( synopsis ) — clark becomes upset and a little insecure about the fact that you and jimmy have been so close recently, but thankfully you’re there to reassure him that he still has his chance with you! requested here.
( warnings ) — insecure, sorta jealous, clark! also a quick thank u for 400 followers i love u all!
“You look upset.” Lois chuckles lightly as she approaches Clark’s desk, resting one hand casually on the back of his chair, the other occupied with a coffee that tastes more like sugar than coffee.
Clark jolts slightly, immediately glancing away from where you’re standing with Jimmy. He pulls off his glasses, rubbing his eyes with a sigh. “No, I don’t. I’m fine,” he mutters.
But it was painfully clear he wasn’t.
He’d been watching you all morning.. not with those usual soft, dreamy looks he gave you when you were buried in research, the kind that made it seem like he was daydreaming about your future together. No, this time his expression was distant. Cold. Somber. And of course, there was a reason.
Lately, you’d been spending a lot more time at Jimmy’s desk than usual. Sure, you and Jimmy were friends, always had been, but the closeness had become… noticeable.
And Clark would know. He spends, frankly, about 75% of his workday glancing over at your desk. But that’s not the point.
He lets out another sigh under Lois’s inquisitive gaze, eventually nodding in Jimmy’s direction. When she follows his line of sight, nothing initially seems out of the ordinary. Jimmy’s seated at his desk, looking up at you as you lean casually against the edge. The two of you are talking, until you reach out and gently brush Jimmy’s hair out of his face.
Lois’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh,” she murmurs.
“They just seem… closer than usual today,” Clark says with a furrowed brow, eyes narrowing as Jimmy stands and pulls you into a hug. You return it, one arm wrapping around him while your other hand rests gently on the back of his head.
Lois frowns thoughtfully, releasing her grip on Clark’s chair and stepping away, clearly turning over thoughts in her head, mostly, why her best friend hadn’t mentioned anything about starting something with Jimmy.
But the truth? There wasn’t anything going on between you and Jimmy. Not romantically, anyway. He’d come to you, needing a shoulder after making the difficult decision to finally break things off with Eve for good. He felt awful, and you, being who you are, were there for him.
Which made it all the more heartbreaking when Clark finally approached your desk later that day. It was near the end of your shift when you heard him softly clear his throat behind you. You turned to find him standing there, nervously running a hand through his curls, offering a half smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Um… hey. Hi,” he said, voice quiet.
You turned in your chair fully, smiling as your eyes met his. “Hi, you. Thought you were never gonna walk over here,” you teased, giving him a gentle nudge.
He chuckled, but it sounded strained. “Yeah, I, uh… saw you talking to Jimmy. Didn’t want to interrupt anything… whatever you two had going on.”
Your smile faded slightly as you caught the edge in his tone. There was something else there.. Confusion? Jealousy? Hurt?
“Yeah…” you said slowly, watching the way his fingers fidgeted in front of him. “What was that supposed to mean?”
“What was what?” he replied, a small frown forming.
“Why are you acting weird about me talking to Jimmy?”
“I’m not.”
“Clark, you are.”
“I am not.”
“Clark.” You stared at him, brows raised, until he finally sighed in defeat and slid down to sit on the floor beside your desk, leaning his head back against the side as he looked up at you.
“Are you guys like… I don’t know. Dating or something?” he asked quietly, dropping his gaze to his lap. “You two looked really comfortable earlier.”
A soft smile flickered across your face before quickly fading. You looked down at Clark, sulking like a kicked puppy, if he had a tail, it would’ve been tucked between his legs.
“What’s it to you?” you asked gently.
He gave a small shrug, his thumbs nervously circling each other in his lap.
“I just… I thought we had something going on. For a while now, actually.” You sat in silence for a moment, watching him, his nervous posture, his flushed ears, the unspoken fear in his voice.
Reaching down, you lifted his chin with your fingers, guiding his eyes back to yours.
“There’s nothing going on between Jimmy and me, Clark,” you said softly. “Not like that.”
Clark blinked, his eyes searching yours.
“So… I can still ask you out on a date?” he asked, a shy, teasing smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
You rolled your eyes playfully, leaning down to press a quick kiss to the tip of his nose, grinning as his entire face flushed.
“Yeah,” you whispered, brushing your fingers through his hair. “You can ask me on a date, Clark.”
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With all this discourse on fanfic and fandoms going on— I don’t think yall understand how lucky we are. For free, we can be anything and anywhere with all our fav characters. We can be in any situation and there is something for everyone to enjoy— endless scenarios, the multiverse keeps on expanding, it’s freaking cool
( synopsis ) — a badly injured clark comes to you after a losing fight against the kaiju. not only does he need to be patched up, but his ego needs a little fixing to. and luckily for you, your praise does just the trick.
( warnings ) — none. suuuuuper fluffy n cute. i love sensitive crybaby puppyboy clark!
“Shit,” you whisper from where you sit on your bed, a deep frown tugging at your mouth as your teeth press down on your index knuckle. Your eyes are locked on the screen in front of you, anxiety etched into every part of your face.
The TV plays live coverage of the chaos downtown. The setting sun casts a warm hue through your window, an almost cruel contrast to what you’re watching unfold. Superman soars across the sky, moving fast and focused, his fist connecting with the kaiju’s eye and forcing a roar of pain from its throat. The blow stuns it, but only for a second.
The monster recovers quickly, lashing out with a powerful arm. Its massive claws grip Superman’s cape, yanking him out of the sky and slamming him through a high rise. You flinch as glass explodes outward, his body crumpling against the steel frame inside before disappearing into the shadow of the building’s interior.
You can’t watch anymore. Your hand reaches for the remote and shuts the screen off just as the Justice Gang steps in, finally giving Superman a chance to catch his breath.
Silence fills the room like smoke. You sit there, frozen, your hands still clutching the fabric of your blanket as your mind races through everything you just saw. You know Superman is stronger than anyone. Practically invincible. But that kind of impact would break bones on anyone. And he’s still human in some ways. He still feels pain. That has to mean something.
Before you can sink too deep into your thoughts, the sound of glass crunching in the distance makes your head snap up. The noise barely registers before your bedroom door creaks open and Clark steps through.
He looks wrecked.
There’s blood on his lip, slowly trailing down to his chin. His suit is in pieces, torn in too many places to count, revealing scrapes and bruises along his torso and arms. His eyes are red, glossy with unshed tears, and for a second he just stands there, chest heaving from exhaustion. Then he moves.
He crosses the room and collapses onto the bed on top of you without a word, his arms wrapping tight around your middle. His face presses into your chest, the heat of him soaking into your skin. You hear him sniffle before everything else goes still.
“Clark..?” you whisper, hesitant, your hand slowly lifting to rest in his hair. Your fingers begin to move without thinking, brushing gently through the tangled strands. He lets out a shaky breath, his shoulders starting to fall, the tension draining from his body with every slow movement of your hand.
“No,” he mumbles into your chest. His voice is rough, strained. “Don’t wanna talk. Just hold me.”
“I can do that,” you whisper, your fingers continuing to move gently through his hair, the quiet rhythm comforting for both of you.
You sit together like that in silence for a while. The room is dim now, lit only by the last slivers of sunlight filtering through your window. The sounds of the city outside feel distant, like they belong to another world. All you hear are the soft groans of pain Clark tries to muffle against your chest.
Eventually, your other hand lifts to tilt his face up. His cheek is warm against your palm. You press a soft kiss to his forehead, barely there but enough to make him look at you. His eyes are glassy and tired, and your heart breaks all over again.
“Let me clean you up,” you whisper. “Just some ointment. A few bandages. We’ll get you home to heal tomorrow. The sun’s already down.”
Clark nods. The motion is small, slow. Tears slip from his eyes again, rolling down his cheeks and soaking into your shirt as he whispers, “Alright… yeah.”
You help him out of what’s left of his suit, easing him into a clean pair of sweatpants. His skin is warm and bruised under your touch, but he doesn’t flinch. He just sits on the edge of the bed, breathing slowly, his hands moving under your shirt to rest against your sides. He keeps his touch gentle, steady, like he needs the connection to ground him.
You press the last bandage over the cut on his forehead, then place the ointment tube aside. Your hands come to his face again, thumbs resting on either cheek as you look at him closely.
“How’s the pain medicine feeling?” you ask quietly.
“Hasn’t kicked in yet,” he mutters. His tone is flat, but you can tell it’s more than the pain. It’s everything else. The failure he thinks he’s shouldering alone.
“You did a good job out there,” you murmur, brushing one of the bandages flat softly. “That was more than anyone should’ve been expected to handle.”
“I lost,” he says, barely above a whisper. His hand moves from your waist to wipe at his eyes. “I didn’t do anything good.”
“You did everything you could, Clark. That’s what matters,” you say softly, tilting his chin up again to keep his eyes on yours. “You might be a metahuman, but you’re still only one man. And you saved people. A lot of people. That thing would’ve crushed half the city if you hadn’t slowed it down. You gave others time to escape. You gave the Justice Gang time to arrive. You did that.”
He doesn’t respond right away. You can see the war behind his eyes, the stubborn pride he’s trying to hold onto, clashing with how much he wants to believe you.
“I’m really proud of you,” you whisper, and the change in him is immediate. His eyes lift to meet yours again, wider now, a new kind of emotion breaking through.
“You are?” he asks, voice cracking slightly. His pupils dilate by ten sizes at the simple fact that you’re proud. He made you proud, that’s all he’s ever wanted. “You’re proud of me? You mean that?”
“Of course I do, baby,” you reply, brushing your thumbs along his cheeks. “Everyone’s proud of you. You’re Superman. The one people count on. The one kids pretend to be when they play heroes. You’re more than just strong. You give people hope. And you’re loved for it.”
“And what about you?” he asks after a second. His hands slide up your waist, pulling you closer between his legs.
“And I also love you, Clark,” you whisper with a chuckle, leaning in until your forehead rests against his.
He presses a soft kiss to your lips. There’s no urgency behind it. No need for anything more. It’s slow, full of gratitude, and when he pulls back, your hand rises to nudge his chin playfully.
( synopsis ) — after coming home from one of bruce wayne’s over the top gala’s, a drunk clark gets pouty n jealous that you didnt give him the attention he thought he deserved!
( warnings ) — drunk jealous clark, bruce wayne mention
“Mm.” Clark hums softly from where he’s stretched out across your lap, the back of his head resting against your thighs. His glossy, adoring eyes are locked on your face, as though you personally strung each star in the sky just for him.
“What’s on your mind, baby?” you ask without glancing away from your laptop. You’re making final edits on your latest article, one hand typing steadily while the other absentmindedly runs through Clark’s hair in slow, comforting strokes.
“I love you,” he slurs, his voice thick with affection. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes dazed but focused entirely on you, utterly sincere in his lovesick haze.
You finally glance down, your brows lifting slightly in surprise. You lean in to press a quick kiss to his lips, your thumb gently brushing a bit of your lip balm from the corner of his mouth. “I love you too, Clark,” you whisper.
“No, you don’t,” he murmurs, shaking his head slowly. “You don’t love me like I love you. I love you so, so, so much more.”
“Clark, you’re drunk,” you laugh, unable to hide your amusement as you look down at him.
And he is, without a doubt. After clocking out from your shifts at the Daily Planet, the two of you had been dragged to one of Bruce Wayne’s extravagant galas. Clark had overindulged, far beyond what was advisable, even for a Kryptonian. Honestly, it’s impressive he’s still conscious.
You were both “strongly encouraged” to attend by Perry White, who insisted networking was vital for the paper’s exposure. Something about connections, public relations, mutual benefit… the usual spiel.
“I’m not drunk,” Clark mumbles, half heartedly burying his face in your stomach as he groans. “I’m Kryptonian. Takes a lot more than champagne and caviar to get me drunk.”
You shake your head with a fond smile, continuing to comb your fingers through his hair.
“You didn’t even look at me tonight,” he says, his voice thick with misplaced betrayal. His pupils are wide, his expression pouty and dramatic. “I was doing all these cool things to get your attention. But nope. You kept talking to Bruce. The whole time.”
“Baby,” you grin, holding back a laugh, “you were mixing condiments into your drinks and daring people to guess what was in the cup.”
“I was doing it for you,” he insists with a whine, utterly devoid of shame. “I just wanted your attention. But nooo, you were too busy chatting it up with millionaire playboy Bruce Wayne.”
“Clark,” you sigh.
“I’d catch the moon for you if you asked,” he rambles dramatically. “I’d split the planet in half if it meant finding the rarest gem to make you the prettiest ring. But you don’t care, do you?”
“Clark,” you giggle, finally setting your laptop aside and focusing fully on him, “of course I care, sweetheart.”
“You probably think Bruce Wayne is cooler than me,” he sulks, sitting upright and crossing his arms like a petulant teenager, though the dizziness from the motion immediately hits him.
Your laughter spills out freely this time. You gently pull him back down into your lap, letting him melt against you as your half written article is momentarily forgotten. He’s still pouting.
“What’s this obsession with Bruce Wayne, hmm?” you tease. “Is there something you know that I don’t?”
His eyes widen just a touch, clearly remembering that you don’t know Bruce’s secret identity. But Clark, of course, does.
“It’s nothing,” he mutters. “You were just… really focused on him all night.”
You cup his face and gently tilt it back toward yours. “I’m sorry, baby,” you say with a soft smile. “Next time, I promise all my attention is on you. Only you.”
“Say it.”
“Say what?”
“Tell me you think I’m cooler than Bruce Wayne.”
With a playful roll of your eyes, you pull him in again, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips. Clark eagerly kisses you back, arms wrapping securely around your waist while your fingers tangle in his soft curls. When you pull away, your voice is quiet but certain.
“I think you’re galaxies cooler than Bruce Wayne.”
He drunkenly smiles, instantly leaning back down to press another kiss to your lips, “I know.”
Sylvia watched how one of the editors followed the newly appointed Editor-In-Chief like a lost puppy dog. Apparently, this had been going on since Lois and Clark were both staff reporters.
Sylvia snorted and shook her head. What did she know? She was a newbie trying hard to prove she wasn’t the token Black reporter and that she had something to add to the Daily Planet.
Watching the office drama helped distract her from the stress of moving to a new city. She just thought the Lane/Kent resolution would come sooner.
Sylvia wouldn’t pry but she heard enough. At the water cooler. During company happy hours. Brought up spontaneously in conversation. The unsolicited romantic history of Clark Kent and Lois Lane.
“I mean Julia, it’s a crime,” she whined over the phone to her best friend. “He’s a giant teddy bear. Two hundred forty pounds, give or take. 6’3”. The man says ‘yes sir’ and ‘no ma’am’ to the interns.
“You know how guys complain that they get friendzoned and their biggest gripe is that they are the nice guy finishing last? He’s like who they think they are. It’s a shame.”
“He sounds like the guy your local bubbe thinks she’s setting you up with.”
“He loves one woman. It’s straight out of a novel.”
“Sylvia!”
She looked up to see Clark approaching her. They’d made small talk here and there since she’d started working. When he got excited, his Kansan drawl would slip out. His accent reminded her of her classmates from college. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” Clark smiled.
“Do you need the copier? I’m almost done.”
“No, I wanted to see if you were interested in an assignment. We got in touch with the agent of the lead actor for the upcoming Lora Williams film. Would you be interested in interviewing him and writing the piece?”
Sylvia didn’t realize she’d gone into shock until her pen hit the floor and jumped underneath the copier.
“Oh dear,” Clark mumbled, his accent creeping into the syllables.
“Are you forreal? Me?” Sylvia’s eyes grew. “I’d love to!”
Clark looked up from where Sylvia suspected her pen may have adventured to. “Fantastic! I’ll email you more details,” his voice trailed off. “I’d feel awful if I didn’t get your pen for you.”
Sylvia made a note to gush about this to Julia. She thought about the gold stars her mother gave to well-behaving students.
Gold star for Mr. Kent.
“Nonsense, I’m sure it didn’t go that far.” Sylvia crouched down and saw that her pen indeed rested somewhere underneath the copier. She leaned forward to reach for the pen and noticed the copier was higher than she expected. Her fingers brushed her pen.
“Did you find it?”
“Yup!” Sylvia sat up. She saw the outlet in the wall. Wayaminute. The copier was definitely in front of the outlet before. She remembered thinking about charging her phone while she made larger batches of copies late at night and how it would be impossible because of where the copier was.
.
.
.
Sylvia frowned. Did the copier move?
“Everything ok?” Accent gone.
Sylvia glanced at Clark and studied him.
He didn’t look like he broke a sweat. But, moving the copy machine was such a Clark thing to do. She wouldn’t be surprised.
She nodded.
Lois Lane must be blind and deaf. Or just plain ungrateful to the gods for this gift.
AN: this is not to suggest that person A should like person B back just because they are devoted/love person A. it can be argued Lois is married to her career. this story is not a condemnation of women who choose their career over everything.
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Imagine your boyfriend, Clark Kent, taking you home to Smallville to meet his mother.
“Keep your eyes closed. We’re almost there.” Clark whispered in your ear. When he said that he wanted to take you out for the day, you hadn’t imagined that would mean flying you out of town. You contemplated sneaking a glance from under your eyelashes, but decided against it. He obviously wanted the destination to be a huge surprise.
“Alright,” Without opening your eyes, you could tell you had stopped flying. Though you were definitely still hovering above the ground. “Open your eyes.” You did as he said.
“A farm?” You remark, studying the vast landscape of what seemed to be the middle of nowhere. Well it was a surprise all right.
“My family farm.” He explained. “ I grew up here. [Y/N], welcome to Smallville.”
“Smallville.” You repeat as Clark begins descending towards the earth.
“I’d like you to meet my mother.”
Mrs. Kent was standing outside the farmhouse. She smiled the second she made out her son in the sky. Clark took your hand the second your feet touched the ground. You walked together towards Mrs. Kent, who greeted you both with open arms.
“Clark, it’s been too long.” She said pulling him into a hug and kissed him on the cheek. It was strange seeing him almost vulnerable. The super man blushed under his mother’s fawning. “And you must be, [Y/N]! I’ve heard so much about you. Come here and let me have a good look at you!” She pulled you into your own hug before holding you out at arm’s length. “She’s very pretty, Clark.”
“I know, Mom.” He smiled. “It’s one of the many things I love about her.”
