Clark Kent request!! Idk I went to a dessert place and saw a couple and the guy I saw with his wife was so Clark Kent coded with glasses and his work fit + with his baby daughter strapped to his chest🥺 I’m picturing like reader finally healed after birth and asking Clark if they can go to this cute little dessert place down the street? He promises her he can go after work after he comes home, and takes the two of them? He has his little baby strapped to his chest the wholeeee time from going there, to eating, to leaving, yet is still so attentive to whatever reader is rambling abt while being attentive if his daughter wakes up? Like Clark giving reader a cute little date after birth!!
you’d been talking about the place all week. a little corner shop down the street, bright tiles and old booths, the glass case always fogged with sweet things you could never quite decide between. you’d walked past it a hundred times since coming home, hand resting instinctively on the stroller handle, gaze lingering a second too long on the neon sign in the window.
so when you finally ask — voice still shy around wanting things again, after months of only wanting rest and quiet and space to breathe — clark barely lets you finish the sentence.
“after work,” he promises, eyes warm behind his glasses, tie a little crooked from where you tugged him down to kiss goodbye. “we’ll go tonight.”
and he keeps his word, of course he does. he comes home later than either of you meant, his tie looser now, hair a little mussed. but he drops his bag at the door, kisses you once, twice, and holds out his hands for your daughter with that look that still softens your whole chest.
it takes barely a minute before she’s tucked close against him, strapped around and to his chest in that carrier you picked out together, her tiny face smushed sleepily against his shirt. one of her little fists curls under his tie, like she’s claiming him. clark’s palm comes up to steady her without thinking.
and then you’re out the door. together. not rushing. not worrying. just you, him, and her.
the place smells like sugar and warm butter, small enough that the three of you feel like you fill it. clark holds the door for you, careful of the stroller even though you left it folded outside, and you can feel him watching — not hovering, just making sure. always making sure.
you pick a booth by the window. him sliding in across from you, baby still nestled to his chest, and the sight of him there — work shirt rolled to his elbows, glasses slightly askew, wedding ring catching the soft overhead light — its all enough to make your breath catch.
you talk, rambling about the new flavors on the menu, a silly video you saw earlier, how your neighbor finally fixed his porch light. clark listens like there’s nothing else in the world. his eyes loving, mouth tilted into that small, private smile he only ever wears for you.
when your daughter stirs, he’s already on it: palm smoothing gently over her back, voice dropping even softer — “hey, sweetheart. it’s okay. daddy’s here.” he assures, the words so easy, so tender it makes your throat tighten.
and then back to you, without missing a beat.
“sorry, what were you saying sweetheart? the strawberry one? you should get it. i know you’ve been craving it.”
you end up sharing, fork passed back and forth, his big hands careful not to jostle the baby too much. powdered sugar dusts your fingertips and he brushes it away, thumb lingering on your knuckles.
he listens to everything: your half finished sentences, your worries about going back to work, the story you’re telling even though you keep forgetting where you left off. and the whole time, the baby’s tucked right there against his chest, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
when it’s time to leave, he stands first, adjusting the strap gently so she stays snug and comfortable. even carrying her, he still holds the door open for you, his free hand reaching for yours, certain.
outside, under the soft streetlight glow, he leans down, forehead brushing yours. “was that good?” he asks, voice a little hoarse from the day. you just nod, your eyes wet without meaning to. “yeah,” you breathe. “it was perfect.”
and it is — him, you, her. its sweet on your tongue, warm in your chest, and safe in ways you couldn’t quite put into words… ♡
