#dceu

Clark didn’t mean to eavesdrop. 

Okay…that wasn’t entirely true. His hearing was just sharper than usual lately, tuned too fine, like the whole world had turned its volume up half a notch. Every clink of the silverware in the drawer, every faint hum of the refrigerator, every subtle change in your heartbeat while you brushed your teeth…he caught it, whether he wanted to or not and that was the problem.

Because your heartbeat had changed. It wasn’t faster, though it sometimes was. It wasn’t just softer, though it lulled him in quiet moments like background music he could never tire of. No, it was something else entirely, something that made the back of his neck prickle the first time he noticed it lying in bed beside you. A second rhythm, faint but steady, tucked inside yours like an echo.

He watched you as you moved around the bedroom, brushing your teeth, setting out tomorrow’s clothes and washing your face. There was a subtle glow about you tonight, the kind of light that wasn’t just from the bedside lamp. Clark tried to pinpoint what was different, your scent, your energy, the way your body moved…every clue was amplified through senses he couldn’t shut off. Nothing about it screamed danger, nothing about it screamed wrong either but it was different and that difference hummed inside him in a way that tugged at every corner of his mind.

He wanted to ask, to reach out and say something but the words got stuck in his throat. This wasn’t a crisis, not the kind he could solve with speed or strength. This was something delicate, fragile… something entirely human and Clark felt more acutely than ever the responsibility of approaching it carefully. So he stayed quiet and just watched. Noticing how your shoulders relaxed as you slipped into pajamas, how the rhythm of your heartbeat subtly shifted with each deep breath and how the air around you seemed just a little warmer, richer, full of a subtle, indefinable promise.

Then, finally, he stood, glasses in hand, feigning the need for a glass of water but really, he didn’t move toward the kitchen sink, he hovered at the edge of the room, staring at the tile floor, trying to reconcile the impossible sound echoing in his head. 

Clark pressed a hand to his chest, heart hammering in quiet anticipation and disbelief. He was a man who had faced threats that could destroy cities, who had held the fate of the world in his hands and yet here he was, completely unmoored by something so ordinary and extraordinary at once. Something so…human.

And in that quiet, midnight kitchen, he realized just how much he wanted to understand it, protect it and be part of it… even before he fully knew what it was.

The next morning, Clark moved around the kitchen with his usual quiet efficiency, plating up your breakfast with care. The sizzling of the pan, the faint hiss of the coffee machine and the soft hum of the refrigerator filled the space but he barely noticed. His senses were tuned to something else, something subtle and entirely new. As he placed the final slice of toast on the plate, he paused mid-motion, head lifting slightly, nostrils flaring almost unconsciously.

The smell hit him first, delicate but unmistakably different. It was you, your natural scent, familiar and comforting but layered with something else, something richer, warmer and subtly charged. It wasn’t unpleasant, if anything, it made his chest tighten in a way that was equal parts awe and wonder. He set down the plate with a soft clink and took a breath, trying to steady his voice before speaking.

Just then, you walked into the kitchen, the morning light brushing over your hair and eyes still half-lidded with sleep. Clark froze for a moment, studying you without meaning to, before finally giving in to the words that had been hovering on the tip of his tongue for over a week now. “You… you smell different,” he said, his voice almost too quiet, as if admitting it aloud might shatter the fragile truth he’d only just begun to grasp.

Your eyebrows rose in mild amusement and a soft chuckle escaped you. “Different? In a bad way?”

Clark’s eyes widened slightly and he held up a hand in quick reassurance. “No, no! Not that. Not at all. It’s… it’s just… noticeable to…me. In a good way...really good way. I’m sure.” His lips twitched into a nervous smile as he tried to find the right words but mostly he just stood there, heart pounding, hoping you understood the awe in his tone.

You laughed again, the sound filling the room with warmth and padded over to the kitchen island. Clark placed the plate carefully in front of you, smoothing the napkin underneath as if it were a ceremonial gesture, before moving around the counter, brushing a hand over your hair and pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. Then, almost instinctively, he trailed a soft kiss to your shoulder and for a moment he lingered there, inhaling, letting the subtle warmth and scent of you fill his senses.

You shifted slightly, sensing the intensity of his attention and looked up at him with a small, curious frown. “Clark… are you okay?”

He blinked, a faint flush rising to his cheeks as he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. “Yeah, yeah…sorry, told you it was in a good way.” he murmured, stepping back a little, though his gaze never left you. “Eat up,” he said and somehow, even as he stepped away, the simple words felt imbued with awe, as if the breakfast itself was a small celebration of something.

You grabbed your fork, glancing up at him with a raised brow. “You’re not eating?”

Clark shook his head, voice quiet but urgent. “I–uh… first I need to fix something in the kitchen. I just realized the garbage disposal isn’t draining properly.” He gave the sink a cautious glance, then moved to the edge of the counter, eyes narrowing as he extended his vision beyond the tile, past the pipes, tracking the exact point of blockage. His x-ray vision hummed softly in his mind, pinpointing the snag.

“Clark, you don’t have to play handyman before breakfast,” you said, smirking.

“I…I just need to check,” he said, voice tight with concentration until you spoke again.

“Especially if you want me to keep my hands to myself.”

Clark turned to you with the beginning of a smirk that soon twisted into shock, eyes widening in a way that made your stomach flip. “OH MY GOD!” he shouted, jerking his head up.

Your fork clattered onto the plate. “What?! Did you see a roach?!” you said, eyes wide and voice dramatically panicked. “Is there a–are we being invaded? Should I grab a broom?!”

Clark held up a hand, stepping toward you, his expression somewhere between awe and panic. “Sit down. Just…sit down, please.” His hands froze midair near your hips, trembling slightly, while his gaze dropped to your stomach. He tried not to stare, tried not to betray the storm of certainty and disbelief roaring in his mind. “I–I’m sorry,” he murmured, quickly shaking his head while repeating in his mind ‘I’m not a doctor… I can’t be sure of what that is’… Still, he was barely keeping himself together, his mind running a hundred miles an hour.

“It was just– I thought it was one pipe but then there were…uh…bonus pipes. Surprise pipes...You know what? I don't know what I saw. I’ll go get the toolbox,” he blurted, moving quickly toward the hallway. In his flustered state, he misjudged a step, his shoulder clipping the kitchen arch frame hard enough to crack the wood with a loud splinter.

Clark froze, eyes darting back to you, then cleared his throat nervously. “I–I’ll fix that too, just…eat. Do you want another plate? You must be hungry from…sleeping…no? You…just tell me if you need more food, I’ll make you anything…anytime.” he added, before disappearing into the hallway.

You blinked at him, fork now poised midair, trying to process the mix of chaos and utter Clark-style disaster unfolding around you. Even before you could ask what he meant, it was clear something monumental had just happened and Clark…Well, Clark was already panicking in the most endearing way possible.

He managed to get you both out the door hours later without unraveling, though it felt like every second was stretched thin by the secret buzzing under his skin. You kissed him goodbye with your usual warmth, completely unaware of the way his heart jackhammered in his chest. He smiled, waved and promised himself he’d act normal.

Instead of heading straight to the Planet, Clark detoured. The public library had just opened and he stood there in his work clothes like a man on a mission, scanning the shelves until his arms were stacked with books on early pregnancy, human development, fetal growth, and, he winced even as he grabbed it, What to Expect When You’re Expecting. He checked them all out at once, earning a raised eyebrow from the librarian.

By midmorning, half the Daily Planet staff had assumed Kent was having “digestive issues” because he disappeared into the bathroom so often. In reality, he was crammed into a stall with his glasses sliding down his nose, flipping pages so fast they blurred, his long legs folded awkwardly against the tiled wall. Every paragraph felt like it pulled him further into awe and panic at once. 

At his desk, he checked in on you more than usual, sending you small texts, calling under the pretense of “just hearing your voice.” Perry nearly chewed him out twice for being distracted and Clark swore he’d keep it together at home.

And he did. Over dinner, he laughed at your stories, clinked his fork against yours when you teased him and kept his gaze from lingering on your middle no matter how badly his chest ached to. By the time you fell asleep curled against him, Clark looked like the picture of calm but once your breathing evened out, he slipped away.

The living room lamp glowed low as he settled on the couch, laptop open, books spread around him in a messy arc. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to recall exactly what he’d seen that morning with his x-ray vision.

It had been small, smaller than his fingertip. Just a cluster of faint, translucent shapes tucked deep inside you. He remembered how it seemed half-formed and yet so precise: the thin shadow of a yolk sac, the faint outline of tissue that wasn’t yours but carried its own rhythm. That tiny echo he’d heard the night before pulsed faintly in his memory, soft but insistent, perfectly in time with the image he’d caught.

Now he sat hunched over diagrams of embryos at 2-3 weeks, comparing what he’d seen with medical illustrations: descriptions of implantation, how cells began dividing and how a faint flicker could already be the start of a heart. His glasses slid down again as he scrolled through forums and medical articles with feverish focus, trying to ground the impossible in fact.

He ran a hand through his hair, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths as the reality sank deeper. If what he saw was right, then you weren’t just different, you were carrying the beginning of something extraordinary and Clark Kent, the man who could hear a thousand heartbeats at once, was suddenly terrified of how he could ever keep his own steady long enough to tell you.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard, scrolling back and forth over the first article that had popped up after his frantic search: “What does an embryo look like at 3 weeks?”

He didn’t notice the soft creak of floorboards or the faint shuffle as you padded in from the bedroom. He didn’t even notice when you perched yourself on the back of the couch just behind him, chin resting in your hand as you peeked over his shoulder.

“…‘Three weeks after conception, the fertilized egg is now a tiny ball of cells…’” you read aloud, your tone making the words sound absurdly out of place.

Clark jumped so violently he nearly knocked the laptop off his knees. “Sweetheart!” He slammed it shut with a snap, twisting around to look at you with wide eyes and a nervous smile. “I–I didn’t realize you were awake. Are you okay? Do you need something? Are you hungry? I can–uh, I can make something.”

You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes at him in suspicion. Slowly, you leaned forward a little, your gaze drifting past his side toward the coffee table. Clark followed your eyes with dawning dread.

The table was a battlefield: pregnancy manuals stacked three deep, a glossy medical diagram of fetal development half-sliding off a page and a scribbled notepad where Clark had scrawled bullet points in his quick, clumsy handwriting.

You arched a brow at the sight, lips quirking into something between disbelief and amusement. “…I’m inclined to believe you didn’t suddenly have a change of heart and decide you want to become a doctor.” Your gaze flicked back to his face, sharp but curious. “So… is there something you want to tell me?”

Clark opened his mouth, then shut it again, his throat working like words had been caught halfway up. His hands hovered in the air, halfway between gesturing and covering the books, as his pulse stuttered out of rhythm in his ears.

Finally, his mouth opened, words tripping out of him before he even realized he’d started talking.

“It’s just–you…you’ve been looking a little different. Not in a bad way! In a…glowy kind of way and then this morning you smelled different, again, not bad, just…different. And your heartbeat, it–it isn’t the same, it’s like there’s this second rhythm, like an echo and I swear I didn’t mean to notice but it’s just– my hearing’s tuned too sharp lately and I catch things without trying and then, God, I didn’t mean to look but I was using my x-ray vision on the sink and I–I glanced at you and there was something there. And I know we never really talked about how we’d find out when it happened and I know we only just started trying, so it feels way too soon, but this morning–.”

He realized he was speaking too fast, words tumbling like a dam had cracked, his voice rising as though he couldn’t quite breathe. Then, suddenly, he froze, every muscle in him tightening as the truth pressed its way up his throat and out.

“You’re pregnant.”

The words hung in the air like they didn’t belong to him, like he’d borrowed them from someone braver, someone who didn’t feel like the room was tilting under their feet.

Your eyes widened, lips parting in stunned silence.

“Well–well, no need to panic, right?” Clark rushed on, hands lifting helplessly before dropping again. “I mean, I’m not a doctor. It–it could be too soon to tell. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything and maybe you didn’t want it to happen this quickly, I know we only just started talking about this and trying–”

He faltered when he saw it, the shine in your eyes, the way your lips curved into a trembling smile, tears gathering faster than you could blink them away.

Clark finally, blessedly, shut up. His throat closed around the rest of his rambling and his whole chest softened, every ounce of frantic energy collapsing into something tender and fragile.

“Sweetheart,” he whispered, voice breaking as he reached for you.

You slid off the back of the couch and into his arms before he could move and Clark caught you like he’d been waiting his whole life for this one hug. He buried his face against your temple, clutching you close as if he could keep both of you, all three of you, safe with sheer willpower alone.

His big hands spanned your back like he was terrified you might slip away if he let go. His voice was soft but trembling with something raw and his lips brushed the crown of your head as he spoke.

“Are we…happy about this?” he asked carefully, almost timidly, as though your answer carried the weight of his entire world. “Because–I am happy. If that’s alright with you. I just…want to make sure.” He pulled back slightly, enough to see your face, eyes darting over the tears on your cheeks, his own brow furrowed in concern. “These are happy tears, right? They’ve got to be, because your heart is beating so fast and–and I don’t think I got to that chapter yet.”

The last part slipped out with a nervous laugh, his attempt to lighten what suddenly felt so huge.

You let out a shaky laugh of your own, swiping at your damp cheeks before leaning back to look him in the eye. “You realize you’ve been giving yourself away all day, right?”

Clark blinked, confused.

“Bonus pipes,” you teased, repeating the first odd thing he’d blurted out that morning. Then you ticked them off on your fingers, mocking his earnest tone. “‘Look four times before crossing the street.’ ‘I’ll make you anything, anytime, even the weird combos and I’ll even eat them with you…’” You grinned through the tears, shaking your head. “Clark, I should’ve known.”

A blush crept over his ears, his sheepish smile tugging wide as his hand rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, your strange husband was acting strange,” he admitted, trying to salvage what little dignity he had left. “Nothing weird about that.”

You arched a brow knowingly, the corner of your mouth still curled in a smile.

He let the silence hang for a moment, his thumb brushing absently over your hip before his face softened again, the weight of it all crashing back into him. His voice dropped, quieter, vulnerable in a way he rarely let himself be. “I might be wrong about this,” he said, though the words didn’t sound convincing even to his own ears.

You held his gaze, steady and sure, your smile gentler now. “We both know you’re not.”

Clark’s chest rose and fell with a shaky breath, like he’d been waiting for you to say it, waiting for that permission to let the joy take him under. His arms tightened around you like he couldn’t quite believe this was real, then suddenly, he was sinking down, his knees pressing into the floor as though pulled by something stronger than gravity. His palms spread reverently over your hips, gaze locked on your stomach with a mixture of awe and disbelief before he bent forward and pressed a trembling kiss there, his lips lingering like a promise, like a prayer.

You laughed through fresh tears, threading your fingers into his hair. “Clark…”

“Just–just let me stay here a second,” he whispered against you, voice hoarse. “I can’t believe it. I don’t deserve this.”

It took more than a second to convince him to get back up. When he finally did, you coaxed him toward the bedroom, tugging his hand until he climbed in beside you. You lay down first, rolling onto your side with a small, tired sigh and he immediately started fussing, smoothing the blanket over you like you were made of glass.

“You need a better pillow,” he muttered, already eyeing the one beneath your head like it offended him. “Maybe we should think about replacing the mattress, too…something with better support, right? I can run out tomorrow morning–”

You burst out laughing, cutting him off. “Clark, it’s fine.”

“Except it’s not, I want you two to be more comfortable and…actually maybe it’s time to move–”

You cut him off with another laugh, covering his mouth with your hand so he’d listen for two seconds.“Clark Kent, if you don’t stop nesting like a six-foot-four golden retriever and just sleep, we’ll have more issues than a suddenly uncomfortable mattress.”

That earned you the lopsided grin you loved most, the one he could never quite hide when you teased him. He looked unconvinced but settled beside you anyway, still mumbling half-formed plans as his hand rested on your waist with a sigh so full of peace it was almost boyish. Eventually, his breathing slowed, your laughter softened and the both of you drifted into sleep.

In the morning, you woke to an empty bed and a neat little note left on the nightstand in Clark’s handwriting: Had to step out. Don’t skip breakfast, please. I love you both. 

With a tiny doodle of a cape flapped off the edge of the page.

You smiled, pressing it to your chest before getting up. After making yourself something to eat, you decided you couldn’t sit still and wound up at the flower shop downtown, filling your arms with soft, bright blooms that already made you imagine them in the kitchen vase.

The bell above the shop door jingled as you stepped out, your mind still lingering on Clark and you only made it a few paces before realizing the sidewalk had gone still. Strangers were frozen in place, their necks tilted back, pointing and whispering.

Curiosity prickled so you followed their gaze upward. 

The clouds were shifting. Not drifting like usual but moving in precise strokes, curling and unfurling across the blue expanse. At first, it looked like a trick of the light, wisps pulled thin by the wind. Then the shape became clearer, sweeps of white carved into deliberate curves. It was a heart, etched against the morning sky.

Your breath caught.

Inside that vast heart, a smaller one appeared, tucked just off-center, its edges brushing against the larger outline until they overlapped. Interlinked. Two hearts bound together, one enfolded within the other. Subtle enough that anyone else might see it as nothing more than a flourish of artistry but to you, it was unmistakable. His way of telling the world without really saying it in a private message disguised as a public marvel.

Around you, the crowd murmured in awe, some even clapped, convinced they’d just witnessed Superman putting on a show but you knew better.

“Subtle.” Your lips curved as you clutched the bouquet tighter to your chest, warmth blooming in you that no one else could see. You tilted your head back toward the sky, whispering to the clouds he’d left behind, “We love you too.”

Clark hovered in the sky, looking down at the crowd but more than anyone, at you. Even from that height, your voice reached him, a sound only he could hear. Before you could blink again, he tilted his head toward the clouds, then, like a streak of silver lightning, he shot upward, weaving joy into every curve until he disappeared into the cotton-white heights above.

You stood there, bouquet pressed tight to your chest, smiling to yourself, realizing he just turned a simple morning into a memory that will last forever. The clouds shifted in his wake, leaving beautiful patterns etched into the sky, like a secret trail left just for you to follow.

And in that moment, with the world watching but none of them knowing, you knew in your bones he’d always find a way to show the world you were his.

A/N: If you enjoyed this story, feel free to explore the archive for more! Liking and reblogging helps others discover my writing and comments always make my day, they’re a huge encouragement for me to keep creating. Thank you so much for reading!