House of El: Reforged

Kent Farm – One Year Later

Still Kansas. Still Humble. Now Featuring Flannel, Frosting, and Three Birthday Demigods.

The kitchen smelled like cinnamon rolls, scorched sugar, and a faint, suspicious sizzle that suggested something had been hexed into behaving—and was planning revenge.

Lilly Kent stood at the stove in full domestic battle armor: red plaid flannel rolled at the sleeves, dark jeans tucked into enchanted work boots, and her copper-red hair coiled into a messy bun like a tired goddess who'd wrestled time itself—and then gone back for seconds. A streak of frosting glimmered on her cheekbone like a war stripe.

Three cake tiers floated above the center island, spinning gently in the air like sugary planets in orbit. Each one shimmered under stabilizing charms, while a wooden spoon stirred whipped cream in a bowl to the left with suspicious sass. A whisk hovered nearby, clearly sulking at not being chosen.

"Don't start, Larry," Lilly said, flicking her wand at the whisk without even glancing up. "You overbeat last week's ganache, and you know what that did to Clark's palate."

The whisk drooped in midair like a scolded child.

Across the kitchen, Martha Kent, flour-dusted and maternal in the way only Kansas matriarchs could be, stood at the farmhouse table expertly piping chocolate roses onto a tray. Her expression was calm, but her eyes twinkled with the kind of wisdom that came from raising one alien son, surviving multiple world-ending crises, and inventing no less than five recipes to disguise Kryptonian nutritional supplements.

"If it explodes," she said mildly, "it's your mess this time. Not the chickens'."

"It's structurally reinforced," Lilly replied, hands on hips as she examined the top tier. "No frosting fatalities today, promise. I even made the sugar flowers fireproof."

"I'll believe that when I don't have to scrape frosting off the ceiling."

"That was one time and I was trying to teach Zee a density charm."

"You taught her a frosting grenade."

"It was educational!" Lilly protested, tossing a handful of enchanted sprinkles over the cake like a queen bestowing blessings. "She learned not to enchant buttercream before nap time."

Martha raised an eyebrow, not looking up. "Mm-hmm."

Lilly paused, lips twitching. "Okay, maybe not learned learned. More like... added it to her trick list."

There was a beat of silence before both women burst into quiet laughter.

"You spoil them," Martha said, passing over a tray of delicate frosting violets.

"They're one, Martha. Spoiling them is literally in the job description."

"Zatanna turned your hair blue last week."

"And it was a perfectly executed glamour. Slightly too sparkly, but her wand grip was flawless." Lilly placed the tray down and sighed contentedly. "Honestly? She's already ahead of where Sindella was at this age."

Martha's hands stilled on the piping bag.

The quiet wasn't awkward. Just soft. Heavy with memory.

"She'd be proud," Martha said gently, her voice wrapped in pie crust and steel. "Of her. Of you."

Lilly didn't look up right away. When she did, her smile was quiet.

"I hope so," she said. "She deserved more time. But... I'm doing what I can."

And then—thud.

Followed by a high-pitched giggle, then the unmistakable pitter-patter of feet scampering across hardwood.

Lilly didn't even blink.

"Clark!" she called. "If they've broken containment again—"

"We're good!" came Clark Kent's voice, very suspiciously cheerful. "Hadrian just figured out how to use the couch like a springboard and cast a midair levitation burst! He's fine!"

There was a whoosh—classic Kryptonian—and then Clark reappeared in the doorway, windswept and baffled, holding a very smug Hadrian upside down by one ankle.

"He's giggling," Clark offered helpfully. "That counts as 'fine,' right?"

Hadrian, still upside down, grinned with glowing emerald eyes and burbled something that might have been Latin or just baby for I regret nothing. A spark of magic fizzled from his nose, and a nearby ladle rose into the air and bonked Clark on the head.

"Ow." Clark adjusted his hold and flipped Hadrian upright. "Okay, okay. No acrobatic wizardry without adult supervision. I hear you."

Lilly turned slowly, arms crossed. "That's the second time this week, Clark."

"He's innovative!"

"He's a baby!"

"He's a Kent. It's genetic."

"Don't you dare blame this on my side of the family."

Clark gave her a dazzling Henry Cavill smile. "I mean, I am the boring one."

"Oh please." Lilly took Hadrian from his arms with practiced ease. "You've punched Darkseid. You cried when we bought our dishwasher. You're the most confusing man I've ever loved."

"Fair," Clark said with a shrug. "Neville's quiet, at least."

As if summoned, Neville Kent waddled into the kitchen with a cookie in each hand, a paper crown sliding down his forehead, and the dazed serenity of a monk mid-reincarnation.

He bumped gently into Lilly's shin like a magical Roomba, blinked up at her, then held out a crumb-covered cookie.

She crouched and scooped him up.

"My philosopher prince," she cooed. "What have we learned about cookies on the floor?"

Neville blinked solemnly. "They better cookies."

Clark doubled over laughing. Martha bit her lip. Lilly looked skyward.

"I'm raising Loki in soft mode," she muttered. "Perfect."

Then—POP.

A burst of pink sparkles flared midair as Zatanna Zatara—Zee to her family—appeared upside down, floating, wearing a diaper, a tiara, and the smug grin of a toddler who knew she'd nailed her entrance.

"Zeee PUFF!" she squealed proudly.

Martha didn't even look up. "That's the third time she's levitated this morning."

"She earned it," Lilly said, flicking her fingers to gently rotate Zee upright. "Girl knows her angles."

Zee clapped her hands, summoning a shower of glitter that rained over the cake.

Clark winced. "Oh no."

But Lilly—cool as ever—whispered a charm, and the glitter froze in midair, twirled, and melted into the top tier where it formed a glowing golden 1.

Clark blinked. "Did you just weaponize glitter?"

Lilly smiled sweetly. "I call it... party tact."

Outside, guests had begun to arrive. A disguised Diana Prince carried two enchanted baby rattles. Bruce Wayne, allegedly allergic to parties, stood by the fence talking to Alfred and pretending not to smile. Across the cornfield, a herd of magical familiars flew low and mischievous over the windmill.

Inside, the Kent farmhouse kitchen buzzed with spellwork and sugar, with love and powdered chaos.

Three babies.

Three cakes.

And one very determined family.

The first birthday had arrived—and if the first year had been wild?

Well… the toddler years were coming.

And the House of Kent would be ready.

—

Kent Farm – Front Porch

Exactly 43 Minutes Before Cake Carnage

The gravel drive wheezed under the weight of too much horsepower and intergalactic pride as luxury cars, hovercycles, and a very confused flying carpet tried to coordinate parking in a field more used to tractors than Batmobiles. Lilly Kent, red hair twisted up in a glittering mess of practical pins and chaos, narrowed her eyes at the incoming circus.

"I told them casual," she muttered, waving her wand at a string of helium balloons that were starting to unionize. "Not 'Fashion Week meets divine intervention.'"

Clark Kent, freshly apron-ed with a cartoon grill on his chest and their youngest on one shoulder, smiled in that way only a man with heat vision and infinite patience could.

"Diana said it was linen. Breathes well."

"Clark. She's wearing gold Louboutins."

"With grip soles," he offered, gently bouncing Neville. "Safety first."

Outside, Diana Prince stepped out of her invisible jet like it was a runway, silk slacks fluttering in the wind, her arms full of so many intricately wrapped presents it looked like a Harrods window display had come to life.

"Where should I put the griffin plushie? It's life-sized," she asked, every syllable laced with regal grace. "And the war horn? It only plays 'Happy Birthday' in three languages. I thought that was tastefully restrained."

Lilly, framed by the screen door and holding a wand in one hand and a bubble wand in the other, blinked slowly. "Do any of these require a UN resolution to unwrap?"

"Only the plushie," Diana said cheerfully. "Bruce handled the paperwork."

"Of course he did," Lilly sighed. "Come in before the glitter starts breeding."

A matte black SUV purred up the driveway next, and Bruce Wayne exited it like a man attending a corporate hostage negotiation. Dressed in a navy Henley that managed to look both brooding and deeply unfair, he carried a single gift bag in the shape of a bat and the aura of a man already regretting every life choice that led to being within fifty feet of a balloon arch.

"Bourbon," he said simply, handing the bag to Clark.

Clark raised a brow. "For the babies?"

"For me," Bruce replied, already walking inside like a silent specter of exasperation.

"Someone's been emotionally waterboarded by glitter before," Lilly said under her breath.

Trailing behind, Selina Kyle strolled in with a high ponytail, mirrored shades, and a silver-studded diaper bag that likely contained smoke bombs and organic baby wipes.

"God, I love this place," she purred, kissing Lilly on the cheek. "The chickens glare at me like they know my browser history."

"They do," Lilly said sweetly. "The red one judges everyone. Especially billionaires."

"Where's the birthday menaces?"

There was a zooming crash in the foyer, followed by the scent of cake frosting and accidental combustion.

"ZEEEEEE PUFF!"

Selina blinked as Zatanna sailed by on a levitating platter of confetti cake trays, wearing a tutu and what looked suspiciously like one of Bruce's capes.

"Well," Selina said, dropping her sunglasses. "She has flair. I approve."

From the open field, a technicolor blur skidded to a halt.

"AM I LATE?!" Barry Allen shouted, hair windblown, face freckled with frosting shrapnel, and holding a tray of cookies that were somehow both steaming and coated in frost.

Lilly leaned in the doorway. "Technically? No. Emotionally? That tray's going through it."

Iris West, radiant in a sundress and sandals, arrived behind him like calm after a sugar storm.

"He tried to bake," she said, stepping inside like she owned the place. "The oven achieved sentience and filed for emotional damages."

"I followed the recipe," Barry said, traumatized. "It said 'whisk until emotionally stable' and I panicked!"

Clark handed him a juice box. "Hydrate, champ."

The ground rumbled, a truck pulled up with the confidence of someone who parked by echolocation, and Arthur Curry emerged barefoot, in board shorts, a tank top that read WAVE DAD, and carrying sea anemones like a prom date with Poseidon.

"Mera said no kraken plushie," he grumbled. "Said it was 'too much.'"

Clark patted his shoulder. "It was alive, Arthur."

Mera slid out next in a flowing green maxi dress, her hair pinned up like she hadn't just won a trident duel last week. "Where do you want the jellyfish cupcakes? They're venom-free. This time."

"Fridge. Under the non-sentient snacks," Lilly said.

"Are those real ducks?" J'onn J'onzz asked from the yard, in his human form, squinting at the pond. "Do they eat corn or... nightmares?"

Victor Stone, cool in a bomber jacket and jeans, muttered, "One of them beat me at chess."

Hal Jordan, in aviators and smirking like he'd never lost a bar fight he didn't start, strolled up beside Carol Ferris, her hair swept up and confidence wrapped around her like silk armor.

"Still mad you got smoked by a duck, Vic?" Hal asked, grinning.

Victor deadpanned. "It called me predictable."

Inside, the cake shimmered like a radioactive disco ball. Lilly waved her wand just as Zee bounced into the kitchen, tiara crooked, cheeks glitterbombed, and eyes wild with power.

"EVERYONE'S HEEEERE!"

The cake clapped back. A sentient spark flew off. Lilly caught it without blinking.

"House rules," she announced. "Wash your hands, don't feed the chickens spell components, and do not poke the glitter cake. It has opinions."

Selina collapsed into a chair. "God, I love your house."

From the back, Martha Kent arrived holding baby Hadrian, who had frosting in one eyebrow and a look like he'd tried to eat the future.

"I turned around for five minutes," she said flatly, wiping icing off his nose. "Why does the cake sparkle like Kryptonite and judgment?"

Lilly shrugged. "Zee sneezed during a Latin blessing and the cake took it personally."

Alfred Pennyworth, somehow unnoticed until this exact moment, appeared beside Bruce with tea.

"I told you we should've brought the backup fondant, sir."

Bruce sipped his bourbon. "No one listens to me."

Diana placed her final gift beside the mantle, where the phoenix plush had already begun softly glowing.

"What a wonderful day," she said, eyes misty.

Clark, now holding both Hadrian and Neville with the ease of a demigod babysitter, beamed.

"Honestly," he said, voice warm as Kansas sunshine, "it really is."

Outside, balloons drifted like enchanted jellyfish. The chickens stared suspiciously. The cake plotted rebellion.

And the first birthday celebration of the Tiny Trinity was about to begin.

—

Kent Farm – Backyard

Exactly One Minute Before Cake Detonation

The cake shimmered ominously. Like it was waiting. Plotting. Possibly writing a memoir.

That should've been the first clue.

The second clue was Zatanna. Specifically, the way she stood next to the cake, hands clasped innocently behind her back, smiling like a Disney villain caught in the middle of her villain song.

"It's not technically sentient," she said sweetly. "It's just...emotionally aware. Think cat. With opinions."

"It growled at me," Iris said flatly, easing onto a lawn chair with a lemonade that looked more like a defensive weapon. "Like a jealous ex. I don't need that energy in my life."

Clark Kent—flour-smudged apron still on, the cartoon grill on his chest proudly declaring Grill Daddy—gently passed baby Hadrian to Selina Kyle, who caught him like a seasoned jewel thief and immediately handed him a sparkly spoon.

"Only lick," she told the boy in a purr. "No summoning."

"Is the spoon sterile?" Alfred asked mildly, already advancing with a cloth like a British specter of order and consequences.

"Sterile and blessed," Selina said. "By a disgruntled monk with opinions about glitter. You're welcome."

Neville, on Alfred's lap and wearing a napkin that looked like it had seen battle, gurgled happily at the cake. It gurgled back.

"I think he's trying to negotiate a ceasefire," Martha Kent murmured to Lilly, adjusting a bib with maternal resignation. "I give it five seconds before frosting flies."

Lilly, standing center stage like the redheaded chaos goddess she was born to be, grinned. Her hair was done in an elegant knot that somehow included both a vintage brooch and a glittery quill, her dress was floral and pocketed (always pocketed), and in her hand she held a wand, a mimosa, and a single helium balloon that looked ready to defect.

She clapped.

"Alright, everyone! Before the cake either starts singing or achieves higher consciousness, let's do the honors."

Bruce Wayne, brooding in a Henley so dark it absorbed sunlight, took a contemplative sip of his bourbon and muttered, "Ten bucks says it explodes."

"Fifty," Hal said, raising a jellyfish cupcake in salute. "I've seen less tension during an alien invasion."

"I was there," J'onn added quietly, standing near the pond, hands folded behind his back. "And the cake is definitely the greater threat."

Clark took the ceremonial family cake knife—blessed by four grandmothers, one priest, and probably a few offended ghosts—and held it aloft like Excalibur in the late afternoon sun.

"For the House of Kent!" he declared, voice rich and radiant as only Henry Cavill's Superman could deliver.

The wind stirred the trees. A few chickens clucked nervously.

"Bit much," Martha muttered, amused.

"But it plays," Selina purred, draping herself into a lawn chair like a queen on vacation.

Clark sliced.

There was a pop.

Not a big one. Not at first.

Then the sparklers exploded.

A symphony of buttercream-scented fireworks erupted from the cake as fondant animals—mini unicorns, baby dragons, two disapproving owls, and something that might've been a sugar phoenix—leapt from the layers and soared into the sky, bursting into glitter midair like sugar-sculpted firecrackers.

A fondant unicorn galloped across Barry's shoulder and exploded in a puff of marzipan.

Barry blinked. "Okay, that's the most extra cake I've ever seen. And I've been to a K-pop idol's birthday party. In Seoul."

At that exact moment, smoke curled upward from the end of the field, parting like a magician's curtain.

Through it stepped a tall, lean man in an exquisitely tailored charcoal suit. His salt-and-pepper hair was perfectly in place beneath a midnight top hat, and his dark eyes sparkled like he'd just escaped a four-hour flight with crying toddlers and still had enough charm to land a show in Vegas.

Giovanni Zatara adjusted his cufflinks with the slow, deliberate grace of a man who once fought a demon in Venice using only a wine bottle and poetry.

Zatanna shrieked like a firework.

"Papa!"

She launched herself at him, arms wide and sparkling, a human glitter missile in a tutu and one of Bruce's missing capes.

Giovanni caught her mid-spin, laughter crinkling his eyes as he kissed her forehead. "Mi stella," he murmured. "You conjured a cake that sparkles in iambic pentameter. I am proud. Deeply proud. And...slightly terrified."

"I made it with love," she beamed.

"Darling," he said, holding her at arm's length and gently smoothing a rogue confetti star off her nose, "love should not have fangs."

He turned toward the crowd, took in the glitter, the phoenix plush (glowing gently), and the war horn next to the mimosa pitcher, and nodded politely as if this were a Tuesday.

"Giovanni," Lilly said, slipping through the crowd in heels that looked like vintage murder weapons, "welcome to whatever this is. Would you like cake, bourbon, or a blessing?"

Giovanni raised a brow. "Whichever makes the cake less judgmental."

Behind them, Diana sliced a perfect square of cake with queenly grace and offered it to Hadrian, who regarded it like a general faced with an unfamiliar treaty.

"He doesn't trust anything he didn't conquer personally," Bruce noted, still standing like a statue in mourning for his own dignity.

Selina handed Hadrian a tiny spork. "You're Batman's godson. Conquer it."

Hadrian shrieked like a war cry, face-dived into the cake, and launched a buttercream explosion.

Neville followed like a loyal general, smacking both fists into the frosting and giggling with wild abandon.

A shriek went up from the crowd. Someone—definitely Hal—shouted, "BABY BATTLE ROYALE!"

Iris ducked as a flying dollop of icing nearly clipped her shoulder. "This is not what I meant by 'sweet chaos.'"

Victor wiped frosting off his shoulder with the resignation of a man who'd known worse. "One of them got me in the mouth."

"Technically," Barry said helpfully, "that's a win."

Mera tossed a jellyfish cupcake at Arthur, who caught it mid-air, took a bite, and said, "I think this one's glowing. Is that bad?"

"Nope," Mera said breezily. "Just aggressive citrus."

Giovanni took a sip of bourbon, watching the chaos unfold. "I should've brought the doves."

Victor raised a brow. "You mean like a party trick?"

"No," Giovanni said calmly. "To defend myself."

Martha—face streaked with frosting, blouse somehow still ironed—held up a towel and sighed the sigh of every grandmother everywhere.

"Same time next year?"

Lilly, now sporting whipped cream in her hair and marshmallow on her cheekbone, raised her mimosa like a sword.

"Same time every year," she declared. "Next time, though? The cake bites back. On purpose."

From the dessert table, the glitter cake chuckled.

Everyone froze.

Zatanna blinked. "...Huh."

Bruce drained the last of his bourbon. "I told you."

—

Five Minutes After Cake Detonation

Whipped cream dripped from the trees like battlefield shrapnel. A frosting-slicked bib flew like a surrender flag from a tree branch. The jellyfish cupcake—still whispering Hamlet's soliloquy in French—bobbed gently in the birdbath. Hal Jordan stood nearby, squinting at a fondant owl on his shoulder.

"I'm just saying," Hal said, voice a little too serious for someone covered in edible glitter, "if this thing's talking, I'm not naming it Hooty."

Carol Ferris, whose dress had somehow survived the cake war entirely unscathed, smirked. "You bonded with a fondant owl, Hal. You're halfway to a Disney princess."

Laughter rolled across the yard.

Under the fairy lights strung between apple trees, Giovanni Zatara stood like a man emerging from a very long dream. His suit—charcoal gray and far too expensive for this chaos—carried the weary grace of a man who'd lived too many lives. And still, his posture held elegance. Stage-born. Grief-worn. Haunted.

He watched the children—Zatanna wrestling a marshmallow pixie, Hadrian practicing his glare in the mirror-like sheen of a dessert tray, Neville gnawing on a glowing rubber duck—and breathed in the scent of sugared grass and something like forgiveness.

Lilly stepped up beside him barefoot, her red curls pinned up messily, her mimosa now just liquid stardust. She extended a napkin wordlessly.

He took it like it was sacred.

"I was wrong," Giovanni murmured.

Lilly arched one brow. "About the kids, the frosting war, or the twenty years of unspoken crap between us?"

He smiled faintly. "All of it."

She nodded slowly. "Good. Took you long enough."

"She deserved better than theaters and fire escapes."

"She deserved a bedtime story. And someone to hold her hair when she threw up glitter."

They looked out over the yard again. Zatanna had now crowned herself with the remains of a whipped cream tiara and was bossing around a raccoon made entirely of cake crumbs. Alfred Pennyworth, clutching a wooden spoon like it was Excalibur, approached her gently.

"Perhaps, Miss Zatanna," Alfred said, in that dry, eternally unbothered British tone, "the raccoon would fare better with guidance rather than monarchy."

Zatanna tilted her head. "He's my cake vizier now, Mr. Pennyworth."

Alfred bowed. "As you say, Your Majesty."

Beside them, Bruce Wayne adjusted his cufflink, grimacing as Hadrian bonked him in the knee with a glittering silver rattle.

"He's asserting dominance," Bruce muttered.

"That's my boy," Clark said proudly, scooping Hadrian up and offering Bruce a peace offering in the form of a baby wipe.

Bruce took it like it had insulted his mother.

Martha Kent chuckled as she arrived with a tray of lemonade, looking every inch the queen of Midwestern magic in her apron and pearls. "You boys and your grudges."

Lilly snorted. "Clark holds grudges like wet paper. Bruce holds them like antique china."

"Correct," Bruce said. "And Hadrian is a tiny wrecking ball."

Giovanni finally drew three velvet boxes from his coat.

Lilly gave him a wary glance. "Please tell me there's nothing inside that bites, sings, or speaks Latin backwards."

"Two out of three," Giovanni admitted, kneeling like a magician at a sacred altar.

He opened the first box. A silver rattle, etched in starlight.

"For Hadrian. Forged by my father in a thunderstorm over Venice. It calms tantrums. Or at least... delays them for dramatic effect."

Clark took it reverently. Hadrian studied it. Then bonked Bruce again.

Bruce grimaced. "Effective."

The second box: a teething ring shaped like a dragon.

"For Neville," Giovanni said softly. "My uncle's. He protected those he loved with tooth and fire."

Neville squealed and hugged it. The dragon purred.

"Bond confirmed," Victor murmured from nearby. "Kid's basically House Targaryen now."

Lilly laughed. "With less drama, hopefully."

The third box was heavier.

Zatanna stepped closer, frosting dusted across her cheeks like warpaint.

Giovanni opened the box slowly.

A silver circlet shimmered, woven with reversed Latin phrases that danced in the light like whispered lullabies.

"It was your mother's," Giovanni said, his voice cracking. "She wore it during her final show. She said it reminded her of stars."

Zatanna didn't speak. She tackled him, frosting and all.

"Grazie, Papà."

He cradled her to his chest like she was five again. Like no time had passed.

Across the yard, Selina Kyle leaned against Diana, who had a frosting flower in her braid.

"Well," Selina purred. "That's the closest thing to an apology he's ever made."

"It was lovely," Diana said. "I cried. Inside. With grace."

Barry, perched on a lawn chair with Iris curled into his side, held up a camcorder. "I got it all. I'll cut it into a slow-mo montage with 'Cats in the Cradle.'"

Lilly walked over to Martha, handing her a mimosa refill. "Think that counts as forgiveness, or do I still get to yell at him tomorrow?"

Martha grinned. "Oh, you yell. And then you bake him something passive-aggressively amazing."

From the dessert table, the cake giggled.

Everyone froze.

Zatanna tilted her frosting crown. "That one wasn't me."

The jellyfish cupcake rose three inches into the air.

J'onn J'onzz looked at it, deadpan. "It's developing sentience. Again."

Hal pointed. "You all heard that, right? That wasn't just me and Hooty?"

Arthur swiped the floating cupcake, took a bite.

Paused. Then nodded. "Tastes like mermaid anxiety."

Mera, unfazed, sipped her drink. "That tracks."

Lilly groaned and clapped her hands. "All right, people! If anything else starts reciting Shakespeare in French, it gets banished to the chicken coop. And someone go find Alfred a new spatula—he's in a duel with a flan."

"Already winning, madam," Alfred called from the garden.

Giovanni stood in the golden evening light, surrounded by chaos and kin.

And—for the first time in a year—he smiled like a man who had finally come home.

—

Kent Farm – Upstairs Hallway

Late That Night

The house had settled into that soft, humming silence only a Kansas night could offer—the kind where every creak of wood and whisper of wind felt like part of the family. The stars outside were so thick and bright they looked like someone had spilled sugar across the sky. Inside, the last of the birthday chaos had finally surrendered.

Glitter lingered on the stairs like it had union rights. A lonely balloon drifted along the ceiling, resigned to its post-party fate.

Down the hall, Martha Kent stood watch like a general after battle. She wore her navy cardigan over a soft flannel nightgown, sleeves rolled, hair pinned up in its usual elegant defiance of gravity. She rocked gently in the wooden chair Clark had once outgrown at three and a half—because of course he had—and her eyes, as always, held the calm weight of a woman who'd weathered alien landings, tractor breakdowns, and toddler tantrums with the same steady heart.

Inside the nursery, the youngest members of the Kent household were sprawled across a sea of plush toys and charm-woven blankets like victorious conquerors.

Hadrian had claimed the largest pillow, one foot kicked over Zatanna's unicorn plush, his tiny chest rising and falling in rhythm with some unseen battle dream. Zatanna slept on her side, whispering backwards Latin that made the mobile above her head flicker softly. Neville had cocooned himself in his blanket like a very determined burrito, clutching his dragon-shaped teething ring like a talisman.

Clark appeared in the doorway behind Martha, barefoot and in a well-worn World's Okayest Dad T-shirt and pajama pants that had seen three sleep-training campaigns and one unfortunate baby-food ambush.

He folded his arms, grinning. "Operation Sugar Overload: success."

Martha turned, a smile softening the lines around her eyes. "Hadrian tried to rally. Called it a 'tactical nap,' didn't he?"

"Gave a speech. Saluted the jellyfish cupcake. Then passed out mid-somersault."

She reached out, brushing her hand lightly over his chest. "You and Lilly did good today."

Clark ducked his head, sheepish. "She did most of it."

"You're sweet," Martha said, her voice warm with knowing, "but we both know she would've lit the barn on fire if you'd let her handle this thing solo."

"That only happened once," Clark protested lightly. "And the fire was mostly metaphorical."

"I'm still finding glitter in the chicken coop from Hadrian's last birthday." She stood, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Now go tell that wonderful woman of yours that she's a miracle in combat boots."

Clark smiled. "Every day."

—

A Few Minutes Later

The room glowed with soft lamplight. One window was cracked open to the cool breeze and the faint rustle of wheat fields whispering secrets to the moon. The air smelled like vanilla, flannel, and whatever arcane magic Lilly used to keep her hair from frizzing.

She was already curled up on the bed—legs tucked under, hair falling in lazy waves around her shoulders, one of Clark's oversized flannel shirts buttoned halfway over soft sleep shorts. She was reading something in Latin with one hand and using the other to eat what looked like the last of the enchanted cupcakes.

Clark paused in the doorway and raised a brow.

"Is that the last jellyfish cupcake?"

Lilly looked up, deadpan. "No. This is a prop. The real cupcake is a decoy. Don't ask questions."

Clark crossed the room slowly. "I'm pretty sure I saw that one levitate earlier."

"Exactly. Keeps the calories off. Sorcery and delusion—a girl's best friends."

He bent down to kiss her. She met him halfway with a cupcake-smeared grin.

"Why do I get the feeling you're plotting something?" he murmured.

"Because I am," she replied, sweet and smug and sparkling like a woman who knew she had him wrapped around her finger and was debating whether to start charging rent.

Clark slid onto the bed beside her. "Please tell me it doesn't involve glitter bombs, unregistered portals, or surprise Batman visits."

Lilly gave him a long, thoughtful look. "…You're no fun."

"I'm traumatized. Last time you said exactly that sentence, Zatanna sneezed and turned the living room rug into a sentient fern."

She burst out laughing, swinging her legs over his lap and straddling him effortlessly.

"Relax, Kent," she murmured, leaning forward to boop his nose with hers. "This surprise won't require a federal clean-up crew."

"I feel like you think that's reassuring," he said.

She grinned wickedly. "Smallville…"

"…Yes?"

"I'm pregnant."

The words hung in the air like sunlight.

For a beat, Clark just stared at her—expression open, lips parted slightly, like he'd just been handed the entire cosmos and wasn't quite sure if it was real.

Then—

"You're—really? You're sure?"

Lilly nodded, her fingers tracing light, teasing patterns across his chest. "I already did the blood charm twice. And had Zatanna read my aura, which apparently is now glowing like a Vegas marquee. I'm definitely sure."

Clark blinked. Then blinked again. Then wrapped his arms around her like she was the center of gravity and he was just a man lucky enough to be pulled in.

"I—wow. Okay. I… wow."

Lilly chuckled into his shoulder. "Would you like a third 'wow,' or would you prefer a list of baby names we're not using again? 'Kal-Zod' is officially banned."

"You're amazing," he said into her hair.

"I know," she mumbled against his throat. "But please keep saying it."

"You're amazing," he repeated, kissing the top of her head. "Brilliant. Dangerous. Completely out of my league."

"Finally. Recognition," she said, mock-sighing. "It only took a decade of near-death experiences and an intergalactic paternity calendar."

Clark leaned back slightly, eyes scanning her face like he was memorizing every freckle. "You're okay? You feel… good?"

She nodded, her tone shifting to something more real. "I'm really okay, Clark. Better than okay. I wasn't sure I'd feel this way again, after the twins, after everything. But I do. I really do."

He cupped her cheek. "You're going to be the best mom. Again."

"You'll be the best dad."

He grinned. "Third time's the charm."

"Fourth," she said, looking suddenly mischievous. "If you count Bruce."

Clark choked. "I am not adopting Bruce Wayne."

"You kind of already have," she murmured, nipping his jaw. "You even cut his apple slices."

He groaned. "I did it once."

"Exactly. Like a father."

They laughed until they couldn't anymore.

Then Lilly settled in against him, hand resting over her stomach, and Clark wrapped his arms around her as if he could shield them both from every storm that might ever come.

From down the hall, Hadrian let out a muffled "Expelliarmus!" in his sleep, followed by Zatanna murmuring, "No, Neville, that's my unicorn."

And outside, the stars shimmered over the cornfields, listening to the laughter and secrets of the people they were learning to envy.

---

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