What Everyone Knows
Your not-so-tiny two-year crush on Clark Kent is an open secret in the office, hopefully one that he still isn't privy to. However, the holidays have a way of bringing feelings to the surface, regardless of whether you’re ready or not.
▸ PAIRING: Clark Kent x F!Reader ▸ WARNINGS: NSFW 18+, hurt/comfort, fluff, slight miscommunication, holiday party alcohol, eating out against wall, penetration (with condom hurrah!), canonically big d*ck ▸ WORD COUNT: 15.8K ▸ A/N: how i've missed you clark. one of my fave storylines from the movie but with a much happier, sexier ending. special shoutout to @pinksplace clark's irl gf. if you enjoy this, please like / reblog / comment, i truly appreciate every single one! each one makes my entire day <3
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The holiday season comes with its joys and woes. There is magic in the air as you walk down the crowded streets, jazzy Christmas tunes crooning in your ears, the delighted giggles of children chasing after each other in the winter wonderland, and the sheer number of tourists gleefully traipsing down the sidewalks with the kind of enthusiasm that you don’t see from actual Metropolis residents.
While you are swayed by the decor and the uplifting atmosphere, you are also inevitably reminded of the fact that you are incredibly, indubitably, irrevocably single.
It’s not for a lack of trying. You’ve been on the apps, swiping left and right until the system embarrassingly tells you that it’s time to call it a day. You’ve been to singles parties when you have time, meeting more weirdos than not and making a beeline for the exit ten minutes into the event. You’ve even had many of your friends set you up with their friends, but it all ends the same.
At some point, perhaps you have to admit that the problem lies with you.
“It is with you. The problem, I mean,” Lois grumbles under her breath.
You frown at her, displeased that you have to take accountability for your current predicament. The two of you are trudging side by side, you trying to scooch past aggressive fast-walkers and Lois elbowing anyone who gets in her way.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means the reason why you can’t seem to be interested in any of these men you are seeing is because you keep comparing everyone to Clark.”
Oh dear. Embarrassed is an understatement for how you feel every time yet another new person outs you for your crush. While Lois is long-time in-the-know, catching wind of it the moment you turned your googly-eyes on him over two years ago, many others have been quick to point out your obsession with the journalist.
It’s getting to the point where you’re convinced the entire office knows.
“The entire office definitely knows,” Lois deadpans again. Are you saying all these things out loud? “Yes, you are. You wear your heart — and clearly your thoughts — on your sleeve, it’s a wonder you’ve been able to keep this from Clark for so long.”
Pressing your lips together, you shoulder your way through the rotating doors of The Daily Planet and grunt when it doesn’t budge as fast. Lois gives it a good shove on the other side of the glass door so that you can stumble your way through.
“It’s not my fault,” you pout, “also, it can’t be the entire office that knows.”
Cue your conversation with Perry as he summons you straight into his office the moment you walk through the doors after a very nice lunch break. You give a little uh-oh to Lois who only shrugs, nudging you in that direction.
Perry rotates the Rubik’s Cube on his desk. It seems like he hasn’t made much progress since you were last in here. He only toys around with it when he has a critical topic to discuss. You wonder if your benefits run to the end of the year if he fires you right before the holidays; maybe you can finally dub him the real-life Grinch.
“You’re not firing me, are you?” You blurt out. “Because I don’t think I can handle being unemployed over Christmas. I still have to buy gifts for my little cousins, then I also have a couple of nieces and nephews. Gosh, not to mention my mom wants a new toaster oven for—”
“You’re not getting fired,” Perry interrupts with a resigned huff. He presses his fingertips against the pulsing vein on his forehead and you clamp your lips shut. “I have two questions for you. Well, the first one comes with plenty of follow-ups.”
“Shoot.”
Your name rolls off his tongue like a desperate plea. “How long is it that you’ve been working here?”
You do the mental math, counting backwards from this very day, this very minute. “Two years, five months… six days… and, I don’t know, like three hours? We started my first day pretty late because of the fire alarm, so it’s kind of hard to say—”
Perry’s hand in the air silences you. Your lips seal closed again. “And how long have you been in love with Clark Kent, one of our very own?”
A squeak escapes you as you count the hours again in your head. “Um, two years, five months, six days, and an hour and thirty minutes.”
“Thought so,” Perry says with yet another deep sigh. You swear he’s sprouted more white hair since you last saw him yesterday. The rate at which he is aging appears to correlate with the number of conversations he has with you.
“Do you think everybody knows?”
“Yes.” No hesitation. The answer is quick.
“Do you think Clark knows?”
This one he pauses for, but he still responds, “Yes.”
“Well,” you begin again with a sigh. “This is quite troubling then, isn’t it?” Perry only looks at you exasperated. “Why are we discussing my love life — or lack thereof for that matter?”
“Because I need you to get a grip on it. Because I need both you and Kent to work on the senator’s stripper scandal. Draft by tonight. He has most of the research, but I trust you to be more delicate about the situation in the piece.”
You only manage to nod. Working with Clark. Working on a very important, very heavy piece for the Planet. Working until very late. Working just the two of you. You can do this. Sure, it’s not as if you haven’t worked with him before. It’s not as if you want to blurt out how much you love his crooked glasses or his curly hair or his big, beefy chest every time you see him. You just have to remind yourself to shut the hell up whenever that urge arises.
“Are you still breathing?” Perry prompts warily.
“Barely,” you wheeze.
“Well, you better start figuring that out soon. Better yet, invite that man out for a drink, he looks like he never lets loose. Since he’s the exclusive rep for Superman, he has been working nonstop. While you’re at it, you might as well tell him that you want to marry him and have lots of babies with him.”
Your jaw drops as you admonish Perry with heat crawling up your neck. “This has got to be an HR violation on so many levels, I’m going to have a talk with Mel about your nosiness.”
“Yeah, then we can talk about that year-end bonus.”
That promptly shuts you up. Another HR violation! You should keep a notebook on everything Perry’s doing against your career at this point.
“Don’t even think about doing whatever the hell you’re concocting up in that head of yours.”
“How do you know I want lots of babies?”
“You don’t want a lot of babies. You want a lot of babies with him.”
All this time, have you laid all of your cards out on the table? Open for the world to see. It seems everyone has been reading you like a book today. You feel like a novel stripped bare of its cover, down to the spine.
He’s not wrong per se. It’s not like you have a particular fondness towards children; heaven knows you have enough nieces and nephews to drain your savings every year. But thinking about Clark and how soft he is and how gentle, how he could be so, so good with children, has you thinking about all sorts of circumstances in which you and he could raise a whole pen of children.
But first, you must create the child. In order to create the child, you must perform coitus. To perform coitus, your feelings must be reciprocated. Now, this is where it gets challenging — if you want your feelings reciprocated, you need to at least let him know of your feelings.
And that’s something — after two years, five months, six days, and an hour and thirty-five minutes — you cannot even begin to imagine doing.
Luckily, before you can spiral into your bottomless pit of despair, Perry waves you out the door as he returns his attention to the article he’s redlining. “Let Clark know. I want that on my desk by tonight.”
“Tonight? I thought you were joking,” you gasp, “that’s so—”
“Tomorrow is the holiday party, which means nobody will be productive in the office. I want that piece out in two days. Ergo, I need the first draft in my inbox by tonight. It doesn’t matter what time.”
“Can you like just go to sleep, please?”
Perry gives you another pointed look, reminding you that he is in fact a demon that does not need a wink of sleep. He flicks his fingers towards the door like he’s tired of your presence at this point. You have no other choice but to skulk back to your desk with a deep, deep sigh.
Apparently, it’s a deep enough sigh that Clark perks up from his desk and rolls out on his chair towards you. Clark doing this also attracts Lois and Jimmy’s attention. Great, now you have a full party.
While the latter two are only being nosy, wondering what on earth Perry wanted with you, Clark offers a look of genuine concern. The cute puckering of his brows, his ocean blue eyes tinged with a melancholy meant to sympathize with you, and a pout of his lips that makes you want to kiss him silly.
He is in his grey suit today, the one that’s a little oversized even for him. You wonder if it’s a hand-me-down from his dad, because Clark would be the type to have a suit from his dad, even if he is adopted. He pushes his glasses up on his face as he looks at you in earnest.
When he stares at you like that, how are you supposed to not fall in love with him? How is it even possible to resist how adorable he looks when he’s so sweet and—
“So what did Perry want?” Lois’ voice drags you straight out of your dreamy haze, her eyes dancing with an obvious sort of mirth that indicates she knows exactly what you had been thinking about.
“Uhm,” you begin, eyes flicking to Clark, “we need a draft to Perry on the senate strippers by tonight.”
“It was multiple strippers?” Jimmy asks.
“No, it was one senator and two strippers, I think,” Lois corrects, stroking her chin.
“You’re both wrong, it was a senator at the strip club with two and a half strippers,” Clark piles on. “But tonight? Really? We have three hours of daylight left.”
You groan, dropping your head onto the desk with a loud thud, almost missing Jimmy’s question of what the hell is half a stripper. Clark had moved fast in your periphery but not fast enough because you feel the sting of that petulant act on your temple. When you pick up your head again, he’s leaning closer now, having risen to his feet in concern.
His hands move around awkwardly, like he wants to reach out and check on you, but also refuses to cross any lines that could make you uncomfortable. It’s endearing and you can’t help but smile. You can hear Jimmy and Lois’ disgusted groans behind you, but it’s not the first time you’ve ignored them.
“We should be fine. We’ll be fine,” Clark tries to reassure you, a soft smile on his face as he offers up a look of confidence. “It’ll take some time because we need to properly build out the timeline and piece together the interviews, but we should be able to get it done tonight.” He winces, shooting you an apologetic look, “We may need to stay a bit late to sort it all out, so I hope you don’t have any plans tonight?”
You’re about to respond that your calendar is free and open for the taking when it comes to him, the embarrassing words nearly spilling from your lips when Lois thankfully interrupts you. Though, jury is still out whether you should be grateful when she asks, “No hot date tonight?”
Her sharp eyes glimmer as she singsongs the question, each syllable laced with humor that only Jimmy seems to understand. She knows exactly what she’s doing. She knows you have no hot date tonight, nor have you had a hot date in a very long time, because your love life — currently missing, it’s been hiding from you since college — is in shambles. How can you have a hot date when the only hot date you want isn’t even aware that he is the only man that you want to hot date?
Your own gaze flicks over to Clark briefly. A look crosses his keen blue eyes, one that slips in and out too quickly for you to catch. “No, no hot date,” you say almost pitifully. Clark’s face melts just a little bit; the only reason you see it is because you have a tendency to notice everything when it comes to him. Just like you, he tends to wear his heart on his sleeve.
“And you better hope Superman isn’t needed tonight,” Lois notes as she pins Clark with a pointed look.
They share words without saying a thing. A conversation happening right before your eyes without a peep. You’ve always been a little jealous of their bond. They started this job before you did, locking in a couple of years of friendship under their belt before you even knew Clark Kent existed. Rumors say that they even gave the romance thing a go for a bit. It makes you envious that Lois has probably seen and experienced parts of Clark that aren’t even present anymore, parts you wish you had been there to witness firsthand.
Clark pushes his glasses up again, clearing his throat. “I’m sure there are other heroes who can handle any emergencies that come up.”
This time, it’s you who chimes in. “He has been quite busy, hasn’t he? Which means you have also been chasing him all around town. I don’t know how you manage to always catch him. Does Superman have a phone? If he doesn’t, maybe a Nokia, something indestructible.”
A snort escapes his lips. “That’s good advice. I’ll be sure to let him know next time I see him.”
Afterwards, the two of you hunker down at your desks for a while. You work off Clark’s for a bit as you build the timeline together and frame the storyline before you even begin to chip away at the article. He’s patient and gentle as you wring your fingers through your hair in frustration every time a piece doesn’t immediately fall into place. He coaxes you through the stress, kindly offers up solutions without mansplaining anything. The temptation to drop down to one knee and propose to him is extremely strong today.
By the time the giant clock announces that it’s officially seven, the office is deserted. Nobody here gets paid overtime, which means nobody is sticking around past five this close to the holidays. It’s only suckers like you and Clark who get roped into writing ground-breaking, media-stopping pieces a week before Christmas. When you look up from your screen, eyes a little blurry from staring too long at the screen, there is not a single soul left aside from you and Clark.
“This is brutal,” you mutter under your breath. “I’m sorry you got stuck with me on this.”
With a shake of his head, he offers a comforting smile. “Don’t be sorry. Plus, I’m happy that it’s you here with me.”
If you hear that loud thud, that’s the sound of your heart slipping past your insides to your feet. Now that simply isn’t fair. How is it possible that he could say something so sweet so casually? How can he say such sweet nothings with a curl flopping down on his face, his glasses slipping on the bridge of his nose again, and his cheeks flushed a pretty shade of pink?
Even worse, then he smiles and his dimples carve themselves into his cheeks and into your aching, bleeding heart on the ground.
“You’re a sweetheart,” you sigh dreamily.
Clark blushes an even deeper red and turns away to look at his computer, feigning business to avoid looking directly into your eyes. “Are you hungry? Should we grab some food before we continue?”
The two of you end up trekking to a burger joint down the street. A couple of greasy sandwiches, some well-seasoned fries, and the extra dose of caffeine and sugar from your sodas, and you’re both back in business. You’re a lot more peppy now that you have some food in you as you skip all the way back to the office. Clark trails behind you at a safe distance.
Metropolis a week away from Christmas is an absolute dream. Lights have been woven between the leaves and the branches, twinkling like stars within your reach. Storefronts are made festive with splashes of reds and greens with sprinklings of glitter and gold. Winter kisses your skin as you look up at the skyscrapers sparkling above you; the forlorn office workers stuck at their desks, the homebodies cozied up in bed, and all of those in between joined in the camaraderie of an evening days away from the greatest time of year.
These are the times that make you appreciate the city you live in. Barring the surprisingly frequent alien invasions and the occasional billionaire’s attempt to infiltrate foreign powers, the city is a wonderful place to be. It comes alive with its people, with everyone in high spirits, creating a community grounded in the spreading of holiday cheer.
Clark’s long legs allow him to catch up to the cloud you’re drifting on. “You seem much more chipper now,” he murmurs, unexpectedly close enough to your ear.
The proximity catches you off guard, your feet tripping over each other on the very flat sidewalk. Thankfully, Clark is there to save the day when his hand wraps around your bicep, swiftly steadying you. It’s almost dizzying how easy that was for him. How strong he is. You try to ignore the tingling between your legs at that new bit of information.
When you look up to thank him, you realize how close his face is. He seems to register this too and immediately stumbles backwards a little bit to give you some space. His eyes are blown wide in surprise, showcasing more of those green flecks in his blue irises. With his cheeks reddened — partly from the cold and partly from you, he whispers a quick apology.
“You saved me, why are you apologizing?” You poke his arm to show him how unserious you really are, despite the fact that your heartbeat has skyrocketed to astronomical levels. Your doctor’s going to want to have a serious conversation with you on your next annual about your blood pressure.
“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he says sweetly.
Just when you think you’re done falling more in love with him, he manages to prove you wrong. “You could never make me uncomfortable,” you honestly respond and he seems encouraged by that. “And to answer what you were saying earlier about my mood. I was just thinking, what a time to be alive. We may be miserable right now while Perry is probably at home with his family drinking hot cocoa, while we’re chugging root beer to stay alive, but at least we are getting things done. In a city like this, where we want to believe the good in people, we can be the change we want to see. People put a lot of trust in journalism to bring justice to those who need it. So, in spite of our current suffering, we’re at least doing something good. Something worthwhile. These are nights where I question whether this is really what I want to do with the rest of my life, but times like these also remind me why this job is part of the reason why I get out of bed every morning.”
You look up at him again when he doesn’t say anything for several beats and you find that he’s already looking at you, except his eyes have thawed into puddles of blue. Like a still lake amidst the chaos. Clark has always been beautiful, there’s no doubt about it, but something about the look of awe on his face has your heart stuttering against your ribcage.
“You have a lot of faith in the world, in people,” he says quietly. It’s a statement that presents itself as a question. Why do you have a lot of faith in the world?
“We have a lot of cynics around us, it’s nice to have some blissful ignorance around,” you smirk.
“Not ignorance, just… hopeful,” Clark corrects. “The world is in a tough place enough as it is, so it’s nice that you still hold onto some of that positivity.”
“Well, some of us have to,” you grin, nudging him with your shoulder.
The next two hours are spent pulling all the puzzle pieces together, working side by side, elbows bumping when you draw a little too close, sharing shy glances before you keep moving. Once you glue all the parts together, it’s practically a perfect picture ready to be delivered to Perry. The last period you type has you finally slumping back in your chair, sighing at this document and that blasted blinking line.
When you finally hit that send button, it feels like Christmas is officially back on. You’ve been released from the shackles of capitalism and justice — at least for the remainder of the night.
“Alright, I don’t want to spend another minute in this place. I think I’m starting to hear voices and it’s Perry’s, which is not a voice I want to be hearing at ten.” The echo of your boss’ words in your ear has you shuddering.
“It’s quite late. How are you getting home?” Clark frowns at the clock then at you as he slips the strap of his bag over his shoulder.
“I’m not too far. A fifteen-minute walk from here so I’ll just do that. That burger really did a number on me so some fresh air will do me some good.” Groaning, you give your stomach a little apologetic pat. The indigestion is already kicking in; grease is never a good combination with a whole lot of sitting down.
Clark’s forehead creases and you resist the urge to smooth it down with the pad of your thumb. “That’s not very safe. I can walk you back.”
That has you shaking your head aggressively. “No, no. Don’t even worry about it. The city is safe—” he raises an eyebrow, “—well, safer from your day-to-day crime. I can’t predict extraterrestrial attacks but statistically speaking, they hit more often in the afternoon, which is the perfect time for us to be sent home for safety by the way. Then you don’t have to worry about whether you should be coming back to the office. Whereas morning attacks are the worst! The least they can do is launch an invasion when I’m still at home, that way I can stay in bed.”
Clark blinks at you and that is when it sinks in how crazy you sound. Humiliation sprawls fast through your entire being, like a disease that swallows you whole. Instead of addressing whatever nonsense you just spewed, you tuck your work bag to your side.
Clearing your throat, you continue, “Anyways, it’s a short walk. I do it all the time, even at night, so I’ll be perfectly fine. Pinky promise.”
He looks far from convinced but he doesn’t say a word so you assume he relents. The two of you step out into the brisk outdoors, the wind whipping you straight in the face as you wave at him one last time and begin heading out in your direction.
It becomes apparent that Clark is not letting the matter go when he starts walking alongside you. Not behind you, not even trying to hide in plain sight. No, he is walking right next to you.
You stop on the side of the sidewalk and purse your lips. “Clark Kent.”
That was a mistake because then Clark lets your full name roll off his tongue in the same tone, except his voice is deeper, sexier, and he has a ridiculously handsome smile on his face that you just want to smooch.
Your cheeks feel warm despite the cold. “Please. I promise I’ll be fine. I’ll even message you when I’m back.”
“You’re not too far from where I live so we’re headed in the same direction.”
Narrowing your eyes at him, you shake your head. “First of all, you’re a horrible liar. Never try to lie again. Better yet, I’m never telling you my secrets because you’d give them away in an instant. Second of all, how would you know where I live, stalker?” You tease, giving him a firm jab to his chest.
His very firm chest. His very firm chest that doesn’t budge a bit even with the force of power you press into it.
You almost squeak out an oh no out loud, because you are in very big trouble with this new piece of evidence logged away into the Clark file in your head.
Clark steps forward, your finger turning into your palm flattening on his chest. Another oh no sits on the tip of your tongue when he smiles softly at you. His hand wraps around yours, the heat engulfing your cool skin.
“Let me do this for you,” he says and his voice is gentle, “it’s the least I could do.”
You hate to be an inconvenience but Clark isn’t looking at you like one, isn’t treating you like one. It’s incredibly sweet of him. It’s an incredibly Clark thing to do.
So you cave. Clark Kent isn’t someone you say no to. “Only if it’s not too much trouble then.”
“I don’t think it could ever be troublesome to keep you safe,” he says right back, doe eyes and cheeks flushed. You wonder how he can say such sweet things with a straight face, but you suppose it comes naturally to him. As easy as breathing.
He’s always the most helpful one around the office. Even when Steve is being a pain in the butt, he still helps him write his articles. Even when the mail room girls are only batting their eyelashes at Jimmy, he still helps them reach the highest shelves. Even when Lois is giving him — pardon your French — shit, he always takes it in stride.
The golden ray of sunshine in this otherwise very gloomy, very dreary office.
As you begin walking again, you try to keep him entertained, chattering away about all the nothing going on in your life. Clark doesn’t seem to mind; in fact, he seems intrigued. He asks you detailed questions, laughs at your poor attempts at humor, and validates you before you even ask whether he wants to hear all this.
When a comfortable silence settles in between you, Clark clears his throat, which piques your interest.
“So, uhm, are you still… dating?” He starts, the weight of awkwardness sitting on every word.
Your mouth dries. That was unexpected. Out of all the things you expect him to ask, your dating life certainly isn’t top of the list. You’re not entirely sure how you could even begin to formulate a response. On one hand, it’s worth stating that you are still dating to show some interest in him, hinting at the possibility if that is the direction he wants to take it in. On the other hand, the number of dates you have been on and failed to convert into a relationship is almost too embarrassing to say.
While you’re stuck in your mind on a simple yes or no question, Clark takes this as you being offended, so he quickly retracts. “Sorry, I don’t mean to pry. I know this is the sort of thing you probably talk about with Lois. You don’t have to answer. I don’t know—”
“Yes,” you blurt out, “I mean no. Yes, I am still dating. No, you’re not prying.”
“Oh.”
“It’s just— it’s complicated.”
Clark stares at you curiously. “Your relationship status is complicated?”
“No, no. I am very much single.” Well, put your foot in your mouth, why don’t you? What a sorry thing to say in that very moment. It’s not that you’re embarrassed that you’re single, it just sounds like you’re throwing yourself a little pity party that Clark never signed up to attend. “I mean, I am… not seeing anyone seriously at the moment. But I am… looking, I suppose. It just hasn’t been working out so well.”
“Why do you say that?”
Because of you. Because every single person I date cannot even begin to compare to you. Because when I go on dates, I sometimes see you in the background, at the same place, like you’re reminding me that I’m still in love with you, and I’m wasting my time with all these other people. Because you make me think that I have a chance with you.
“I suppose I’m a believer in love at first sight. Cheesy, I know. So when that doesn’t happen or it doesn’t work out, it can be discouraging.”
Clark’s lips form a circle in surprise. “Have you ever fallen in love at first sight?”
Your lips twitch into a ghost of a smile. “Yes, once.”
“How did that go?”
“I haven’t quite worked it out yet,” you respond vaguely, then quickly add, “and right now, I just haven’t found anyone else my type.”
Clark looks even more engaged now, pressing closer. “What’s your type?”
You, you almost say. “Haven’t found my type either,” you smoothly say.
“Oh,” he deflates, “well, I hope you find someone you like soon.”
You want to grab him and scream that you already have found him, and it is him. Instead, you say, “I don’t even know how to start with that.”
“Well, maybe you don’t have to look too far. Sometimes, what you’re looking for can be right in front of you.”
There is a ringing in your ears and you can’t tell if it’s in your mind anymore. His words swirl in your head, words rearranging themselves as if you’re trying to interpret another meaning from the combination of letters. It almost sounds like he’s— but it can’t be, because how could it be— there’s no way, right? Right? You must be hearing things.
By the time you reach your tiny townhouse, your brain has fizzled out into ashes. The adrenaline from the day has worn off and this conversation has exerted the last bit of your energy. Clearly, you need to get your body, ears, and head checked if you’re starting to think Clark Kent could even be remotely interested in you.
“Well, this is me,” you say weakly. “I hope your travel back home isn’t too far. I really hope I didn’t inconvenience you too much.”
“Not an inconvenience, trust me. I liked walking you home,” Clark simply says, a small smile playing on his lips. “We don’t get to chat as much like this in the office. Just the two of us, I mean.”
Drat, there’s that silly little thing again — hope. So you play it off with a smile. “That’s because our colleagues are incredibly nosy and Perry would have our butts if he sees us slacking off for too long, probably threaten our year-end bonus,” you sigh with a shake of your head.
“And we barely make enough,” Clark huffs a laugh.
“Tell me about it. Capitalism wins again,” you smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Clark. Thanks again for walking me home.”
“Thank you for the company. See you tomorrow.”
–
The great, big unfortunate thing about your teensy (read: massive) crush on Clark is that everyone knows. Everyone in the office is aware that you have heart eyes for the journalist across the room from you. It is apparent in the way the two of you always eat lunch together with everyone else. It is obvious in the way you choose to sit on his desk when you’re idling around and making conversation with everyone else.
Keeping that in mind, this crush of yours should be plain as day to the man of the hour himself. It can be debated, of course; perhaps Clark wouldn’t be as immodest as to consider that one of his colleagues is absolutely head over heels for him. However, assuming that Clark is aware — as previously stated by your dear old boss — and given the fact that he has not indicated in any way whatsoever that he is interested in pursuing something with you, there can only be one conclusion.
He’s just not that into you.
And that’s fine. Your heart can break into millions of shards, but it’s fine. Rejection is a part of life and you just have to suck it up and move on.
If your attraction is not something that Clark plans to reciprocate, you simply have to deal with it. He is free to like whoever he likes, even if it’s not you. He is free to be nice to whoever he wants to be nice to, which is apparently everyone. You’re not exactly remarkable for getting special treatment for Clark; if everyone gets special treatment, then is it really still special?
But that’s the thing about hope. Even if you don’t feed it, even if you don’t nurture it or turn to it, the slightest bit of light is all it takes to keep it going.
Like yesterday, for example. Clark’s words cling to your sleep-addled brain in the morning as you drift listlessly around your kitchen to prepare your first dose of caffeine. They stick with you even as you do your short journey into the office, passersby ramming into you in your befuddled state and you don’t even have it in you to care.
By the time you reach the office, you’ve fully convinced yourself that you were concocting the implication of his words. He was just being nice. He has never otherwise shown any interest in you, so why would he now?
The office is teeming with life. There’s a giddy buzzing in the air, like bees in a massive field of flowers. Even Lois is smiling — smiling! What a time to be alive. There are staff members beginning to put up decor on the walls, strips of garlands hanging from the ceilings, lights strung in patterns high above. While many newcomers were skeptical about hosting a holiday party where they work, more than a handful of you have seen the masterful craft of the event planners. They are experts in turning this dreary space into a holiday hurrah.
By the time it hits four, Perry is well aware that nobody is working anymore. Everyone’s already fussing about what to wear, when to get here, whether to pregame (they shouldn’t, it’s an open bar). You and Lois have agreed to go back to yours first to get ready, much to her vexation. She isn’t interested in dressing up but you convinced her that it’s the one time she gets to actually dress up and have fun. When else in her life would she be able to have a nice, drunk, adult prom?
You tell her the same schtick every year. It works every year. It really is the open bar that does it for her. Also, the opportunity to see her colleagues do the most embarrassing things that she can then bring up year-round until the next party, where she will replace those stories with new material.
You wind your scarf around your neck as Lois leans towards your desk, asking if you’re ready to go. Jimmy is twiddling his thumbs, trying to avoid making direct eye contact with the mailroom girls who keep giggling at him. Clark perks up when he sees the two of you stand.
“Are you leaving already?”
“We’re going to go get ready at mine,” you grin, “I’m going to put Lois in a dress.”
“You will not,” she huffs. “I let her think she is so she’ll drop it.”
You harrumph. “Bold of you to think you can resist my feminine wiles. I will get you in that dress.”
Clark chuckles softly at the two of you before shifting his gaze to you. “What will you be wearing?”
As you open your mouth, Lois wraps her arms around one of your own, which promptly shuts you up. “That will be a surprise. But I will say that I have seen the dress and I know she will look ravishing.”
The compliment has you looking sheepishly away. “I should be flattered that you have that much faith in me, but honestly, I’m too embarrassed to even look at you right now.”
“Oh, come on, don’t be shy. Clark, tell her.”
You see Clark jolt from the corner of your eye, his bright eyes shining in surprise. You can see more of the blue when his eyes open up like that. His lips fumble over the words as he tries to respond. “Right. Yes. Of course. I’m sure you will. Look ravishing that is.”
Lois is the worst. How are you supposed to act normal when Clark calls you ravishing? Or at least expects you to look it. Now the pressure is on.
“Alright, let’s get going before you pop a blood vessel,” Lois smirks. “We’ll see you both later!”
Thankfully, Lois manages to drag your frozen self out of there. You feel rude for not responding to Clark, but at the same time, how can you even begin to form words with your mouth when your tongue feels like lead inside it? Lois pokes fun at you the entire fifteen-minute walk home, which reminds you that you also last did this walk in this direction with Clark the previous night.
“Clark walked you home?”
You wince, “Yes. I insisted he didn’t have to but he was really thoughtful.”
“Yep, that’s Clark for you. Thoughtful. Completely selfless. Not a single bone in his body is doing things just because he really wants to do it for his own personal gain.”
“What are you on about?”
“Nothing. Shall we?”
Because Lois absolutely hates your classic Top 40 pop songs, you put that exact playlist on loop on full blast the entire time you’re primping yourself. This is the one time every year you allow yourself to put in a bit more time on yourself. Work is work, and it’s hard to care about your appearance when you’re about to overdose on caffeine, jump over walls, chase down bad guys, all for the sake of a story. You opt for some professionalism but ultimately comfort.
Tonight? Tonight, you choose pain because beauty is pain.
The swipe of your red lipstick, the dusting of your eyeshadow with some glimmer, the sharp strike of your eyeliner, the thickening and curling of your lashes. You even do your hair, which usually sits in a nest all year. When you look at the clock, you realize that you’ve perhaps spent a little too much time getting yourself ready.
“Shit, Lois—”
“Don’t worry, you know most people arrive fashionably late. Steve, less on the fashionable, more on the drunk.”
You groan as you eye your dress on the hanger. “Okay, let me just slip into this and we can get going.”
As you’re struggling to twist your arms at odd angles to figure out how to zip up your dress, Lois swoops in to save the day. Her fingers brush yours off as she drags the metal up until it reaches your lower back.
It’s a bold dress. One you never thought you would wear but one that had you falling in love the moment you set your eyes on it. So maybe you lied to Clark — you’ve fallen in love at first sight twice.
“If Clark doesn’t sweep you off your feet tonight, I can think of a dozen other people ready to do so,” Lois smiles, giving you the surge of confidence you need.
By the time you shove Lois into her own dress and spritz on your favorite perfume, the two of you are sufficiently an hour past the starting time. You hope Perry hasn’t done his annual speech yet; he may really fire you if you miss out on it. The taxi pulls up outside The Daily Planet and the two of you slip and squeeze past the throngs of people to get to the front door.
The venue is a wonder the second you step in. The ceilings twinkle with a smattering of lights and silvery strands that shimmer under the lights. A disco ball hangs up high, speckling the dance floor with shifting spotlights. The DJ has the crowd going with upbeat melodies, throwbacks to a better time. The bar is expectedly where most people are concentrated still waiting on their drinks.
Your eyes immediately land on Clark who also finds you when you step through the doors. Your heart jumps to your throat at the sight of him. He looks devastatingly handsome with an actually fitted navy suit that brings out the blue in his eyes. Even from this distance, you can see those sapphire irises shine. His broad shoulders stretch out the velvet fabric and his fingers are delicate as he fixes his cuff links.
You thought the black suit last year was bad enough. You actually whimper with this one.
“Alright, before you turn into a pumpkin looking at Clark all night, let’s drop off our coats and go in.” Lois tugs you in the direction of coat check.
When the thick fabric slides off your shoulders, the cool air immediately engulfs your body. You give a little shiver as the air conditioning slides a breeze over your bare shoulders. Lois pulls you back towards the front and Clark’s eyes land on you again.
Only this time, you can see the smile wipe off his face, his mouth opening, and the heat of his gaze traveling over you.
You look like you’ve been poured into this stunning red dress. A ruby number that hugs your curves in all the right places. The sweetheart neckline emphasizes a delicious, yet still work-appropriate, amount of cleavage. While the dress falls all the way to your feet, nearly hiding your matching blood-red stilletos, you can feel the air kissing your spine where the dress is held together by thin strings going criss-cross over your exposed back.
Your heart is hammering against your chest as the two of you slip through the crowd to find Clark and Jimmy. When they’re in sight, you realize that Clark’s been staring at the two of you this entire time. His expression of pure shock has not moved; instead, it only deepens when you approach.
However, as you come near them, Cat steps in and wrangles the two of you into a hug. “Oh my god, you ladies look amazing. Lois, you in a dress. Stellar as always. You — my god — look at this dress.” She even twirls you around which makes you giggle.
You swear you hear someone inhale sharply behind you and, when you finally go full circle and see Clark again, he looks like he’s been struck by lightning.
As Cat slinks back into the crowd, Lois elbows you gently, smirking.
Clark opens his mouth but, before he can utter a word, Jimmy is clamping his hands around Lois’ arm. “Fuck, that girl — Jenny, Jessie — keeps following me around. Lois, come on. We need to escape to the dance floor before she comes back.”
“You’re going to make me dance to this song of all things?” Lois gapes.
“Look, this is his new song. He’s doing his best. In terms of modern rock legends Jake—” Jimmy’s voice blends into the background as he drags Lois off.
Leaving you and Clark alone.
You laugh softly, gaze following after them. While Lois begins to dance, Jimmy is still throwing fearful looks over his shoulder. “You know, for a man who’s been chased down by ladies all his life, he’s still surprisingly inept at dealing with them,” you huff with a shake of your head.
Unfortunately, you don’t hear a peep from Clark so you turn back to look at him. His pupils are blown wide, shrinking the blues in his eyes to a thin ring. He only hums when you turn to face him, lifting his eyes to meet yours. “Hm, yeah.”
“You okay? You seem a little out of it.”
“I was just thinking about how Lois is always right.”
You cock an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“You do look ravishing.”
Your mouth suddenly feels like sandpaper. Your breath catches in your throat, constricting your lungs, as he appraises you gently; however, the heat in his eyes is anything but. You can’t seem to find the words to respond to him. While Clark has always been kind, never has he ever complimented you so blatantly. Ravishing.
“I—” you stop, finding yourself at a loss for words, which is embarrassing for a writer, by the way. “Thank you?”
Clark laughs, shoulders shaking as his dimples appear again. It feels like a threat against your life now. “You’re very welcome.” Then he glances at the bar and at Jimmy and Lois again. “Did you want a drink?”
“Um, I think I’m good for now.” You’re already loose-lipped enough as it is, alcohol would not be beneficial when you’re both tongue-tied and rambling at Clark Kent. Who knows what you might say next? I love you, marry me, let’s have babies?
“Dance then?”
His hand appears in your line of sight before you can formulate a response. When you tilt your face up at him, he looks at you with hope brimming in his eyes. He doesn’t have to ask twice as you slide your hand into his, feeling his fingers wrap around yours. “Let’s.”
Once your initial tension melts away and your heart rate returns to normal, you’re able to enjoy yourself a little bit more in the crowd. Perry does his speech, slurring his words only slightly as he announces how proud he is of this team; gasps ripple around the room because Perry can be proud of us? Perhaps your job is secure as long as your boss gets his fix of wine. Jimmy continues to evade Jenny or Jessie — or both — by swooping in to dance with you and Lois and other people he deems to be safe from his supposed magnetic charm. Lois even begins enjoying herself when she has a few flutes of champagne, and a shot the bartender snuck her.
You and Clark — well, the two of you dance together in the beginning and it was a very nice dance. Clark has some old-school moves that he pulls out, ones that have you giggling. He smiles when he sees that. However, it doesn’t take long before you’re getting scooped away by one of your other drunken colleagues. Clark looks panicked at first but you reassure him with a wink.
The hours begin to blur together. Wines and champagne float across the floor, the music gets increasingly louder as the overhead lights are dimmed to bring in the neon flashes across the floor. You’re only a couple of glasses in, finding yourself sandwiched between Lois, who is now screaming about the patriarchy at Jimmy, and Steve who is talking your ear off about the NFL playoff predictions. You wince when he starts getting a little too excited about his favorite team and spit lands on your lap.
“Steve,” Clark’s voice cuts through the noise and you look up to find him looking down at Steve with a polite smile. You note the tightness around his eyes. “Perry wants to see you, said something about the front page for the Sunday edition.”
Steve is on his feet in a blink of an eye, launching himself in the big boss’ direction. While he’s distracted, Clark takes that opportunity to extend his hand. With a grateful smile, you take it and let him whisk you away to the dance floor again.
Just in time for a slow song to start.
He seems as taken aback as you to hear the song selection. While there are still a few people who rock side to side leisurely, you’re not sure if you are in the stage of friendship with Clark to be platonically dancing to one of the most romantic songs ever written.
Surprisingly, Clark scratches his cheek and clears his throat. “Well, if you don’t mind…” He once again offers up his hand, and you once again are in no place to deny him.
One of his hands takes yours and the other settles comfortably on your hip. You let yours be swallowed up in his and the other rests on his broad shoulder. The music delicately guides your movements slow and steady across the floor. A soft, invisible force caressing and pushing you close together.
Clark smells of old books, where the pages are worn but well-loved. You catch a hint of spice and pine, a woodsy combination that gives you a sense of peace. You don’t realize you’re actively sniffing him until you look up at him to say something and he’s already staring at you in amusement.
Crap. How embarrassing. “You… smell nice.” Real smooth. You’re a real Michael Jackson.
His laugh is genuine and deep. The corners of his eyes crinkle in such an endearing way that you can’t help the way your lips stretch into a wide grin. Then he does something that nearly gives you whiplash. Clark ducks his head. Low. Low enough that his nose grazes the back of your ear, brushing past the loose tendrils of your hair.
You nearly choke with how quickly you gasp. Clark inhales deep, so close that you can feel his lips practically on your collarbones. Your mind spins from the proximity, from the whiff you get of his cologne, from the ghost of his breath on your skin. It’s dizzying how much this man has an effect on you. A predicament and a cure all at once.
Then he pulls back but the remnants of the spell linger. Your mind is barely conscious when he shoots you with those dimples. “You do too. That scent’s my favorite on you.”
“It is?” You squeak.
This time, at least it’s his turn to be appalled by what he just confessed. He blinks rapidly and clears his throat, shifting his glance to the wall. “Uhm, yes. I mean, you always smell good. You have different perfumes. But this one — it’s, uhm, very nice.”
“Right, thank you,” is all you manage to choke out.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I realize it’s—”
“No,” you quickly interject, “no, you didn’t. I was just surprised that you noticed.”
“Why?”
You lick your lips, drawing his eyes to them, as you tilt your head. “Why am I surprised that you noticed?” He gives a short nod, eyes curious. “I guess, I just— I don’t know. It’s not something I expected you to pay attention to.”
Clark seems to mull this over for a moment, quiet as he looks away to think. Then his gaze are back on you and it’s melted like molten lava. Warm and gooey. “I think I notice too much when it comes to you. More than you might think.”
Your heart nearly slips past your ribs at his words. You don’t want to get your hopes up, but at the same time, how could you possibly hear it in any other way? If this is your delusional mind playing tricks, then maybe you’ll give in just this time. One night to let yourself believe that maybe Clark Kent could feel the same way you do. One night to let yourself believe that maybe Clark Kent could be yours.
“Did you want to stay?” Clark’s voice is barely above a whisper.
There’s a glimmer of hope in his eyes, or what you believe it to be, when he asks the question. Your heart skips a beat or two. You might’ve entirely gone into cardiac arrest but you’re still standing on your two feet, so that can’t be.
“No, did you?”
He shakes his head. “Can I walk you home?”
You smile and nod.
“I’ll get your coat and we can get going. I’ll let you say goodbye to the others if you want.”
What a gentleman. You practically swoon at his words as you hand over your coat check ticket. He flashes you one last charming smile before disappearing into the crowd.
You’re bidding your farewells to everyone who all groan and call you a party pooper for leaving so early and missing the after party. Only Lois seems to clock what you’re trying to say and she’s immediately wiggling her eyebrows at you. “She has her own after party to attend. Be smart! Be responsible! Be… you, basically!” She shouts out, wine sloshing precariously in her glass.
With one final shake of your head, you throw them a smile and head towards the entrance. Clark is still nowhere in sight so you twiddle your thumbs for a little bit in the silence. The music inside is muffled the moment the doors closed, which is a bit of a relief. You didn’t realize how exhausted you were until you stepped away, your feet tingling in protest.
Footsteps approaching have you looking up, a smile on your face thinking it’s Clark. It dims quickly when you see that it is in fact not. His name is… Danny, you think. He’s part of Steve’s team, which means you don’t interact much because sports isn’t typically breaking news. Until someone breaks something.
He greets you warmly, cheeks flushed from the drinks and the heat inside. “You enjoying yourself?”
Ah, and the small talk begins. This is not a conversation you will particularly enjoy. It’s stilted, mainly because you don’t know him that well. On top of that, he keeps inching closer and closer, oscillating from side to side. You hate the idea of making things awkward so you don’t back away and press on a smile that makes your cheeks ache.
“Hey, listen, I know we don’t get to talk much in the office, but you took my breath away tonight. I mean—” his hand waves to gesture the length of you, and you have to resist a wince at the blatant objectification, “—do you want to go on a date with me sometime?”
Crap. Crap. Crap, crap, crap. This time, you really can’t escape your flinch. It’s one thing to know your colleague is interested and ask you out (example: your crush on Clark and it would be very clear that you would say yes if Clark were to propose a long marriage to you); it’s another to shoot your shot and end up with an airball (you assume he would get this reference). However, this is a sensitive situation because you don’t want to make it tricky in the office as well, so you can’t just say absolutely not. So instead you say—
“Actually, I’ve recently decided that I’m not really interested in dating anyone right now. With work so busy and life being… life, I figured it’s safer that way. Thank you though, I’m really flattered,” you force out the last part with a sympathetic smile. You never know how men will deal with rejection, so you may as well soften the blow.
Also, this guy is another tally on the list of why you don’t think your adoration for Clark is that obvious, because why would he ask you out otherwise?
“Ah, that’s a damn shame,” he whistles low. “Missed my slot, huh?”
Yes, that’s definitely why. Not the fact that you barely remember his name and that you’ve been pining over the six-foot-four cute journalist for over two years.
“Well, have a good night.” With that, he wanders back into the party, leaving you once again in the quiet.
“Ready?”
You nearly curse when you jump, the voice creeping up behind you. Clark is standing right there, your coat open in his hands. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t see you there.”
“No worries, sorry for the wait. There was a line to get the coats. It seems everyone thought about leaving at the same time.”
“Thank you for getting my coat,” you say as you slip your arms through and he drapes it over your shoulders. When you turn to face him, a look flickers across his eyes. One too fast for you to catch. “Are you okay?”
He blinks away the impassive look in his eyes and smiles warmly at you. “Yes, let’s go.”
The walk home is silent. Quiet in a way that’s comfortable, a weight that settles in nicely between close friends. Your fingers are entwined in gloves behind your back as you marvel at the city lights at this hour. There’s tension woven into the air, like things left unsaid that manifest in incoherent whispers in the wind. Clark appears deep in thought when you look at him, a slight pinch between his brows, a tightness on the corners of his lips.
He doesn’t say a word though. His thoughts receded into himself.
When you arrive at your door, you turn to look at him with a nervous smile. It’s not like you’re expecting anything. Clark is a gentleman, you’re sure, but you’re also hoping that he’s the type to pin you up against the wall and make you forget your own name. Perhaps it’s the weaning effects of the alcohol in your veins, but you’re feeling a little bold when Clark hasn’t said anything.
He’s rocking on the balls of his feet, seeming as antsy as you are. You? Well, you just want to spend a little more time with him. Get him to stay longer — whatever the reason may be.
So you bite the bullet, licking your lips one last time to stop your voice from breaking. “Would you like to come in—” you pause, trying to come up with some reasonable reason as to why he would stay, “—for wine?”
Clark only looks mildly taken aback. For a moment, his lips part and you can see his tongue press against his teeth on the brink of a yes. Unfortunately, something in his brain seems to click because then he visibly deflates, his eyes flatten and you think that perhaps you’ve mistaken his response. Maybe what he meant to say was— “No, I don’t actually drink.”
Oh, well, so that’s not a full no, right? “Oh, uhm, I have tea as well. Or soda. Or… water,” you grimace at the last one. Why would you offer him that? He has that at home. What a silly thing to bring up.
His throat moves as he swallows, eyes shifting to the ground. “Perhaps not tonight.”
Your heart falls hard and fast, splattering across the ground. That last little bit of hope evaporating into the wind. Stupid, stupid! Now, you’ve gone ahead and mucked things up, haven’t you? Clark was just being a perfectly nice man who did a perfectly nice thing, and you completely warped it in your mind into a different situation.
He was probably only looking for an out from the party and you were a good excuse. The walk home was a bonus for you.
Clark — the sweetheart that he is — must’ve seen something on your face because he quickly adds, “I’ll see you Monday at work though?”
“Right, work,” you cough and force out a smile. “I’ll see you then. Thanks for walking me home.”
For a brief second, something in his eyes makes you think he may change his mind. Or maybe it’s the way his feet stay rooted to the concrete. But then he seems to shake himself out of it and he throws you one last smile before turning on his heel and disappearing into the night.
Happy holidays, huh?
–
Throughout the entirety of your career, you have admittedly never experienced the Sunday scaries. It isn’t as if you were particularly excited about going to work, but you weren’t exactly worried about going through the motions of generating income either. The Daily Planet has incredible people and you’ve made a good number of friends who make the days a little less painful. Stories keep you busy, there is always something to chase.
So Monday should be like any other day. Well, it should have been. If it weren’t for the fact that you opened your big mouth and absolutely humiliated yourself in front of the love of your life.
When your eyes open bright and early that very first weekday, fear of all things sits in the pit of your stomach. It festers and grows even as you go through the motions of getting ready for the day. Brushing your teeth, picking out what to wear, packing your bag, and making that walk.
The dread sinks in hard and fast as you go through the rotating doors. Stanley, the security guard, greets you warmly, tells you good morning, and you almost ask him what’s so good about it. The worries plagued you all weekend and it shows in the shadows under your eyes, no matter how much you tried to conceal it.
Lois takes one look at you and concern takes over her expression. “You—” she stops herself, “did you get enough sleep?”
Maybe you’re a little crabby, but you only shoot her a look. It eventually does melt to an apologetic one but for now you can only shake your head. “Not really,” you say as you drop your bag on your desk, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Feel a migraine coming.”
“You should just take the day off.”
“No, I have to finish up that fluff piece on holiday decorations.”
“That’s hardly breaking news. Cat could take over for that.”
With a deep sigh, you once again shake your head. “No, I think I need work to distract me today. I don’t want to be sitting alone at home with my own thoughts.”
Lois’ lips press together into a thin line. “Did something happen? I thought, on Friday, you know with…”
“Don’t ask,” you blanch, “I embarrassed myself enough as is. I don’t think I can look him in the eye.”
“What do you—”
Her words get cut off when Clark strolls in and she promptly clamps her mouth shut. Even if your crush is allegedly very obvious to everyone in the office, Lois still respects your privacy and your need to pretend like it isn’t. You appreciate it more now than ever, especially when Clark smiles warmly at Lois and the look on his face falters when he sees you.\
Way to go, pat yourself on the back for ruining what little chance you already had.
“Morning,” he murmurs to both of you before going to his desk.
You’re about to fling yourself out the window.
Luckily, Perry does keep you busy when he stacks another assignment on your desk. Before you can even work on your piece due tonight, he tasks you to help Cat with a piece of breaking news in the entertainment sector. This means you have to turn down Lois’ offer to grab lunch together with Jimmy and Clark as you usually do.
You don’t look at Clark when you respond to Lois. “Sorry, I should get this done. I’ll just eat lunch at my desk.”
“Okay, I’ll grab you something then?” Lois offers kindly and you nod at her gratefully.
When you do need a mental break from working (in other words, you need to just chat about nothing for a bit), you resist the urge to plop yourself down on Clark’s desk as you usually do. Instead, you swerve and head straight for Lois. She doesn’t seem to mind, but her gaze does dart between you and Clark even as she’s talking.
You avoid looking at Clark the entire day. If you see that sympathetic expression on his face again, one that pities your unfortunate unrequited crush on him, that may be your last straw before you burst into tears. The last thing you want is to make things unnecessarily tense in the office. It’s not his fault that he doesn’t reciprocate your feelings. It’s not his fault that you made him uncomfortable by inviting him in for a drink.
You really need to get it together.
At the end of the day, after everyone else has left, it’s surprisingly only you and Clark again in the office. Your mind runs through all the upcoming deadlines and you didn’t think he had anything that had him working late today, perhaps he’s beginning his next one proactively.
“Are you working late?”
His voice has you jolting back, chair rolling and banging against the corner of your desk. The impact on your back is immediate and you wince.
“Gosh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he drops to his knees, hands flailing in the air like he’s looking for something to help with. His beautiful blue eyes are wide, shaped into concern when your face morphs in pain again. “Sorry, sorry. Are you okay?”
“Yep,” you laugh, “just being silly. You didn’t do anything wrong, don’t worry.” Clark doesn’t seem convinced and stares at you again, searching your face. You have to smile reassuringly at him before he even softens just a tad. “I’m fine, promise. And, to answer your question, I have to wrap this up and get it out to Perry so it can go out at midnight.”
“The holiday decor one?”
You’re a little surprised he knows, but you nod anyway.
“The piece with Cat turned out okay? You seem to have a lot on your plate.”
“Oh, yeah. It’s no big deal. Cat’s thing needed to go out today, so I didn’t mind helping out. Everyone has been super busy.”
Clark’s lips pinch, jaw clenching. “Yes, but Perry’s been giving you a lot of the heavy stuff. He should ease up.”
“Clark, I’m fine. I promise. You know I can tough it out against Perry,” you smirk.
Having a normal conversation like this is nice. Perhaps there is some hope for you yet; not hope for romance because that one’s buried six feet under now. But at least hope that you can salvage this friendship and your working relationship.
“I can stay, wait for you to wrap up so I can walk you home.”
Your protest is immediate. “No, no, please. You don’t have to. I won’t be much longer and it’s really not that late.” Again, he doesn’t look swayed by your words. “I promise I won’t leave too late. If I get scared, I’ll give you or someone else who lives nearby a call. Or I’ll call a cab. Don’t worry.”
“Call me,” he says quickly. “If you need someone to walk you home, call me. I’ll be here.”
It’s incredibly unfair that, even after he so clearly rejects you, he’s still being so kind. But that’s just who he is, isn’t it? He can’t help himself. Always wanting to take care of people. Your heart aches at the thought and you can only give him a grateful smile. “Thanks, Clark.”
Clark pauses one last time, checking your face for any sign that you might change your mind. When he doesn’t find it, he rises to his feet. “I’ll see you tomorrow then?”
“See you tomorrow, Kent,” you grin, doing your best to convince him.
“Have a good night.”
When his footsteps finally subside and you’re left in the quiet again, you finally let out a long exhale. You lean back in your chair, the joints creaking, and press the balls of your palm against your eyes.
Don’t cry. It’s always been a far-fetched crush anyway. Clark is kind to everyone and you took that kindness and twisted it into a hope for something more. You couldn’t help yourself from falling for the gentle giant, but it’s not on him to manage your feelings.
So you swallow back the tears and toughen up your heart. After all, you still have work to do.
Once you finish up your final words of the arguments of tinsels versus garlands and click the send button, you release a sigh of relief. What a Monday. You’re ready to get the heck out of here. You quickly pack up your bag and head towards the exit.
Only, you nearly trip over your feet when you see the lone figure by the door.
“You’re still here.” The words are out of your mouth before you can think them through.
Clark’s head jerks up immediately, eyes finding you. A smile slowly stretches across his lips. It’s been at least thirty minutes since you last spoke to him. “Hey. I wanted to make sure you got home okay.”
“You’ve just been standing here? Why didn’t you wait inside?”
His mouth twitches. “You would’ve spent the entire time trying to get me to go home if I stayed inside.”
You would’ve. It would’ve been ridiculous for him to wait for you. Especially since…
“Did you wrap up?”
“Yeah, it’s in Perry’s hands now.”
“Best place to be.” He smiles, tugging his bag higher on his shoulder. “Shall we?”
Similar to the previous night, the walk home is quiet. Side by side. Two separate souls. The walk feels a little lonelier today. The distance is palpable, a chasm you can’t seem to ignore. Gone is the easiness that rests between you when your entire body is stiff as a board. The walk feels like it lasts forever and takes no time at all.
Reaching your front door alleviates some of the tension in your shoulders. For the first time, you’re actually thankful that you’re home. You don’t think you can take much more of interacting with Clark, not when everything still feels so taut between you.
“Thank you again for walking me,” you murmur. After that spiel inside your head, you can’t even bring yourself to look at him fully. Your eyes brush over him, then fly to your door. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
Clark clears his throat, you don’t look at him. You can’t. You don’t think you can handle it. What you have to do is disappear behind your door and wallow in self-pity. Maybe in that tub of double fudge caramel ice cream you picked up over the weekend.
“Uhm, right. See you tomorrow.”
You throw him one last smile, barely sparing him a glance, and move towards your door and close it behind you.
Crud. What a day. As heartbreaking as this whole ordeal is, you’re grateful that Clark is at least trying to show some semblance of normalcy after your big mishap. It’s not the outcome you wanted but you can finally put a close to this chapter of your love life.
Now, onto your ice cream. And maybe a few more tears.
Right as you’re shrugging off your coat, the doorbell rings. A frown settles on your face as you float towards it, swinging the door open and surprised to find Clark on your stoop. Before your mouth can even open to say anything, Clark blurts out, “Did I do something wrong?”
You blink, surprised. “I— what do you mean?”
“You didn’t sit at my desk today. You sat on Lois’.” You’re gobsmacked but Clark continues, “And we always eat lunch together — granted with everyone else — but you ate alone today.”
“Well, I— uhm, I had that piece to finish.”
“And you’ve barely looked me in the eye today. It’s just—” he runs his fingers through his curls, looking devastatingly handsome even when he’s flustered. “I’m not sure what I did. If I did something, I want to know so I can fix it. Fix this.”
The words spill from your mouth without much thought. “No, Clark. Oh gosh no. You didn’t do anything wrong. Not at all.”
He steps towards you and you take a step back out of instinct. Aware of your reaction, he winces and takes a step back, putting a safe distance between the two of you. “Sorry, sorry. I don’t know how to do this. I’m— I’m not used to you being… distant from me. I thought we were fine. I thought we were friends.”
Friends. Yes, that’s what you are. That’s exactly why you needed to put a bit of breathing room between the two of you. You don’t want to do anything to ruin this friendship. “No, it’s not you. I promise. I thought you were uncomfortable with me, so I—”
“Uncomfortable?” He interrupts, eyebrows furrowing again.
Your nervously pick at your fingernails as your face contorts into an expression you don’t want to name. “I thought the entire office knew. Then after yesterday, I just assumed— I don’t know. I didn’t want you to be awkward around me because of what I did.”
“Know what? What did you even do?”
“Well, I invited you in here and you clearly weren’t interested and I thought you knew that I’ve been in love with you for forever,” you finally confess, face feeling like it’s in flames with the embarrassment that carves itself deep into your core. You can’t look at him, can’t bear to see his face when he realizes that you’re truly messing up this friendship. “This is so humiliating,” you mutter, “and I—”
Suddenly, you feel cool hands on your warm face and his lips on you. The cool winter air is nothing compared to the sudden wave of heat that floods your body as Clark’s mouth devours you. It’s gentle for a heartbeat before his movements grow frantic, desperate, like he can’t get enough of you. He steals the air from your lungs, breathes it into his own.
And it feels so good. Oh so good. So good that your brain has short-circuited, wires fizzling out into disarray. It’s better than you could’ve ever imagined because Clark tastes a little like espresso, a little mint, and a little something that is just him.
Your back hits the wall and Clark only presses in deeper, swallowing your moans like they have always belonged to him. His hand is on your cheek, the other on your waist. His fingers sink into your flesh to keep you there against him.
It is only when Clark begins to shift his lips, his warm, soft lips, along your jaw and down your neck that you’re able to see clearer, the prints on your wall becoming coherent. That is when your palm lands on his chest to slowly push him back, but at the same time, maintaining a close enough distance that you could easily twist your fingers into his shirt to pull him back towards you.
Clark reluctantly draws away from you, lips swollen, glasses slightly askew. His breathing is a far cry from yours, where your chest rises with stuttered breaths, his is surprisingly even. You’re not sure how you do it, but you do find your voice eventually. “Uhm, what just happened? What’s happening?”
His throat moves as he swallows, staring at you with such earnest, sweet eyes. “I thought it was obvious that I’ve been in love with you. Lois gives me crap all the time for it.”
You nearly break your neck with how fast you jerk up to look at him. “You what?”
“I thought you knew!”
“How would I know that?” You gasp, “Last night, you didn’t— I mean, I asked you twice to stay. I thought I messed this — our friendship — up. Thought you were trying to be nice today to let me down gently.”
Clark groans. It’s a pained one, but you can’t help the way the sound shoots straight between your legs. “I overheard you talking to Danny last night, you told him that you recently decided that you don’t really want to date anyone right now. So when you asked me to stay, I thought all you wanted was…” he tapers off, eyes flicking away for a second, “you know. And I would’ve obviously still loved to take care of you — and I’ve thought about it in great detail plenty of times — but I don’t think I could’ve walked away from that. From you. I can’t just do one night.”
You feel so stupid. You thought you were letting Danny off easy, but you hadn’t even realized Clark had been listening. Your teeth catch your bottom lip as you huff a tired laugh. “It’s because I’m not interested in dating anyone but you.”
“So this is real? Us? This is happening?” Clark brightens, the growing source of light in this otherwise desolate winter evening. “I mean, we can really be together?”
A giggle escapes your lips. “Yes, Clark. This means we can be together.”
He closes his eyes, relief crashing over him in waves. When he opens them, his blue eyes have darkened. Pupils dilating as he rakes his eyes over you. “Good, that means I can properly take care of you now.”
“Now?” You squeak.
Clark’s eyes fall to your mouth, shamelessly taking in the way your lips part in surprise. “Only if you want to. I’d love to take you out to dinner or do any other activities. I’ll be sure to do that too, but, if I’m being honest, I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately and I really want you.”
The man has always been honest. Honey-soaked truths dripping from his lips. But not like this. Never like this.
“I just—” you pause, heat crawling up your neck, “I haven’t even gotten ready. I’m not wearing cute underwear—”
“No need for cute underwear if I’m going to take them off you.”
Oh goodness. Well, he doesn’t have to say more than that. And he doesn’t because then he’s pushing up your pencil skirt to your hips as he drops to his knees before you, leaving you in your sheer black stockings. Clark groans, kissing his way up your inner thigh when he reaches the space between your legs. A rough exhale leaves his lips. “I could smell how wet you are, you know. Every time you’re near me. I never realized this was for me. Now, I get it all to myself.”
“Clark,” you whimper pathetically.
“How attached are you to these stockings?”
You blink through the haze. “Not very—”
The rip echoes down the hall as Clark uses minimal brute strength to tear through the thin fabric, the stretchy material scrunching up as you’re exposed down there. You always thought Clark was handsome — cute, even — but you’ve never seen him like this. Eyes glazed over with wanton need, lips parting with heavy pants, and — your eyes dip to his pants — so, so hard.
“Cute,” Clark chuckles low when he spots the teddy bear prints on your panties.
Can this be any more embarrassing? Your instinct is to clamp your legs, hands flying to cover up your childish underwear. You really didn’t think you were going to end up with the head of the love of your life between your legs, so your underwear choice really wasn’t top of mind this morning.
Clark’s very large hands pry yours away as he looks up at you. His glasses are slightly crooked, dipping just below his eyes. Instead of his usual awkward self, he looks tantalizing. Inquisitive, hungry eyes peering over at you. “Don’t hide from me, honey,” he coos, “you’re so beautiful. It feels like I’ve been waiting for this my entire life.”
His breath his hot where it kisses your skin. First your thighs then to your clothed pussy. You can feel yourself leaking through the fabric, desire pooling in an embarrassing puddle soaking up the cotton. His lips brush over your core, light and teasing. Your hips jerk up involuntarily and you let out a small whine over how desperate you seem. Clark lets out a delicious moan when he hears it.
“I thought about doing this yesterday. When I saw inside your house, all I wanted to do was press you up against this wall and taste you.” His words stoke a fire inside you. His finger hooks around the gusset of your panties and drags them to the side. Clark leans close, a whisper of warmth against your sensitive, wet skin. “You always smell so sweet.”
“Clark, please,” you whisper as your fingers twist through the silky strands of his midnight hair.
He flattens his tongue against your core, dragging it up painstakingly slow until it presses against your clit. His tongue swirls around the nub, flicking it eagerly until you’re tugging on his head with a gasp. Your head falls back against the wall with a thud, eyes sliding shut as Clark licks and nips you like a starved man. You’re not entirely sure how he does it but you see stars in the back of your eyes, dancing like they’re taunting you with how heavenly his mouth feels on you.
When you finally look down at him, he’s looking up at you through fogged up glasses. His eyes are no less sharp as they watch your every move. The way you respond to how he strokes along your pussy lips, how his tongue pushes deep inside you, how his fingers dig into your thigh. Your body falters with the intensity of his gaze and you nearly slip but Clark is faster, holding you up easily against the wall as he continues to devour you.
Every movement feels intentional, like he’s rehearsed this and thought through every single thing that would make you tick. Your mind goes into a frenzy, body hot with how desperately he’s mouthing you. You look down further to find his other hand has drifted down to his cock, palming himself through the fabric of his slacks. His moans against your cunt reverberate straight through you, your toes curling in delight at the evidence of how much he’s enjoying himself.
You’re getting a little too close when he flicks his tongue inside you again and you have to yank his head back by his hair. The bottom half of his face glistens with your slick and his tongue darts out to lick his lips.
“Clark, I can’t— I’m going to cum like this.”
“Good,” he says, ready to dive back in when you pull him back again. Another needy sound leaves his lips as he does so and you burrow your fingers deeper into his hair.
“I want you to get off too. I want you to finish with me.”
“I can finish like this, honey. I promise.”
“But I want you. I want you inside.”
“You’re going to be the death of me.” He releases an unsteady breath. Without warning, he rises to his feet and picks you up, earning a surprised squeal from your lips as your legs wrap around him in panic. Clark props you up easily against him, your hands landing on his broad shoulders. “Where’s your bedroom?”
You weakly point in the general direction and Clark carries you all the way there before unceremoniously tossing you onto the bed. He climbs over you in a heartbeat, mouth latching onto your neck to litter pretty blossoms across your skin. He marks you up with constellations, all named after him to show everyone that he belongs to you and you to him.
“So pretty like this,” he mumbles as he begins to unbutton your blouse, kissing his way down your breasts and down to your stomach. He pays particular attention to the insides of your thighs when he feels you squirm again. “You’re so sensitive, it’s so cute.”
“Don’t tease,” you chide playfully, swatting his shoulder.
“Not teasing, I like it. I like how responsive you are. Love hearing your moans,” he hums as he makes his way back up to you. “Do you know how many times I’ve pictured spreading your legs open in the office? Every time you sit on my desk, all I can think about is getting on my knees and burying my face in between them.”
The visual only adds fuel to the fire already burning bright inside you. You can imagine what it would be like to have Clark eating you out on his desk after everyone’s gone, his tongue eager and hungry. He would lap you up, so desperate to make you feel good. All he wants is for you to feel good.
“Maybe next time we work late,” you smile teasingly at him.
“I’ll do it, you know,” Clark beams right back as he begins to unbutton his shirt. You drag your finger down from his collarbone, south to his chest and to the smattering of hair leading down to his pants. “Keep teasing me like that, keep wearing that tight skirt you love so much, and I’ll do it in front of everyone.”
Your neck flares with warmth. “You wouldn’t.”
“I would,” he says, such resolution in his voice that you know he means it.
“Okay, well, good thing we’re at home then,” you say with a huff, but even he can see how frail your voice is.
“You like the idea of it,” he correctly guesses.
“I—” The denial sits on the tip of your tongue, but you relent at the last second. “I do.”
Clark licks his lips and leans down to press them against yours. He smiles against you. “I can make it happen.”
“Clark,” you flush again.
“For now, darling girl, I’m going to focus on making you feel good right here. I’m going to go slow, okay? Don’t want to hurt you.”
You’re about to tell him that he couldn’t hurt you but then you see the bulge in his pants and how it’s straining against the fabric, demanding to be released. You can see the not-so-faint outline that has your mouth watering. One day, you’re going to put your mouth on him. One day, you’re going to be on your knees between his legs. Maybe in the office.
“Okay,” you concede quietly.
“Mm, good girl,” he murmurs and those words send blood straight down.
Clark grabs a condom from his wallet and you raise an eyebrow at him. “Never pegged you as the type to carry around condoms.”
“I wasn’t,” he pauses, “until two years ago.”
“Two years—” the words stop short on your tongue. “You’ve been in love with me for two years?”
“Well, more like two years, five months, ten days, si—”
“Six hours,” you finish. “Oh wow.”
Clark smiles softly down at you. “It’s been a while for us, hasn’t it?”
“A little too long if you ask me.”
Without missing a beat, Clark kicks off his pants, followed by his boxers. At the same time, you’re stripping off everything except your underwear, which Clark finds himself grinning at. As for you, you can’t bring yourself to smile when you see the size of him.
“What do you eat to get it that big?” You let slip. It’s an embarrassing but relevant question.
Clark blinks, looking humored. “Your pussy.”
“Clark!”
He chuckles low before rolling the condom on himself, XXL no doubt. Must cost him a fortune to look for specialized latex that’ll fit him. “I’ll go easy,” he mumbles, more so to himself.
You can feel him nudge at your entrance, the thick head of his cock pushing into you slowly. The stretch stings, tears prick your eyes at the feeling.
“Sorry, sorry,” he mutters, wincing. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, it’s okay. I’m fine,” you try to reassure him.
Clark is definitely doing his best to try and make it easy for you. Even with how wet you are, Clark is still very… well-endowed. He swallows thickly when he finally manages to notch his tip into you, the head stretching out your poor little pussy. “Do you have lube? I can use it, make it easier for you.”
“Bedside table,” you rasp, gesturing to the nightstand.
Clark pulls out of you slowly again to grab the bottle and drizzle a generous amount on himself. It’s cute seeing him so laser-focused, so intent on making this as pleasurable for you as possible. You’ve had other men, of course, even in the two years you’ve been in love with him. But none of them have ever been as attentive, as careful with you.
You almost wonder what it would be like for that restraint to snap, for him to just take you the way he wants.
“I can take it, Clark. I promise.”
He nods slowly before repositioning himself back between your legs. The slide in is slightly easier this time, his head making it past your tight muscles despite your resistance. He moves slow, deliberate. The veins on his neck protrude as he tries his best to control himself with how you’re squeezing around him.
“You’re so tight, honey,” Clark musters out, “so tight for me. You feel so good. I can’t wait to fill you up all the way.”
“I-I’m not sure I can take you all the way,” you admit, feeling the burn intensify. Clark pushes himself in gently, in and out an inch at a time, until you’re used to his girth. Each slide in goes deeper and deeper until you feel him hit your womb. “So deep, Clark,” you groan, “feels so full. So good.”
“You can take it. You can take me. I know you can,” Clark encourages as he begins to thrust into you gently. The drag of his cock, thick and hot, inside you is enough to have you squirming underneath him. Not necessarily your body’s instinct to get away from the pain, but your pussy’s need for more.
Clark’s muttering reassuring praises at you, telling you that you’re doing such a good job taking him. How beautiful you look like this underneath him.
“I’ve been thinking about you for so long, what you would feel like wrapped around me. My imagination couldn’t do this any justice,” he breathes, burying his face in your neck as he plunges into you.
As you get accustomed to his size, Clark begins to move more confidently, more freely. His cock splits you open but you feel that burning pleasure more now than ever. One of his hands is on your headboard, the other on your hips as he presses into you. The bed creaks a complaint underneath him, your headboard rattles against the wall.
Burning need coils tight inside of you, twisting all of that delicious feeling until you can’t see anything but him. The world blurs before you as Clark pants every time he rams into you. He’s buried to the hilt, you didn’t think it was possible, but your legs curl around him to pull him in even closer.
“H-honey, don’t do that. I’m going to cum too fast,” he whines. And he sounds so good doing so.
“I want you to feel good,” you sweetly say, arms sliding around his neck to pull him closer. His lips find yours and you lick into his mouth to get a taste of you and him, that intoxicating combination that has you grinding up to meet his pace.
“Feels so good, feels too good,” he croaks, voice fraying at the edges as he continues to drive into you. His cock feels like otherwordly, like something no mortal man should ever have.
You moan and dig your head into your pillow as your entire body bounces with every thrust, even as he tries to keep you steady. Clark looks down to see the way your breasts move as he slides into you.
“Tits so pretty,” he mumbles, “so pretty. I can’t wait to taste them after this. Just want you to cum once first. One time then I’ll give you more, honey. I promise. I’ll make you feel good all night.”
His name comes out of your lips in another whine. “We have work tomorrow, c-can’t go at this all night.”
“We’ll call in sick, you deserve it. You’ve been working so hard,” he huffs, muscles on his abs rippling as he continues, biceps flexing above you. You wish you had a camera on you, capture every second of this moment. The one you’ve been waiting for for far too long.
“I—” you hiccup when Clark shoves in particularly deep, “I didn’t know you had it in you to be so naughty.”
“Only if it keeps you here with me.”
His little praises, his sweet promises, his broken mewls. All of them combined have you climbing and climbing faster. The pleasure that has evaded you for so long finally chasing after you, pace faster than you can avoid.
“C-Clark, I’m g-gonna cum, please, please,” you plead, nails scraping down his back as you arch your body into him.
Clark moans at the feeling and begins to hammer in faster and deeper. Your bed is loudly protesting how hard he’s going but you aren’t, instead begging with your mouth as you reach up to kiss his neck, your tongue laving at his skin.
That seems to be the last straw because then Clark is coming apart before you, splintered gasps falling from his lips as you find your own climax, your pussy pulsing around his length. The air is knocked out of your lungs as you find it, your body convulsing with satisfaction but also a need for more.
His forehead presses against yours, equally warm. “S-sorry. I shouldn’t have— you should’ve cum first, I didn’t mean to—”
You giggle and lean up to kiss him. “I didn’t mind. I like that you were so wrecked that you couldn’t even hold it back.”
“Still shouldn’t have happened,” he frowns at himself. “Let me make it up to you, yeah? Let me take care of you again.”
“Clark, we just finished. Aren’t you tired?”
He stares you like you have three heads. “Why would I be tired?”
You have no answer to that, but you smile up at him anyway.
“Now, I have two years of making up to do. What shall we do next?”
clark is kissing (taglist): @houseofhyde @bckyslover @barnes-babydoll @phoenix-in-writing @averyhotchner @hailmary-yramliah @catclaw1 @opheliabbarnes @/pinksplace @lunexiax @umbreoni @esunarint @nikkitabarnes @lunaryoongie @sergeantsebastian @avgdestitute @natskisses @parker-barnes-af + @toxicrelief @fancypeacepersona @shrekzwifey
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when the miscommunication trope is written well, it can be the best thing ever — and THIS was flawless ❤️🔥❤️🔥
