12 one-sentence (but actually not really) smallville clark & lois fics
I always like these one-sentence or 100-word drabble challenge tables. I'm terrible at them. But I like them anyways. These were written sporadically and quickly over time, no beta. Some are actually one sentence long but most a few sentences or more. It's Clark and Lois, together, individually, randomly.
Drabbles ranging from G to T, not much in the way of porn today, boo. Don't laugh tho, okay.
Drabbles Ahoy
1. Comfort
Lois lifts her legs up and places them on top of his thighs, a silent request for a foot rub. She slides back into the couch until her neck balances on the arm and her hands rest easily on her stomach. He raises his eyebrow at her and her eyes are already closed. When he doesn’t make a move to massage her arches, she pops one open and glares. “Something wrong, Smallville?”
He ducks his head, hides a smile.
“Well, chop-chop, get to work - you owe me a foot rub, remember?”
He won’t mention that he owes her no such thing. He lets his hands rest on her slender, red-tipped feet and runs his knuckles across her heel.
When she moans, something deep from inside her chest, he knows he’s done something right.
2. Kiss
The petal-soft brush of her lips on his cheek always makes him smile.
3. Soft (in which Lois is walking contradictions)
“Come on, Smallville, you’re never going to get the front page if you keep being so soft about getting the actual story,” she says, voice strident as she tosses a creased piece of paper streaked in red marks.
He picks it up and smiles wryly. There’s not much left of the original article, most of it obscured by her barely legible handwriting and exclamation marks of varying size. Six months at the Daily Planet and all he has to show for it is a pile of papers much like this one, splattered with the blood-red ink from Lois’ ruthless pen and three obits. He can’t help but feel a little discouraged at that fact.
She’s still standing above him and he hears her sigh softly, and she says, pity laced in the words, “Anyway, I’ve got you another obit - so, at least you’ll have your name in print.”
He smiles.
4. Pain
The knife burns in the middle of his gut and he has forgotten how to breathe.
5. Potatoes
“Wait, so do you spell the plural of potato with an “e” or without?” Lois asked as chewed on her pencil pensively. She didn’t bother to glance across at her partner who was typing furiously into his own computer.
“Yes to the ‘e’, Lois,” he said, laughter hovering at the edge of his voice.
Lois made the correction. “God, I hate the English language sometimes.”
When he snickered from behind his screen, she threw a pencil in the general direction of his head.
6. Rain
She sits in the rain for hours-what feels like days, with his head pressed into her stomach and her fingers pressing into his chest for a heartbeat, any beat.
When the sun sneaks up over the horizon, she feels it. A frail patter, like the sound of distant feet.
7. Sensual
He blows softly, cool air along the planes of her stomach that makes her clench in response, and then he smiles before his head dips down again.
8. Technology
Clark has never wanted to murder a single thing more than he does that Blackberry.
9. Sex
Sometimes they take things slowly. His hands brush up along her thighs and drag them apart, one leg hooked above his elbow, and the inward thrust that makes her toes curl as she clutches at the sheets, says his name on fluid moan.
This is not one of those times.
10. Taste
At eight in the morning, when they’re both rushing to work in the elevator, watching the numbers light up in steady progressions, Lois pressed up against the gold-plated walls tastes like mint and orange juice.
A few hours later, in the dimness of the supply closet on the fourth floor, she is the bitter tang of coffee with a hint of sweetness.
At noon, when they’re working on a story and she’s not too big on lunch, she tastes like the last of the maple donuts.
The mid-afternoon coffee break is caramel-laced coffee, and there’s a coolness in her mouth that he likes, when he sneaks a kiss past her on the sidewalk.
After dinner, it’s ice cream. Mocha fudge or dulce de leche or whatever flavor she’s decided on when he wraps his tongue around hers and lets her straddle him on the kitchen table.
11. Devotion (in which these idiots finally get hitched for real - earth-wise that is)
Lois’ fingers squeeze his surreptitiously, he lets his own touch the gold ring that now rests on her left hand. The minister drones on unheard as he catches her eye, and smiles.
Clark has spent seven years waiting for this moment and he can’t claim to regret a single second of it.
12. Clumsy (It still amuses me that when Clark decides to embody his inner dork in season 10, Jeff, who was previously shit-scared of Clark Kent, suddenly becomes this badass dude who’s like, “Yo, Kent, why are you such a loser?” And it’s ridiculous what a pair of glasses and a hunch can do.)
It was easier than he thought it would be. Physically, that is. It was like slipping on an old coat or a pair of shoes - a little tight, almost uncomfortably so, but undeniably familiar. He had to hold himself differently, shamble and shuffle where normally he might stride; hover uncertainly at the back of a room instead of putting himself in a spot where he could take everything in and still slip out the door if needed.
He’d spent years perfecting being invisible as a kid. There was a time when he would’ve given anything to slide unnoticed in a room full of people, to not be ‘too smart’ or ‘too strong’ in case someone put the pieces together and figured out he was different-to be as normal and as unremarkable as a plaid shirt at a Smallville town fair.
But he hadn’t been that kid for years. He can’t even pinpoint where or when it happened, when he stopped yearning to live out his days in obscurity on the farm, and when life in the city, being a reporter, being a hero became him-who he actually was.
So when he saw even Jeff (still-an-intern) look at him like he was a first prize idiot as he tripped his way into the employee elevator and hit the back wall with a loud thud, it felt like someone was plucking at his nerves. And that someone-was him-except not him but the ‘him’ he was trying to re-invent. He shook his head and stared at the gold-plated doors, trying to fold his body so he seemed a little shorter. It was, unsurprisingly, much harder to slouch and hold a box simultaneously.
“Hey, Clark,” Jeff said with a short smile. “Helping Lois with her big move up?” Clark nodded, and attempted to juggle the box and shove his glasses up his nose with a sucked in “Oof! Sorry!” He shifted Lois’ box in his arms, making an effort to grunt at the weight of it even though it wasn’t much heavier than a pencil.
“Whoa, looks, heavy, Kent - you sure you can handle that one by yourself?”
The absurdity of the question didn’t elude him. Jeff was practically half his size both ways. He hid a smile with a particularly strained expression. “Guess, I overestimated myself with this one, probably should’ve made two trips, hunh?” For good measure, he let the box slip a little, forcing his body to fall sideways so he had to use the wall as leverage to stay upright. When he settled himself in a semi-stable position, he shot Jeff a nervous grin.
Jeff frowned back. “Are you okay? You seem a little, I don’t know, um - unbalanced or stressed nowadays?”
Clark’s stomach rolled and he searched for something to say before tilting his head and shrugged, an awkward movement with the box crowding his arms, “Uh - it’s the new glasses. You know, new prescriptions, always hard to get the hang of them.”
Jeff shot him a strange look, “Right.” The elevator rang for his floor and he nodded, “Well, see ya, good luck.”
Clark felt like kicking himself. The whole vaudeville routine was probably not going to get him too far. Too obvious, Kent. He glared at the numbers beside the doors as they lit up in steady progressions towards the fifth floor. Finding the balance with all of this was obviously going to be trickier than he’d thought.
13. Float (in which Superman gets high)
No one knows how they got here. Some place out in the desert, a few miles away from the neon-bright casinos. The night sky looms inky-black and the sand gleams dull gray for miles and miles with only stray tufts of cacti or random outcroppings to break the monotony. There’s music playing out from the stereo - a swanky red limousine. Clark can’t rightly remember where they got that either. But he has a vague image of him and Oliver holding some guy down and Emil running away with a bunch of jangly keys singing Jailhouse Rock - or something like that.
Everything lurches when he moves too quickly. His head feels full of cotton wool, and he’s struggling to even put a foot from side-to-side. He could float - but he’s not going to because he tried that five minutes ago and landed in a heap on top of Lois. It wasn’t pretty, he thinks. His hands run down the length of her back and he tugs her closer. Her head barely reaches his chin even though she’s teetering on his toes; she lost her heels somewhere, and is barefoot. He can smell her too. Lois has the nicest smell.
He presses his forehead against hers, and the dizziness stops for a second. He smiles, catches her eye in the dark, and says with a far-sounding whisper, “I love you, Lois.”
Pretty soon she’s kissing him with her legs wrapped around his like a vine and he forgets where they are again.
Note: writing fic again is like getting in the saddle after you've been thrown horrifically a decade prior. it sucks, and it almost always hurts because you are actually really bad at riding and the horse hates you and keeps throwing you off. basically this is a terrible metaphor, sorry, but you get my meaning? feedback is like heat rub to my injured body.
Drabbles ranging from G to T, not much in the way of porn today, boo. Don't laugh tho, okay.
Drabbles Ahoy
1. Comfort
Lois lifts her legs up and places them on top of his thighs, a silent request for a foot rub. She slides back into the couch until her neck balances on the arm and her hands rest easily on her stomach. He raises his eyebrow at her and her eyes are already closed. When he doesn’t make a move to massage her arches, she pops one open and glares. “Something wrong, Smallville?”
He ducks his head, hides a smile.
“Well, chop-chop, get to work - you owe me a foot rub, remember?”
He won’t mention that he owes her no such thing. He lets his hands rest on her slender, red-tipped feet and runs his knuckles across her heel.
When she moans, something deep from inside her chest, he knows he’s done something right.
2. Kiss
The petal-soft brush of her lips on his cheek always makes him smile.
3. Soft (in which Lois is walking contradictions)
“Come on, Smallville, you’re never going to get the front page if you keep being so soft about getting the actual story,” she says, voice strident as she tosses a creased piece of paper streaked in red marks.
He picks it up and smiles wryly. There’s not much left of the original article, most of it obscured by her barely legible handwriting and exclamation marks of varying size. Six months at the Daily Planet and all he has to show for it is a pile of papers much like this one, splattered with the blood-red ink from Lois’ ruthless pen and three obits. He can’t help but feel a little discouraged at that fact.
She’s still standing above him and he hears her sigh softly, and she says, pity laced in the words, “Anyway, I’ve got you another obit - so, at least you’ll have your name in print.”
He smiles.
4. Pain
The knife burns in the middle of his gut and he has forgotten how to breathe.
5. Potatoes
“Wait, so do you spell the plural of potato with an “e” or without?” Lois asked as chewed on her pencil pensively. She didn’t bother to glance across at her partner who was typing furiously into his own computer.
“Yes to the ‘e’, Lois,” he said, laughter hovering at the edge of his voice.
Lois made the correction. “God, I hate the English language sometimes.”
When he snickered from behind his screen, she threw a pencil in the general direction of his head.
6. Rain
She sits in the rain for hours-what feels like days, with his head pressed into her stomach and her fingers pressing into his chest for a heartbeat, any beat.
When the sun sneaks up over the horizon, she feels it. A frail patter, like the sound of distant feet.
7. Sensual
He blows softly, cool air along the planes of her stomach that makes her clench in response, and then he smiles before his head dips down again.
8. Technology
Clark has never wanted to murder a single thing more than he does that Blackberry.
9. Sex
Sometimes they take things slowly. His hands brush up along her thighs and drag them apart, one leg hooked above his elbow, and the inward thrust that makes her toes curl as she clutches at the sheets, says his name on fluid moan.
This is not one of those times.
10. Taste
At eight in the morning, when they’re both rushing to work in the elevator, watching the numbers light up in steady progressions, Lois pressed up against the gold-plated walls tastes like mint and orange juice.
A few hours later, in the dimness of the supply closet on the fourth floor, she is the bitter tang of coffee with a hint of sweetness.
At noon, when they’re working on a story and she’s not too big on lunch, she tastes like the last of the maple donuts.
The mid-afternoon coffee break is caramel-laced coffee, and there’s a coolness in her mouth that he likes, when he sneaks a kiss past her on the sidewalk.
After dinner, it’s ice cream. Mocha fudge or dulce de leche or whatever flavor she’s decided on when he wraps his tongue around hers and lets her straddle him on the kitchen table.
11. Devotion (in which these idiots finally get hitched for real - earth-wise that is)
Lois’ fingers squeeze his surreptitiously, he lets his own touch the gold ring that now rests on her left hand. The minister drones on unheard as he catches her eye, and smiles.
Clark has spent seven years waiting for this moment and he can’t claim to regret a single second of it.
12. Clumsy (It still amuses me that when Clark decides to embody his inner dork in season 10, Jeff, who was previously shit-scared of Clark Kent, suddenly becomes this badass dude who’s like, “Yo, Kent, why are you such a loser?” And it’s ridiculous what a pair of glasses and a hunch can do.)
It was easier than he thought it would be. Physically, that is. It was like slipping on an old coat or a pair of shoes - a little tight, almost uncomfortably so, but undeniably familiar. He had to hold himself differently, shamble and shuffle where normally he might stride; hover uncertainly at the back of a room instead of putting himself in a spot where he could take everything in and still slip out the door if needed.
He’d spent years perfecting being invisible as a kid. There was a time when he would’ve given anything to slide unnoticed in a room full of people, to not be ‘too smart’ or ‘too strong’ in case someone put the pieces together and figured out he was different-to be as normal and as unremarkable as a plaid shirt at a Smallville town fair.
But he hadn’t been that kid for years. He can’t even pinpoint where or when it happened, when he stopped yearning to live out his days in obscurity on the farm, and when life in the city, being a reporter, being a hero became him-who he actually was.
So when he saw even Jeff (still-an-intern) look at him like he was a first prize idiot as he tripped his way into the employee elevator and hit the back wall with a loud thud, it felt like someone was plucking at his nerves. And that someone-was him-except not him but the ‘him’ he was trying to re-invent. He shook his head and stared at the gold-plated doors, trying to fold his body so he seemed a little shorter. It was, unsurprisingly, much harder to slouch and hold a box simultaneously.
“Hey, Clark,” Jeff said with a short smile. “Helping Lois with her big move up?” Clark nodded, and attempted to juggle the box and shove his glasses up his nose with a sucked in “Oof! Sorry!” He shifted Lois’ box in his arms, making an effort to grunt at the weight of it even though it wasn’t much heavier than a pencil.
“Whoa, looks, heavy, Kent - you sure you can handle that one by yourself?”
The absurdity of the question didn’t elude him. Jeff was practically half his size both ways. He hid a smile with a particularly strained expression. “Guess, I overestimated myself with this one, probably should’ve made two trips, hunh?” For good measure, he let the box slip a little, forcing his body to fall sideways so he had to use the wall as leverage to stay upright. When he settled himself in a semi-stable position, he shot Jeff a nervous grin.
Jeff frowned back. “Are you okay? You seem a little, I don’t know, um - unbalanced or stressed nowadays?”
Clark’s stomach rolled and he searched for something to say before tilting his head and shrugged, an awkward movement with the box crowding his arms, “Uh - it’s the new glasses. You know, new prescriptions, always hard to get the hang of them.”
Jeff shot him a strange look, “Right.” The elevator rang for his floor and he nodded, “Well, see ya, good luck.”
Clark felt like kicking himself. The whole vaudeville routine was probably not going to get him too far. Too obvious, Kent. He glared at the numbers beside the doors as they lit up in steady progressions towards the fifth floor. Finding the balance with all of this was obviously going to be trickier than he’d thought.
13. Float (in which Superman gets high)
No one knows how they got here. Some place out in the desert, a few miles away from the neon-bright casinos. The night sky looms inky-black and the sand gleams dull gray for miles and miles with only stray tufts of cacti or random outcroppings to break the monotony. There’s music playing out from the stereo - a swanky red limousine. Clark can’t rightly remember where they got that either. But he has a vague image of him and Oliver holding some guy down and Emil running away with a bunch of jangly keys singing Jailhouse Rock - or something like that.
Everything lurches when he moves too quickly. His head feels full of cotton wool, and he’s struggling to even put a foot from side-to-side. He could float - but he’s not going to because he tried that five minutes ago and landed in a heap on top of Lois. It wasn’t pretty, he thinks. His hands run down the length of her back and he tugs her closer. Her head barely reaches his chin even though she’s teetering on his toes; she lost her heels somewhere, and is barefoot. He can smell her too. Lois has the nicest smell.
He presses his forehead against hers, and the dizziness stops for a second. He smiles, catches her eye in the dark, and says with a far-sounding whisper, “I love you, Lois.”
Pretty soon she’s kissing him with her legs wrapped around his like a vine and he forgets where they are again.
Note: writing fic again is like getting in the saddle after you've been thrown horrifically a decade prior. it sucks, and it almost always hurts because you are actually really bad at riding and the horse hates you and keeps throwing you off. basically this is a terrible metaphor, sorry, but you get my meaning? feedback is like heat rub to my injured body.