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it’s one of the many things people say about him, soft spoken, thoughtful, kind. He’s the type of man who thinks before he does anything. Who doesn’t let small things get under his skin.
Right now he’s standing near the coffee machine gripping his mug like his life depended on it, the mug you got for him by the way. he’s watching you from across the room with a pout why?
Because you’re laughing.
Not just laughing, leaning in, head tilted eyes bright. he knew that look and he did not like the way it made it him feel, that look doesn’t belong to him right now
it belongs to him
the new intern
Eric, evan something like that clark could care less he’s not bothered to know his name, he didn’t think think he needed too
clearly, he thought wrong.
The intern stands too close to you, hands shoved into his pockets, shoulders loose with and unearned confidence of someone who haven’t earned their spot
you say something else, and the intern grins wider, eyes lighting up like he’s just been handed a gift. Clark’s hearing sharpens without his permission he catches every word, every breath.
“that’s actually very impressive,” you say. “i didn’t know you could do that.”
“oh yeah?” the intern replies “i mean it’s nothing, really,”
Clark resists the urge to crush his mug.
You’ve worked at the Planet for three years now. You were one of the first people who’d spoken to Clark when he joined—who’d smiled at him without expectation, who’d treated him like he belonged before he’d believed it himself. Somewhere between late nights chasing leads and quiet elevator rides, something had settled between the two of you. Unspoken, delicate. A thing neither of you touched, but both of you felt.
Clark had been waiting.
Patient.
And now this.
“Hey, clark.”
Lois voice snaps him out of it. she’s at her desk, watching the scene unfold with unmistakable amusement. “You look like you’re about 5 seconds away from committing a federal offense with that coffee mug.”
“I don’t know that you mean lois.” He says straightening his tie, clearing his throat.
Lois hums. “sure you don’t.”
She follows his gaze, then smirks. “Ah. Intern.”
Clark stiffens. “I’m not—”
“Jealous?” she supplies. “Because you absolutely are.”
“I’m not jealous,” he whines, which is exactly the wrong thing to say.
Lois swivels her chair toward him. “Kent, I’ve seen you stare down alien warlords with less intensity. You gonna just stand there brooding, or are you planning to actually do something?”
Clark doesn’t answer. Because the truth is, he doesn’t know what he can do.
You’re not his. He never said anything. Never crossed that line. He’s superman yes but he’s also a man who’s terrified of wanting something he might just break by reaching for it
still.
When the intern laughs again, Clark patience finally snaps.
He moves before he can talk himself out of it.
“Hey” Clark says, approaching you, “Sorry to interrupt.”
You turn, surprise flickering across your face before it softens into something warmer. “Clark! no, you’re not interrupting. This is–“
“Evan,” he quickly says, extending his hand. “i’m, uh, a big fan.”
Clark shakes it, grip firm enough to be polite, nothing more. “Welcome.” he says.
Your attention shifts fully to clark now, and the relief he feels is immediate and unsettling. You look at him like he’s something familiar, something safe. Like he belongs here, in your element.
“We were just just talking about the metropolis flood piece,” you say. “He had some interesting insights.”
Clark nods. “i’m sure.”
There’s a beat. Something unspoken hums between you and Clark, quiet but electric. You seem to feel it too, because your smile falters just a little.
“Well,” you say, glancing at the intern, “I should get back to work.”
“Oh—yeah,” Evan says, a little deflated. “Of course. I’ll, uh, see you later.”
He leaves, casting Clark one last curious look.
When he’s gone, silence stretches between you.
Clark clears his throat. “You’ve been… busy lately.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Is that a complaint?”
“No” he says quickly. Then softer, more honest, “i just noticed.”
You study him for a moment, like you’re seeing something new. Or maybe something that’s always been there, finally coming into focus.
“You okay, Clark?” you ask.
He should lie. He’s good at it. He’s built a life around it.
But when you look at him like that concerned, open it feels impossible.
“I didn’t like seeing him with you,” Clark admits quietly.
your breath catches.
“I don’t like how easily you smile at him. I don’t like that he doesn’t know how special that is yet.” His hands curls not his sides. “And i don’t like that i don’t have i don’t have any right to feel this way.”
You’re very still now.
“Clark…”
“I know it’s selfish,” he continues, words tumbling out now that they started. “And know i too long, and maybe this is just the consequence of that. But i needed you to know.”
There’s a long pause.
Then you step closer.
Close enough that Clark can hear your heartbeat. Close enough that he has to remind himself that he can reach out to you and pull you in his arms.
“You’re wrong about one thing,” you say softly.
He looks at you. “What’s that?”
“You do have a right.”
His breath stutters. “I do?”
“Yes,” you say, smiling gently. “Because I was wondering how long it would take you to notice.”
Clark blinks.
“I wasn’t flirting with him,” you continue. “I was being polite. You on the other hand had been doing this for months, Watching like you waiting for permission.”
“I didn’t want to pressure you,” Clark says.
“you never would,” you reply. “But you could’ve asked.”
The world feels suddenly fragile, like glass balanced on a fingertip.
“So,” Clark says, voice barely above a whisper. “Can I ask now?”
“yes,” you say.
And for the first time in a long time, clark kent stops waiting.
A/n — haven’t wrote in months sorry if this is bad but hi everyone 😭
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eeeh thank u pookie for sending in that fluffy request I hope to get to it after October BUT I see u write for Clark Kent SCREAM watch me binge read ur stuff <3
You were just pouring your coffee when the kitchen suddenly went eerily quiet. Too quiet.
Then....
A flutter. A rush of wind.
And the unmistakable scatter of birds outside the window.
You froze mid-sip.
“…Clark?” you called slowly, a sense of dread curling in your stomach as you stepped toward the screen door. “Where’s Jon?”
No answer.
Until—
“Oh my GOD—CLARK!!”
Your coffee cup shattered against the floor as you looked up and saw your three-year-old son FLOATING OUT THE SECOND-STORY WINDOW, giggling upside-down like it was a goddamn game.
Birds exploded into the air from the nearby tree as Jon spun lazily mid-air like a baby-sized tumbleweed, bare feet kicking out with joy.
From behind you, Clark strolled in, calm as ever, a half-eaten apple in one hand.
“Hey, honey—oh. He’s flying again?”
“CLARK JOSEPH KENT! STOP LOOKING SO SMUG AND GET OUR SON BEFORE HE FLIES AWAY!”
Clark had the nerve to grin, his eyes twinkling behind those stupidly handsome glasses as he glanced up at the airborne toddler.
“Well,” he said with a little shrug, “he’s got a great hover form. Look at that core control.”
“CLARK!”
“Alright, alright!” He tossed the apple core into the trash like this was normal and floated up after his son with infuriating ease.
You glared up at the pair—Clark now effortlessly catching Jon under the arms and flipping him upright like a baby backpack.
“I swear to God, Clark—”
“Good thing we’re on the farm, huh?” he said with a wide grin, landing back on the porch with a very pleased, giggling Jon now snuggled into his shoulder.
You stormed over and poked Clark in the chest. “You cannot keep encouraging this—he almost flew into a grain silo yesterday!”
Clark just leaned down and kissed your forehead. “Our boy’s gonna be fine.”
From over his shoulder, Jon perked up and shouted joyfully, “I go fast now!”
Clark’s grin widened. “That’s my boy.”
Jon let out an excited squeal waving his hands around. "Again!"
You sighed, dragging a hand over your face. “I need a drink. It’s 9 AM and I need a drink.”
Clark handed Jon over with a smirk. “Or… just a nap. You’ve been chasing a Kryptonian toddler all week.”
You stared at him. “You’re sleeping on the couch.”
“Worth it.”
(And Jon floated out of your arms again ten minutes later.)
Summary: Clark couldn’t stop talking about his first Father’s Day card, which you cutely signed as Leia.
Dad!Clark Kent x Fem!Reader
more kent family adventures here!
The morning started with the soft shuffle of your feet as you brought Leia into the kitchen, her little pajama-clad body bouncing excitedly on your hip. You whispered conspiratorially, “Ready to surprise Daddy?” and she squealed, smacking her hands together.
The two of you had woken early just for this—your first Father’s Day as a family. You’d already prepared the tray: scrambled eggs, toast cut into little hearts, coffee steaming in his favorite mug. Leia’s contribution was mostly banging a wooden spoon against the counter while you cooked, but the intent was there.
Once the breakfast was ready, you set Leia down in her highchair, and together you worked on the final touch: the card. A bright blue card with a big “S” on the front, the words SUPERDAD written in bold red letters. You’d filled the inside with a heartfelt note, but at the bottom, you took Leia’s chubby hand and helped her press it onto a stamp pad, then onto the card. The little inky handprint became her “signature,” next to the words you’d scrawled: Love, Leia.
Tray in one hand, card tucked underneath, and Leia balanced in your other arm, you made your way to the bedroom.
Clark was still half-asleep, hair mussed, sprawled in bed. When you nudged him awake with a soft “Happy Father’s Day,” his eyes blinked open, and the sight of you and Leia in front of him—Leia clapping with delight at her own part in the surprise—made him sit up instantly, heart in his eyes.
“You two…” he said, voice rough from sleep, “what’s this?”
Leia reached for him, babbling happily, and he took her into his arms, kissing the top of her head like he always did. You set the tray on his lap, watching his eyes widen at the effort. “You made me breakfast?” he asked in awe.
“We made you breakfast,” you corrected, winking. “Leia supervised.”
Clark laughed, already nibbling on the heart-shaped toast, when you handed him the card. He opened it, and as his eyes scanned the inside, his lips trembled with a grin that quickly spread into a full, beaming smile.
“She signed it,” he whispered, staring at the little handprint, overcome. He kissed the card, kissed Leia’s forehead, then puckered his lips at you. You smiled as you kissed him.
He showed Leia the card, “You’re so smart, sweetheart. Already signing your name.”
Leia just drooled on his shirt and giggled.
You laughed softly. “Pretty sure she thought we were finger-painting.”
But Clark wasn’t hearing it—he looked at both of you like you’d hung the stars just for him. “This is the best Father’s Day I could’ve ever imagined,” he said, voice thick with emotion. He pulled you onto the bed beside him, wrapping an arm around your shoulders while cradling Leia in the other. “My girls. My whole world.”
The three of you spent the morning tangled up together, Leia smearing bits of scrambled egg into Clark’s chest hair while you laughed helplessly, Clark declaring every mess and every stain worth it because nothing in the world compared to being “Dada.”
-
At the Daily Planet, Clark walked in looking like a man who had just won the lottery. His tie was slightly crooked, his hair even softer than usual from Leia’s little hands tugging at it before work, and in his hands—carried like it was the Pulitzer—was the Superman-themed Father’s Day card.
He didn’t even make it to his desk before Lois raised a brow. “You’re practically glowing, Smallville. What’s up?”
Clark grinned, so wide it was almost boyish. “It's my first Father’s Day,” he announced proudly, opening the card and holding it out like a show-and-tell item. “Look. Leia made me this.”
Jimmy leaned in immediately. “Aw, no way! That’s adorable.”
Lois tilted her head, scanning the bold crayon-colored letters and the little handprint inside. “That’s… impressive for a baby who’s not even one.”
Clark, beaming, tapped the smudgy little handprint. “She signed it. All by herself. She’s so smart.”
Lois gave Clark a skeptical look. “Clark, babies don’t sign their names. They smear things.”
“She did this,” Clark insisted, unbothered by the teasing. “I mean, maybe her mom helped guide her hand a little...but the point is, she knew it was for me. She knew.”
Lois and Jimmy exchanged amused looks, but Clark was already at his desk, carefully propping the card up beside his computer like it was an award. Every person who passed by got the same story: Clark Kent’s first Father’s Day, Leia’s brilliant “signature,” the surprise breakfast-in-bed, and how lucky he was to have you and Leia in his life.
And for the rest of the day, anyone who came within ten feet of his desk heard about that card—how thoughtful you were, how talented Leia was, how it was going to stay right there forever.
Even Perry White muttered, “Kent, enough about the card,” by midafternoon, though Clark swore later that evening he caught Perry sneaking a second glance at it with a soft smile.
And though he knew Leia hadn’t exactly written her name, the sight made him glow with pride, pointing at that little handprint like it was a masterpiece. To him, it wasn’t about what was real or fake. It was about being a dad, and about having a daughter who—whether she knew it yet or not—already had him wrapped around her tiny, sticky fingers.
-
Clark walked through the front door expecting the usual quiet hum of home after a long day at the Planet—but instead, he was met with the warm glow of candles, the faint smell of roasted chicken, and the sound of Leia’s little squeals coming from the dining room.
He blinked in surprise, loosening his tie. “What’s all this?”
You appeared in the doorway, cheeks a little flushed from the oven heat and your excitement. “What, you thought we were done? Happy Father’s Day, honey.”
Before he could respond, Leia—nearly one year old now, with her hair curling just slightly at the ends—wobbled toward him in her baby walker. She squealed something that sounded close to “Dada!” and clapped her hands wildly, her whole face lighting up.
Clark’s heart melted on the spot. He knelt down, scooping her into his arms. “Hi, sweetheart,” he murmured, kissing the top of her head. “Were you in on this, too?”
Leia smacked her tiny palm against his cheek as if to say yes.
You stepped closer, carrying a neatly wrapped box. “Dinner’s ready, but Leia and I wanted to give you your gift first.”
Clark sat on the couch with Leia bouncing happily on his lap, watching curiously as you placed the package in his hands. He unwrapped it carefully, and when the paper fell away, he froze. Inside was a simple wooden frame—holding a photograph from the hospital, almost a year ago. You were in the bed, exhausted but glowing, with Leia bundled in your arms, and Clark beside you, his face wet with tears he hadn’t even realized were captured in that moment.
For a long beat, he couldn’t speak. His throat tightened, his glasses fogging slightly from the warmth rising in his eyes. “Oh… oh, sweetheart…” He looked up at you, voice breaking. “This is…this is the best gift anyone’s ever given me.”
Leia patted the frame, smudging the glass with her little fingers as if claiming it as her own. Clark chuckled through his tears. “See that, honey? That’s when you first came into our lives. That’s the day I realized just how lucky I am.”
You sat beside him, resting your head on his shoulder. “You’ve been such a good dad to her, Clark. You were already her dad even before she was born. But now, we get to celebrate it with her here. I wanted you to have something to remind you of how it all started.”
Clark pressed a long kiss to your temple, then kissed Leia’s cheek, overcome with love. “I don’t need reminding,” he whispered, “but I’ll treasure this forever.”
When you all moved to the dining table, the meal was simple—roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, and a small cake you had managed to bake during Leia’s nap. Leia sat in her high chair, smearing bits of potato everywhere, but Clark didn’t mind in the least. He kept looking at the frame, now propped on the sideboard, as though he couldn’t believe it was real.
Halfway through dinner, he took your hand across the table, squeezing it gently. “Thank you,” he said, voice low but earnest. “For this day, for that picture… for her.” His eyes softened on Leia, who was babbling happily at her food. “I never thought I could be this happy.”
Leia, catching his gaze, suddenly squealed and lifted her spoon, dropping it onto the tray with a clatter. Clark laughed, and in that moment, the house was filled with warmth and love—the kind of quiet, perfect evening that would stay with him forever.
-
That night, after Leia was tucked into her crib and the dishes from your Father’s Day dinner were washed and put away, the two of you finally had a quiet moment alone. The house was dim, save for the soft glow of the lamp in your bedroom. Clark sat on the edge of the bed, still in his undershirt, his glasses folded neatly on the nightstand. He held the framed photo you had given him earlier, staring at it as though he couldn’t quite believe it was real.
You slipped into bed beside him. He looked up, his eyes already glassy. “I keep thinking about that day,” he said softly. “The day she was born. The way she looked at me, like I was already her whole world.” His voice broke a little. “I don’t know what I did to deserve either of you.”
You laid a hand on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. “Clark,” you whispered, “you’ve gone above and beyond since the moment she got here. You never complained about sleepless nights, you took turns feeding her, you’ve been so patient with me—especially on the hard days. You’re not just a good dad, you’re the best dad. And the best husband.”
He swallowed hard, setting the frame carefully on the nightstand before covering your hand with his. “You really think so?” he asked, almost like a child himself in that moment, desperate for reassurance.
You smiled, brushing your thumb over his skin. “I don’t think so. I know so. Leia is the luckiest little girl in the world to have you. And I’m the luckiest woman in the world to call you mine.”
Clark let out a shaky laugh, tilting his head back as though trying to keep his emotions in check. But then a tear slipped free, and he didn’t bother hiding it. “You’re going to make me cry again,” he admitted, his voice husky. “I never want to fail you. Either of you.”
“You could never fail us,” you said firmly, leaning in to kiss him softly. “You love us too much for that.”
He pulled you into his arms, holding you against his chest with a strength that felt both protective and tender. For a long time, he just held you, his breath unsteady against your hair. “I thought saving the world was the most important thing I could do,” he murmured. “But you and Leia… you’re my world. This—being your husband, her dad—it’s the greatest thing I’ll ever be.”
Your throat tightened as you whispered back, “And we’re so thankful it’s you.”
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Hello!! I loveee ur dividers and was wondering if you’d make some fall/autumn themed ones?? <3
hi hii!! here’s your order of fall themed dividers! *adds a dash of cinnamon* i was going to mix in some halloween stuff but wasn’t sure if you wanted that as well? regardless I’ll be making another post with halloween themed stuff just in case! i hope you enjoy these and have a lovely day today! ( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡
free to use!! ❤︎︎ credit would be appreciated of course!! (≧◡≦) ♡
Hihi, could we get a fic where Leia’s at that age where kids just copy what they hear, like a year old, and maybe Clark comes home from work and she greets him like “hi honey” cause that’s what reader calls him☺️ or even funnier, in one of the rare, rare times Clark swears, she hears and starts copying him LOL
Hi, honey!
Summary: Leia, just a little over a year old, thinks Clark’s name is Honey.
Dad!Clark Kent x Fem!Reader
more kent family adventures here!
It had been a long day: one of those days where Leia was clingy, the laundry refused to fold itself, and you found yourself staring longingly at the clock, counting the minutes until Clark came home. By the time you heard the familiar creak of the front porch steps, relief washed over you like sunlight.
The door swung open, and there he was, tired from work, tie askew, but smiling the moment he saw you. You stepped forward, heart tugging, and greeted him with a warm, “Hi, honey,” before pressing a kiss to his lips.
What you didn’t realize was that a pair of very watchful eyes had been observing from the living room floor.
Leia, just a bit over one year old, had been clumsily stacking blocks, but the second she saw her daddy come in, her little head popped up like a curious puppy. She blinked, then giggled at the exchange, soaking it in with that sponge-like brain of hers.
The next evening, when Clark walked through the door again, you went to greet him, but Leia beat you to it.
She pushed herself up on unsteady legs, toddled across the floor, and with all the seriousness in the world, squeaked, “Hi, honey! Muah!” before planting a slobbery baby kiss on Clark’s shin.
Clark froze, blinking down at her. Then his entire face cracked into the kind of grin that could light up half of Metropolis. He crouched down and scooped her up effortlessly, laughing. “Oh my goodness! Did you just call me honey?”
You were doubled over, clutching your stomach, laughing so hard you could barely breathe. “I think she did!”
Leia clapped her hands, clearly proud of herself, and repeated, “Hi, honey! Muah!” this time smooshing her mouth against Clark’s cheek in what was another slobbery, open-mouthed kiss.
Clark looked at you, eyes shining with joy and disbelief, then turned back to Leia, his voice soft and playful. “Sweetheart, you can call me Daddy. Daddy. Not honey.”
“Hi, honey!” Leia chirped stubbornly, then leaned in and gave him another wet kiss.
You wiped tears from your eyes, grinning so hard your cheeks hurt. “Face it, Clark. You’ve been upgraded. You’re officially ‘Honey’ now.”
Clark groaned in mock defeat, but the way he held her close, the way his lips lingered against her curls, told you he didn’t mind one bit.
Whenever Leia woke up in the mornings, Clark was always the first to lean over the crib to kiss her a good morning. She would always bat her eyelashes at him, her lips drawn into a bashful smile before greeting her dad with a groggy, “Hi, honey…” for the next few days, which made Clark’s days very bright.
From then on, whenever Clark came home, it wasn’t you but Leia who would toddle to him first, arms outstretched, declaring proudly, “Hi, honey! Muah!”
-
A few nights later, Clark was sprawled on the rug in the living room, long legs crossed, while Leia sat in his lap, gnawing happily on one of her rubber blocks. The scene was cozy, golden, with the warm lamplight spilling across both of them. You couldn’t resist stirring the pot a little.
“Hey, Leia,” you said, grinning as you sat down beside them. “Who’s that?” You pointed at Clark.
Leia’s little head popped up, curls bouncing. Her eyes locked onto Clark’s face, and with all the confidence of a toddler who knows she’s right, she shouted, “Honey!”
Clark choked on his own laugh, startled. He pointed to himself, wide-eyed, looking between you and Leia. “Honey? That’s me? I’m ‘Honey’?”
Leia nodded so firmly her whole body wobbled. “Honey!” She dropped the block, clapped her hands, then threw her arms around his neck with a triumphant little “MUAH!” on his lips.
You were gone, absolutely cackling as Clark stared at you like this was somehow your fault.
“Sweetheart,” he said, voice pitched half-bewildered, half-pleading, “she thinks my name is Honey! She’s not even saying Daddy anymore. She’s just… she’s just calling me what you call me!”
You wiped tears of laughter from your eyes. “I mean… she’s not wrong, technically.”
Clark sighed, rubbing Leia’s back. “Baby girl, listen to me…” He held her up so they were eye-level. “Daddy. Can you say Da…ddy?”
Leia blinked at him, her little nose scrunching up as if she were concentrating very hard. Then she broke into a proud grin and declared, “Honey!”
Clark dropped his forehead against her shoulder with a groan, defeated. “I can’t believe this.”
Leia patted his cheek comfortingly, repeating, “Honey, honey, honey!” as if to reassure him.
You leaned against Clark’s arm, still grinning. “That’s your name now. You’re Honey.”
He shot you a look, but the corners of his mouth betrayed him, curving into a smile. And when Leia gave him another sloppy little kiss and whispered, “Hi, Honey,” Clark melted completely, pulling her close.
“Fine,” he murmured, kissing her curls. “If she wants to call me Honey, then I’ll be Honey. But you,” he added, poking your side, “owe me one.”
-
A couple of months had passed since Leia had christened Clark “Honey.” She still used it around the house, though every now and then she’d surprise you both by trying out new words she picked up. One afternoon, after Clark had come in from mowing the yard, you handed him a glass of water and said absentmindedly, “Thanks, Clark.”
Leia, who had been coloring on the floor, froze like a little detective catching onto a clue. She pointed a chubby finger at her dad, her voice piping up with glee, “Cack!”
You blinked. Clark froze. “…What did she just say?”
Leia clapped her hands. “Cack! CACK!” She was so proud of herself, repeating it like she’d uncovered the deepest truth of the universe.
You bit your lip, already fighting laughter. “She… she thinks your name is Clark. But, uh… her version is a little—”
“Cack!” Leia shouted again, beaming.
Clark groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Oh no. Oh no.”
-
The real trouble came when you all went out in public.
At the grocery store, Clark was pushing the cart while Leia rode in the little seat, swinging her legs. Every so often she’d reach for him, chanting happily, “Cack! Cack! Up, Cack!”
A man walking past nearly dropped his basket, his ears going pink. A woman in the produce section shot Clark a scandalized look. Clark’s face turned crimson, and he tried to shush Leia gently, muttering under his breath, “Sweetheart, it’s Daddy. Da-ddy. Not… not that.”
But Leia only giggled, louder, “CACK! HI CACK!”
By the time you reached checkout, Clark’s shoulders were slumped, as if trying to hide himself, his ears flaming red while Leia patted his chest, singing “Cack, Cack, Cack” like a nursery rhyme.
-
Later that night, back at home, Clark dropped onto the couch, utterly defeated. “She embarrassed me three different times in one trip. People looked at me like I was… like I was some kind of pervert!”
You were laughing so hard you could barely breathe. “Clark, it’s just a phase! She’ll grow out of it.”
Leia, toddling into the living room in her pajamas, climbed onto the couch and snuggled against him. She pointed at his chest with a sleepy smile. “…Cack.”
Clark tipped his head back, groaning again, but when he looked down at her soft little grin, his heart melted anyway. He pressed a kiss to her curls and whispered, “Daddy. Please. Just… Daddy.”
Leia yawned, curled into him, and mumbled, “Night night, Cack.”
You covered your mouth to stifle another laugh. Clark shot you a long-suffering look, but he couldn’t hide his smile as he held her close.
Because even if the whole world thought it sounded ridiculous, to Leia it was just another word for the man she loved most.
-
Leia had been toddling around the living room that afternoon, clutching one of her stuffed animals in one hand and humming in that sing-song way only toddlers can. You were sitting on the couch, half watching her, half flipping through a book, when it happened.
She tripped. Just one small misstep on the rug, but it was enough to send her tumbling onto her knees. There was a loud thump, followed by a sharp wail.
“Sweetheart!” you gasped, scooping her into your arms. “Oh, my poor girl. You’ve got a boo-boo.”
She whimpered against your shoulder, fat tears rolling down her cheeks. But then, through the sobs, she reached her tiny arms outward—not for you, but toward the hallway where Clark had just appeared, drawn by the noise.
“Dada!” she wailed, desperate and sure.
You froze, your eyes darting to Clark’s. For weeks now, Leia had been stubbornly calling him “Cack”, no amount of gentle correction had changed her mind. And yet here she was, hurting and scared, calling out the name he’d been waiting for all this time.
Clark’s whole expression shifted—surprise, wonder, and a tenderness so deep it rooted him to the spot for half a second. Then he was on his knees beside you, arms reaching out.
“I’m here, baby girl. Daddy’s here,” he murmured, taking her gently from your arms. She curled into his chest, hiccuping little sobs.
“Baby girl,” you whispered, but you could see it, her little hands were fisted into Clark’s collar, refusing to let go.
“Dada,” she whispered again, quieter this time, like the word itself was comfort.
Clark pressed his lips to her curls, his eyes shining. “That’s right. Daddy’s got you. You’re safe.”
You felt your throat tighten, watching him rock her, rubbing slow circles on her back. Leia’s cries softened, the tension in her tiny body melting under his voice. And when she finally pulled back, her wet lashes fluttering, she whispered once more, almost a sigh, “Dada.”
Clark’s eyes flicked to yours, wide and a little stunned, like he couldn’t believe what had just happened. For weeks, she’d been running around proudly calling him “Cack” in public, to his eternal embarrassment. But now, in her moment of fear and hurt, when she wanted comfort, she had reached for him and called him Dada.
You smiled softly, laying a hand on his arm. “She knows,” you said quietly. “When it really matters, she knows who you are.”
Clark swallowed hard, his throat working as he bent his head against hers. “Dada’s right here, baby. Always.”
Leia’s sobs finally slowed, her little body relaxing against him as he swayed on his feet, holding her close like he never wanted to let go.
Later, you and Clark lingered by her crib, watching her breathe. His voice was barely above a whisper when he turned to you.
“She called me Dada,” he said, as though he still needed to hear it out loud to believe it.
You slipped your arms around his waist, leaning into him. “Yeah. She did.”
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