halfway to his chest before you remembered there was a teenager standing less than three feet away.
"That's what all the suspense was for?" you demanded. "Clark, I thought you were about to tell me she was your daughter! Or that you'd cheated on me! I didn't know your parents had siblings, but what's the problem?"
"Good gosh, no!" Now he looked completely horrified. "First of all, I would never cheat on you, and I definitely don't have any children." He paused to catch his breath. "And second...that's not what I meant."
"So what?"
Clark swallowed.
"Remember the ship I've been tracking?"
"The one you thought was Kryptonian." You nodded slowly, trying to piece everything together.
"Yeah... Kara was inside." He glanced at the girl. "We never imagined there'd be a teenager... or that she'd turn out to be my cousin. But... that's how it was."
You studied him for a few long seconds, saying nothing. Long enough to make your boyfriend visibly anxious.
"Okay..." Finally, you let out a slow breath. "I mean... wow, but... okay."
He nervously licked his lips before reaching for your purse, slipping it over his shoulder alongside the backpack.
"I'm sorry for showing up like this. I wanted to surprise you by telling you I'd found the ship, but... I was the one who ended up surprised." His voice grew quieter and he let out an incredulous laugh. "I couldn't leave her alone. And I didn't want to tell you something like this over the phone. She doesn't speak English. She's completely alone and..." His smile faded almost immediately. "She doesn't have anyone left."
"Hey..." You gently rubbed his arm, slowly shaking your head. "It's okay. You don't have to apologize. We'll figure it out."
Clark closed his eyes tightly for a moment.
"I don't want to force this on you. I don't want you to feel like you have to take on something this big when we haven't even talked about having kids." The words came tumbling out, as if he'd rehearsed that speech the entire drive over.
Kara looked back and forth between the two of you. She didn't need to understand English to realize her arrival had just turned both your lives upside down.
"You're not forcing me into anything." You took his hand, looking him straight in the eyes. "I'm your girlfriend. And one who has no intention of letting you go through this alone." It didn't matter that, on the inside, you were terrified.
Standing perfectly still, he finally released the breath he was holding ever since leaving the Fortress. Clark looked at you as though he still couldn't quite believe you'd actually said that.
Then he kissed your knuckles. And then your forehead.
"I'm so in love with you."
You couldn't help laughing.
He smiled too before turning toward the teenager.
"Kara."
You raised a hand in a shy little wave—with absolutely no idea whether that meant "hello" on Krypton or a formal declaration of war. So, you decided to trust the odds.
She answered with a smile so small, and so forced that something inside your chest tightened.
While his cousin wandered off to study one of the paintings in the hallway, you leaned closer to your boyfriend again. "Just one question."
"Yeah?"
"Are you absolutely sure you two are really 'the Last Son and Daughter of Krypton'?" You lowered your voice even further.
Clark already knew exactly where this was going the second you used that tone.
"I mean, another cousin isn't just gonna show up? Or a long-lost aunt? A secret wife? Five children scattered across the universe?" You pointed an accusing finger at him. "I'm not about to find out you have another life besides being Superman—like—a third life?"
Clark was genuinely concerned by your remarkable ability to imagine catastrophic scenarios, but, as always, it softened into a mixture of resignation and affection.
"I can assure you," he said at last, "I'm not married... I don't have any children... and I definitely don't have a third life."
You narrowed your eyes for a moment. He seemed to be telling the truth, so, slowly, you nodded.
"Okay." You took a deep breath. "Then let's go home."
Clark smiled softly before pressing another kiss to the top of your head.
The decision had already been made.
You were going to take care of Kara.
At first, you were far too hopeful.
On the way home, Clark explained everything Four—the robot from the Fortress of Solitude—had translated: Argo survived for years. Kara's mother had died slowly from radiation poisoning. Her father sent her to Earth when there was nothing left to save.
By the time you reached the apartment, the girl remained silent as her eyes wandered over the photographs on the walls, the framed paintings, the dried flowers you'd carefully preserved, the books lining the shelves.
The home you and Clark had spent the last year building together.
And you couldn't shake the feeling that all it did was remind her that hers no longer existed.
The room that was meant to be hers didn't help much either.
Only a few hours earlier, it had still been one of the places you disappeared to whenever inspiration hit.
There were paint stains on the walls, a few forgotten paintbrushes, balls of yarn scattered across the floor, scraps of fabric draped over a chair, and several half-finished craft projects waiting to be picked up again.
The moment your boyfriend stepped inside, he let out a sheepish little laugh.
"I forgot this was your little lab."
Looking around the room, suddenly you just wanted to crawl under the bed.
"We could give her my studio..."
"No. That's yours," Clark answered softly. "This'll be her room." He looked around the room for a moment before turning back to you and his cousin. "Just... not tonight."
You managed a faint smile.
"I'm so sorry." Even though the girl couldn't understand a word you were saying, you started gathering up balls of yarn, paintbrushes, jars of paint, and open sketchbooks. Clark crouched beside you almost immediately, after setting Kara's backpack down next to the bed.
Neither of you said another word.
That night, she went to bed fully dressed without eating a thing.
As you watched her for a few moments, your heart ached for everything she'd been through.
All those years you'd spent trying to rebuild yourself after the fire that destroyed your home had been leading to this. Because you knew what it was like to lose a home. You knew what it meant to start over.
And you were convinced that if anyone could understand Kara... it was you.
You thought that would be enough.
Clark closed the bedroom door with the same care someone would use when trying not to break something that's already broken.
He leaned against the hallway wall for a few seconds.
Then he looked at you. As if he wanted to ask one last time if you were really sure about this. As if he wanted to tell you it wasn't too late to change your mind.
And, at the very same time, beg you not to.
You rose onto your tiptoes and kissed his cheek.
"Hey..." You cupped his face for a moment. "We'll be fine." A soft smile appeared on your lips. "It's us." You paused. "We're two adults who love each other. We have good jobs. And we're perfectly capable of taking care of someone in our family."
For the first time since leaving the museum, Clark smiled.
A real smile.
"I love you."
"I love you."
Silence settled between you before he spoke again.
"I guess..." He rubbed the back of his neck. "We're gonna have to start using the car more."
"Why?" A small frown tugged at your brow.
"'Cause we can't exactly fly everywhere anymore... or even walk everywhere if it's the three of us."
It took you a second to understand what he meant.
A normal couple with a teenager didn't fly across the city. A normal couple with a car... used the car.
You couldn't help smirking.
"Well, look at that."
Clark looked up.
"What?"
"You're already thinking like a..." You dropped your voice dramatically. "Father figure."
His smile faltered, and even in the dim hallway, you caught the faint blush creeping across his cheeks. He opened his mouth to protest.
"I'm not—" He stopped himself as you stepped closer and slipped your fingers into his.
"Yes, you are."
"No, I'm not."
"Oh, yes, you are."
Clark let out a quiet laugh through his nose, shaking his head, still unable to understand why you believed in him so completely.
You watched him for a few seconds before repeating: "We'll be fine. It's not like we just opened a daycare."
"Yeah... about that..." He grimaced, lowering his voice. You raised an eyebrow. "There's a puppy..."
"You adopted a dog?"
"No." Clark shifted awkwardly. "Well... kinda, but not really." He sighed. "He came with Kara and... I didn't really feel like I was in a position to tell her we couldn't keep him."
You took a slow breath.
"So... we have a Kryptonian dog."
He nodded very, very slowly.
Immediately, your mind filled with memories of all the things he'd accidentally destroyed.
The headboard pierced clean through by his heat vision while he was making love to you. Coffee mugs crushed to dust between his fingers whenever Lex Luthor pushed him too far. The bent balcony railing after one too many fights, when he'd misjudged his own strength.
If a grown Kryptonian still had accidents... What would a Kryptonian puppy do?
Oh, God, what would a Kryptonian teenager do?
"And..." Clark cleared his throat and you looked at him expectantly. "I was thinking..." He hesitated for a second. "Maybe I could bring Four tomorrow. He could... translate until one of us learns the other's language."
A quiet nod was all the answer he needed.
You weren't entirely sold on the idea of living with either a robot or a Kryptonian puppy, but it didn't seem like there was much of an alternative.
You took a deep breath.
It was decided.
You were going to take care of Kara.
Her Kryptonian puppy, too.
And apparently, Clark's robot would also be joining the household.
Because you were two responsible adults.
Because you loved each other more than anything.
Because you wanted to do this right.
You could do it.
Your friends drive you home after spending half an hour very deliberately avoiding the subject of Kara.
The moment you open the apartment door, the first thing you hear is:
"Krypto! No! Drop it!"
You don't even have to look. It's exactly what's happened every single day for the past two weeks.
Still, you step inside and set your purse down on the kitchen island.
Clark is chasing Kara's puppy around the living room.
Krypto has a shoe clamped firmly between his teeth. Not just any shoe—one of Clark's.
"That's not a toy!"
Trying to get away, the puppy launches himself straight toward the ceiling.
He bounces off it, sending a fine cloud of dust drifting onto the rug, before landing right back on the floor and taking off again.
Your boyfriend is right behind him.
Four—somehow now your household's unofficial translator—watches the entire scene unfold.
"The domestic canine has committed theft."
"I noticed," Clark mutters.
"Bruh."
"I still don't know where you keep learning those words, Four." He actually stops chasing the puppy just to complain.
Kara is sitting on the couch with a book in her hands, looking thoroughly embarrassed as she watches her dog race around the apartment.
She's the first one to notice you.
"Hey," you say.
Clark looks up. His entire expression changes instantly.
"Hey!" he finally manages to rescue his shoe, ignoring Krypto's indignant barking and walking over to kiss your cheek. "How was your lunch?"
"Great."
A lie. But Clark smiles anyway.
You aren't sure whether it's because he believes you or because he needs to.
Then he turns toward Kara, asking if she'd like anything in particular for dinner now that you're home.
He carefully strings together a few words in Kryptonian. His pronunciation is still awful, and Four corrects him at the end, but it still makes you smile.
"Anything is fine."
Four translates in Kara's own voice.
The answer is short. A little distant. Not quite rude. And after a few seconds, she glances at Clark, the corners of her mouth lifting ever so slightly in an attempt at a smile.
It doesn't quite work, so she looks back down at the book Four translated for her.
He only hesitates for a second before nodding.
"Okay." Clark smiles—even if it's nothing more than a tired line across his lips—before turning back to you as if that brief exchange hadn't just punched him straight in the heart. "And you?" he asks. "Anything you're in the mood for, sweetheart?"
"Pasta sounds good." Now it's your turn to try smiling. It's probably more convincing than either Kryptonian's.
You just hope it's contagious.
Settling onto the couch, you leave a careful gap between yourself and the girl—not too close, but not too far away either.
"How was your day?"
Four translates the question.
"Fine." Kara doesn't even look up for a moment. After a brief pause—as though reminding herself she should—she finally lifts her eyes to meet yours. "Thank you..."
You nod, just like Clark.
And that's when you look around.
A Kryptonian puppy who's now decided one of your couch cushions is far more interesting than Clark's shoe. A robot wearing a tiny knitted hat. Your boyfriend's alien cousin putting on a pair of noise-canceling headphones. And your boyfriend—Superman himself—trying to wipe dog slobber off a shoe while practicing an alien language.
And somehow, the robot is still your favorite of the three new additions.
You try to remember why you'd been so certain this was going to work.
The panic shopping the very next morning.
Trying to guess Kara's size.
Painting over your own experimental murals.
Cooking everything you knew how to make because you had no idea what Kryptonians ate.
Even Krypto.
Especially Krypto.
Together, you'd poured so much of yourselves into making that place into a home for her... never imagining that only a few weeks later, it would become the very place where all three of you would begin to feel like strangers.
Every time you look at Kara, you keep thinking the same thing.
That you can help her because you understand her. That you desperately want to help her because you can't bear the thought of her spending years trying to save herself all alone. That you have so much of yourself to give her.
You thought that would be enough.
It never was.
