#dcu fics

It's a little past midday. Clark is missing even though he told you he wants to write about the aftermath of the Jahanpur invasion that's due yesterday. 

Safe to say, you are not in a very good mood. 

So you pause in the middle of the bullpen. And you blink. Twice. Before turning to the bright-eyed girl. “I'm sorry?”

She catches on to your irritation immediately. “I'm—so sorry. It's just, I know you guys are dating but last Friday I saw him at a club dancing with another girl so—I thought—”

You turn towards Jimmy, who's talking animatedly with Lois at his desk. 

“Ask him,” You tell her, a challenging eyebrow raised. 

Vanessa freezes in her spot. “W—what?”

“Ask him, if you want to know so bad.”

“That's crazy—that's, that's inappropriate—” 

You tilt your head, “So if you think that's an inappropriate question to ask him, why do you think it's appropriate to ask me?”

Her mouth opens, then closes, eyes wide as saucers. “I—uh—I—sorry—I just—sorry!”

She turns, high tailing out of the bullpen to have a cry somewhere, probably. 

You roll your eyes, absolutely done with the audacity of these interns. Sure, you're nice, you don't pressure them too much, you don't yell, and you try to encourage them as best as you can, but apparently it means you're friends, now. 

Lois whistles when you settle on your desk across from her, next to Jimmy's. She moves her legs down from the way her ankles were resting on the edge of Jimmy's desk. 

“That has got to be a record,” She says, a slow grin on her lips. “Two weeks in, and you've already made one of them cry.”

“Nah,” Jimmy shakes his head. “I think last year it was a week in?”

“Shut up,” You grumble, then point a finger at him. “This is your fault.”

“Me? What did I do?”

“Exist, apparently,” Lois muses. “How the fuck do you do it, Jimmy?”

“Do what exactly?”

Your eyes fall to a group of interns—from different divisions, no less—congregating at the copier. They're giggling, smiling while looking at Jimmy. 

You scoff at Jimmy, who's sending them a hesitant smile and a small wave. “I hate you.”

He grins at you, a hand coming down to the top of your head. “Aww, don't be like that, you know you're my favorite!”

Lois makes a gagging sound. For one, you agree with her. 

“Even if I'm not aro-ace, I would sooner kiss Guy Gardner.”

“You don't mean that,” Lois wrinkles her nose. “Trust me, you don't mean that.”

Jimmy stands behind you then, pushing your head to rest on his stomach. He's got one hand on either one of your cheeks, and then he smushes them together. You look like a goldfish with lip gloss on its lips and murder in its eyes. 

You try to fix him a glare, but it's hard when you have your cheeks covering half your eyes. “Jim—”

He smiles, big and toothy. “Sorry, what was that?”

“I’ll kill you,” you say—or, you try to say anyway. Kinda hard when your jaw is rendered immobile. 

“What was that? You’ll buy me a drink at Cat’s birthday party tonight?”

Before you can reply, or hit him in the jaw, Lois’ voice cuts whatever fun Jimmy is having with your poor face. 

“And where have you been, Kent?” Her tone is both accusing and knowing. With her mention of the ever-so-elusive reporter, you push Jimmy aside, then swivel your chair to follow Clark Kent’s steps to his desk.

You narrow your eyes. “Yeah, Kent, where have you been?”

Clark has the decency to wince both at you and Lois. “I have them, I promise, I just need to e-mail it to you!”

“If I don’t have that file in the next two minutes, I swear to God, Kent—”

“She will make you cry like new interns,” Jimmy says, nodding solemnly. 

Clark grins sheepishly. “I brought donuts? They’re in the break room?”

You tilt your head in pretend consideration. “Fine, ten minutes.” 

Then, your eyes catch Jimmy’s. “Cinnamon sugar beignets,” he says without prompting. “I got it.”

“What would you like?” you ask Lois. “Glazed?”

She smiles gratefully. “And a powdered one, please.”

You link your elbow with Jimmy’s making your merry way to the break room. Usually Clark would get a separate small box hidden behind the array of teas and coffees for your little group. Mostly to save some from Steve’s tendency to black out for donuts. 

Jimmy takes a chocolate filled-one, biting into it before you can tell him to get a plate. You place Lois’ on a small white ceramic before leaning against the communal fridge, biting to your own beignets. 

“Jesus Christ, woman,” Jimmy scolds as you let out a groan. “This is a professional environment!”

He has a small dab of chocolate filling at the corner of his mouth, and you dab it with a tissue paper without hesitation. “Sue me.”

The two of you stand there, in the break room, side by side enjoying the sugary fried dough. It’s nice to take a breather for a minute. It may be hard to believe, but you don’t want to hover over Clark Kent as he makes final edits and adjustments to his article. The irritation of the day slowly melts away as you talk about nothing with your best friend over donuts. 

But of course, this is Metropolis. Anything nice and peaceful just had to be derailed in one way or another. 

You hear it first, the voices coming from the adjacent equipment closet. Your hand make contact with Jimmy’s shoulder in an effort to tell him to shut the fuck up. 

“—She’s such a witch!” a voice exclaims, followed by a small sniffle. “She probably just wants to keep Jimmy all to herself. Like some crazy, possessive girlfriend and Ms. Grant says they aren’t even dating!”

Jimmy catches your eyes, amusement sparkling in both your faces. He’s about to say something stupid, judging by the grin on his face, before another voice cuts in, “Well, that’s obvious. She won’t be such a bitch if she’s getting laid.”

Both your jaws drop in unison, taken aback by the crudeness and audacity. You know then, it’s Vanessa and some other intern who’s trying to comfort her.

Your eyes set, lips curled in a way that Jimmy knows you’re going to start a fight. 

“Wait, wait—” he pleads, arm keeping you from moving towards the closed door. “Let me talk to them.”

“Oh, because of course they’ll listen to a man over a woman,” you scoff. “Their internship supervisor, no less.”

The decision is out of both your hands, it turns out, as a moment later, the door opens, with Vanessa and another intern—Cat’s, you remember—stepping out of the room. 

Their body goes rigid as they see you and Jimmy in the break room, cinnamon sugar coating your lips. 

Vanessa opens her mouth, apologies stammering out. Her friend stands there, frozen in fear. “I am—so sorry—my friend and I—we didn’t mean it—we were just upset and stupid! We’re so sorry, it won’t happen again—”

Her eyes move over to Jimmy, watching, waiting, if he’d do anything to come to their rescue or at least lessen the blow. But it’s Jimmy. He has expressed his discomfort over this particular group of interns who keep flirting with him during assignments. He told you once that Vanessa, during her photojournalism rotation, crashed Jimmy and his assigned intern’s assignment at City Hall.

“No, it won’t,” you agree. “Meet me and Human Resources at Meeting Room A in twenty minutes. Both of you.”

They leave the break room without wasting another second. 

You turn to Jimmy, “See, if you had kept a record of their inappropriate behaviors, I wouldn’t look like such a bitch now, would I?”

“I just didn’t think it’s worth getting them in trouble for.”

“You can set your own boundaries, you know?”

“I tried, they didn’t listen,” he sighs, tiredly, head falling onto your shoulder. 

Your hand reaches to his hair, giving him a mocking pout. “Aww, don’t worry, I’ll make it go away for you, baby.”

“Shut up,” he groans to your blouse. Then adds, “Thank you.”

Jimmy coaxing you to leave your things at his apartment means that you’re playing guard dog tonight. 

Whenever you both go to a club or a bar, there’s an automatic role of taking care of each other. He’ll drive guys—and girls—away from you, and you’d do the same. At the end of the night, he’ll drive you home. 

He told you he doesn’t go home with girls if he goes out with his friends. Despite you telling him that you don’t care, that’s a boundary he never crossed. 

In fact, that’s how you met him. 

You just moved to Metropolis from Central City, your then-roommates had dragged you to a bar to “meet people”. You being well, you, had ended up as their babysitter for the night. One of them—Rai, you were a bridesmaid at her wedding last month—had been hitting on a visibly-uncomfortable Jimmy Olsen who was there with Lois, Cat, and Clark to celebrate the latter’s promotion. 

You had stepped in, then, telling Rai that actually, you’d like to take him home. Her happiness for a successful mission of getting you a guy triumphed over her attraction to Jimmy. When she left, Jimmy tried to reject you gently, before you wave him off and tell him that you are not, and will never be, interested in either romantic and sexual relations with anyone of any gender. 

Needless to say, he has clung onto you ever since. 

Jimmy orders you a drink, paying despite earlier’s words of having you buy him a drink. It’s your second one and his third.

You’re talking to Cat at your table while Jimmy waits for the drink, Lois and Clark are arguing at the pool table. It’s the sort of place that’s spacious, but not too big, decorated in vintage posters and well-used dart boards. A low key celebration among friends, Cat had called it, opting for a more casual vibe than the clubs she liked. 

“Hi, ladies,” a masculine voice interrupts. You look up—it’s a guy you don’t recognize. He has a beard, with bulging muscles. Your eyes catch Cat’s, who just raises an eyebrow in intrigue. He sets down two drinks on the table. “My friend—” he tilts his head to his right. Sure enough, a group of guys are watching the interaction. The blond one raises his drink in acknowledgement. “—would like to say hi to two pretty ladies.”

His eyes glint at Cat, before settling at you. He follows your figure, your bare legs in a strappy ballerina heels, a short dress, then your hair. A corner of his lips lifted up. The grin he thinks is sexy now turns predatory. Even Cat won’t stand for that.

“Sorry, we’re not here for that tonight,” she says, sweet as a peach.

“For what?” he grins again. “For making new friends?”

You take a deep breath, patience running thin after the day you’ve had. “Beat it, pal, we’re not interested.”

His arm shoots out, resting on the back of your chair. He’s closer now, the smell of cigarette from his mouth, his shirt, is unmistakeable. You recoil, folding in on yourself. “Aw, don’t be like that, sweetheart—”

“The ladies said, fuck off, dude,” Jimmy stands in front of you, creating a barrier with his body. That guy is bigger than Jimmy, easily, but your best friend is undeterred.

“She’s yours, man?” the guy asks, almost mocking. “You shouldn’t have left her alone, then.”

“She’s not alone,” Cat grumbles, arms crossing across her chest. 

“Is there a problem here?” Clark stands behind Jimmy, effectively blocking your view of the guy. He’s a big guy, bigger than the stranger, especially when he stops slouching. You’re grateful for that. Lois rests one arm around Cat protectively. 

“Shouldn’t be a problem if this guy and his buddies will leave us alone,” Jimmy challenges. 

It’s a stand off for another five seconds, before the guy scoffs and backs away. “Alright, man, she ain’t worth it anyway.”

Jimmy pounces, only getting two steps forward before Clark holds him with one arm across his shoulder. The guy flinches, then walks back to his group in defeat. 

You sigh, relieved, wrapping your arms around Jimmy’s waist and burying your head in his shirt. 

“Never leave me again,” you say, as his arms comes around your shoulders. 

“I know, I know,” he sways on his heels, moving you with him. Then, he addresses the group. “Wanna get burgers instead?”

“Please,” Cat groans, desperate to salvage her night, followed by a chorus of agreement from the others. 

Jimmy lifts you up, his arms never leaving your waist as the five of you walk out the bar. Not before you flip the guy and his friends off, though.