graceshiii

[graceshiii]

tradition

pairing: clark kent x f!reader | genre: fluff | wc: 0.8k

summary: clark grew up with home videos. you decided to keep the tradition going.

warnings: established relationship, FLUFF, pregnancy themes (bonus), written in headcanon/multiple scenarios style.

- a/n: just a little something while i finish up my other works for the week! thanks for being patient ♡// (gif/photo creds: @olympain)

Clark often shared his childhood memories with you, little moments he held onto with quiet affection. You could tell how much they meant to him, the way his voice softened whenever he mentioned his parents or the farm.

So when he brought up how they used to film home videos—grainy footage, clunky camcorder, someone narrating everything in the background—you got an idea.  

You walked into the kitchen with the camera already rolling. Clark stood at the stove, stirring something that smelled way too good, completely unaware.

“It should be done in a few—” he said, then looked up.

His brows lifted the second he saw the camera pointed at him. A soft laugh slipped out, low and surprised. “What are you doing?”

“Continuing tradition,” you said, grinning as you zoomed in just a little.

“Tradition?”

“Mhm,” you nodded. “Picking up where your parents left off. Home videos—grown-up edition. We’re seriously lacking in flannel though, but we’ll work on it.”

That made him laugh, full and wide, his head tilting back slightly as it broke out of him.

And you made sure to catch every second of it.

One morning you pulled out the camera, letting it record as you stepped toward Clark’s side of the bed. The sheets were rumpled, his arm draped over the edge, morning light slipping softly through the curtains. His dark hair was a mess against the pillow, sticking up in a few stubborn directions.

He stirred at the sound, squinting one eye open, voice gravelly. “You filming me?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, smiling behind the lens.

A lazy smile tugged at his lips. He let out a low laugh, then shifted toward you, one hand sliding around your waist, hauling you back toward the bed.

“Wait!” you yelped, the camera slipping from your grip as he pulled you on top of him.

You laughed as you landed, tangled in the sheets and in him.

"Morning," he mumbled, pressing you closer to his chest.

“Good morning,” you whispered back. Then you leaned in, pressing a kiss to his lips—the kind that lingered. Somewhere on the bed, the camera kept rolling, quietly forgotten.

You hit record, camera aimed at the front door just as it opened with a soft creak. You were grinning already, half expecting to catch Clark mid-yawn, tie loosened, maybe muttering something about the coffee machine being slow again.

But the second he stepped inside, your eyes went wide.

“Clark!”

A streak of red and blue flashed across the screen as you gasped and fumbled with the camera, jerking it away just in time. The lens caught nothing but the trailing edge of his cape before it ended on a blur of drywall and your hand, Clark's low chuckle just barely audible in the background.

Of course you filmed the quiet days, the holidays, the special occasions. But Clark caught on quick—noticed how the camera was always pointed at him.

So naturally, he had to fix that.

You were standing in the doorway one night, camera in hand, watching him brush his teeth—shirtless, hair still damp from his shower.

He glanced at you in the mirror, foam at the corners of his mouth, and smiled around the toothbrush.

Without a word, he reached out, tugging you gently toward him. You laughed, stumbling a little as his arm wrapped around you. He took the camera from your hand with ease, flipping it toward the mirror until both of you were in frame.

“You’re supposed to be in these too, you know,” he mumbled around the toothbrush, voice muffled but amused.

You leaned into him, cheeks flushed with laughter, as he gave the camera a crooked little grin.

The camera caught everything—your laugh, the way he rested his chin against your head, the moment he kissed your temple, toothpaste and all.

And when you watch them all back—those quiet, flickering glimpses of a life stitched together with laughter and kisses half caught on film—he never fails to remind you.

Of all his memories, you’re his favorite.

⟢ bonus! 

The camera shakes a little as Clark adjusts it. You’re in the kitchen, one hand resting on your belly, the other reaching for a bowl on the shelf. Still wearing his oversized T-shirt.

He zooms in—softly, slowly.

And then his voice, warm and steady from behind the lens:

“And this one’s for you.”

A pause.

“That’s your mom. She doesn’t know I’m filming right now—she’d probably throw something at me if she did.”

He chuckles under his breath.

“But she sings to you in the mornings. Craves the weirdest food combinations I’ve ever seen. And she already loves you more than anything.”

You glance over your shoulder, catching him—and roll your eyes.

“Clark.”

“Just say hi,” he grins. “It’s for the baby.”

You shake your head, laughing—but your expression softens.

And then your voice drops, quiet and sure.

“Hi, baby,” you murmur to the bump, hand resting gently on your belly.

Then a whisper from behind the camera:

“You and her—my whole world right there.”

please do not repost, copy, or claim my work as your own.

• tag list: @sophiethelesbian @floufli @yeonalie

if you want to be tagged in my future posts, comment or message me! i’m happy to do it! :) just let me know if you want all works or just for specific characters <3

• links: masterlist | wattpad | summer request fest

[graceshiii]

yall have no idea what this did to my ovaries

[graceshiii]

oh to dance with this 50 year old man with his arms around my waist !!!

[graceshiii]

blue, silver, love ── .✦

requested! thank you. content: red carpet fluff, f4 premiere, girlfriend!reader surprises Pedro with f4-themed nails, he’s head over heels, soft affection.

He just finished the last round of solo shots.

Still riding the adrenaline — the flash of cameras, the roar of fans, the heat of the blue carpet lights. But his eyes?

They’re already searching for you.

And then he sees you. Standing at the edge of the press barricade. A little tucked back behind security. Not in anything flashy, just you — soft, glowy, his calm in the chaos. You smile the second his eyes meet yours.

He forgets how to walk for a second.

“Excuse me,” he murmurs to his publicist, already moving. “Sorry, I gotta—yeah—thank you.”

He weaves through the crowd toward you like he’s being pulled by a string.

“Hi, baby,” you say, voice soft just for him as he reaches for your hands. “You look perfect.”

He leans in and kisses your cheek first. Your forehead. Then grabs your hand to kiss your knuckles—

And freezes.

“Wait—”

You smile.

It takes him a second to understand what he’s looking at.

Your nails are deep F4 blue. Little touches of silver swirling through like cosmic energy. One nail — your ring finger — has the Fantastic Four logo perfectly painted in white. The rest are subtly shimmery. Elegant. Minimal. So very you.

His mouth drops open a little.

“What—baby—”

“I wanted to do something for your big night,” you shrug like it’s nothing.

Pedro stares like you just handed him the moon. Still holding your hand like it’s a sacred object. He turns it slowly, lifting it up, then down. His thumb brushes gently over the logo like it’s fragile.

“You got Fantastic Four nails for me?”

You nod, laughing under your breath. “Pedro, you’re gonna cry.”

“I might,” he says honestly. “I might cry right now in front of everyone.”

You lean in. “Don’t cry, Mr. Fantastic. You’ll smudge my makeup.”

He laughs, still not looking away from your hand. “You’re unbelievable.”

Then, louder, half to the press who’s still trying to shout questions from the edge:

“DID YOU GUYS SEE HER NAILS?!”

You blush immediately. “Pedro!”

He kisses your hand again. Knuckles, palm, then gently presses a kiss to your ring finger nail.

“You’re my favorite thing about tonight,” he whispers.

Then he tugs you forward. Onto the carpet. In full view.

He doesn’t let go of your hand for a second.

And for the rest of the night? Every time someone asks him how he feels, his answer is the same:

“Like the luckiest man in the world. Did I tell you about her nails?”

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

[graceshiii]

Clark Kent request of him surprising you in the morning on your birthday after you gave birth? Clark is just your loving husband, wanting to give you the world after you just gave him the greatest gift🥺 your tired, hanging on, on a journey with motherhood, and Clark will do anything for the reader to make her feel special on her special day😩😩

you wake up to the smell of coffee and cinnamon (clark recently learned a new cinnamon bun recipe that he’s obsessed with). your body aches in that quiet, familiar way. your arms reach instinctively for the bassinet first, but when you lean over, it’s empty. “where is she?” the words leave your mouth fast, but not in a panic. that’s when your ears catch the soft sound of humming from the hallway.

then, the door eases open and there comes your 6’4 husband and your newborn. clark’s hair is a little messy, glasses askew, wearing that navy robe you secretly stole once when you were pregnant and never gave back. your daughter is tucked into one of his arms, swaddled tight and blinking up at the ceiling like she’s seeing heaven. this is pretty close to your heaven anyway. “happy birthday, sweetheart,” he says, voice soft, already smiling.

you sit up slowly, and he crosses the room to kneel beside the bed. places the baby—your baby—into your arms like he’s handing you the stars. “i thought i’d let you sleep a little longer. she’s been good. kicked me once. definitely has your left hook.” you blink fast, tears hot and ridiculous. clark leans in and kisses your temple, murmurs against your skin, “you gave me everything. i just want to give a little bit back.”

he nods toward the tray he set down—stack of pancakes, whipped cream smiley face, a fresh cinnamon bun, and a mug that says world’s best mom in wonky permanent marker like it was made by a kid in school. (he made it yesterday in the fortress and didn’t tell you.) “you deserve a crown,” he says, brushing your hair back. “but breakfast felt more practical.”

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[graceshiii]

this is so dbf!joel LIKE ARE YOU SEEING THIS???

[graceshiii]

hehe Guilty 😏😏

[graceshiii]

ANTI-BULLYING ASSEMBLY ♡

♡ pairing: husband!clark x teacher!reader

♡ summary: when your school's principal catches you on the phone with superman, not realizing it's your husband, you come up with an excuse as to why you were on the phone with him.

♡ warnings / tags: fluff! wc: 1.3k

♡ author's note: i feel like clark with a teacher wife makes a lot of sense!! i had sm fun writing this!! feel free to send me some clark requests + read something similar!

CLARK KENT MASTERLIST ♡

"sooo, your ma finally gave me the recipe for her casserole. yes, that casserole." you laughed into the phone, when you heard your husband's excitement over the phone, "and i was thinking i'd drop by the store to get the ingredients and make it tonight. can't guarantee that it'll be just as good, but martha said that the most important ingredient was love."

"i'm sure it's going to be delicious." you could hear clark smiling through the phone, as well as a slight swoosh!

"what have we talked about texting and flying, mister?" you scolded playfully as you took out a stack of exams for your students, "well, technically i'm speaking on the phone and flying." "and technically i'm still gonna scold you when you get home tonight."

"i'll bring dessert from papa's donuteria?"

"fine, you're forgiven." you chuckle softly, "and you better make sure your superman duties don't take too long, or there'll be hell to pay."

"of course they won't. have a good day at work, honey."

"you too." you smile, hanging up your phone, only now realizing that someone was standing right outside your classroom door, the middle-aged woman's eyes wide and jaw slack. you clear your throat, putting on a friendly smile, "principal kelly! i was just on the phone with my hu—"

"superman."

"whhhaaaat?"

"i couldn't help but overhear you just say superman." the woman clapped her hands together, "mrs. kent, were you just talking to superman?"

"no, no." you clear your throat, "i mean, that'd be strange. how could i have superman's number?" you let out an awkward chuckle, your forming into a tight smile.

"well, your husband works with him, doesn't he?"

at the reminder of clark's supposed connection to superman, a lightbulb turns on over your head and you clapped your hands together, "oh, yes! i was indeed talking to superman. my husband gave me his number."

"how come were you talking to him at this lunchtime?" the woman looks down at her watch, "did you tell him about the bullying problem we've been having?"

"yes, i did!" you cleared your throat, "i actually asked superman if he could… come have a… talk. about how bad bullying is. i feel like he's a figure that many of the kids look up to and it might help."

"oh, that's a fantastic idea!" the woman exclaimed, "do you think he would do that?" "well, i think i can find a way to convince him..." you smiled awkwardly.

you hear the front door close the moment the infamous kent casserole is out of the oven, listening as he takes off his shoes and places his satchel down on its usual spot. you chuckle softly, your husband coming into the kitchen with a wide smile and a white box with 'papa's donuteria' written on it, placing it down on the dining table, his jacket already ditched and tie loose around his collared shirt.

"hi." clark bends slightly to press a kiss on your cheek, "i could smell the casserole. it smells just as good as my ma's." "good. i remembered her advice and put extra love in." clark turned to take some plates out of the cupboard, placing them on the table as you looked for forks and knives.

once the table was set and the two of you had sat down, you pursed your lips in thought, watching as your husband started serving himself food; however, when you didn't start putting food on your own plate, clark furrowed his brows, blue eyes flickering from your empty plate to your eyes, "what's wrong?"

"i... i have a favor to ask you." your husband nodded, telling you to continue, and you took your husband's ringed hand in yours, rubbing it, "so, today, principal kelly... heard me talking to you. well, more specifically, she heard me call you superman."

your husband's eyes turned comically wide at your words, and you could see his adam's apple bob as he swallowed. "w-what...?" he mumbled, his throat dry. the hand that wasn't in yours took off his glasses, and he rubbed the corner of his eyes. "she knows?"

"oh, no! god, no." you let out a soft chuckle when you realized what your husband must be thinking, "no, she just knows that i have superman's number... she thought i got it because you two work together."

"oh." clark let out a breath, "whew, you scared me." the man shook his head as if shaking the thought away, stroking your hand with his thumb, "so... what's the favor, honey?"

"there's been some issues with bullying at my school, and i was wondering if superman would be willing to come by, maybe give a little talk on why it's bad...?" you looked at him with a slightly pleading look on your face, your husband simply smiling, bringing his hand to his lips and pressing a small kiss on it.

"of course. you don't even have to ask."

clark cleared his throat before speaking into the microphone on the podium in the middle of the school gymnasium, "hello. first, i want to thank mrs. kent for, uh, asking me to come speak to you about bullying."

"thank you, mrs. kent!" a gymnasiumful of students echoed back at him, making you let out a soft, quiet chuckle as you watched your husband, your head tilted to the side. "thank you, mrs. kent, indeed." principal kelly whispered in a hushed tone, "he really does look more handsome in person."

"he does." you smiled fondly as you listened to your husband speak.

after clark was done with his presentation, he received a round of applause that echoed throughout the gymnasium, and you started leading him towards your classroom. "you did really well. i think they really listened to you." you said with a wide smile, not even noticing the way your husband was itching with the urge to hold your hand, so used to doing that whenever you walked side by side, now tapping his fingers against his thigh to keep himself occupied.

"here's where the magic happens. aka where i pray that eight-year-olds don't pick their noses." you chuckle as you were pulling the door to your classroom open, "ta-da!"

clark looked around as he stepped inside, many of the walls covered with drawings clearly made by children, along with cards that had your name written on them in scrawly, colorful handwriting. you even had a picture of you and the children you taught hung up that had been taken on picture day.

"wow..." clark's reaction made you chuckle, your kitten heels clacking against the floor as you walked to your desk, picking up a stack of papers. "just wait until you see these."

your husband closed the small distance between you two, taking the papers you were holding and starting to shift through them; each of them a different kind of drawing of clark, of superman, a lot of them with messages like 'superman rules!' or something along those lines. "these are... of me?"

"they are. when i told them you were coming to visit, they got really excited, so i said that they could make drawings for you. i assured that superman would get them." you raised your brows with a grin on your lips, "did i do good?"

clark put the drawings down onto the table, bringing one of his large hands to cup your cheek, stroking the soft skin og your cheek, "how did i get so lucky?" he asked softly, his beautiful, bright gleaming as he looked down at you. "i love you so much."

before you had time to respond to your husband's affections, clark brought his lips down to yours for a soft kiss, your lips melting into his, a warm feeling blooming in your chest.

however, the moment was cut short when you heard a gasp at the door, your husband pulling away from the kiss, the two of you looking to see a small figure skittering away from the door, your eyes wide as you and clark turned to look at each other, his cheeks reddening.

"i think one of my students just saw mrs. clark kiss superman." you mumbled, a moment of silence passing between you before you both burst into laughter, clark pulling you close to him, "what a scandal."

[graceshiii]

(i’ve just been having fav white boys back to back, i think i need to be put down i shouldn’t like men this much. it’s brittany broski’s fault with her new royal court with him, if i’m being honest)

[graceshiii]

"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.

[graceshiii]

god this movie was so amazing

[graceshiii]

glasses are the sluttiest thing a man could wear.

[graceshiii]

I MEAN-

[graceshiii]

I MEAN-

[graceshiii]

ITS TOO MUCH PEDRO PASCAL CONTENT, 2025

[graceshiii]

anything for you, mr pascal

[graceshiii]