phoenix-eclipses

[phoenix-eclipses]

soukoku makes me ill. what do you mean chuuya thought that dazai was dead. what do you mean he opened that bottle not to celebrate, but to mourn. what do you mean he just lost another friend and just had to deal with it without explanation or closure until four years after. do you guys think he checked the news often, hospital records, anything remotely to do with his death. having to mourn a person who had never died. i'm sick

[phoenix-eclipses]

big mouth.

synopsis: clark would never allow anyone to make you feel left out — not even your family.

warnings: family issues, fluff and comfort.

a/n: just had a shitty moment with my family and I'm trying to calm down while thinking: what would clark do if he saw all this?

clark always noticed how, at the begging of your friendship, you were small. not in a physical way, but in terms of behavior. not talking much, smiling once in a while, tired looking. quiet in general. that until the group of the daily planet went out for drinks one friday night. that's when clark fell, and he fell hard.

you laughed, loudly, the kind of laugh that makes your belly ache, eyes watery, not trying to look nice, just genuine happiness. you told stories, talked loudly, interrupted when you considered needed, just genuine you.

clark loved it, he loved that and he loved that in you. so when you started dating, he insisted on you letting go and being yourself, and he could tell that was a hard thing to ask. that you, sometimes, had to do it consciously.

but you grew out of it, and clark fell more and more in love with you everytime you did it.

until he met your family.

you had two sisters and your parents, you always talked little about them because you don't seem to talk to them much these days. but still, never bad things, clark could tell you didn't think your parents were mean to you.

so he meets them and they are nice. to him. your mom touches his arm when she laughs and your dad jokes with him to make him feel welcome. your sisters laugh and roll their eyes whenever your parents make a boomer comment, a complicity. everything seems nice.

that until you are excited about something and your mom places her hand on your shoulder. clark can see the light in your beautiful eyes die as you clear your throat and end your story seconds later. you fidget, you nibble your bottom lip, not even clark's hand in your thing could soothe you. this was mayor.

when playing something together, you got excited again, clark smiled, enamored with how your face lit up, until your sister shushed you. she shushed you. and told you to quiet down. your full grin turned into a small smile that then turned into a sad looking face. clark felt like he was watching the person he first met before the bar that friday.

he makes an excuse, says you have to go quickly and you don't fight. everyone nicely says goodbye and when you leave, clark can see how you let out a breath, like you didn't know you were holding it.

in the car, you smile.

"what do you think?" you say, and clark frowns when he perceives joy in your tone.

"I mean... they were... something."

you frown now. "they were really nice to you."

"yeah, to me. not to you."

"oh, that." you look away. "yeah, I'm used to it, it's the usual with them."

"well." clark says as he parks in front of his apartment. "I didn't like them." he gets out of the car, you follow him.

"clark, come on." you sigh, because you know he is right.

his hand drags you to his apartment in silence, he is waiting for you two to be in a comfortable environment to talk.

the sigh he lets out when he closes the door lets you know he will start. his hands move to your waist, placing a gentle kiss in your forehead as he lifts you onto the counter.

"I won't let anyone treat you like an outsider, even less if you are anything but an outsider. baby, your sister shushed you." his hands stroke your thighs as he pecks your nose, his tone is soft, like a cuddle.

"I didn't wanna argue with her in front of you." you huffed, your hands move to stroke his forearms, nails moving up and down on his skin.

"it's not about arguing, it's about that they don't say and do that to you. they shouldn't treat you like that." his eyes softened when you shrugged.

"I mean, they are not wrong." you sighed. "I am loud."

he shakes his head like he is horrified. he presses his forehead against yours, taking deep breaths. "never quiet down, baby. never be quiet, never shrink, never shut up. I need you to be loud, I want you to be loud. I love how your face lights up whenever you get excited, I love how you yap and ramble about the colums you are working on, it fills me with life."

you look up at him as if trying to check if he was being genuine. he was, those big round eyes could never lie to you like this. you nod, and put on a grateful smile, nudging your noses together.

"I love you, dork." you say softly, sighing with relief.

"love you to, big mouth."

[phoenix-eclipses]

I just realized I didn’t specify who this was about but it makes it arguably funnier to me

Oh yea I like that character too, oo art and fics for them yay!

*ominous whispers in the background*

Totally yea lemme think about writing for them

*whispers grow louder*

…

Why… why is it all him…

[phoenix-eclipses]

Oh yea I like that character too, oo art and fics for them yay!

*ominous whispers in the background*

Totally yea lemme think about writing for them

*whispers grow louder*

…

Why… why is it all him…

[phoenix-eclipses]

“just a lil something to take the edge off” - bug with a caprisun

[phoenix-eclipses]

who's calling my phone? ˏˋ°•*⁀➷✆

Clark Kent x receptionist!Reader (gn!!!)

summary: clark has a crush on the daily planet's receptionist.

note: i realized halfway through the daily planet probably does not have several floors but ohhh well.

The shrill ring of the Daily Planet's front desk phone was beginning to irritate Clark's eardrums. His right hand rose to pinch his nose bridge as his other slightly crinkled the papers he was holding. Sure, he could just stop listening so intently - the sound was coming all the way from the first floor, after all - but he didn't want to miss anything. To him, the front desk was the hub of the Daily Planet; of course, most of the action was on the upper floors, where the staff resided. But all of the important things existed at the ground level. It was where information came in, where the latest news went out, and - most important to Clark - where you stayed.

While Clark's eyes had been glued to his computer screen for far longer than could be healthy, his ears had been trained on you. He could stand the piercing peal of the phone because every call meant another chance to listen to your melodic voice answering it. His fingers twitched over his keyboard as the 67th Hello, you've reached the Daily Planet. How can we inform you? of the day reached his ears.

It wasn't the most practical thing, but Clark's activity at work had largely been dictated by you. When he would finally make progress with his tardiness, he'd come a bit late on purpose just so you could greet him instead of the security guard. If he was stuck on the prose of an article, he'd imagine you reading it out to him. It always sounded better that way. The most egregious of them all was when he'd occasionally force his floor's printer to jam. It gave him an excuse to come down - still, strangely, passing other levels on the way - and talk to you while using yours. At first, it was met with confusion; the Daily Planet was almost exclusively digital at this point. But eventually, everyone moved on. Clark was always strange and insisting on a paper format was the least of his quirks.

Today though, Clark couldn't really afford to pull any tricks to get to see you. He needed to figure out this article or the only face he'd see was Perry's stern scowl. Clark sighed and collapsed backwards into his desk chair, dispelling the hunch he'd been sporting for what felt like hours. As he raised his arms above his head to extend his spine, he let out a dramatic groan. Jimmy took the sound as his cue to spin around in his own chair to face Clark.

"Need a break, buddy?" Jimmy nudged, slightly condescending, but still friendly. Instead of speaking - that would drown out the call you were having about sending a reporter out to some community event - Clark simply groaned again.

"You two can go grab me some coffee if you need enrichment time," Lois hadn't even lifted her head from the copy she was skimming, but the men weren't surprised she was listening. Lois was always listening. Jimmy scrunched up his face at the prospect of being sent on an errand.

"Why would we leave when there's a coffee maker," Jimmy squinted one eye as he gauged the distance, "ten feet away?" Lois sighed and turned in her chair with a look that implied Jimmy was stupid for asking. Clark was largely checked out of the conversation, still too consumed in eavesdropping on yours to care about where Lois' coffee came from.

"Because Perry is being a cheapskate this month and won't buy the kind I like." Lois clicked her pen as though it punctuated her statement. "And you guys love me."

"Is that love reciprocated?" At Lois' playful nod, Jimmy exhaled theatrically. "Okay. Fine. A large from Mocha Mill?"

Before Jimmy even finished or Lois could respond, it was like Clark had returned from the dead. His eyes shot up from burning a hole into the floor to staring Lois down intensely.

"We're going to Mocha Mill?" Jimmy would have laughed at Clark's fervor if it didn't unnerve him.

"Well, you were so out of it I thought it was gonna end up being just me. But, sure, we're going to Mocha Mill."

"It's my favorite coffee spot," Lois raised an eyebrow.

Clark shot up, their words hardly registering in his mind. Forget Lois, it was your favorite coffee spot. Or so you’d told your friend on the phone during a break last week. He adjusted his glasses, primed his curl, and marched towards the elevator, leaving behind a messy desk and an addled Jimmy to scramble after him.

▶︎ ��၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|၊၊||၊|။||။‌‌‌‌‌|၊။‌• 3:42 minutes later

You love your job. A lot of people think you're just here because you couldn't make it as a journalist or anything else. But, really, you love it. You love watching the world go by through the ginormous front windows. You love being able to sit back and relax on slow days. You love talking to new people everyday and solving their problems. Your favorite person to solve problems for is that Clark Kent. He's a sweetheart. Even on days when he's running late and surely not having the best time, he makes sure to greet you. It feels like he really means it when he asks how you are, too.

You're not ashamed to admit you have a little crush on him. Your search history would do it for you anyway. Combing through the entire Daily Planet website to find a name to match the face, then clicking on any article with his name on it. You definitely know more about Superman than the average person; he seems to be Clark's favorite subject. Clark writes about the hero with such reverence, it makes you wish he'd write - and think - about you in that way, too.

The sound of shoes squeaking draws your attention, but it's normal for the office, so you opt to ignore it in favor of fantasizing about Clark. You usually don't let yourself fall into these sorts of thoughts, out of respect for him, but today you can't seem to help it. Just look at the man (you do, a lot). His physique is so large - his hands, his muscles - but his heart and mind equally so. He makes it so hard to stay professional when all you really want to do is jump across your desk and take him.

As the squeaking grows faster and closer, you begin to think your imagination is more potent than you thought. The sound of shoes against floor halts as the gorgeous man in front of you comes to a stop. Your mouth hangs open slightly as you zero in on his doing the same, although with more intent.

"We're going to get coffee," Clark states bluntly, with a smile around the words. You compose yourself and dim your computer screen in embarrassment. You still have one of his articles up - something about climate change? - and it's far too old for you to be reading with no reason. Your eyes dart between Clark and Jimmy, who has just appeared, looking disheveled.

"Okay, no worries. You guys have your badges right?" You're prepared to let them back in if they don't, which is probably why Clark decided to let you know. You tense slightly when his brows furrow at you. He goes to speak but is cut off by Jimmy.

"Yup, we'll be back," Jimmy says casually as he slips his badge out of his pocket for proof. He begins walking towards the door, not realizing Clark is still rooted at his spot in front of you.

"Would you like something?" is such a simple courtesy but when Clark says it, you want to melt. He takes your silence as hesitance and tacks on, "We're going to the Mocha Mill." And that's all it takes. He says it with such intention it feels like he looked into your soul and found the way to get there.

"Oh my goodness, yes, please! That's my favorite coffee shop," You worry he thinks you're more excited about the coffee than just talking to him. He doesn't seem to mind, though. His beautiful lips quirk into a smile and all you want to do is kiss it bigger. You glance behind him briefly to see a frustrated Jimmy waving wildly through the windows. He rolls his eyes and stomps off out of view, presumably towards the coffee shop. You focus your attention back on Clark who is beaming down on you.

"I know." You're not sure how he does, and Clark is quick to catch himself. "I'm pretty sure you told me once. I came down here when the printer was, a-uh...broken." He tries to keep his tone nonchalant as to not to spook you, but rethinks it immediately. He wants you to know he cares. Just maybe not so intensely.

"Oh, probably," you say, thinking nothing of it. You like your conversations with Clark; he disarms you. You tell him so. "I really like talking to you. You make it so easy, that's probably why I spill my guts." A coffee shop preference is hardly "your guts," but everything feels bigger with Clark.

"Hey," Clark begins, hesitant. He's stupid for saying that, he thinks, you two were already talking. There's no need to start over. The regret fades immediately when he sees how you perk up at the single word. He continues, "I know you're on the clock, really we both are, but maybe some other time we could grab coffee? Together, I mean." He stumbles through the request. It's endearing

"Ahh, I don't know," you tease, sure you've got him now. You feel a bit bad at the way he deflates and amend your words. "Maybe lunch instead? I'm kind of tired of our talks being so brief. Y'know?" It takes a second for Clark to realize you do want to go out with him, but when he does his grin is dazzling.

"Oh. Yeah. Okay." He doesn't know what to do with himself and, frankly, neither do you. You're trying to find a comfortable way to rest your arms and ultimately settle on splaying them across your keyboard. It's awkward and not at all ideal. Luckily, you don't have to hold it for long. Clark, having long forgotten Lois' coffee, takes it upon himself to circle around to stand behind your desk.

You realize, in this moment, he's never been so close in your space before. Information is relayed and supplies are passed over your desk. You think you would be more nervous if Clark wasn't so...him. His presence is so naturally comforting, it feels like he belongs in your space. You like the feeling.

He leans himself against the desk right next to your computer. You're grateful you darkened the screen when you had. Clark's placement means you have to crane your neck to look at him from your seated position. Your eye line lands right at his sturdy arm that props him up against the table's surface. You want it. You want him. Jeez, you think, take him out to dinner first. Or lunch. Which is what you're doing. With him. On a date. On a date? Are you going on a date with Clark Kent? He said okay. What does okay even mean? Fuck.

Apparently, you voiced your line of thought, or at least part of it. Clark releases a rumbling laugh at whatever you had said, crossing his arms as he does. The act only puts more emphasis on his already bulging biceps. You think you could die right here. You wouldn't mind this being your last sight, Clark smiling and flexing and just being beautiful.

He was talking again. You tried to listen this time. You're successful. You listen so well you don't realize how time is passing. Neither does Clark. Before either of you know it, Jimmy comes back with four coffees - he took the courtesy of grabbing you one - and drags Clark away from you and back to his work.

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|၊၊||၊|။||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|၊၊||၊|။||။‌‌‌‌‌|၊။‌• 8:39:25 hours later

You let out a gentle sigh as you set the phone handset back onto its base. The clock on its display reads 8:56. You don't have to be here much longer. You're not really sure when you have to be here; you start at 7 AM, but the end time is always a little fuzzy. On days you have nothing better to do, you wait for Clark. You've never left together, but you at least see him when he does. This is one of those days.

Just as you settle into your chair again, the phone blares at you. You huff. Yes, it's your job, but nobody needs to be calling this late. You brace yourself to use your customer service voice before lifting the handset.

"Good evening-" emphasis on the evening, "you've reached the Daily Planet. How can we inform you?" If they need information, you think bitterly, they should just try Google. As soon as you hear the voice on the other end, though, you know you'll tell him anything he wants to know.

"Yes, hello. This is Clark Kent," he declares, feigning professionalism. "Journalist, reporter, champion, hero to the people-" You stop him there with a snort.

"Yea, right. And who have you saved?" He doesn't say anything for a moment, but you can faintly hear him snickering into the phone. After a few seconds, he clears his throat.

"Well, not a who, but I have saved our evening." Clark sounds more nervous now. You think it over and assume he means saving the two of you from boredom by heading home. You're not surprised he knows that you await his departure most evenings.

"Oh, finally," you play up the drama. "My hero has arrived. I'll start packing up." You're ready to hang up the phone when you catch Clark's voice again.

"Okay, perfect. Would you rather have Italian or Chinese?" Huh? You'd said that out loud, you realize, and it sounded very bewildered. You can almost hear the confidence seeping out of Clark's voice. "Well, I just- I thought, since we're both still here, we could move up our lunch date. To tonight. Sorry, I thought we were on the same page there." You immediately feel bad. But also amazing. He wants to go on a date with you, right now. You try to redeem yourself.

"Uhh, surprise me," you can't keep the giddiness out of your voice. Clark lets himself chuckle again at that. To make sure he knows you want to as much as he does, you tell him, "I can't wait."

"You don't have to," is his immediate reply. "I'll be down in a minute. Not even. Bye."

"Bye," you say, and neither of you hang up. You bite the inside of your cheek at how cute it is. Then you realize he's probably on his cell phone and just forgot to end the call. Not that gently, you replace the handset on the base and flutter around your workspace to collect your stuff.

Of course, Clark meant it when he said he'd be down soon and makes it to you before you're ready. Always the gentleman, he helps you finish cleaning and swings your bag over his right shoulder next to his own. He reaches his left hand out to you and beams when you take it. You love his smile. He likes making you smile.

Clark leads you through the glass double doors, using his right hand to hold one open for you. He waves good night to the security guard using his left hand, meaning your right hand comes with. The wave turns into more of a Look at us! and both of you preen at the thought.

You have each other's phone numbers by the end of the night. You tell Clark to promise not to call your cellphone during work hours. He agrees, but the number of calls the Daily Planet gets from a certain wireless number skyrockets.

[phoenix-eclipses]

the mother hen complex

summary: clark has a habit of spoiling you, even more so when you have a rough day wc: 1.7k + a/n: this is based on a request, which can be found here! I have a few more fics in the queue that should be coming out throughout the week, so keep an eye out! I hope you enjoy, and please feel free to send any requests my way! warnings: slightly suggestive situation (very slightly), clark is a love bug who worries incessantly, you are so sweet to each other it's sickening

The first item on the Jimmy Olsen best friends agreement is free relationship advice. Clark has a habit of not taking him up on, well, any of it. “Wait at least a few hours to respond.” He’s replied to your questions about takeout in the middle of fighting a giant robot deadset on trampling half of Metropolis. “Let her come to you, man.” Clark frequently broke into your apartment to make sure that dinner was waiting for you as soon as you walked through the door. “Don’t limit yourself, play the field.” Clark had decided he was going to marry you after your first date, and there’d been a ring shoved in the back of his closet ever since your three month anniversary. Jimmy had changed Clark’s name in his phone to mother hen for a time, and worst of all? Clark couldn’t really argue against it. 

He hovered, literally and figuratively. When he was worried, he felt like he was buzzing, and the only way that he’d found to keep himself from instantly scanning the entire city was to fly in circles around your apartment. If it’d been longer than ten minutes without you getting back to him, he gave himself a pass and used his super hearing to check in. You’d never actually been in danger, usually just busy or with a friend, but he couldn’t bring himself to chance you needing him and not be there for you. 

When you were having a rough day, he hovered in the more traditionally human sense of the word. Soup made from scratch, warm baths with your favorite scented bubbles. Which is how you’d ended up in your current predicament, head burrowed into Clark’s chest while his hands traced soothing lines up and down your spine. His cheek was squished against the crown of your head and you’d unconsciously timed your breathing with the gentle thuds of his heart. 

“How ya doin’?” his voice was soft, as if he was afraid to disturb the peace that had settled around the both of you. 

Your arms tightened around his waist, and you scootched even closer to him. “Much better now. Thank you, Clark.” 

His chest shook with silent laughter, one hand moving to hold you where your head meets your neck. “Haven’t even done anything yet.” 

You pulled back, eyes wide and confused. “What are you talking about?” 

He smiled, your noses nearly touching. Your hand unconsciously rose to touch the crinkles at the side of his eyes, his dimples. You can’t help but marvel at him, this kind, soft man you’d managed to swindle into loving you by some otherworldly miracle. “You had a hard day, honey. Gotta let me take care of you.” 

Your foreheads met gently. “You’re already taking care of me.” And that was the truth. You’d come home, tears in your eyes. It had been a horrible, no good, absolutely awful day. You were running late for work, and then splashed by a cab hitting a huge puddle on your way there. Your lunch salad had gone wilty and on top of all that, you’d forgotten that it was date night until you’d seen him waiting in your living room, a fresh bouquet of flowers on the table and his button up’s sleeves rolled up on his forearms. 

And Clark hadn’t missed a beat. He changed into comfy clothes in the literal blink of an eye, and he’d put your favorite pajamas in the dryer to warm up. Then, he’d led you into the bathroom, turning on the shower and sprinkling a few drops of essential oil on the floor for you. A kiss to one temple, and then the other one for good measure before he told you to take your time and stepped out. A shower was the last thing on your mind, despite the previous puddle incident, but as the steam enveloped you, you could feel the tension draining from your muscles. When you were all done and squeaky clean, he wrapped you in a warm towel and helped you slather yourself in lotion. He’d gently guided your arms through your pajama top and helped you step into your shorts before pulling you onto the couch and settling you against him.  At this point, you were in a better mood than you’d managed all day. And somehow, Clark seemed to think he hadn’t even gotten started yet. 

He began to sway you gently side to side, his hands supporting your head. Your eyes fluttered shut with the soothing motion, a contented sigh escaping from your lips. “I have pizza on the way, and your heating pad is already on in the bed.”

All you could do was grin from where you were tucked into the hollow of his throat. “You’re spoiling me again.” 

He sighed, but didn’t dignify that with a response. “Are we thinking Singin’ in the Rain or Princess Diaries tonight?” 

“This is exactly what I’m talking about. You’re ruining me for future partners.” 

“Oh, there are going to be future partners, are there?” he asked, laughter coloring the edges of his voice. He clearly wasn’t taking you seriously, not stopping his rocking motions and only pulling you closer. 

“Oh yeah, tons.” you grumbled. He could feel you smirking against him, you knew it. 

“I guess I’m going to start using my powers for evil, in that case.” He mumbled into your hair. 

“I believe that even less than I believe I’m ever going to let you go.” 

Clark’s arms tightened around you in response. The two of you sat like that for a few more moments, quietly tangled up in the other. There was a small knock at the door, but somehow neither of you startled. “I told them to leave it at the door. Let’s give it a few seconds.” 

You nodded, breathing in his cologne and playing with the curls at the nape of his neck. You weren’t sure how that didn’t tickle, but you weren’t going to complain. Eventually, Clark’s arm wrapped around you, gently picking you up and adjusting you so that your legs were on either side of his waist. He stood, hand slipping around the backs of your thighs and holding you close. 

“You’re ridiculous.” you murmured, voice muffled against his shoulder while your arms looped around his neck. 

“Mmhmm,” Clark agreed, but made no motion to put you down as he swung the front door open and grabbed the pizza box from the small side table beside your door. He gently placed you on the kitchen counter, and the box beside you. He opened it to reveal your favorite and you were unsurprised. He was nothing if not incredibly observant. 

You grabbed a slice and took a bite, leaning against Clark for support. The silence that settled around you both was comfortable and familiar as ever. You both worked your way through the pizza, and you only caught Clark checking you over for signs of discomfort twice, which felt like a lot of improvement for both of you. 

When you were done, Clark framed your face with his hands. His eyes searched yours for a moment before he nodded to himself, clearly pleased with his assessment. He offered you a hand, helping you down from the counter. You took it easy on him and held back from pointing out that you were definitely capable of doing that yourself. 

He led you into the bathroom, and only let go of your hand when you reached for your toothbrush. You and Clark fell into your normal routine, brushing your teeth with shoulders bumping, Clark using a soft cloth to wipe away the bubbles of your facewash. You smoothed moisturizer across his cheeks and he sealed in your skincare routine with a kiss on your hairline, careful to avoid disrupting your freshly applied products. 

He pulled down the covers for you, pillows already arranged in the pattern that you favored most nights. He made a show of pulling the covers up to your chin and tucking the blankets tight against your side. You broke into peals of giggles, the gesture ridiculous when both of you knew Clark would pull you against his chest as soon as he rounded the bed. The grin that spread across his face made your heart stutter. His eyes crinkled, and it was clear he’d heard. You didn’t even have it in you to feel bashful about it. 

Like clockwork, Clark slid into bed beside you and you were quickly arranged with your back flush against his chest, one arm thrown over your stomach while you played with his fingers. You snuggled back against him, a contended sigh escaping your mouth. After what could have been a few moments or an eternity, you placed a kiss gently on the back of his hand. He squeezed you impossibly tighter against him. 

You take a breath, a thank you already on the tip of your tongue. Clark beats you to it. “You don’t have to thank me.” You crane your neck to catch his eyes, quirking a disbelieving eyebrow at him. His arm around your waist only tightened, a contented smile turning the corners of his lips up. “This was more for me than you,” he sounded sleepy, eyes half closed. 

You couldn’t help the cackle that shook your whole body. Clark held tight through it all. When you managed to calm your laughter, you turned to see him still clinging to you like the world’s most overgrown koala. “You’re a saint but I somehow find that hard to believe.” 

“I sleep better when I know you're happy.” Your heart lurched at his sleepy confession. “Sleep best when I know that I’m the reason you’re happy.” 

You turn in his arms, your forehead finding his in the dark for a moment. He still hadn’t opened his eyes, but he was beaming in a way that rivaled the sun. You tucked your head under his chin, making yourself at home against him. Your eyelids were heavy, and the weight of his arms around you was the most grounding experience of your life. “Maybe Jimmy has a point.” you mumbled. 

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Clark whispered, mostly to himself. 

“You are whipped.” 

Clark’s only response was to place a kiss on the top of your head. “You love it.” 

He was right, you really really did. You drifted off to sleep feeling more relaxed than you had in days, and Clark soon followed, thinking about the ring he’d shoved deep inside his sweater collection.

[phoenix-eclipses]

i need this in real life, that's what makes it special <333 enjoy

david corenswet!clark kent x fem!reader, comfort fic ♡

- Your tears are upsetting Clark very much, he has to find a way to comfort you.

cw; reader is overwhelmed and tired, mentions of academic stress, lots of kisses, boyfriend!clark, soft!clark, lots of pet names, clark helps reader take her clothes off but nothing suggestive, love confessions, he's the best ever you might fall for him even more because i did, pics are from pinterest

wc; 1.3k / my clark kent masterlist

HOPE OF IT ALL

You're crying and Clark doesn't know what to do for a single second.

He freezes, the sight is something out of his nightmares. Your glassy eyes look around the room, hands shaking as if you don't know where to place them. You look at him, a frown forming on your pretty face as tears slide down, and Clark steps in with a quick instinct.

"Angel," he says before opening his arms for you. You get into his space, putting your head on his chest to hide from everything. "It's okay."

He doesn't know what happened. He has this urge, this primal thing crawling into his chest, to find out who did this to you. Why are you crying, why are you hiding? Who the hell thinks they are worthy of your tears? He has to take a breath to calm down. This is about you. He's not gonna make it about himself by questioning every detail.

"It's okay," he whispers, arms wrapped around your shoulders. You smell so sweet, his mind settles down with the comforting scent. "It's okay, I'm here, sweetheart."

He's here, and he won't leave. He's gonna be steady until you feel good enough to lift your head and talk to him. He presses you tighter against himself, knows that you like the pressure when things are too much. Clark has always been a safe space.

He kisses your head too many times, just to help you relax. Your arms around his waist loosen up a little, but he doesn't pull away first. He'll stay until it's you who decides to look at him. Your face is covered in dried up tears, your eyes are blurry and your lips are curled downwards. You look at him and take a breath. He leans in to kiss your warm forehead.

"I'm okay," you say, your voice a bit scratchy. "I'm sorry if I scared you."

He shakes his head.

"No, I was- just worried, my love."

He cups your cheek to keep his thumb on your skin. The softness under your eyes, tiny wrinkles around your mouth. You're the prettiest girl he's ever seen, he's always stunned by the way you look even in tears.

"Nothing bad happened," you explain. "I found out I had a lower grade than I thought I'd get from a final. You remember the class I told you about? The one on political philosophy?"

He remembers. Of course, he does. He remembers every tiny detail of anything you tell him. He just nods. Processes the information. His hand on your waist squeezes gently on instinct.

"I worked so hard for the test," you say. "I don't know what went wrong. Now, I have to make another assignment to fix it, just to make sure I get a good letter grade, but I'm so tired. I don't even want to open the book."

Clark knows how hard you've been working. Not just for this class, but for your other classes at college. You stretched yourself thin, for your classes and everything that keeps you busy other than school. He wasn't here some nights, couldn't encourage you to stop and get some sleep. You've been exhausted for days, and now you're burnt out. Not beyond repair, he knows. You just need to let it out.

"You don't have to see anything about political philosophy for now," he starts, gently. "I promise I won't talk about politics, too. Nothing that'll remind you of the class. I think we should take some time on it."

You smile slowly. "Your politics are not exactly like what we do in class, but I appreciate it."

He smiles, too. He doesn't even know what he's saying, he's just desperate to offer you some comfort. His hand finds yours, he presses his thumb on the tight spot between your thumb and pointer finger. You put your head back on his chest.

"Would you like to go to bed?" he asks. "We can sleep early, or I'll make us some tea and we'll just talk. I have great stories."

You're nodding, and the next thing you know is him leading you to bed. You sit down on the edge, your body slumps forward without meaning to.

"I need to change my clothes." you say, quietly.

"I can help with that," he tells you. He's so genuine, you can't even tell him you can do it yourself. "Which one?" he asks, holding two shirts in his hands. They used to be his, he gave up on them long time ago when he decided they are made to be your sleep shirts. Looks better on you, angel girl.

"The blue one, please." you say, moving your arms to take your shirt off. Clark is by your side, taking it from your hands and kissing your shoulder before you can slip the blue shirt on.

He kneels in front of you to take your pants off. It's quick, his fingers know their way around your body. You are happy with the air hitting your bare legs, especially as Clark leans in to press his lips on your knee. He closes his eyes, his hand rubbing your calf as he kisses inside of your thigh.

"I love you," he says, putting his head on your leg. Your hand goes to his hair, fixing a few unruly locks. "Please, don't cry again."

"I can't promise that," you say, softly as you're playing with his hair. "But I can try."

"I don't know what to do when you're crying," he murmurs. "It breaks my heart, seeing you getting upset over something like that. I wanna fix it and I have no idea how to do that."

"I'll fix it," you tell him. You will fix it, once you feel like yourself again. "Just stay with me."

"Always." he promises. He gives your skin one more kiss before looking up to you.

The minute stretches, it's intense because he's looking at you like you're his everything. You don't break the eye contact, a small curl lingers on your lips when he draws a starry shape on your leg. He shows you his dimples once he realizes how whipped he is.

"I can make us some tea," he offers, standing on his feet. "Come on, get in the bed."

You do as he says, the sheets are cool against your skin, and it feels nice. Your shoulders relax against pillows, you wait for Clark to return. Rubbing your eyes with not-so-soft fingers, you try to forget about every responsibility that's been keeping you up.

He comes back with two cups of tea in his hands, his face freshly washed and a few curls sticked to his forehead. He fixes his hair after leaving the mugs on your nightstand, gives you an easy smile as he moves to take his own clothes off and change into something comfortable.

"Okay, I'm back," he says when he's ready for bed. You settle down on his chest as he wraps his arm around your shoulders, he pulls you on himself and you put your head on his heart. A great position. Something you've been craving for a few days. "Comfy?"

You nod. "If we stay like this, I'm never gonna be able to drink my tea, though."

"It's fine," he says. He has big, long fingers and they love drawing shapes on your waist. "I'll make you a new cup whenever you want."

You hum, totally ready to get lost in whatever bubble he puts you in. It's safe like this, Clark is steady, and the way he exists in your space gives you hope. Hope for trying again for every little thing you failed, hope for keeping it up, hope for letting him love you through your difficult times. He has the softest smile, reserved just for you, dimples showing up as if they're telling you everything will be okay.

"Thank you," you say. He squeezes your body as a response, such a perfect pressure it is. "I love that I have you to come home to."

He's your home. He likes the sound of it very much, it's a promise that'll be kept forever. Kissing your exposed neck a few times, he looks right into your eyes. His home.

[phoenix-eclipses]

reblog if you wear glasses. too many mutuals don't know they have glasses wearers in their midsts

[phoenix-eclipses]

in case anyone was wondering this was her initial response

everyone wish luck to my one friend who’s going to wake up with 15+ messages from me all revolving around skk

[phoenix-eclipses]

*leans over car*

heyyy I can change your tires, oil, AND brakes for you dw

*hits self with ratchet wrench*

[phoenix-eclipses]

everyone wish luck to my one friend who’s going to wake up with 15+ messages from me all revolving around skk

[phoenix-eclipses]

I cannot explain or describe to you guys the inner rage I get whenever my headphones tell me they're dying, because first off it starts at 20% when they arguably have quite a bit of time left (its been like 4 hours and they're still alive) but also because like pls- my battery is ALSO low but you don't see me screaming to you about it every little bit

[phoenix-eclipses]

Baby's first winter ❄️

[phoenix-eclipses]

damn i wish u guys could read this fic i haven't written and this fic i haven't finished writing and this fic i'm putting off outlining and this fic i outlined but haven't started and this fic i'll never write and this other fic i haven't written and this fic that exists only in vague impressions in my head that fall apart every time i try to commit them to the page and th

[phoenix-eclipses]

they have stolen my blood (I got bloodwork done) but they traded with me (I got apple juice and a sucker) but I had to journey empty handed (I forgot to bring my stuffed animal)

[phoenix-eclipses]

random phoenix fun fact is that I have been known to sleep talk, like not just random sleepy words, but full on convos with someone. like to the point my sisters had made a name for when I was asleep. my mom had to like try and figure out ways to make sure i was actually awake..