mattsmadness

[mattsmadness]

A Bond Beyond the Stars p.5

Pairing: Clark Kent x Reader

Summary:

Clark Kent never believed in soulmates, at least, not until he met her. Drawn together by a mysterious pull he can't explain, he soon discovers that the bond between them might be far more than just a coincidence.

Tags/Warnings: soulmate au, unknown biology, Superman 2025 spoilers, are we making up the plot? yeah

WC: 4.3k

A/N: Buckle up, we don't know where we're going

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

tags: @magicaldestinyharmony @prongs-moon.@animegamerfox@mollymal

___________________________________________________________

You knew it the moment you opened the door and saw Lois Lane standing there with a recorder in one hand and a smug sort of sympathy in the other.

“He’s not back yet?” she asked, stepping inside without waiting for an answer.

“Nope,” you replied, locking the door behind her. “He’s at the Fortress. Trying to figure out all of this Hammer of Boravia person.”

Lois winced. “Right. The one that left a crater the size of Jersey.”

You nodded and made your way into the living room. Krypto followed at your heel, ever your little white shadow, ear perked, tail twitching. He hadn’t let you out of his sight since Clark flew off, bloodied and trying to reassure you he’d be back by morning.

It was past midnight now.

Lois flopped onto the couch like she owned it. She tossed her coat on the armrest and pulled a notebook out of her bag. “So, I figured we could just hang out for a bit. Do the usual, mock your boyfriend’s god complex, watch trashy TV, maybe eat half the pantry.”

You smiled, grateful for the distraction.

That was the thing about Lois. She got it. Not in the way you did, not in the bond-of-the-universe, cosmic-pull, soulmate way, but she understood what it was to love someone who didn’t get to be normal. And she’d become your best friend because of it.

“I made brownies,” you offered.

“Oh, hell yes.”

Just as you were plating them, Krypto sitting at attention beside the kitchen counter, there was a crash from the fire escape.

A blur of red and blue slammed against the window before easing it open from the outside.

Clark.

Your heart dropped then soared.

He stumbled into the apartment, still in full Superman gear, cape dragging, jaw tight. There was blood caked across the S-shield on his chest.

You dropped the plate.

“Oh my god—Clark—” You rushed to him, Krypto barking once before circling behind your knees. Clark caught you with one arm and pulled you tight against him, breathing in the scent of you like he hadn’t breathed in hours.

“I’m okay,” he murmured. “Just...needed to get back to you.”

Lois stood, recorder already in hand. “You forgot to change, Kent.”

Clark blinked down at himself, then at her.

“…Yeah,” he said, a little sheepish.

You guided him to the couch, one hand on his chest, feeling the heat of him even through the suit. You didn’t flinch at the blood, didn’t pull away. Clark’s other hand never left your hip.

“Sit,” you said, firm but soft. “I’ll get the first-aid kit.”

But Lois was already there, holding up the recorder. “Before you patch him up, can I get five minutes?”

Clark gave her a look that was somewhere between resigned and deeply annoyed. “Now?”

“You said I could,” she reminded him, settling on the armrest with all the grace of a tiger about to pounce. “It’ll throw people off the scent if I’m interviewing Superman instead of Clark Kent doing it himself.”

You curled up beside him, tucking your legs under yourself and resting your hand on his knee. Krypto curled at your feet, his head resting on your ankle like a living weight.

Clark gave you a glance. You nodded.

He let out a breath. “Fine.”

Lois clicked on the recorder.

Her voice shifted, sharpening like a blade. “So. Superman. The United Nations called your recent actions in Jarhanpur and Boravia an abuse of power. They said you acted as a one-man state.”

Clark’s jaw ticked. “I stopped a war.”

“At what cost? You leveled three military bases and a palace.”

“No lives were lost.”

“That we know of,” Lois countered. “Do you see yourself as the world’s policeman now?”

You felt his thigh tense beneath your palm. You pressed into it gently, grounding him. His fingers brushed your wrist in silent thanks.

Clark’s voice dropped lower, more controlled. “I don’t see myself as anything except someone who tries to help. When lives are at stake, when innocent people are going to die, I step in.”

“And when those lives are on opposite sides?” Lois asked. “When your interference shifts the political balance of entire nations?”

Clark glanced at you again. His voice was quieter now, more vulnerable. “It’s never black and white, Lois. But I’m not going to stand by and watch people burn.”

There was a pause. The air buzzed with tension. You knew Lois was doing her job—asking the questions the world was screaming—but god, you hated how it hurt him.

Lois finally softened. “People are scared. Of what you can do. Of what it means to have someone like you walking among us, choosing who to save.”

His voice, steady up to that point, cracked. “People were going to die, Lois.” Clark’s eyes flicked to you across the room, his gaze almost pleading. “Thousands. Children. Families. They weren’t soldiers, they were civilians caught between fire. I—I couldn't just stand there.” His hand trembled slightly as he dragged it through his hair, the cape shifting behind him like it felt the weight of the decision, too.

“I know it wasn’t simple. I know what it looks like. But I wasn’t thinking about politics or power or optics. I was thinking—someone needed to save them. And I could.”

He was exhausted. Not just physically, but in his soul.

Lois shut the recorder off.

“That’s enough,��� she said gently.

He nodded, shoulders sagging.

She looked between the two of you—something shifting in her eyes.

“I’m gonna go,” she said. “But Clark… this helped. Genuinely.”

She gave your hand a squeeze on her way out.

Once the door shut, silence fell.

You turned to him. “Are you okay?”

“No.” His voice cracked.

You moved into his lap before he could stop you. He buried his face in your neck, inhaling deep, arms wrapped tight around your waist like he could disappear into you.

“I hate this,” he murmured. “I hate that people think I’m something to be afraid of.”

“You’re not,” you whispered into his hair.

“I’m yours,” he said, voice thick with feeling. “That’s all I want to be. Just yours.”

His mouth found yours before you could respond. This wasn’t the gentle kind of kiss. This was the heat.

Clark kissed like he couldn’t breathe without you, like something inside him was splitting at the seams, and you were the only way to hold it together.

He gripped your hips tight, dragging you impossibly closer, groaning into your mouth. You tangled your hands in his hair, felt the scrape of stubble against your cheek as he pressed kisses down your jaw to your throat.

“Mine,” he growled, nipping lightly at your skin.

You gasped when he sucked at the base of your neck, just under your ear, leaving a hickey he had no intention of hiding. His tongue soothed the sting, and he looked at it, satisfied.

“Clark…”

His eyes were wild, pupils blown, chest heaving. “Everyone looks at me like I’m untouchable. But you...you make me feel. You make me human again.”

You touched his face, soft now. “You don’t need to prove anything to anyone. Not even me.”

He kissed your palm.

But still, he pressed his forehead to yours and whispered, “I want them to see it. I want them to know I belong to you.”

You smiled.

“They already do.”

Krypto gave a low, approving chuff from the floor. Then a thump as he flopped over dramatically.

You laughed into Clark’s chest.

The war was over. But the battles never really ended.

Still, moments like this? With Clark’s hands on your waist and his voice in your ear and his lips warm and desperate against yours?

You’d fight for them every single day.

_____________________________________________________

next part

[mattsmadness]

"Maybe I'll kill that reporter who does all your interviews. Maybe I'll kill Clark Kent."

This is the most important line in the movie. I'm 100% serious. It tells you everything you need to know about Lex Luthor's character. It shows the audience that, despite being almost omnicognizant from the get-go, Luthor clearly has no fucking idea who Superman is, only what he does.

I've never seen anyone go from All-Knowing Evil to Absolute Fucking Loser so fast. In fifteen words he went from unstoppable criminal powerhouse to flailing manchild moron. He gave his Evil Dictator demonstration and then turned around, dropped his pants and showed his entire ass. He proclaimed his manifesto of unrelenting ego, turned around, slipped on a banana peel and landed on a whoopie cushion.

And he was so mired in his own sense of superiority that he never even knew it.

Lex Luthor, folks. Ten out of ten, no notes.

[mattsmadness]

A Bond Beyond the Stars p.4

Pairing: Clark Kent x Reader

Summary:

Clark Kent never believed in soulmates, at least, not until he met her. Drawn together by a mysterious pull he can't explain, he soon discovers that the bond between them might be far more than just a coincidence.

Tags/Warnings: soulmate au, unknown biology, Superman 2025 spoilers, are we making up the plot? yeah

WC: 4.2k

A/N: Buckle up

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

tags: @magicaldestinyharmony @prongs-moon @animegamerfox @mollymal

___________________________________________________________

It wasn’t always soft.

Sometimes it was heat, Clark catching you in the hallway, eyes blown wide, hands full of need. He'd press you against the wall and kiss you like he was dying, like you were the only thing tethering him to Earth. Sometimes it was a quiet growl, the kind that rumbled deep in his chest when someone stared too long at you on the street. A subtle shift of his body, always placing himself between you and the world. Like a shield.

But most of the time, it was something quieter. His fingers seeking yours mid-conversation. His chin resting on your shoulder while you did the dishes. The way he whispered your name like a prayer in the middle of the night, wrapping himself around you like you were his only refuge.

Tonight, it was all of it.

After stopping a collapsing satellite over South America and nearly getting sliced in half by a piece of alien tech on the reentry, Clark had only one instinct: get home. Not to Smallville. Not to the Fortress. To you.

You didn’t even flinch when he burst through the window of your shared apartment like a meteor. He was still in the supersuit, chest scorched, cape torn at the edges. But your arms were already out, heart in your throat, moving toward him.

“Clark.”

He said nothing at first, just reached for you. His hands, still trembling from the adrenaline crash, framed your face like he was checking you were real.

“I’m here,” you whispered. “I’m okay.”

“No,” he said, voice hoarse. “You’re…you’re everything.”

You barely had time to speak before his mouth was on yours, desperate and deep. The kind of kiss that didn’t ask for permission. The kind that said I’m yours and I need to feel it.

He didn’t let you go for hours.

He’d carried you to the couch, settled you into his lap like he needed the weight of you to ground him. You didn’t complain, your fingers traced the burn across his collarbone, your lips ghosted over the cut on his cheek.

“I hate when you bleed,” you murmured.

He chuckled, soft and warm. “You should see the other guy.”

“Don’t joke. Not when you look like this.”

He pressed his forehead to yours. “I’m fine. Really. Just...don’t leave me tonight.”

“I never do.”

Lois came over the next morning with coffee and a suspicious look. Krypto barked excitedly at the door, wagging his tail so hard it smacked the wall. You tried to pry him off your lap but he huffed and stayed put, big golden eyes on Lois like he was evaluating a threat.

“Still guarding me?” you teased, ruffling behind his ears.

Clark was in the kitchen, shirtless, making pancakes with one hand and squeezing your waist with the other anytime you got near. You could feel him listening to your heartbeat.

Lois narrowed her eyes at the giant dog and then at you. “He’s worse than Clark.”

“I’m a very lucky woman,” you deadpanned.

Lois smirked. “So I’ve heard. All Clark does at work is talk about you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “All he does?”

Jimmy Olsen, apparently, had tried to follow Lois over but was stopped by Krypto at the stairs. Clark didn’t even look up from the stove. “He wanted to interview her. Said she must be magical if she got me to smile that much.”

Lois rolled her eyes. “You know, it’s getting suspicious. All these exclusive interviews with Superman—people are starting to talk.”

Clark froze, spatula mid-air.

Lois continued, swirling her coffee. “You’ve done two Daily Planet interviews with Superman this month, and no one’s ever seen you two in the same room.”

“That’s because we’re not,” Clark said quickly, bringing you a plate. “He’s camera-shy.”

“Uh-huh.”

You met her gaze. She knew. Had known for a few weeks. But she wasn’t outing him. Just... poking. Testing.

“You could interview him, Lois,” you offered casually. “Deflect some of the suspicion off Clark. Give the people what they want.”

Clark looked like he might short-circuit.

But Lois just smirked. “I might take you up on that.”

You found him later that night on the fire escape, head tilted toward the stars.

He didn’t say anything when you came out. Just opened his arm and pulled you into his lap.

His voice was quiet. “They’re scared of me.”

You nestled against his chest. “They don’t understand you.”

“I stopped a war,” he said. “And now the press says I overstepped. That I picked a side.”

You placed your hand on his heart. “You saved lives. That’s what matters.”

“They don’t know what it means to feel everything,” he whispered. “When people cry for help…it echoes through me. I can’t just not go.”

“You’re not just Superman,” you said softly. “You’re my Clark. You don’t need to justify doing the right thing.”

He kissed your temple, then your cheek, then your shoulder. His lips trailed down your neck, reverent.

“You make it better,” he murmured. “Always.”

Two days later, Lex Luthor hit the airwaves.

His new rhetoric was slick, calculated. “Superman is a threat to national sovereignty,” he declared. “No man should be above global policy, no matter how powerful he is.”

You watched it with Clark’s arms around your waist, his chin on your shoulder. His body was taut.

“He’s obsessed with you,” you said.

“I know.”

“What’s he planning?”

Clark exhaled slowly. “I don’t know yet. But I don’t like it.”

That night, you woke up to find him standing by the window.

His bare back was illuminated by moonlight, muscles tense. He was listening.

“What is it?” you asked, sitting up.

He turned, eyes glowing faintly. “Trouble in the Middle East. It’s a conflict brewing. Not war yet. But it’s the same pressure I felt before Boravia and Jarhanpur.”

You crossed the room to him and placed your hand on his chest.

He leaned into it. “I don’t know if I should go. Last time, it made everything worse.”

“You’ll know what to do.”

He kissed you then, long and slow. His hand found the small of your back.

“If anything happens to me—”

“Clark.”

“—I just want you to know—”

“I know,” you whispered. “I feel it. Every second.”

The Justice Gang called a meeting the next day.

You weren’t invited, but Clark told you everything afterward.

Mr. Terrific, efficient and precise, had proposed a formal protocol for Superman’s interventions in world conflicts.

Guy Gardner had grunted. “You’re too powerful, Superman. Even if I trust you, and I don’t, what happens when someone else gets ideas?”

Hawkgirl had crossed her arms. “We’re not saying you did the wrong thing. We’re saying no one asked you to.”

Clark had been calm. Polite. But when he came home, you saw the strain in his eyes.

“They don’t get it,” he muttered.

“They don’t have what you do,” you said gently, tugging him down onto the couch.

He buried his face in your neck, wrapped around you so tightly you thought your ribs might crack. You held him anyway.

After battle, Clark always needed to touch you.

Not sexually, necessarily, though sometimes that, too, but to anchor himself. He’d pull you into his lap, curl around you in bed like a dragon guarding its treasure. His hand would always find your hip, or your thigh, or the soft dip of your spine. As if his body needed yours to stay whole.

It was a Kryptonian thing, you’d learned.

Soulmates were casual concepts on his planet. They were sacred. Rare.

To touch was to bond.

To kiss was to seal.

To protect was instinct. In his culture, true mates were chosen by fate through genetic alignment, emotional resonance, and something deeper. Something cosmic. He said it was like gravity. You were the center, and he was always falling toward you.

The idea of children had come up once.

You’d been curled together on the floor after a long day, his cape spread beneath you like a blanket.

“What would they be like?” you’d whispered, tracing lazy patterns on his chest.

He’d smiled, soft and hopeful. “Strong. Kind. Curious.”

“And protective?”

He’d laughed. “God help them if they’re as clingy as me.”

“I like that you’re clingy,” you said honestly.

He rolled over and kissed your belly. “Then I hope they’re very clingy.”

At the Daily Planet, Jimmy Olsen caught Clark staring at a photo of you on his desk, again.

“Dude,” he said, deadpan. “You’ve got it bad.”

Clark blinked. “What?”

“I swear I saw you sigh at her picture.”

Clark flushed. “Did not.”

Lois leaned in from her desk. “You absolutely did.”

“She’s amazing,” Clark mumbled.

Lois raised a brow. “You’re gonna marry her?”

Clark looked up slowly, eyes warm and steady. “If she’ll have me.”

Jimmy leaned back in his chair. “You’re making the rest of us look bad.”

That night, you brought Clark lunch to work. Just a simple thing, a sandwich and some peach cobbler in a glass dish. He met you in the stairwell like he was greeting royalty.

He kissed you like he’d been starved all day.

“You brought peach cobbler?” he asked, mouth against your hair.

“I love you,” you replied.

Jimmy caught sight of the two of you in the stairwell and nearly dropped his coffee. “That’s her?!”

Lois grinned. “Told you.”

Clark just held you tighter.

The world was complicated. Messy. Full of politics and threats and rising dangers.

But here, in your orbit, he could just be Clark. Not Superman. Not Kal-El.

Just a man in love with the woman fate gave him.

And he was never going to let go.

_____________________________________

Next part

[mattsmadness]

A Bond Beyond the Stars p.3

Pairing: Clark Kent x Reader

Summary:

Clark Kent never believed in soulmates, at least, not until he met her. Drawn together by a mysterious pull he can't explain, he soon discovers that the bond between them might be far more than just a coincidence.

Tags/Warnings: soulmate au, unknown biology, Superman 2025 spoileres

WC: 6.3k

A/N: Idk where this fic is even going so hold on everyone

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

The whole world was watching Superman.

But she was watching Clark.

Every news cycle seemed to spin tighter around him, the press like wolves circling a lion—anxious, eager, a little afraid. Lex Luthor had gone from an undercurrent to a full-blown headline. A ruthless mind, brilliant and venomous, slithering through boardrooms and broadcasts with carefully worded takedowns of Superman’s existence. Most of the public couldn’t see it, not yet. But she could. She could see the obsession tightening behind Lex’s eyes in every clipped interview and "hypothetical" public address.

And the worst part?

Clark was the one interviewing Superman.

The Daily Planet, known for its award-winning journalistic integrity, had exactly one voice authorized to speak for the Man of Steel. One reporter who somehow got every exclusive quote, every inside scoop. One glasses-wearing farm boy with a slow drawl and big hands and "nothing to hide" who was, to her horror and delight, increasingly bad at keeping secrets.

And Lois Lane was catching on.

She’d brought it up over coffee the other morning. “Doesn’t it seem weird to you?” she asked Jimmy. “That Clark keeps getting all the Superman quotes?”

Jimmy shrugged and mumbled something about "Midwestern charm."

But Lois wasn’t buying it.

Clark, meanwhile, was doing his best to lay low, which meant kissing her half to death in the mornings before dashing out the window and hoping no one from the newsroom happened to be looking up.

She understood why he was so insistent about keeping their relationship quiet. Superman couldn’t have a girlfriend. Superman belonged to the world. But Clark Kent could have someone. Someone soft and small. Someone whose hands fit perfectly against his chest, whose eyes lit up when he opened the door, who made the whole Fortress feel like a home the second she stepped inside it.

She got it. But it didn’t make it easier.

Especially not when her boyfriend was getting stared down by Lex Luthor and starting to draw suspicion from his coworkers, and still refused to let her do the dishes when he came over.

“Babe, you do not need to fold my laundry,” she grumbled, trying to wrestle a towel away from him.

He just grinned. “I like taking care of you.”

“You already do! You fly me to see sunsets. You open every door. You stare at me like I’m made of gold,”

“Because you are.”

“—and now you want to iron my socks?”

“They’re wrinkly,” he said, dead serious.

She sighed. “You know, this relationship is starting to feel like Twilight.”

He blinked. “The sparkly vampire one?”

“Yes. You’re giving Edward Cullen if Edward was raised by Martha Kent and had better communication skills.”

Clark leaned in, nosing along her cheek. “So…you’re saying I sparkle?”

“I’m saying you sparkle with purpose.”

He laughed into her neck and pulled her onto his lap, his arms already curling around her like muscle memory. He was warm, too warm, always running hotter than any normal man should. His fingers laced behind her back like he couldn’t bear to let go even for a second.

And then came the thump.

And the howl.

And the crash from the living room.

Clark stiffened. “Oh no.”

“What the hell was that?”

“Uh. Kara.”

She blinked. “Kara is in the living room?”

“She dropped something off.”

The “something” was currently chewing on the arm of their couch.

It was white. Huge. Furry. And had laser vision, apparently, because the moment it spotted her, it bounded across the room, knocked over a lamp, and body-slammed her legs with enough force to take down a grown man.

“Krypto,” Clark groaned, rubbing his face. “Down.”

The dog looked up at Clark like, No thoughts. Only love. Then it immediately turned back to her and licked her from chin to forehead in one go.

“Hi,” she wheezed. “You must be the goodest boy from outer space.”

Clark cleared his throat. “Mostly good.”

“He has teeth, Clark.”

“He’s just excited. He loves you.”

That part, at least, was true. Krypto was massive and alarmingly fast, but he wouldn’t leave her side. On their evening walk, he trotted between her and the street like a very toothy bodyguard, growling softly at passing garbage trucks and anyone who looked even slightly suspicious.

Clark watched the whole thing with a dopey grin.

“He’s got good instincts,” he said, hand on her lower back. “Can’t blame him for being protective.”

“You already do that.”

“Not when he’s around,” Clark murmured. “It’s nice. Having someone else watch over you when I can’t.”

The tenderness in his voice made her stop mid-step. She looked up at him, her Clark, her Superman, and for a moment, she saw the full weight he carried. Not just as a hero, but as a man in love. A man who worried. A man who had enemies now. Powerful ones. Ones who might not stop until they destroyed him or used her to do it.

“Clark…” she said gently.

He kissed her forehead, then the tip of her nose. “I’m okay. Just don’t like leaving you alone.”

“You’d hover over me like a drone if you could.”

“Wouldn’t even blink.”

“I think Krypto would compete for the job.”

Clark looked down at the dog, who was currently chewing a stick and watching her like she might evaporate.

He nodded approvingly. “He’s hired.”

Back at their apartment, Clark brought in takeout and pretended like the weight of the world wasn’t pressing harder by the day. Lois was asking more questions. Lex Luthor was scheduling interviews and “leaks” designed to undermine Superman’s integrity. The Fortress felt cold lately, more echo than home, and the robots had started doing maintenance scans on Clark every time he arrived, like even the Kryptonian tech was sensing something coming.

She lay on the couch while Krypto snored against her legs and Clark flipped through the evening news with a frown.

He wasn’t Superman when he was with her. Not entirely. He was Clark. Her Clark. But even she could see it—how the lines between the two were starting to blur. The strain. The duality. The danger creeping in through every crack.

She reached for his hand and threaded their fingers together.

“I’ve got you,” she said.

He leaned down and kissed her slow, his voice a whisper in her ear.

“You always have.”

_________________________________________________

There’s a particular silence that follows an international crisis. It’s heavy, strained. The kind of quiet that creeps under the skin, settling just behind your ribs like a stone. And when that quiet is paired with the knowledge that the man you love just threw himself between two warring nations and now has a godlike hammer forged for war after him, you don’t really… sleep. You wait.

The news plays on mute in the background, even though I’ve read every headline, every shaky op-ed about Superman: Savior or Saboteur? and the increasingly public question of where the line is between heroism and intervention. I already know what they're going to say. That he had no right to interfere. That he stopped the war too fast. That maybe, just maybe, the world was better before he started caring.

They don’t know him. Not like I do.

Clark had returned from stopping the Boravia Jarhanpur war bruised, bloodied, and heartbreakingly silent. He didn’t come home that night; he went straight to the Fortress.

"Too dangerous for you, sweetheart," he’d murmured over the phone, voice thick with guilt and pain. "I just need a day. Or two."

So I waited. Because that’s what you do when your soulmate is a walking miracle with a target on his back. You keep living. You feed Krypto. You lie to your friends and pretend you’re not worried sick.

Krypto gives a low, grumbly sigh and thuds down beside me on the apartment rug, massive head in my lap. He’s never far from me these days. Kara left him in our care while she "partied responsibly" off-world. ("We can't get drunk on planets with yellow suns," Clark had muttered, and I couldn’t help but laugh.)

“He’s fine,” I tell the dog. Myself. “He’s probably arguing with FOUR about rest protocols again. You know how he gets.”

Krypto hums. He doesn’t believe me either.

“Wait, so you’re telling me,” Lois says, pointing at me with a glittering pink nail, “that you trust your mysterious boyfriend enough not to question where he is after an international war, but not enough to tell me what he actually does?”

“I didn’t say I don’t trust him.” I swirl my wine around in the glass, eyeing her over the rim. “I said I trust him too much. There’s a difference.”

Lois Lane, Pulitzer-prize-winning investigative journalist and queen of eagle-eyed suspicions, narrows her eyes. She’s been circling this conversation all night—gently, playfully—but every so often there’s a sharp glint in her questions that makes me wonder if she’s really joking.

“Mhmm,” she says. “And you have no idea why Clark Kent has been the only reporter to consistently land interviews with Superman?”

I take a sip. “Maybe they go to the same barber.”

Lois snorts into her glass. “Cute.”

We’re knee-deep in movie night fluff, face masks on, wine flowing, and some old vampire flick playing in the background. Lois is on one end of the couch, wrapped in a throw blanket like a cape; I’m on the other, with Krypto in the middle like a self-appointed security pillow. His tail thumps every time I laugh. Every time I speak. He’s a menace on walks, growls at passing cars and pigeons with equal suspicion, but he’s good. Deep-down good. And fiercely protective.

Clark calls him “a chaotic good boy.” I call him my fluffy guardian.

I miss Clark.

“Alright,” Lois says finally, setting her glass down. “I’ll let it go. For now.”

“Thank you.” I smile, even though my chest aches. “I’ll try to be more mysterious next time.”

“You already are, girl.” She bumps my foot. “It’s kind of annoying how soft and gooey he gets around you.”

“I know,” I say, grinning despite myself. “He’s like a golden retriever in a farm boy’s body.”

“Correction: a very hot farm boy.” Lois raises her eyebrows. “You don’t have to lie to me.”

“I would never,” I laugh.

Then the wall explodes.

Not literally, but the sound is catastrophic. The apartment window shudders as a massive weight crashes into the balcony door. Krypto barks, leaps over the couch, and Lois screams bloody murder while I bolt to my feet.

Smoke. Glass. A flurry of red and blue—

And then I see him.

Clark. Still dressed as Superman. Crumpled on the living room floor.

“—Clark!”

I’m already by his side, sliding to my knees. His cape’s torn, suit scorched, his hair disheveled and damp with sweat.

“Sweetheart,” I whisper, cupping his jaw.

“I’m fine,” he rasps. “Sorry. I didn’t want to scare you.”

“Too late.” My hands roam frantically over his chest, checking for bleeding. “Clark, what the hell—”

He curls into me like gravity itself is too much to fight. His head dips to my shoulder, his breath hot against my neck.

Lois is frozen. Her jaw is on the floor.

“You crashed through your own apartment,” she manages to say. “Clark Kent is Superman?”

Clark groans into my collarbone.

I sigh. “Surprise?”

Later, after Krypto has finally stopped growling at the window and Lois has called Perry White (followed by a muttered I knew it, I freaking knew it), Clark is half-asleep on the couch, curled around me like he might shatter if he doesn’t stay touching me.

Lois is still here, seated in one of our kitchen chairs with a notebook already out. Her reporter brain flipped back on the moment the shock wore off.

“So,” she says slowly, “you stopped the war. The Hammer of Boravia threw you into the ocean. And now the world thinks you overstepped.”

Clark lifts his head. “They’re right to ask questions.”

“They’re scared,” I say gently.

He leans into my hand as I touch his hair. “But I had to stop it. I had to. I couldn’t just watch people die.”

Lois’s pen is poised above the page, but her expression is soft now. "We can talk about ethics another time. But we’re going to have to control the narrative. Luthor’s going to spin this however he wants.”

“He already is,” I murmur. “He’s obsessed with Superman, Clark. He’s not going to stop until he brings you down.”

Clark’s jaw tightens. “Let him try.”

I don’t doubt him. Not for a second. He’s fire and steel and kindness wrapped into one impossible man. But I also see the weight on him. The exhaustion. The moral war behind those soft, storm-gray eyes.

Krypto pads over and presses his big head into Clark’s side.

Clark cracks a small smile and pets him. “Good boy. You protected her while I was gone?”

Krypto sneezes.

I chuckle. “He barked at a balloon the other day and wouldn’t let me walk past it.”

“He’s a hero.” Clark kisses my shoulder. Then my cheek. Then my jaw.

“Clark,” I whisper, trying not to melt. “Lois is right there.”

“I’m hurt,” he says dramatically. “I need affection. I need...kisses.”

“You need rest,” I say.

“You can do both,” Lois offers from the kitchen, entirely unfazed.

Clark grins, the same boyish thing he’d flashed at me the first time he asked me out, with a sunflower in hand and his tie on crooked. “Told you she was smart.”

By the time the night ends, Lois has promised not to publish anything until Clark decides how to proceed. She hugs me tight before she leaves, whispering, “You’re braver than me,” into my ear.

I whisper back, “You’d do the same if he looked at you like this.”

Clark is already in bed when I crawl in beside him. He rolls over immediately, pulling me into his chest, wrapping around me like a blanket.

“You scared me,” I murmur, fingers tracing the lines of his jaw. “You can’t crash through walls like that. We’re on a budget.”

“I’ll patch it tomorrow,” he says. “Probably.”

“Clark.”

“Okay,” he relents, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “I’ll do it now.”

But he doesn’t move. Just buries his face into my neck again, hand splayed across my lower back like it’s the only place he belongs.

“I’ll fix the world tomorrow,” he mumbles.

I close my eyes.

“Just stay with me tonight,” he adds. “Let me be Clark tonight.”

“You’re always Clark to me,” I whisper.

Even when the world doesn’t understand him. Even when Lex Luthor tries to rewrite the truth. Even when galaxies shift and power makes people afraid—

He’s just mine. And I’m his.

Always.

___________________________________________________________

Next part

[mattsmadness]

A Bond Beyond the Stars p.2

Pairing: Clark Kent x Reader

Summary:

Clark Kent never believed in soulmates, at least, not until he met her. Drawn together by a mysterious pull he can't explain, he soon discovers that the bond between them might be far more than just a coincidence.

Tags/Warnings: soulmate au, unknown biology

WC: 5k

A/N: I'm a sucker for anything soulmate-related, so I figured I should try my hand at something small. Let me know if I should continue this story!

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

___________________________________________________________

Time passed—soft and quiet at first, like pages turning in the background of my life. But then Clark Kent entered it, and nothing was quiet again.

I didn’t fall in love with Superman.

I fell in love with Clark.

With the man who ducked into my bookstore on rainy afternoons to escape the weather, but who stuck around even when the sun came out. With the man who trailed his fingers along the spines of old poetry books like they were sacred. With the man who asked if I needed help bringing in boxes, even in the middle of his lunch break.

Clark, who never once rushed me. Who looked at me like I was made of light. Who brought me his favorite pie from some little Kansas recipe his Ma made and told me stories about stars while he wiped his hands on a napkin.

You want to know how we got together?

One day, he leaned against the doorway of my shop and said, “I think my soul’s been trying to find you for a long time.”

And I, blinking up at this tall, broad-shouldered man with the gentlest eyes I’d ever seen, laughed and said, “That sounds like something out of Twilight.”

He flushed red, nearly knocking over a display stand. “I—I didn’t mean—”

“I like Twilight,” I said quickly. “And you’re too nice to be Edward Cullen.”

He cleared his throat. “Do I get points for not breaking into your bedroom to watch you sleep?”

That made me laugh. “I think we’d both lose sleep if you tried to fit through my apartment window.”

Clark’s laugh—God, I wish I could bottle that sound. It’s warm and low and shakes in his chest like it can’t believe it belongs to him.

It wasn’t a whirlwind. He courted me. Honest to goodness courted me.

He asked if he could call me. Asked if he could bring me lunch. Walked me home three nights in a row before ever touching my hand. When he finally did, his fingers curled around mine like he was afraid I might disappear.

And then he kissed me.

It was the kind of kiss that happens in books—the slow, reverent kind. Like he’d been waiting his whole life for that one moment. And when we pulled apart, his forehead rested on mine, and he whispered, “There’s something about you that feels like home.”

He loved that I was smaller than him. Always did.

He liked to carry the groceries, even if I only had one bag. He’d bend down to kiss my cheek and wrap his arms around me from behind while I stood on my tiptoes to reach the top shelf. And when we sat together on the couch, he’d pull me right into his lap, like that was my proper place.

It was clingy, sure. But in the best way.

Clark doesn’t just hold you, he anchors you. Like his whole world is steadied by your weight in his arms. Sometimes he’d press kisses along my temple and murmur, “I didn’t know I needed this until you.”

Sometimes I’d tease him, call him my “giant golden retriever of a man.”

He liked that too. “As long as I get to follow you around,” he’d grin, wrapping himself around me like he never wanted to let go.

He took me on dates that felt like dreams. He showed me his favorite places to watch the sky, sometimes hours before sunset. We’d sit together on a little blanket, drinking hot cocoa out of thermoses, his arm snug around my waist, and he’d point out the constellations like they were old friends.

“The stars feel different now,” he said once, voice low. “It’s like they’re not so far away anymore.”

“Why’s that?”

He smiled. “Because you’re here.”

He was raised right. Open doors, yes ma’ams, helping old ladies with their carts, standing between me and the street on sidewalks. He called his mom every week and carried a handkerchief, just in case.

I don’t think I’d ever known someone to be so sincerely good.

Which is why I wasn’t surprised when I found out.

When I learned the truth.

I didn’t find out he was Superman because he told me. I found out because he came home one night with his glasses cracked and his body trembling, not from pain, but from fear.

“I didn’t want you to see me like this,” he said, voice breaking. “I didn’t want this to be how you found out.”

He looked… terrified. And that broke me.

“You’re not some monster, Clark,” I said, reaching for him. “You’re the man who brings me coffee and reads old sci-fi novels to me out loud.”

“I’m not just that,” he said. “I’m… I’m not human.”

I smiled. “But you were raised human. And honestly? I think you’re more human than most people I know.”

After that, he took me to the Fortress of Solitude.

Not out of obligation—but because he trusted me.

He flew me there in his arms, nervous the entire way, asking if I was warm enough, if I was okay, if I was still sure. When we landed, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing—an entire ice castle glittering like something out of a dream. Kryptonian symbols glowing faintly in the walls. Crystalline towers spiraling into the white-blue sky.

And the robots—he called one of them FOUR. A small army of helpers, left behind by a people long gone.

FOUR was the first to greet us. He looked like a metal star with limbs and a mind sharper than steel. He bowed to me. To me. As if I meant something to a race of people I’d never met.

“You are the chosen mate of Kal-El,” FOUR said. “It is an honor to serve you.”

Clark looked so embarrassed. “FOUR!”

“Statistical odds of your compatibility are precisely 99.9971%,” FOUR added. “Emotional resonance confirms soulmate status.”

I whispered to Clark, “Wow. The robot ships us.”

He laughed, stunned, then kissed my knuckles.

He’s still getting used to this soulmate idea. And so am I.

But I’ve seen the way his eyes soften when they land on me. The way his whole body seems to relax when we’re touching. The way he whispers my name like it’s a prayer and a promise all at once.

This isn’t just a relationship. It’s gravity.

And no matter what happens next, whether the world ever finds out who he is, or whether they try to tear him down, I know this much:

He chose me. And I chose him.

Even if it feels like the stars had a hand in it all along.

___________________________________________________________

next part

[mattsmadness]

A Bond Beyond the Stars

Pairing: Clark Kent x Reader

Summary:

Clark Kent never believed in soulmates, at least, not until he met her. Drawn together by a mysterious pull he can't explain, he soon discovers that the bond between them might be far more than just a coincidence.

Tags/Warnings: soulmate au, unknown biology

WC: 5k

A/N: I'm a sucker for anything soulmate-related related so figured I should try my hand at something small. Let me know if I should continue this story!

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Clark Kent was no stranger to the strange.

Growing up on a farm in Smallville, he’d seen enough peculiar things to last a lifetime—whether it was his own unexplainable strength, or the way the cows always seemed to know when a storm was coming. And he was comfortable with the unusual. Comfortable with being the odd one out in a world that just didn’t seem to understand him.

But standing outside a small, dusty bookstore in Old Metropolis, Clark found himself staring at a different kind of strangeness, one that made his heart race and his skin feel too tight.

It had started with a feeling. A faint tugging deep in his chest that he couldn’t explain. The kind of feeling that felt like it was pulling him toward something, or someone, and it hadn’t faded since the moment he stepped off the subway and found himself walking down this quiet street.

The sign in the window read "Cicada Books – Secondhand & Coffee," and when he looked inside, the soft amber glow of the hanging lights illuminated the shelves stacked with stories from another world.

He pushed the door open and the bell above jingled softly.

You were behind the counter, engrossed in a thick, well-worn book. Your hair fell loose around your shoulders, a quiet smile playing on your lips as you turned a page, absorbed in your world. You hadn’t noticed him at first, but the moment his foot crossed the threshold, the pull in his chest intensified.

It wasn’t an overpowering thing, not like an instinct to fly or fight; it was gentle, like the world aligning in a way he’d never known it could. And he couldn’t shake the feeling that you were somehow, inexplicably, connected to him.

Clark hesitated for a moment, suddenly feeling self-conscious about his presence. He wasn’t exactly a regular in places like this, and he certainly wasn’t the type to wander into a secondhand bookstore just to browse.

But when you looked up and met his gaze, he knew.

And you did too. It was almost imperceptible—the flicker in your eyes, the way your breath hitched just a little. He could feel it, deep down in a way that made his entire body hum.

“Hi,” he said, pushing away the sudden knot in his throat. He had to force the words out. “I’m looking for a book...on, uh, history? Something about old cities?”

You set your book down and smiled. “Old cities, huh? We’ve got plenty of those. You’re in the right place.”

You motioned to a shelf on the far side of the room. “Let me know if you need anything specific.”

He nodded, still unsure of how to respond. The pull was so strong now, he could feel it like an electric current between the two of you, like the very air around him was different. He walked over to the shelf, fingers brushing against the spines of books, but his mind was a thousand miles away.

He didn’t understand it. Couldn’t explain it. But you felt like someone he was meant to meet.

And that terrified him.

He spent the next half hour wandering the shelves, but his thoughts never strayed far from you. Your presence, calm and easy, felt like a warm light. He wasn’t sure what to make of it. His heart pounded, but it wasn’t from fear. It was… something else.

He finally picked a book off the shelf, something about ancient ruins, and carried it to the counter. When he reached it, he caught your eyes again. That same knowing flicker was there.

“Is this okay?” he asked, forcing a small smile.

You took the book, glancing at the cover. “Yeah, this should be good,” you said, voice gentle. “You’re new to Metropolis?”

“Just moved here recently,” Clark replied, trying to sound casual. “Small town. Thought I’d see what the city had to offer.”

You raised an eyebrow, a teasing glint in your eyes. “Small towns always think that. But then they come here and get swallowed up by the lights.”

He chuckled nervously, his fingers brushing against the counter, feeling the heat from where you’d just touched the same wood.

“Not so much the lights for me,” he said quietly. “More like… the noise.”

You smiled again, a little softer this time, before you rang up the book. “Well, we all find our way eventually.”

Clark hesitated, his mouth dry. The pull was stronger now, unmistakable, and he could feel the truth blooming inside him. You were his. He couldn’t explain it, but it was there, pressing against him, whispering in the back of his mind.

“You ever feel like… like there’s something more?” he asked, before he even realized what he was saying.

You looked up, blinking in surprise before tilting your head. “Like something… or someone?”

He froze. The question hung in the air like a weight, but he couldn’t take it back now. He had to know what this was. Who you were.

You stared at him, like you were thinking about something. Your eyes softened as if you’d just realized something too, and then you spoke.

“I think… I think I know what you mean.” You paused. “Sometimes it feels like there’s someone I’m supposed to meet. Or maybe someone I’ve already met.”

Clark felt his heart race again. “Yeah. Exactly.”

He left the store that night, the book still tucked under his arm, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d just stepped into something new—something he didn’t understand, but couldn’t ignore.

As he stood outside, the city lights flickering around him, Clark took a deep breath. He didn’t have answers. He only had questions. And the more he thought about you, the more the connection between you felt real.

But what did it mean? Was it just a strange feeling? Or something deeper?

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Clark didn’t sleep that night.

He couldn’t. Not with the weight of the questions pressing on him, not with the warmth of your smile lingering in his mind. There was something about you, something that felt like it had always been there, waiting for him. He knew it now. He couldn’t deny it.

But the more he thought about it, the more he realized how little he knew. How could a soulmate, something straight out of a romance novel, be real? He’d never heard of anything like this before. Not from his mom or dad. Not from the few Kryptonian artifacts he’d studied in the fortress.

The fortress.

He flew to the Arctic late that night, feeling the cool wind as he pushed his body through the freezing air. His parents were the only ones who knew about his true nature, and he had never felt the need to tell anyone else. But tonight, the unknown pressed down harder than anything he’d ever faced.

He landed at the entrance of the Fortress of Solitude—a towering spire of ice and crystal that stretched high into the sky, hidden away in the heart of the Arctic. The fortress was a relic from his homeworld, filled with knowledge and technology so ancient it was almost incomprehensible.

Inside, the cold light of the Kryptonian archives flickered, casting long shadows across the walls of frozen data, metal, and machinery. The hum of alien technology buzzed softly in the background. The robots that patrolled the halls activated as Clark entered, but none more important than FOUR, the primary assistant and guide of the fortress.

FOUR’s robotic form walked into view, its metallic body glinting in the cold light. The robot’s holographic projection scanned Clark, processing the data with a cold, precise analysis.

“Welcome, Superman,” FOUR said in its calm, synthesized voice. “How may I assist you?”

Clark looked up, his voice tense. “I need answers. About Kryptonian soulmates. Something… someone I met in Metropolis. It feels like...”

“You feel the connection. The pull,” FOUR said, finishing his sentence. “This is an anomaly. Soulbonds were once a part of Kryptonian culture—Z’rel—but have been lost for millennia, regarded as legend and myth.”

Clark’s heart pounded as he absorbed the words. “Z’rel? Is that what this is?”

FOUR’s systems flickered. “Z’rel, or Lifebond, is a bond between two individuals, as rare as it is sacred. Only one true match is designated for each individual, and the bond is unbreakable. It is said to be the truest form of connection, transcending time and space.”

Clark’s eyes widened as the implications of the words settled on him. The pull, the connection—it was real.

“You’re saying… she’s my mate?” Clark whispered.

FOUR’s response was soft, almost contemplative. “Yes. It appears so.”

Clark stood still, absorbing the magnitude of what he was learning. You...you were his. The pull was real. But what did it mean for him? What did it mean for both of them?

__________________________________________________________

next part

[mattsmadness]

Shoutout to Superman (2025) for making it incredibly fucking clear that Superman is for good people. He’s hope. He’s love. He’s supportive. He’s an immigrant. He supports Palestine. He loves animals. He protects children.

The movie is a light. If you’ve been feeling really depressed about the world lately I’d highly suggest watching Superman.

[mattsmadness]

What He Comes Home To

Pairing: Clark Kent x Reader

Summary:

When Clark Kent invites his coworkers over for supper, all he wants is for them to love his sweet, small-town wife; he just hopes they overlook the Superman decor she forgot to take down.

Tags/Warnings: established relationship, Clark being cute, pre-Superman2025 Superman decor

WC: 5k

A/N: After seeing the new Superman movie, I couldn't not start writing from Clark Kent fics! I hope everyone enjoys my first fic on this app!

Clark Kent had wrestled alien warlords, flown through meteor storms, and defused a thermonuclear device at the bottom of the ocean...twice, but nothing made his palms sweat like the idea of his coworkers coming over for dinner.

Real dinner. Not catered. Not some rooftop debrief with takeout boxes and files. A Southern supper cooked by his wife in their apartment.

Their new apartment, to be specific. The one he and his wife had moved into just four weeks ago when they left their small-town home behind to finally, fully step into city life. Or rather, she had stepped in. He’d been straddling both lives since the day the cape came out of the closet.

“I don’t know if this was a good idea,” Clark said, pacing the kitchen as she tied the last knot on her apron. “Maybe we should’ve waited. Maybe we should’ve just done coffee. Or...something less...intimate.”

She was pulling a peach cobbler out of the oven like she hadn’t just slow-cooked two roasts, sautéed fresh collard greens, and folded a dozen buttermilk biscuits like she was born doing it in pearls. “Baby, it’s not a congressional hearing. It’s supper.”

“It’s my coworkers.”

“It’s your friends. And besides,” She turned and smiled at him, soft and warm and butter-in-a-skillet golden. “I’ve been lookin’ forward to meetin’ ‘em. I’ve read every article, you know.”

“I know you have. You made annotated notes in Lois’s exposé about Intergang’s shell corporations.”

“Couldn’t help myself.” She grinned, then kissed his cheek. “That woman’s a powerhouse. And I’ve got a few words for Jimmy about how he crops his wide shots.”

Clark groaned. “Please be gentle with him.”

“Clark,” she said, wiping her hands, “I teach middle school. This is nothing.”

At 6:01 PM, there was a knock on the door.

Clark was already sweating.

“Okay,” he muttered, tugging at his shirt. “Okay, okay. It’s fine. It’s fine. You can catch a plane midair, but you cannot panic,”

“Breathe, baby,” his wife said from behind him, sliding the apron off. “You look handsome. And you smell so handsome with that new stuff I got you.”

He gave her a look.

She gave him his look. The one that could stop a panic attack in its tracks. The one that had kept him steady after a rescue mission gone wrong. The one he only ever saw when she knew exactly who he was and loved him for all of it.

He opened the door.

Jimmy Olsen was first inside, carrying a bottle of sweet tea like it was champagne. “Ma’am,” he said, grinning wide, “you have no idea how long I’ve been dreaming about this dinner.”

“Ever since you started stealin’ Clark’s leftovers, I reckon,” she teased, guiding him in. “Go on, now. Get comfortable.”

Cat Grant strolled in behind him in heels no human should be able to walk in. “This is adorable,” she said, scanning the room. “Who decorated? This is the opposite of what I expected from Kent.”

“That would be me,” Mrs. Kent said with a little wave.

“Oh. You have taste.”

Lois came next, shrugging out of her jacket, observant eyes already clocking the throw pillows. “Is that… is that a Superman logo?”

Clark’s wife froze for half a second.

“It is,” she said brightly. “My little joke. We keep findin’ merch at pop-up markets, and I can’t help myself.”

Clark tried to casually step in front of the Live, Laugh, Lift sign hanging by the kitchen.

Lois smirked.

Steve Lombard barged in last, already talking over Perry, who was right behind him. “Smells better than a tailgate in August,” Steve announced. “Is that cornbread I smell?”

Perry just muttered, “Don’t embarrass us, Steve.”

Plates were passed. Glasses filled. Butter melted. Laughter cracked through the steam.

Clark's wife moved through the dinner like she’d known them all her life. She made Perry laugh so hard he had to remove his glasses. She humored Steve’s football analogies while refilling his sweet tea. She complimented Cat’s perfume and even managed to win Lois over by referencing her early reporting work from before the Planet.

Clark watched it all from the far end of the table, too full of awe to speak.

He’d never seen her quite like this before: charming and confident and holding her own among Metropolis’ sharpest. She was still soft. Still sweet. But this wasn’t the classroom or their porch swing back home. This was the big city, and she’d stepped right into it without missing a beat.

She glanced at him once across the table, as Perry launched into a story about a Cuban cigar deal gone wrong. Just a glance. And it grounded him.

She knew him. All of him. The alien. The cape. The flight paths. The things he’d seen and done and tried to carry without ever letting anyone else feel the weight.

And she just—smiled.

Dinner had stretched into the kind of evening Clark had always hoped was possible. The apartment was humming with the sound of second helpings and overlapping stories, of friends finally seeing the home he’d built—the home they had built.

Jimmy was leaning back in his chair, rubbing his stomach. “I gotta know,” he said dreamily. “What’s the secret to your biscuits? Did you make a deal with the devil?”

“Close,” she said sweetly. “I used cold butter and prayer.”

“Whatever it was, I’m converted.”

Clark, meanwhile, was trying to physically block anyone from seeing the Superman: Farm Raised tea towel that had somehow made it into the drying rack. She’d warned him she forgot to put some of the joke decor away.

Steve wandered toward the bookshelf. “Hey, uh… is this Superman holding a kitten calendar?”

Clark’s wife didn’t even turn around. “That one’s my favorite. Reminds me to stay hopeful.”

Jimmy nodded solemnly. “It does.”

Lois narrowed her eyes. “You’re really into Superman stuff.”

Clark’s wife tilted her head. “He saved my whole county last summer. You bet I am.”

Lois looked at Clark.

Clark blinked.

Lois looked back at the throw pillow.

She didn't say anything, but the gears were turning.

Later, when the plates were cleared and dessert had reduced even Perry to sleepy contentment, Clark and his wife stood side by side in the kitchen, hands brushing.

“She’s onto you,” she whispered.

Clark nearly dropped a spoon. “Lois?!”

“She’s not sure, baby. But she’s close.”

Clark looked stricken. “Oh...”

She reached up and smoothed the wrinkle between his brows. “You’re fine. Just stop lookin’ like you’re hiding a secret identity, and you’ll be fine.”

“I am hiding a secret identity.”

She just smiled and tapped his nose. “Exactly.”

He groaned and pulled her close, arms around her waist, tucking his face into her shoulder like she could shield him from the most dangerous woman alive.

“You’ve faced Zod and Braniac but the real threat is a dinner party,” she teased, fingers playing gently with the curls at his neck.

“She’s Lois Lane. You know what she could do with a gut feeling and a loose thread?”

“I also know she’s never seen you look at anyone the way you look at me.”

He went quiet. Tightened his arms a little. Let the world fall away.

“You’re my sunlight,” he murmured.

She closed her eyes.

“I know,” she said.

Out in the living room, Lois was sipping the last of her sweet tea, eyeing the binder on the shelf labeled Favorite Daily Planet Articles.

“Clark’s Wife’s Picks?” she said, flipping it open.

Her name was everywhere. Highlighter, margin notes, a tab labeled “Underrated Intros.”

Cat peered over her shoulder. “Are those color-coded?”

Jimmy popped a leftover biscuit in his mouth. “Yeah, she’s a teacher.”

Lois looked up, toward the kitchen. She couldn’t hear what Clark was saying. But she could see him. Could see the way he leaned toward her. The way he listened like everything she said mattered.

Something in Lois softened.

She still didn’t have the full story. But she didn’t need it.

She could see enough.

[mattsmadness]

So what says “settle the weather or get killed by a psycho”?