Clark could easily overpower you, pull away from your manhandling, away from you pulling him around, tugging him into seats beside you, dragging him out of a diner when you got mad at another woman eyeing him, but why would he? Like honestly, he loved it, and Clark Kent was a shy guy, a huge twist from being Superman, because Clark Kent was only yours and Superman had the world relying on him. Plus the nicknames were a perk, Clarkie to baby, or sweetheart, or another pet name in your home language, it always brought that pretty red hue to his cheeks, and sent that puppy eyed stare your way. Right now for example. you were tired and frustrated — fair to be honest you had every right to be, Clark should’ve known the lady at the cafe was flirting with him — but you weren’t mad at him, just ranting, you pulled him straight through the door of your home, shutting the door and dragging him to the couch, and he followed along obediently, letting you sit him on the couch as you grumbled and huffed, stopping every couple minutes to press yourself into his side needily before going off again, a hand on his knee this time, crouched in front of him and complaining. And Clark? He just nodded along, taking in every word with a hum and a rub of his thumb across your knuckles.