oh, the humanity! || clark kent x reader
part two - weather or not
you've never been more thrilled than when clark sets you up with an exclusive interview with the superman. little do you know, superman has his own agenda - try to see if you return to work-crush clark's been quietly developing for months. the only problem? he's not nearly as smooth as he thinks he is.
pairing: clark kent x bubbly!reader
warnings: none! some romantic pining, some fluff, mutual pining. more of a cutesy set-up fit for my first superman piece :)
“Hello.” The voice is rich, deep and full of life.
“Ohmygod,” the words tumble out of you in a rush, startled out in one breath. You barely manage to keep a hold on the laptop resting on your knees. “Oh, hi, hello! Hi Superman!”
Face hot with embarrassment, you set your laptop on the floor beside your chair so you can stand and offer your hand to the metahuman in front of you. With a smile that presents perfectly dimpled cheeks to you, Superman shakes your hand. His grasp is warm but loose.
“Clark said you would be expecting me?” He asks, a glint of humor in his tone. You nod, retracting your hand and smoothing down the front of your shirt.
“Yeah, yes, of course he did! Really nice of you to agree to let him set us up, by the way. I totally get wanting to keep your press sources limited so I’m honored to be trusted. He just neglected to text me a time,” you say, attempting to get your rambling on track, the last bit where you actually answer his question rushed and low; tacked on at the end like an apology. You give him your best, toothiest grin and spin to retrieve your laptop. “Where do you want to do this thing?”
“Anywhere is fine with me.” You peer out of the side of your eye as you mull over a secluded spot you can bring him to interview him. He’s in his full regalia – blue suit, red shorts, cape. The whole ordeal.
“I imagine privacy is the best,” you muse out loud, “but I don’t have an office – we work in a shared space.” Your tone is apologetic as you begin walking. “My apartment is near here, though, if you don’t mind.” You send him another smile, inwardly cringing as you do. You need to get your nerves out of the way.
“If that’s where you think is best, lead the way,” he says, gesturing forward while leaning down to collect your bag.
“Oh! You don’t have to do that, I can carry it!” You try to take the overstuffed tote from him but he simply shakes his head, knocking a curl loose onto his forehead. The way it falls, nearly brushing his eyebrow but not quiet, makes something in the back of your mind ring with familiarity. You brush it off, sure you’ve just watched too much footage of him.
As you walk him the five minutes to your apartment, you start chatting happily, filling the silence as you always tend to do.
“I actually had to twist Clark’s leg. He’s protective about his interviews with you, you know. I actually asked him where I should meet you, trying to figure out where would be the best to have a quiet conversation, but he wasn’t any help. Anyway, my apartment is small but it should work fine. Plus, nobody would be there to interrupt.”
“He brought up me talking to you a bit ago, actually, saying you write more humanitarian pieces? Less gossip or news, more think-pieces?” He sounds genuinely interested, large hands adjusting where they hold your bag with both hands in front of him. He looks a little silly, holding your frayed bag like that, walking around in his tall boots. The cape honest-to-god flutters behind him as he walks.
“I do! Well, it’s what I like to do anyway. The Daily Planet doesn’t post them regularly, though, only when I have something really good to present.” You shrug, happy you get the chance to write for a living at all. “We’re turning here. Anyway, I like investigative journalism, of course, but something about writing about people, the human experience, and really just digging into a subject outside of the general norm of the news is always my favorite.”
A hand brushes your shoulder as you both cross a street and make a turn, adjusting you to walk closer to the buildings, Superman by the street. The thoughtless gesture makes that same chime of familiarity hums, running down your back to the base of your spine. It’s the sort of thing Clark does all of the time. He’s always pressing a hand to your back or shoulder to guide you along, swapping places to be closer to the road, covering corners as you pass them due to your habit of bumping them, and tugging you away from the fray of people so you don’t get trampled.
You smile privately to yourself at the thought. Superman and Clark sharing the same simple, thoughtless, and incredibly endearing way of watching out for the people around them makes sense in a way. While Clark is just a lowly civilian like you, only in the fray of danger in the sense of offending some higher-up subject of a scandalous article, he’s always felt good in the same way the heroes do.
You shake your head once to yourself, aware you’ve stopped talking and Superman is talking.
“And that’s a really good thing, I think, wanting to know people for who they are beyond what they do. Sometimes the why is more important than the what, in some ways.”
“Oh, I completely agree.” You jump into your favorite article you wrote – a think piece analyzing Metropilis culture, structured by an interview with an older woman who’d lived in the city her entire life, creating a grand scope of how the city has breathed and grown like a living thing as the years passed.
You lead him up the narrow staircase to your apartment, biting a grin at how he has to run slightly sideways to fit in the cramped hallway, and jiggle your keys in the door. “Sorry, it takes the perfect mix of jiggling the lock and bumping the door to - ah ha! - get it open.”
You talk inside, letting the hero trail behind you, ignoring how adrenaline thrums in your veins. It makes your neck warm and heavy with the pulse of blood from your rapidly beating heart. It doesn’t help whatsoever that you’re incredibly aware that he can hear how nervous you are by your heart rate, so you busy yourself with your kettle.
“I’m making a pot of tea, if you want some. Please make yourself at home, I’ll be ready in just a minute – promise!”
Superman strolls around your small two-bedroom with an interest that makes you self-concious. You make an effort to not say the cliche it’s not much! comment, instead busing yourself with the kettle and picking a tea. You wonder if he has a preference as you pull down your favorite.
If he does, bully for him, you need the calming relief of sipping something familiar and safe as you tackle the biggest interview you’ve ever had.
You also repeat the mantra I love my home decor, I love my home decor over and over as he runs a finger across the books in your shelves and eyes the art on your wall.
“Okay!” You announce, setting the electric kettle to heat and turning to open your laptop on the counter. You hold up your recording device and give it a small shake. “Make yourself comfy, I’m ready whenever you are!”
The interview goes smoothly, any small hiccups easily overcome as you settle into your favorite version of yourself – fully at ease as you slip into a sense of worn confidence as you ask your prepared questions. This is what you’re good at, what you’ve been doing for coming on ten years, your craft and passion. You love interviewing, talking to people, taking a list of initial questions and deciding on the fly where you need to dig and where you need to breeze past. The story flows easily, you catch the grooves of conversation and follow them to the trail of a story.
The life Superman paints for you is idyllic – a rural upbringing with parents he adores and adore him, unknown biological parents who sent him to Earth to do good. A sense of responsibility – ‘If I have these powers, this ability, this purpose I was sent to Earth to fufil, and I sit by and do nothing, well, that makes me the worst kind of person, doesn’t it?’
You slowly become endeared to him as the interview progresses, a sort of comfort only gained by spending time with a truly good person. It reminds you of Clark again (a habit you regretfully admit you have, linking life to him in your mind).
“Okay, I think I have what I need, thank you so much Superman!” You nod at him, wait a second, and turn off the recording.
The second the formal process of the interview is over, the anxiety of sharing a space with the Superman resurfaces. You pick up your long-cold tea between two hands and send him a small smile.
“I can find a way to send you the piece before it publishes, if you’d like. I can’t say I’ll edit for you, journalistic integrety and such, but as a thank you for your time and willingness.”
“Thank you, I’d appreciate that.”
You send him a soft smile, sip your tea, and grimace. You turn to your microwave to warm it, fingers tapping on your countertop.
You’re trying to think of another way to politely tell him you have what you need, certain there are many other places Superman needs to be other than sitting at a barstool in your kitchen, when he speaks.
“I am curious, though, if you don’t mind me asking.” His voice is all timber, taking on a quality you can’t quite place. It’s nearly nervous, actually, but you brush off that possibility. What could you know that would make Superman nervous?
“Oh! Of course, what’s up?”
“Are you seeing anyone?” You cough, loudly, face flooding with heat. You’ll kill yourself later for how many times you’ve blushed in front of this man, you’re sure, but you’re so bewildered.
“What?”
“No, no that came out wrong, oh gosh.”
“Sorry, Superman, not that you’re not,” you gesture wildly, “but I don’t – I’m,” you’re lost, bumbling. If Superman asks you to sleep with him, you have to say yes, right?
Isn’t it against some sort of ethics code to sleep with a subject while in process of writing about them?
Why are you second thinking the possibility of sleeping with Superman? Why are you going this way at all with your thoughts?
“No, no, I’m sorry, that’s not the question I wanted to ask. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, sorry, you stunned me a little.” You return to heating up your tea as you ask, “What question did you want to ask, then?”
“Well, Clark. You know him well?”
“Yeah! Yeah, really good guy.” You spin on your heel to nod empathetically at him. You 100% don’t mind buttering up Clark for Superman, wholly grateful to him for getting him this interview. You’re not sure how his initial question relates to this one, though, sure he’s trying to find a seque into leaving as soon as possible.
You’re wholly and utterly confused and baffled by where this conversation has ended up, blinking rapidly at your microwave.
“You really seem to light up when you talk about him.” Superman’s head tilts, violently blue eyes piercing into you. “I noticed, earlier, anyway. I agree, he’s a good guy.”
You stand, frozen on your feet. The microwave beeps and you ignore it. After a second, your head tilts, in a mimic of his. This is where he was going, you guess. Heat floods through your body now, a full on flush head to toes. “Are you … sorry, I just. Are you trying to set me and Clark up?”
You’re confounded by the situation. Off balance, unsure if you would ever dream of this happening. You decide, no, this is far too ridiculous for you to think of, so it must be reality. More reasonable than Superman trying to sleep with you, you suppose, but still such an odd situation to end up in.
You start to giggle, watching the way Superman fidgets before crossing his arms and leaning back on his stool. The legs creak under his weight and he sends you an apologetic smile.
“Sorry, don’t want to intrude.”
“No, no, it’s okay,” you wave him off, snickering. You retrieve your tea and sip it. “Are you thinking of starting a new career as a matchmaker, or something?”
“Or something,” he mumbles, obviously embarrassed at being caught so easily. “I imagined that would come out a little smoother, I’m sorry.”
You shake off his apology again. Your heart is pounding again, under the amusement, as another thought comes to mind. “Did, uh, did Clark ask you to ask?”
“Do you want him to have asked me to ask?”
“This is starting to feel like a really bad riddle,” you say, chewing the inside of your lip. The answer is yes, of course. The thought of Clark asking Superman to try and guage your feelings about him sends a sort of nervous thrill through your body.
Your handsome, kind, sort-of perfect coworker turned close friend showing interest? Never would ever be a bad thing.
“I think I have my answer. Thank you,” he says, standing and saying your name as he offers you his hand. You swear you can see a sort of pink tinge to his cheeks. “Please let Clark know when you’re done with your piece, I’m looking forward to reading it.”
“Yes! Yes, of course, thank you so so much,” you say, shaking his hand enthusiastically and bouncing from the awkwardness of the past few moments in an effort to return to trying your best to make a good impression on him. “Please let me know if you ever want to meet up again, I’m always happy to interview you.”
“How’d it go?” Clark asks, voice by your ear. You don’t even jump, used ot his attempts to sneak up on your while you write at work.
You lift your hand, waiting for him to place something in your palm. He does, of course, and you’re pleased to see a muffin. “Oooh, you woke up earlier to go to the bakery?” You ask, excited. You take a bite and your eyes roll back. “This is perfect, thank you.”
“Yeah, of course. How’d it go with Superman, though?”
“Oh! Really, really well. Thank you for getting me the interview.”
Clark stares at you a moment. You smile, tight lipped and waiting. You raise an eyebrow slightly, prompting him to let you know why he’s staring at you like you’ve suddenly grown a second nose overnight.
“What, that’s it? No play-by-play? No commentary about his biceps, no rant about how the article is going to go? You icing me out?”
You’re amused and tickled that he cares. “Don’t want to break any trust, you know, he can be secretive.”
“Oh, come on,” he groans, taking a step back and shaking his head. “You’re insufferable!”
“Hey, I learned from the best,” you wink, excited to be able to use his words against him. “Serves you right for all of the articles with no inside juice!”
Clark rolls his eyes. As he turns to walk back to his desk, you realize he’s not carrying breakfast for himself. Frowning, you grab a napkin from the stash in your desk, break your muffin apart, then jump up to follow him.
You set the half of the baked good on his desk before leaning up against the divider between his desk and anothers, cheek mushed against your hand.
“It went really, really well. I think I’m going to center it around his insistence on violence-containment. It’s been ages, forever maybe, since a hero has cared about keeping damages down. Of course, they all care about civilian safety, but he’s taking it a step further. He doesn’t see a situation with any sort of casualty as a win, you know? That’s new, next level thinking, really admirable.”
Clark is watching you as you talk, eyes jumping between yours. When you’re finished with your tirade, he leans forward slightly, brushes a crumb off of your cheek, and leans back into his seat.
“That’s really good, I’m happy it went well.” He’s so sincere that your heart feels a little swollen. You don’t deserve his friendship.
“It ended really weird though, I think Superman wants to play matchmaker or something,” you blurt out, unable to stop yourself.
Clark’s eyes sparkle behind his glasses and he reaches up to ruffle his curls as he laughs, shaking his head. “And now you’re back to teasing. Go, shoo, I have actual work to do.”
“I’m not lying!” You say, unable to keep a serious face as Clark laughs. His guffaw is impossible to ignore and you end up giggling with him. You do meander back to your desk, though.
“Sure thing, sure thing.”
You settle back at your desk, taking another bite of your muffin and sighing happily. You sit for a moment, listening to the chatter of the office and the clicking of keyboards. After a few minutes you scooch your chair back to watch Clark, observing how he bends over his desk, legs too long to fit in his chair and suit jacket just this side of too big.
Something in you warms, the same warmth you’d felt all night, at the idea of him talking about you to anyone, nonetheless Superman.
Perhaps it’s time to act on this silly crush. The flirting you send his way is returned, friendly enough in nature but, when paired with the daily treats for breakfast and the way his hand tends to linger on your waist when he passes … maybe somethings there.
You roll back closer to your desk, pressing a few buttons aimlessly on your laptop as you mull it over. Something in you is scared to act on your feelings, of course, but a bigger part is excited about what could be to really ignore the prompting. Okay, Superman, you think, I’ll give it a shot.
please consider reblogging if you enjoyed!! reblogs keep my work alive :)
also, I don't usually add authors notes, but I am a little nervous about writing for a new character - it's been so long !!! - so feedback is greatly appreciated!! requests for clark, thoughts, ideas, etc., are all welcome!! and hopefully I fall into his voice more naturally the more I read and write. I'm so beyond excited about him, though <3
