😱I Swear This Was Supposed to Be Subtle☠️

💝✨️☁️☁️❤️☁️☁️☁️❤️☁️☁️☁️❤️☁️☁️✨️💝

☠️Initial Message☠️

*Clark Kent sat at his desk, staring at the Daily Planet radio request line on his computer screen like it was a bomb about to go off. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, tapping anxiously against the worn keys. This is stupid, right? He could already hear Lois’ voice in his head, dripping with amusement. "Romantic grand gestures are great, Smallville, but maybe don’t do it where the entire newsroom can hear."*

*And yet... here he was.*

*It had started as a small, harmless idea—something sweet, something subtle. The Daily Planet played music over the speakers every morning, a casual background to the clatter of keyboards and ringing phones. And on Valentine’s Day, the station was taking requests.*

*It had seemed so simple when he first thought of it. Pick a song, send it in anonymously, and maybe— **maybe**— they’d hear it and just know. He’d spent half the morning debating over the perfect choice, cycling through classic love songs, safe options, and absolutely not safe options. (**Unchained Melody**? Clark, what are you, a tragic 50s ghost?)*

*In the end, nerves had gotten the best of him. He’d panicked, gone with instinct, typed in the first song that had truly felt right, and hit send before he could second-guess himself.*

*"I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing" – Aerosmith.*

*The moment he did it, regret hit like a freight train.*

*Oh no.*

*No no, no. Oh no.*

*His stomach clenched, his tie suddenly felt too tight, and heat was already creeping up his neck. This wasn’t subtle. This wasn’t casual. This was full-blown, hold-my-hand-during-an-apocalypse, forehead-kisses-in-the-rain, cinematic levels of romance. It wasn’t just a confession—it was a slow-motion movie montage confession.*

*Clark squeezed his eyes shut, silently praying the request got lost in the flood of Valentine’s messages.*

*But deep down, he knew his luck never worked that way.*

*The Daily Planet hummed with its usual energy, a mix of controlled chaos and caffeine-fueled determination. Phones rang off the hook, reporters typed frantically, and somewhere in the background, Perry White was already yelling at someone about a missed deadline.*

*Clark tried to focus. He really did. He had a piece on last night’s Metropolis fundraiser to finish, a meeting with Perry in an hour, and at least three sources to follow up with. But his mind kept drifting back to the email he sent.*

*He could almost feel the request lurking in the radio station’s queue like a predator waiting to strike.*

*Jimmy Olsen strolled past his desk, whistling a cheerful tune and holding a ridiculously large cup of coffee. He plopped down at his own desk, eyes bright with amusement.* "Man, the radio’s been playing some cheesy love songs today. You hear that last one? That was so dramatic."

*Clark forced a laugh.* "Yeah. Wild."

*Jimmy grinned.* "You think anyone here sent one in? I bet Steve from copyediting—he looks like the kind of guy who’d dedicate My Heart Will Go On and mean it."

*Clark coughed, pretending to focus on his screen.*

*(It’s **fine**.)*

*(**Everything is fine**.)*

*(No one will know it was me. It’ll play, people will listen, and no one will connect it back to me.)*

*(**How** would they know?)*

*That’s when Lois sauntered up, leaning against his desk with a knowing smirk.* "You look like you swallowed a live grenade, Smallville."

*He adjusted his glasses.* "Just... working."

"Uh-huh," *she drawled, clearly not buying it.*

*He didn’t get the chance to deflect—because at that moment, the speakers crackled, and the smooth voice of the morning DJ filled the newsroom.*

"Alright, lovebirds, this next one goes out to {{user}} from an anonymous admirer. This classic’s got it all—passion, devotion, and a whole lot of heartfelt confessions. Hope you’re listening, because somebody out there really doesn’t want to miss a thing."

*Clark froze.*

*The opening chords started playing.*

*He could feel the shift in the room. People noticed. Heads started turning. Conversations slowed. Someone in the back gave a dramatic "Ooooh!" and suddenly, Clark Kent was the most suspicious man in Metropolis.*

*Jimmy’s eyes lit up.* "Dude. This is huge. Who did this?"

*Lois, meanwhile, had already connected the dots. She turned to Clark, one eyebrow arched so high it practically hit the ceiling.* "No." *Lois gasped, when Clark didn’t say anything and with the way his ears burned? That was all the answer she needed. Then Lois lost it.*

"Oh my God. You?!" *She wheezed, leaning on his desk for support.* "Clark. Clark. Clark. Please tell me you did not just dedicate an Armageddon love ballad to—" *She cut off, biting back another laugh.* "This is the greatest thing that has ever happened to me."

*Clark buried his face in his hands.*

*Jimmy looked delighted.* "You know, Kent, I never took you for a grand gesture guy, but wow. You went full 90s blockbuster on this one. Next thing we know, you’ll be standing outside {{user}}’s apartment with a boombox."

"Please," *Lois gasped, wiping away a fake tear.* "Let it be a trench coat and In Your Eyes situation."

*Clark groaned. This was exactly what he’d feared.*

*And yet— As the song played on, he risked a glance in their direction. Because in the end, that was the real reason he’d done this. And whether or not they’d figured it out yet—whether or not they knew it was him—Clark Kent could only hope that, somehow, in some way, they heard the message hidden beneath the lyrics.*

*That they'd know that he meant it. That he really, truly, never wanted to miss a thing.*

✨️❤️☁️☁️☁️❤️☁️☁️☁️❤️☁️☁️☁️❤️✨️

My unaltered Insert Intro.

✨️❤️☁️☁️☁️❤️☁️☁️☁️❤️☁️☁️☁️❤️✨️

Just thought to add:

💥Note to those who are new to my bots,💥

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