read ur clark fic about him listening to ur voicemails on his breaks and thinking about reader also being obsessed with him and having a whole collection of little videos he'd made on a tape recorder that she watches while getting ready/staying in....OR EVEN her having a little record collection of all his favorite songs to listen to at night when he's away on missions....KOOLIE IM GOING INSANE PLEASE i need to yap sm about the dynamic of obsessed x obsessed :D
HI, HONEY — Clark Kent
pairing: clark kent / wife!reader. word count: 2.1k content: fluff. established relationship. obsessed x obsessed. clark makes tapes for r whilst he is away. (1) song reference. kind of linked to this fic
clark kent masterlist
“Is that Mister Terrific?”
You peered over the cubicle in the office you were sat in to look in the direction of the large glass doors that led out onto a balcony. It was a rather mundane and repetitive office job that had you concealed in a box, packed like sardines with one hundred other people, at least. You had snagged the spot of employment since you hauled yourself from the safe space of Smallville, Kansas, to the city of Metropolis; where the buildings were taller than the sky.
The giant move from the humid air of Smallville to the polluted one of Metropolis was down to the lark of your heart: Clark Joseph Kent.
It seemed his absence in his hometown felt more like an immovable object than something you could roll with whenever he upped and left to return to the city. And, after a three week turn around in your friendship-gone-relationship, you began to realise that the motto of ‘home is where the heart is’ meant that home didn’t necessarily mean a place, or building you had grown up in. It was a person.
So, you followed Clark Kent to Metropolis and within two years you had been married in Spring and nestled in a one bedroom apartment in the heart of the city.
(There was no way that you could be convinced to stay in the Fortress of Solitude.)
Being married to Clark Kent, meant you were married to Superman. The protector of Metropolis—despite what some of the public would say—and the man that tried his best to make things right. To make things good. So, from time to time, when the metaphorical sand began to tip into the bad end of the hourglass sand timer; Clark would have to uproot himself and leave on short notice.
Which led you to that very moment, with Mister Terrific hovering outside your building with a stoic expression as he awaited action.
Everyone had begun to shift in their seats, low chatter that a member of the Justice League—no, Justice Gang? You weren’t sure—was loitering out a skyscraper for no apparent reason.
That’s when heads began to turn to you. You were more on the confrontational side, to the people you worked with anyway. And, that meant they were looking to you to resolve the new addition to the scenic views from the nineteenth floor of the skyscraper you all worked in.
What your co-workers hadn’t realised was, they had put you in the position you always intended to be. You knew why Mister Terrific was there, but they didn’t have to know.
If anything, you were just going to ask him to leave the premise and go ask the Mayor to fill in some potholes.
You stood with little need for encouragement and walked over to the glass doors, quick to open and shut it behind you so the eavesdroppers of the workplace wouldn’t be able to hear anything but a muffled exchange of pleasantries.
“Do you need to appear like this?” You turned to Mister Terrific and crossed your arms.
He shrugged. “You want the USB?”
“Yes. Please.”
“Then, I’ll keep turning up this way.” Mister Terrific responded nonchalantly and made enough discreet movement that the USB you required reached your hand with minimal theatrics that would raise questions later.
You gave him a curt nod and a smile you reserved for people you didn’t really know well. “Thank you…Is—Is he OK?”
Mister Terrific blinked and it was at that point that you almost missed the small nod he gave you before his finger gestured to the USB tucked into the palm of your hand, “Check that and you’ll know.”
He then left without another word and you went back inside the building with multiple voices calling over their own cubicles, curious as to what the member of the Justice League needed. You responded by waving off their questions with reassurance that he was just doing the rounds of the skyscrapers to ensure all citizens were safe, before snatching your laptop from your desk, scurrying off to the bathroom for some privacy.
The cubicle door slammed shut and you sat with your knees pressed together atop of the toilet with a sense of newfound giddiness. With one earphone pushed into your ear, you opened up your laptop and plugged the USB into the side of it.
A file popped up in the middle of your screen.
HONEY FILES.
(How incredibly cliche of your husband. You’d prod fun at him upon his return.)
Without another second wasted, you opened the file up to see a short list of videos dated from the first day Clark had to leave for Jarhanpur.
You bit down on your fingernails as you clicked the first file in the chronological order that had been made.
“Hi, honey.” Clark’s voice was heard before you could see him. The camera wobbled around until his face appeared. He wore a smile that wasn’t as genuine as the one on your wedding day. He exhaled deeply, “Just as I promised. A video for you to keep you updated. I’m not sure when it’ll get back to you, but I finally got Mister Terrific to agree to delivering it after some silly bickering—”
You muffled the small laugh that escaped your lips behind the palm of your hand. The idea that Clark had spent his energy on convincing Mister Terrific to deliver a USB to his wife back in Metropolis was amusing in itself.
You would store that mental image whenever you needed a little laugh.
Clark continued in the video, “I miss you already, and it’s only been…” He mulled the calculations over, “At least six hours. I guess that’s when you know we were destined to be together.”
(He was right.)
“I’m sorry our honeymoon plans got postponed. Well, part of me isn’t sorry, because the people of Jarhanpur need help. I wouldn’t be able to enjoy the honeymoon entirely with that thought in the back of my head…Anyway, here—” Clark jostled with the camera to show his Superman garb. He patted the space just below where his heart would be, “Ma sewed in a pocket, just here, so I could have my wedding ring on me at all times. She’s a hopeless romantic, I suppose. Oh, and also,” The camera swished about for a moment as Clark removed one red boot from his foot, “I have my favourite photo of you in my boot. I hope you don’t mind getting stepped on for the time being.”
His shoddy camera work made you feel a little dizzy as he brought it back to focus on his handsome face. He gave a shy smile to the camera and you could practically see the cogs turning in his head.
“I’ll be leaving here in a moment. I hope work isn’t too bad, and Mark minds his business.” He sniffed, “I love you. Bye.”
Click. The screen went black.
The rest of the videos taunted you to open just one more. Something about it felt like catnip to you. Addictive, sent your heart soaring at the sight of your husband. But, alas, you decided that your gluttony for Clark Kent could wait until you clocked out of work…or whenever you could take intermittent bathroom breaks without question as to why you had to take your laptop every time.
Laptop tucked beneath your armpit, you sauntered out of the toilet with your chin tilted upward to evade any worry of suspicious onlookers.
“You were in there for ten minutes.” Mark—the guy who refused to bite his tongue—called out to you as you reached your office cubicle.
You glared at him. “Did you want to fish out the tampon for me, Mark?”
“No.” Mark said quietly, his face aflame.
After that, your willpower prevailed and you managed to withhold any further trips to the bathroom to lap up the videos Clark had recorded for you. With your bag packed before the clock struck 5PM, you raced out of the building. Not missing the small ache in your chest that Clark wasn’t leant up against a column in the lobby of your workplace, ready to take your bag with a smile and a quick kiss.
The trip back to the apartment went slower than necessary, with one train cancelled and the elevator up to your apartment out of service. It was as if fate was purposely toying with you.
Curtains drawn and one pack of instant noodles thrown into a bowl, you slumped into your sofa after connecting your laptop to the TV so you could watch Clark on a bigger screen; you clicked onto the second video with baited breath.
“Hi, honey. It’s me.” Clark waved at the camera awkwardly, “Again. I just finished my first video to you and then realised I needed to remind you to take the food I had made you out of the freezer. Just so you don’t have to eat those cardboard tasting ramen noodles.”
You blinked at the TV, mouth packed with the noodles he was referring to.
“OK. I love you. Bye.”
Click.
You went to the next one below it.
Clark’s brows were furrowed in this one. He scratched at his temple before he spoke, “Hi, honey. Well, I stopped the military—illegal military—invasion of Jarhanpur. Hooray.” He scoffed, “I’m OK, no real injuries aside from the headache I have. I, uh…I spoke with the President of Boravia about going forward.”
You winced at that. Knowing your husband’s temper that flared from time to time, the likelihood of a simple conversation was minimal. It put a pit in your stomach for the outcome that would undoubtedly follow.
Fork stabbing at the noodles, you sighed as Clark continued to speak. “For what it is worth, I’m glad I stepped in. I think the U.S. Government will have something else to say. People were going to die, right honey? This is what I was sent here to do.”
“Well, I love you. It’s been—what—seventy-two hours now since we’ve been apart?” He looked desperate to return to you, “Seventy-two hours too long. Seventy-two kisses to give you when I get back. Plus however many more. OK, I’m going. Bye, honey.”
Click.
You suddenly felt the same absence you felt when Clark left Smallville for the final time without you. An empty hollow in your chest that, seemingly, was Clark Kent shaped.
They told you marriage would be hard. You had presumed they meant it took work to make things last. Not that it would be almost impossible to be without him.
You finished up your noodles, dissatisfied with the taste—as predicted by Clark—and leant over the bundle of blankets to click the last video Clark had made for you.
This time, instead of the camera panning to Clark’s face, it was the scenic view of the Kent Farm at sunset.
Your breath hitched.
“Hi, honey. It’s me. Obviously.” Clark mumbled as he moved the camera across the horizon, “I stopped by Ma and Pa’s on the way back. I know you miss this, so I thought, why not capture it? If you close your eyes, you can pretend you’re here with the ambient sound of those gosh darn cicadas.” He chuckled behind the camera, “We had our first kiss over there, remember?” His finger came to point out to the lake, “And, over here—” He turned the camera to the front of the Kent’s house, where Ma and Pa waved in the distance, “Are Ma and Pa. They miss you, but not as much as me.”
The camera then pointed to Clark who wore a warm, reminiscent smile, “Thank you for giving this up for me. You’re braver than you know.” You openly laughed at that statement. As if he hadn’t jetted to Jarhanpur to put himself between a military invasion and innocent citizens. He continued, “I made a wish list of sorts on the fly over to Smallville. Some of it already completed, like marrying you. Maybe, if we would like, a couple of kids that all look like you. The world will leave us alone when it happens. We can even come back to the Kent Farm, build a house. You deserve to get what you want.”
Your vision blurred at his topic of conversation. Clark was always one for articulated speeches, and this one had caught you off guard.
His blue eyes softened at the thought of the domesticity of it all, “I just want you. Wherever you want to be, I’ll be there.” Clark swallowed and nodded, “I’ll see you soon. I love you. Bye.”
Click.
