#dc superman

Pairing: Clark Kent x Female Reader (featuring Lois Lane)

Summary: For eight months, you’ve loved Clark Kent in the quiet, suffocating shadow of his past. You convinced yourself that his broken promises and midnight cancellations were just the price of loving Superman—until a chance comment reveals he hasn’t been across the globe saving the world. He’s been three miles away, hidden in the dark bullpen with his ex-girlfriend. When eight months of suppressed insecurity and secret lies finally collide in a screaming match at the Daily Planet, you are left to pick up the shattered pieces of your heart, while the Man of Steel is forced to face the reality of what he lost.

Warnings: heavy angst, relationship distress, severe insecurity, lying/hidden truths, major confrontation, screaming/fighting, emotional breakdown, breakup, ex-girlfriend drama, condescending behavior, intense angst to fluff, happy ending, lois lane showed in a bitchy way (ik she's not but bear with me pls) This fic is sort of inspired by "my way" by Olivia Rodrigo. I honestly love that whole album and was thinking about that song while I was writing this so here we go lovelies.

The white button-down shirt you were wearing belonged to Clark, but it didn't smell like him anymore. It smelled like fabric softener and the lonely, quiet corners of your shared apartment.

For months, you had lived in the shadow of a ghost. Clark and Lois had ended their long, undefined relationship exactly two months before he asked you out. You knew the timeline down to the day. You had been together for nearly a year now, sharing an apartment, building a routine, but every time he looked at you with those impossibly blue, earnest eyes, a vicious little voice in the back of your mind still whispered, "Rebound. You’re just the soft place he landed when she walked away."

The transition from Clark’s breakup with Lois to the night he finally asked you out hadn’t been a clean, romantic handoff. It was a messy, painful gray area that dragged on for two agonizing months.

You were an outsider to the Daily Planet circle, but you weren’t blind. You had known Clark as a friend first—the quiet, massive guy who always bought you tea at the corner cafe and listened to you complain about your day. That's where you two first met- the small cafe plus bookstore- where you were buying books and accidentally dropped them all on Clark's feet. He didn't even flinched and instead helped you pick them up. And suddenly, you saw each other nearly everyday at the cafe and became friends fast.

But during those two months after Lois ended things with him, Clark was a hollowed-out shell. He would sit across from you, his eyes distant, constantly checking his phone every time a notification pinged, hoping it was her.

You became his emotional crutch. You were the one who sat on his couch until three in the morning, making him hot cocoa while he stared at the wall, processing the rejection. You listened to him talk about how much he missed the predictability of his old life. And the whole time, your own heart was fracturing. You were already desperately in love with him, but you had to swallow your feelings, putting on a brave face just to be the "good friend" he needed.

When he finally kissed you at the end of those two months, it didn't feel like a fairytale. It felt like a desperate, heavy realization on his part—like he looked at you and decided he couldn't handle the emptiness anymore. The doubt took root in your mind that very night: He didn't choose me because he saw me. He chose me because I was the only one left standing in the ruins.

You tried to be mature. They still worked together at the Daily Planet. They shared a byline, a bullpen, a history. You told yourself you were fine with it—mostly because you didn't have a choice. To ask Clark Kent to stop working with Lois Lane was like asking the sun to stop rising.

But lately, the date cancellations had become unbearable.

“I’m so sorry, honey. Something came up at work. I have to fly out.”

“Breaking news, sweetheart. Don’t wait up for me.”

For months, you never complained. You smiled, told him it was okay, and kept his secrets close to your chest. You thought "work" meant a collapsing dam in Asia or a rogue metahuman downtown. You thought he was saving the world. You sacrificed your evenings, your dinners, and your peace of mind because you believed you were supporting Superman.

Until Thursday afternoon.

You were walking through Centennial Park, trying to clear the heavy fog from your brain, when a familiar voice called your name.

"Hey! Y/N!" Jimmy Olsen jogged up to you, a heavy camera strap slung over his shoulder. He gave you a bright, friendly smile. "Long time no see! How's everything?"

"Hey, Jimmy. Good, just taking a walk," you smiled, adjusting your scarf. "Clark's been buried under mountains of work lately, so I'm just keeping myself busy."

Jimmy blinked, his smile faltering into a look of slight confusion. "Work? I mean, yeah, I guess. Man, Clark has been a total machine at the office lately. It’s crazy."

Your brows knitted. "At the office?"

"Yeah! He and Lois have been pulling massive late nights on that new corporate corruption expose," Jimmy said, completely oblivious to the detonator he was pulling the pin on. "I left the newsroom at midnight yesterday and they were still huddled over his desk, trading notes and hammering away at the keys. It’s classic Lane and Kent. They’re unstoppable when they get like this."

The world seemed to lose its sound for a fraction of a second. Midnight.

Two nights ago, Clark had texted you saying a flash flood in South America required his immediate attention. He hadn't been across the world. He had been three miles away, sitting in a climate-controlled room, breathing the same air as his ex-girlfriend.

"Right," you choked out, your throat suddenly tight, forcing the most hollow smile of your life. "Classic them."

The final blow came at 8:00 PM the next night.

You had spent three hours in the kitchen making an elaborate apple pie—Clark’s favorite. You learned the recipe from Mrs Kent and tried your very best to replicate it, knowing that Clark misses his home and family in Smallville. You had bought a nice bottle of wine, set the table for two, lit the candles, and even put on the dress he loved. It was your anniversary, and you wanted tonight to feel special. You wanted to feel like his girlfriend, not a ghost waiting in an empty apartment.

Then, the vibration of your phone against the counter.

Clark: Sweetheart, I am so, so sorry. The layout for the morning edition is completely backed up and Perry needs edits on the lead piece immediately. I’m going to be stuck here for hours. Eat without me, okay? Love you.

You stared at the glowing screen. The text didn't say Superman duties. It said office work. And office work meant working wit Lois Lane.

Something inside you snapped. It wasn't a clean break; it was a violent, jagged shattering of nearly a year of insecurity, silence, and suppressed jealousy. You didn't cry. The tears were completely burned away by a sudden, scalding wave of pure rage.

You didn't change out of your dress. You grabbed your coat, slammed the apartment door behind you, and took a cab straight to the Daily Planet building.

The elevator ride up to the bullpen felt like a descent into hell. The floor was mostly dark, the evening shift having already cleared out. The only light emanated from the far corner of the room—the investigative desk.

You walked silently across the carpet, your heels muffled. As you drew closer, the sound of laughter drifted through the quiet air.

It was a light, melodic giggle from Lois, followed by Clark’s distinct, deep, rumbling chuckle.

You stepped around the final partition and froze.

Clark’s glasses were pushed up onto his head. Lois was sitting on the edge of his desk, her legs crossed, swinging a stray shoe. Right between them, laid out over printed drafts, was a large spread of takeout containers. Clark was holding a pair of chopsticks, smiling up at her with a warmth that made your stomach violently turn. She reached out, playfully nudging his shoulder as she reached for a piece of sushi.

They looked perfect. They looked comfortable. They looked like a couple who had never skipped a beat, sharing a quiet dinner after a long day.

"Am I interrupting the editorial meeting?"

Your voice didn’t just cut through the bullpen. It vibrated with a raw, trembling fury that made the glass partitions hum.

Both of them flinched. Clark’s head snapped toward you, his eyes widening in absolute, paralyzing horror as his glasses slipped back down the bridge of his nose. He didn't even heard you walk in, being busy listening to Lois. He dropped his chopsticks and stood up so fast his rolling chair slammed into the filing cabinet behind him.

"Y/N?" Clark stammered, scrambling to stand up, his massive frame suddenly looking incredibly small. "What—what are you doing here?"

Lois didn't scramble. She slowly slid off the desk, smoothing down her pants. Her expression shifted from surprise to something cold, calculating, and deeply condescending. She crossed her arms, looking down her nose at your beautiful, wasted anniversary dress.

"Look who decided to drop by," Lois said, her tone dripping with an artificial, sweet arrogance. "You know, Y/N, the Planet has a strict policy about non-staff wandering the bullpen after hours. Clark is in the middle of a very high-stakes, breaking deadline. He doesn't really have time to play house right now. Some people understand the demands of real journalism. Others... well, I guess they just get lonely at home."

Every single fuse in your brain blew.

"Shut your goddamn mouth, Lois," you snarled, stepping directly into her space.

Lois’s eyes widened slightly, shocked by the venom in your voice, but she quickly masked it. "Excuse me? I don't think you realize who you're talking to—"

"Oh, I know exactly who the fuck I'm talking to!" you shrieked, the volume of your voice echoing off the concrete pillars. You marched directly into her space, your eyes blazing. "You think you're untouchable because you win a Pulitzer once in your fucking life?! You think that gives you a lifetime pass to show off that you're a great reporter a bazillion times, you dumbfuck?! You think it gives you the right to keep my boyfriend on a leash because your own ego can't handle the fact that he moved on?!"

"Y/N, please, let's calm down—lower your voice!" Clark begged, his face pale as he stepped between you and Lois, his massive hands reaching out blindly.

"Don't you dare tell me to lower my voice!" you screamed, turning all your rage onto him, shoving his chest with all your might. He didn't move an inch, but the sheer force of your hatred made him physically flinch. "Don't you dare look at me with those pathetic, cowardly eyes!"

You grabbed your purse and slammed it down onto the desk, sending takeout containers flying. Soy sauce splattered across the printed drafts they had been working on.

"Three months, Clark! For three fucking months, I have sat in that apartment like a ghost! I ate cold dinners alone! I watched the clock turn to two, three, four in the morning, weeping into my hands because I thought you were out there saving the world! I forgave every single canceled date, every broken promise, because I thought the universe needed Superman more than I needed a boyfriend!"

You stepped right back into Clark’s face, screaming upward at him, your voice cracking with pure, agonizing heartbreak.

"But you weren't across the globe! You were here! You lied to my face! You told me you were stuck in layout, you told me you were in South America, you told me a million different variations of the same disgusting lie just so you could sit here and giggle-fuck around over takeout with your ex-girlfriend on our anniversary!"

"It was just the article! Y/N, I swear to you, it’s just the deadline!" Clark roared back, his own voice finally breaking, his chest heaving as tears of panic and frustration finally spilled over his lashes. He had never raised his voice at you, but he was losing his mind with terror. "I was trying to finish it so I could come home to you! I love you! Why can't you see that?!"

"Because you don't act like it!" you shrieked, the tears blinding you now. "You love the safety net I give you! You love that I was stupid enough to wait around while you figured out how to be alone with your own thoughts! You don't deserve to be called a man, Clark Kent! A real man doesn't keep a girl wrapped around his finger just to feed his ex-girlfriend dinner while his actual relationship rots!"

"That is enough!" Lois shouted, trying to regain her footing and grabbing at your shoulder. "You are completely unhinged—"

"I said shut up!" you violently whipped around, glaring at her with such blinding malice that she actually stepped back, her breath catching. "You want him so bad? You want to keep playing your miserable, codependent, toxic little games? Take him! He’s all yours! You two deserve each other!"

You turned back to Clark, who was trembling, his hands hovering in the air between you, entirely paralyzed by the destruction.

"We are done," you whispered, the sudden drop in your volume vibrating worse than the screams. You yanked the promise ring off your finger and hurled it directly at his face. It struck his cheek and dropped pathetically onto the carpet. "Do not call me. Do not fly to my window. Go back to your fucking deadline, Clark. You two deserve each other."

You turned on your heel, your dress swirling around your legs, and walked away. The elevator doors shut on the sound of Clark letting out a raw, guttural sob that tore through the empty bullpen.

The separation was absolute. You packed your bags that very night while Clark stood in the hallway of the apartment, openly crying, not forcing his way in because he knew he had crossed a line that no superpower could fix. You moved into a temporary studio apartment across town, blocked his number, and buried yourself in your own life.

The month that followed was a living hell for both of you.

You changed your routine and threw yourself into work, but the angst followed you like a physical sickness. Every morning, you woke up nauseous, your chest aching so badly it hurt to breathe. You couldn't eat. You couldn't sleep. Every time a strong gust of wind hit your windowpane, your heart would leap into your throat, thinking he was there, only to be met with the agonizing reality that you were entirely alone. The insecurity ran deeper now—you wondered if he was relieved you were gone, if he had just crawled right back into Lois's life the night you left.

But Clark was living in a state of unmitigated torture.

He didn't go back to Lois. In fact, he couldn't even look at her. The morning after the fight, Clark had walked into Perry White’s office, surrendered his immediate assignments, and taken a forced leave of absence. The corporate corruption article was published, but it only bore Lois’s byline. Clark formally requested a permanent transfer to the low-level city beat just to stay completely away from the investigative desk.

He stopped taking care of himself. The apartment you had shared sat entirely untouched, the air heavy and stagnant. Because of his super-hearing, he couldn't escape the ghost of you. He tried to fly into the upper atmosphere to drown out the noise of the earth, but the second he came back down, his brain automatically tuned to the exact frequency of your heartbeat. He listened to you cry yourself to sleep for weeks straight. He heard the sharp, ragged hitches in your breath when you walked past the café where you used to meet. He felt every single ounce of the pain he had caused you, amplified by his own crushing guilt.

Lois, humbled and profoundly shaken by the raw devastation she had witnessed in the bullpen, finally woke up too. She realized her own behavior had been born out of a petty inability to let go of the past. Fifteen days after the breakup, she tracked Clark down at the empty apartment.

"I called her, Clark," Lois said quietly, standing by his doorway.

Clark looked up from the dark couch, hollow-eyed. "What?"

"I called Y/N. I apologized," Lois confessed, her voice tight with genuine remorse. "I told her the truth. That you haven't looked at me like a boyfriend does, in a year. That the late nights were just you running away from your own insecurities because you felt like you weren't doing enough for her or the city. I told her I was a bitter idiot, and that if he loses you, he loses everything. But she needs to hear it from you, Clark. Fix it."

By the fourth week, the silence between you had reached a breaking point. You were sitting on the floor of your new, small studio apartment, surrounded by half-unpacked boxes, staring blankly at the wall. The anger had burned out, leaving only a profound, hollow exhaustion.

A soft, hesitant knock sounded at the wood.

Your stomach dropped. You walked over, your knees shaking, and pulled the door open.

Clark stood on the welcome mat. He looked entirely broken. His hair was messy, his flannel shirt was wrinkled, and his eyes were bloodshot and heavy with dark circles. He looked like he hadn't slept a single hour in thirty days. He wasn't wearing his glasses. In his hands, he held a thick, crumpled stack of documents and a fresh bouquet of lilies.

"Please don't close the door," he whispered, his voice incredibly hoarse, tearing at your heart instantly. He kept his feet glued to the mat, not crossing the threshold. "I won't come in unless you let me. I just... I needed you to see this."

He held up the documents with a trembling hand. "It's my official transfer. And this... this is a request for a leave of absence from the League. I gave up the investigative desk, Y/N. I don't talk to Lois anymore unless a story demands a generic line."

You looked at the papers, then up at his raw, agonizingly sincere face. "Why, Clark? Why now?"

"Because you were right," Clark choked out, a heavy tear spilling down his cheek, his broad shoulders shaking. "I was a spineless coward. I used work and I used the city to hide from how much power you had over me. I was so terrified of how deeply I loved you—of how much it would hurt if I lost you—that I held onto the past like a crutch. I was terrified of not doing enought- for you and for Earth. I made the woman who holds my entire universe feel like a second option, and I hate myself for it every single second."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the promise ring, holding it out on his open palm. "I don't expect you to just forget. I know I broke us. But I spent the last month listening to your heartbeat across the city, dying inside because I knew I was the reason it was beating so heavily. I don't want to run anymore. I want to earn you back. Let me be the man you deserve, Y/N. Please."

The heavy, steel walls you had built around your chest cracked wide open. The desperation in his eyes, the physical proof of his sacrifice, and the sheer gravity of his remorse completely shattered the last of your doubts. He wasn't looking for a rebound. He was completely, utterly unraveled by the thought of a life without you.

With a ragged, tearful sob, you let go of the door frame and threw yourself forward, slamming your body against his chest.

Clark let out a broken, breathless gasp, his arms instantly whipping around your waist like iron bands. He lifted you completely off the ground, burying his face into your neck as he kicked the apartment door shut behind him. He held you so tight it almost hurt, crushing you against him as if he were trying to pull you right underneath his ribs.

"I've got you, I've got you," he sobbed into your skin, his massive frame shaking violently as he rocked you back and forth in the small entryway. "I'm so sorry. I love you so much, Y/N. You're my home. You're my only choice. I'm never letting you go again."

Six months later, the smell of burnt garlic and sweet chili filled the kitchen of a brand-new apartment on the quieter edge of Metropolis.

You were standing over the stove, a wooden spoon in one hand, completely focused on trying to salvage the stir-fry sauce. The apartment was smaller than the old one, but it was yours. The walls were painted a warm cream, the shelves were stacked with a chaotic mix of your favorite novels and Clark’s old journalism texts, and the air felt light.

Suddenly, a pair of massive, warm arms slid around your waist from behind.

You didn’t flinch. You didn't even blink. You just leaned back against the broad, solid wall of Clark’s chest, letting out a soft laugh as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply.

"You're home early," you murmured, stirring the pan.

"The city desk editor let me off at five sharp," Clark mumbled against your skin, his voice deep and rumbling with a contentment that still made your stomach do flips. His large hands spread flat against your stomach, anchoring you to him. "I told him I had a strict deadline at home. An anniversary dinner."

Seven months since the night the bullpen shattered. Six months since he stood on your mat, broken and bleeding emotion, begging for a chance to rebuild the ruins.

It hadn't been an overnight fix. The first few weeks after you got back together had been tentative, laced with the fragile, quiet fear of old ghosts. You had text anxiety and he had proximity anxiety. But Clark had kept every single promise. He had shifted to the local city beat, writing pieces on community gardens and transit strikes. He had established a hard rule with the Justice League: unless the earth was literally cracking in half, he was off the clock by dusk.

But more than the schedule changes, it was the way he looked at you now. The distant, distracted fog in his blue eyes was entirely gone. When he was with you, he was with you—present, heavy, and completely consumed by the space you occupied together.

"Lois called me today," you said casually, turning down the burner.

Clark’s hands tightened just a fraction around your waist, an instinctual, protective reflex. He pulled back enough to look down at you, his glasses sitting crooked on his nose. "Did she? Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," you smiled, turning around in his embrace so you could loop your arms over his broad shoulders. You reached up, gently straightening his frames. "She wanted to know if we were coming to the Planet's summer gala next month. She said she’s bringing a date—some tech consultant from Star City."

Clark stared at you, searching your face for any trace of the old, suffocating insecurity that used to poison your chest. But there was nothing there. You weren't a rebound. You weren't the second choice. You were the girl who had looked Superman in the eye, demanded the respect you deserved, and brought him to his knees out of sheer devotion. You knew your worth now, and so did he.

"Do you want to go?" Clark asked softly, his thumb tracing the side of your hip through your sweater.

"I think I do," you said, leaning up on your tiptoes. "I have a really great dress I’ve been meaning to show off. And this time, I won't be waiting in an empty apartment for you to finish your work."

A beautiful, uninhibited smile broke across Clark's face—the kind of smile he only ever wore when the world outside was completely muted and it was just the two of you.

"No," he whispered, his eyes darkening with a fierce, unwavering adoration as he leaned down. "This time, I'll be the one holding your jacket at the door, waiting to take you home."

When his lips met yours, it wasn't the desperate, heavy kiss of a man trying to fill a void. It was slow, confident, and thick with a quiet promise that had been proven true over a hundred ordinary, perfect days. The garlic was a little burnt, the sauce was a little too thick, and the city outside was as loud as it always was—but inside, the fairytale was finally, beautifully quiet.

Heyyyy guyssss-so my first time writing a Clark Kent fanfic. I really hope you guys like it. please do leave a like and comment if you like it. And do comment if you want to be tagged in further Clark Kent fics.

@kentcant @kentcant @kryptidfiles @cantwritefastenough @ex-robin @lovergirlwhowearsglasses @yoyokslut @snoopysupe @maiamore @godmadeaterribleerror @tsaheylutales @sincere1ystar @kentdoll @pinksplace@honey-on-your-tongue @tsaheylutales @chloluvsdilfs @alunaseas @ggclarissa @blondwhxrewrites

Summary: You traded wild nights for wedding plans, but Clark remembered the girl you used to be.

Warnings: Mentions of Sex, reader is engaged, party lifestyle, mentions of drinking, fem!reader, controlling husband? You and Clark are ex-flings | WC: 661

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Next to Clark Kent at the little hole-in-the-wall bar, with music and changing lights, sat you. An engagement ring slipped onto your finger, and a simple glass filled with a Bloody Mary. Tonight it lacked Tabasco. Your voice was quiet, but Clark could hear it anyway.

You still perked up at that old college song that you and he used to dance to, and you laughed at his jokes too loudly. 

You talked about the wedding, children, and how excited you were to shed the responsibilities of work and become a full-time stay-at-home wife/mom. “You know… He and I were thinking three kids. He said maybe four if I’m lucky. Isn’t that great, Clark?” you asked, your smile reaching your eyes and making them crinkle in the corners. 

He knew now that you spent your time curled up at home with a book or scrolling recipes, clad in your button-up pajamas at only thirty years old. That your days would slowly become quieter, your potential buried beneath sleepless nights and a life that seemed to ask you to be smaller. That every time your husband would say you're gonna get ‘it,’ you’d rather just forget it. 

But Clark knew a time. Before you traded all your naughty nights for niceness. 

First

Warnings - Flirting, fem!reader, mentions of wedding | WC: 507

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Imagine... you and Clark had moved out of the commotion of the city, a pretty ring on your finger, and the wedding coming up soon. 

Your new forever home is out in the country, with plenty of land to run through and a creek to splash in. A spot just outside Metropolis so Superman could keep a watchful eye over it, and you can both continue your respective jobs. 

The sun always hit the porch just right at four, the warm rays perfect for tanning. You would lay out there in the sun, cracking open a book or listening to your favorite podcast as it glistened over your oiled-up skin.

Clark always insisted on helping you out, as any doting fiancé would do. You’d lie on your back in your bathing suit, while he rubbed sunscreen into your skin. “Can't get burnt, you’ll regret it…” He’d say, knowing it was also an excuse to feel your skin against his.

But he also cared, and knew someone had to look out for your skin, because it certainly wouldn’t be you. 

His favorite activity was washing the dishes, slow and leisurely as you lay out there. His favorite view of his soon-to-be wife, just being so pretty without even trying. Clark was obsessed with how you threw your hair into a bun or a messy ponytail, and you wore your sunglasses. 

Today was the usual routine; the humid eighty-degree heat had settled over the afternoon. You lay on your back today, the chair reclined so you could sit up. Clark was rubbing lotion over the curves of your hips, up your stomach, and rubbing into your collarbones and sunkissed shoulders.

Today was wedding planning day. Every Thursday after work, you’d prop open that ridiculous binder. 

“Clark, do you promise to call the catering business?” you asked, not giving him a chance to reply before adding more. “Oh, and you need to tell Jimmy he’s your best man! Do you mind also getting me a list of your other groomsmen?” 

Clark nods, “Sure, sweetheart. I’ll have it by tomorrow if you really want.” You nod; you did want that. “Oh, and—” Clark beat you to it, shaking his head and grinning.

“Get my suit, pick out a light green tie, and start thinkin about honeymoon plans. I got it, honey.” He rubs the suntan lotion into your shoulders, working the tension from your shoulders while he's at it. “Okay, but…” You start again.

Clark ducks down, stealing the words from your mouth. He pulled away with a goofy smile on his face. “Baby, let me worry, and you just be sexy, okay?” His glasses were low on his nose, the deep blue searching yours. 

“Okay…” You sigh in relief, happy that he could handle it too. He didn’t need you bossing him around; he grinned triumphantly, taking his small wins while they were in reach. Clark had won this time, but was nowhere close to the end of the wedding responsibilities. 

But there really was no place he’d rather be.

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Summary - You’re affectionate, Brazilian, and completely unaware of the effect you have on your shy coworker, Clark Kent.

Warnings - Flirting, fem!reader | WC: 1K

A/N - @jhaennajellymoon, this is for you! Thank you so much for the lovely request, I really hope I did okay <3 Enjoy!

based of this req!

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Clark had a crush. Not just any crush. An office crush.

You were a pretty girl on his floor, one he mentored, sitting only one cubicle away. Upon meeting you, your handshake was firm, bold. Your hands were soft against his big ones, and when you smiled, he knew he was gone.