Jhaenna's Jellymoon Blog

“If you want a doctor”

I'm Your Man!Clark when... you come home with a cut, a long slice across your hand from broken glass at the bar. It was wrapped poorly in gauze, despite your insistence; he has you perched on the counter as he gently dabs at the cut. You grit your teeth as the antiseptic burns your wound. “Sorry, I know it burns.” You watch his brow furrow in concentration, like he was giving you surgery instead. “I do this often; you shouldn’t worry about it…” Your free hand goes to tug at his wild black curls. “I don’t want it to get infected; I want you to be healthy.” Clark looked up at you with a small smile before smoothing a fresh bandage over your palm. “You worry too much,” you commented, smile soft as he buried his face into your chest. “Maybe,” he admitted, looking up from your chest, “Never can be too careful.” He cared for you a lot—The same way he memorized your heartbeat without even meaning to. The slow, steady lull of it when you slept curled against him. The quick flutter whenever he rested his hands on your hips. The nervous skip whenever he kissed you unexpectedly. How it nearly beat out of your chest as he went down on you, exploring every inch of you by lapping at your core with his tongue, sucking and kissing until you couldn’t take it anymore. When he came up, his chin would be covered in your juices, a smug smirk there, his eyes hazy from how drunk he was off your pussy. He knew the thump of your heart as well as his own breathing, and every beat reminded him you were here. 

“If you want a driver…”

I'm Your Man!Clark when... despite being able to fly, he would drive with you wherever. If you wanted to explore the coast, he’d take the wheel while you stuck your head out the sunroof, giggling and blasting your favorite song. He’d watch in awe, the sunglasses covering your eyes, hair blowing in the wind. He’d wish he could stay here forever, travel and never have to stray away from you again. One hand on the steering wheel as he takes a short turn and pulls into a parking lot that's far up from the beach. It isn’t long before you're slipping your shoes on and running to the waves, letting them crash into you, Clark not far behind you. “Clark! Come on!” you insist, the wave taking you off balance. He shook his head, slowly getting closer. “But we don’t have any towels or a place to dry our clo—” he was cut off as you tackled him in with you, the wave crashing into your torsos. The laughter bubbled over both of you as he grabbed you by the waist and held you close as he pressed kisses to your face. “I love you… more than anything,” he whispered, and you grinned. “I love you too.” He looked around ar your soaked clothes, water dripping from your hair, and laughed quietly to himself. “Guess we really should’ve brought towels.”

“If you want a partner”

I'm Your Man!Clark when... life refuses to slow down. When work overwhelms you, your family disappoints you, or the world is simply too heavy to carry alone, Clark never tries to fix you. He stands beside you. He sat on the bathroom floor at two in the morning while you vented through tears, handing you neat toilet paper squares between quiet nods of understanding. He’d hold your hair and rub your back as you hurled, be the support you needed. Get you water and an ice pack. If you needed advice, he’d offer it gently. If you needed someone to hold you and tell you that everything was going to be okay, he’d repeat it while he stroked your hair until you believed every word.

“Clark… will you take me to my doctor’s appointment? I’m nervous.” He didn’t hesitate before giving you a small smile. “Of course.”

His hand weaved into yours before you even reached the waiting room, his thumb rubbing slow circles over your knuckles. He looked at the stupid magazines with you, filled out the paperwork, making the usual jokes when he saw the shake of your hands. “Not pregnant, are you?” he teased, checking the ‘no’ box. He gave you a few smiles that were reassuring, like he was happy to be there. 

Anything you needed him to be.

“If you need another kind of love…”

I'm Your Man!Clark when... you’re not ready to say “I love you” yet. He doesn’t push. Instead, he shows it through the little things. Within the first week, he had your coffee order memorized—perfect amount of cream and sugar-to-coffee ratio, teasing you for adding all the extra caramel stuff. 

“It’s not even coffee anymore!” he’d argue, a big smile spread across his face. “So? It still gives me energy, and it’s a sweet treat!” 

He knew which flowers had too much pollen and made you sneeze, and which ones made you stare in awe, made your favorite treats and tucked handwritten notes into their boxes and tupperware before delivering it to you at work. Clark even hums your favorite song on the way to work, making you smile as he holds your hand in his. 

You loved him the same way. Folding his laundry while he finished up an article, helping him do his curls after a shower, teaching him to do it the right way, since his parents grew up with straight hair. You learned just how he liked his back scratched when you ran your nails up his side, then slowly down his spine before restarting, lulling him to sleep after a long day of writing and crime fighting.

“If you want a lover…”

I'm Your Man!Clark when... you have an awful day at work. Nothing seems to go right—an angry customer who didn’t get the drink they expected, followed by the metro system being shut down because of Lex Luthor’s latest stunt. By the time you finally make it home, your feet ache, your hair is messy, and your mind is completely exhausted.

 As your keys turned in the door, Clark was already making his way to the door. The moment he saw your defeated expression, his smile faded.

“Honey… what’s wrong?” he asked softly. The question alone is enough to break you.

You collapse into his arms with a shaky breath, tears threatening to spill down your cheek as you bury your face into his broad chest. He holds you without hesitation, rubbing slow circles over your back while resting his cheek against your hair. “Everything…” you mumble, the sound muffled by his shirt.

Clark nodded without saying anything; your feet left the ground before you. He carried you to the bathroom as if you weighed nothing, setting you carefully on the counter while he starts a hot bath. Bubble soap, your favorite candle, your robe waiting on the sink. He knew exactly what you needed before you did. 

“Feels good… My feet have been killing me,” you sighed once you were sokaing in the warm water. Clark smiled, rolling up his sleeves before kneeling beside the tub. A warm washcloth glided over you shoulders, legs, and back, washing away the restaurant grime and the stress that clung to your skin. 

“After your bath,” he said, voice soft and sweet, “I can make dinner… or we could watch a movie?” He never spoke down to you, always like you mattered more than anything. 

You shook your head. “I just need you… to cuddle, please.” You watched his expression soften as he nodded. “I can do that.” He slowly went through the motions of cleaning your skin, wrapping you in your bath robe before sitting you on the edge of the bed. Warm lotion spread beneath his hands in slow, sensual curls over your calves and tired feet, easing away the ache until your eyelids fluttered from how heavy they felt. You reached out, slipping his glasses from his face and folding them carefully onto the nightstand. Without them, he looked at you with nothing but quiet affection. 

He helped you out of your robe and beneath the blankets. Clark tugged his own clothes off before climbing in beside you, gathering you against his chest as his fingers ran through your hair and scratched lightly at your scalp. Clark pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead before squeezing you a little tighter. You snuck a kiss on his shoulder blade before drifting off, the night spent skin to skin and vulnerable.

Clark loved you most on the hardest days, where all you needed was to be close and bask in each other’s warmth