𝑀𝑦 𝐻𝑒𝑟𝑜 — clark kent
summary : an office romance sounds good in theory but is it just as good in practice?
pairing : fem!reader x corenswet!clark kent + journalist!reader x journalist!clark kent.
trope : office romance + coworkers to friends to lovers.
genre : fluff + mild angst + comedic relief + slow burn romance.
word count : 10.9k
warnings‼️: crude language + minor alcohol consumption + near-death experience + misogynistic remarks towards reader (from a jealous coworker who’s also a man r we surprised) + idk shit abt journalism.
random disclaimerrr : took me for-fucking-ever bc in all honesty, i lowkey had writer's block but ITS OUT NOW SO YAYYY!! edit : here’s part 2!! happy reading! ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ ♡ © 2025 @sugarhoneyylovee
now playing : true — spandau ballet
A knock sounds at your already open door, causing you to pause your typing and look up.
“My office in five.” Your boss and an editor-in-chief— Perry White— commands.
You send him a nod and he’s on his way back.
It was a chill day until the cloud of quiet chatter evaporated and was replaced by a thick blanket of excitement.
“What is going on out there.” You curiously mutter.
You think about entering the crowd but you decide against it as you remember your initial task.
Perry may be a fair boss but his agitation takes on several forms, you do not wanna be caught on the receiving end of it.
You knock on his door and open it.
“Alright, Kent— oh. Here she is.”
You can’t see how this ‘Kent’ guy looks but he’s definitely a little over six feet. His gray coat outlines the broadness and muscly look of his back.
Damn, he’s huge.
He turns around and the only thing you can think of is Squidward whining in frustration, Oh no, he’s hot!
His eyes are a remarkable shade of blue, a lovely bunch of black curls sit atop his head, and his skin reminds you of the nice sand accompanied by the local beach.
Kent’s sporting a pair of black framed glasses and he’s the handsomest “nerd” you’ve ever seen.
You hope your ogling isn’t obvious.
“L/n, meet Clark Kent. Kent, this is Y/n L/n.”
This Greek god of a man shakes your hand and it’s warm. So. Warm.
He smiles and goddamn it is beautiful. It’s so perfect with all his perfectly straight, perfect shade of white teeth.
AND HE HAS DIMPLES?! HOLY FUCKIN’ SHIT!
“It’s nice to meet you.”
And of course, an attractive voice that matches his equally attractive face. It’s deep and confident and you’re crushing so hard on him right now.
“It’s nice to meet you, too.” You calmly say.
“Get acquainted well because you’ll be showing our new guy here the ropes. Starting now.”
Your heart drops down to your ass and you retract your hand.
Of course this had to happen to you.
“Oh, okay.”
It was in fact not okay but it’s not like you had much of a choice in the matter.
You exit first and are met with so many faces outside the office. Comically, they all look away and pretend to do something important.
Now you realize why there was a crowd earlier, because of the handsome new guy.
You ask him to wait for you while you go grab some things from your desk.
“Okay, Clark—”
You’re gone for literally one minute and the poor guy’s already being swamped.
There’s a blonde girl, bit of a ditz. Twirling a strand of hair while giggling over something seriously unfunny.
She’s accompanied by a guy who’s much shorter in comparison to Clark.
He’s yammering away about how he’s always wondered what it’s like to be on a farm…
“I mean, I was at one for the DP but they didn’t have much internet so we couldn’t cover much. And the smell?” He shuts his eyes and wrinkles his nose in disdain. “I can’t imagine how it was for you, man.”
You watch in horror as he takes a sniff, yes; a sniff at Clark and hums, “You smell great, though! What is that, uh, aftershave. Or sum’?”.
Clark responds with a nervous laugh at his sudden proximity. “It’s Polo by Ralph Lauren. Uh, the blue one.”
“Whaaat?” The guy laughs in surprise.
Clark folds his lips inwards and raises his brows in an awkward manner.
What do you say to that? Truly.
What an idiot, you cringe internally before coming to his aid and kicking off his first day.
It’s the end of Clark Kent’s second week. He’s a great addition to the Daily Planet team and you have to say, he’s really nice.
His first few days were spent showing him around. Perry’s office, your office, the newsroom, break room, copy room, mail room, bullpen, so on and so forth.
You were sure Clark could use a better mentor but he thought otherwise. ‘You’re a good teacher, I like learning from you.’ He said.
He was very quiet at first, kept to himself and didn’t approach anyone unless he absolutely needed to.
You were the only person by his side almost every hour he worked so it made sense to just go to you.
The more you talked to him, the more he got out of his shell.
A friendly relationship blossomed and soon, he was a willing participant.
You like to drink something in the morning while you work and you didn’t realize Clark took a mental note of that.
Since your first week together, he’s brought you something everyday.
“As much as I appreciate this, you’re not the drink guy.”
You were worried he thought you’d expect him to do this all the time now but he dismisses the idea.
“Oh it’s no big deal, I pass by a cafe on my way here so it works out. Plus, I know the owner so I get a discount every time I go.”
You smile at that. This little tradition has become an essential part of your day, it’s how you start it. It’s also special to you because it’s just for you.
Your crush on him grows by the day but you can’t help it! It’s so hard not to like this guy.
He’s still a bit shy at times but you think that’s part of his charm, and he’s got you good. He’s just Clark, a sweet guy from a small town with big arms dreams.
“So, what are the plans for today?” He asks this everyday in hopes of going on a side quest with just the two of you.
Alas, that doesn't happen nearly as much as he'd like but at least he still gets to see you whenever he likes.
“Today, we’re going to a meeting.” You answer as you quickly send out one last email.
You grab your purse and Clark brings his notebook to the conference room.
He pulls out a chair for you and you smile gratefully, whispering a ‘thank you’.
Perry and the other senior position holders make their way in and take their seats.
“Alright, let’s get started.”
Perry announces that at the end of the meeting, there will be a spot open for another editor-in-chief.
Instantly, there’s hushed chatter of who can be nominated to fill the slot.
You’re positive you hear your name among the many different routes of conversation. You don’t notice Clark glancing at you when he hears it, too.
“L/n.”
You feel everyone’s eyes on you and want to fuse with the chair you’re sitting on.
“She’s our most talked-about reporter and has been here for almost three and a half years. How she’s doing better than most of you at this table, I have no idea. Great work, Y/n.”
You purse your lips in an awkward smile at the jab towards everyone else layered between your praises. “Thank you, sir.”
Clark allows his lips to be pulled back in a small grin, unable to hide his happiness for you.
You know some people in the room are envious of you and are incapable of witnessing your success, but you’d be damned if you let them ruin this moment for you.
The rest of the meeting goes by smoothly and it’s time for Perry to announce the new editor-in-chief.
“Of course, it came as no surprise for us to come to unanimously nominate Y/n L/n as one of our new editors-in-chief.”
You know you should be happy and a small part of you is relieved that your hard work paid off, but you’re not entirely sure.
You’ve only been here for three and a half years and this is a huge promotion.
Are you ready for this? How do you know you’re ready? When do you know you’re ready?
You force yourself to get out of your head and express your gratitude.
“Thank you so much, I really appreciate it.” You smile as you shake their hands, accepting their approval.
You still had some time before accepting the offer but it felt like you had to take it.
The reality is, you don’t know what you want.
Most of the people leave but some stay behind.
“Congratulations, Y/n. You definitely earned it.”
Remember the envious people that were mentioned earlier? This guy, Mark Callahan, is one of them.
He sticks his hand out for you to shake but you clock his underlying tone.
“Thanks.” You smoothly move past him to the door with Clark following.
“Bitch.” He mutters to himself.
Clark stops dead in his shoes. “What did you just say?”
Mark smirks lazily and the few of his dastardly henchmen eye you with jealousy.
Your eyes are a bit wide, lips agape at his sudden change in attitude. “Clark?”
This is Clark Kent. The shy, dorky, kind of an aloof guy with long legs, a killer smile, and a nice heart.
You never thought he could get mad. You haven’t even see him annoyed up until this very moment.
Mark takes a step towards you but Clark is quick to get in between you and him.
He pokes his tongue into the side of his cheek and chuckles. “Relax, man. I’m not gonna hurt your little girlfriend.”
Clark steps forward, his height giving him the upper hand as Mark’s ego forces him to maintain eye contact, even if he has to tilt his chin up a bit.
“You couldn’t even try.” He softly yet subtly mocks.
Mark tightens his jaw and you can feel the tension growing.
You tentatively reach out and put a hand on Clark’s shoulder. “We need to go.”
He maintains eye contact with Mark for a moment longer before budging and walking out.
Clark’s jaw is set and you see the faintest twitch of the muscle, his face stern and hand sweeping his curls.
He holds the elevator for you and you gulp nervously.
“What… was that?” You dare ask.
He assures you it's nothing but you can feel the intensity of his annoyance radiating off of him. It fills the elevator when you step in.
You don't know how badly his blood boils at the thought of someone being so casually disrespectful towards you.
His hands were clenched tightly, his knuckles turning white from the pressure. He forcefully wipes his hands on his trousers and tries to cool down.
You let that go but can’t let go of how badly he gave you the butterflies.
You couldn’t even try.
That part replays in your mind.
It was the way he said it, like he was so sure of himself.
He was obviously putting Mark in his place but for you? He did that for you?
Your lips fold inwards to conceal the squeal (read: scream) that's begging to be released.
As the elevator arrives at your floor, Clark extends his arm for you to get out first then follows you out.
Chivalry isn’t dead?
You don’t know much longer you can contain yourself.
“Hey, Y/n?” Clark calls out.
You swiftly turn around on your heels. “Yeah?”
He stares at you for a moment, like he’s gathering his thoughts carefully.
He has so much he wants to say. Every time you thank him for bringing you your morning drink, he wants to say, you deserve nothing but the best. He wishes to say how beautiful you look everyday, how smart you are when you're feeling doubtful.
Instead, he holds it all in and says something a friend would say. It doesn't mean anything less to you, he knows that. So he says something so kind, it leaves you with heart eyes.
“You deserve that promotion.”
In all the time you’ve spent here, not many people have said anything like to you.
There’s the fake compliments said out of spite. You’ve already gathered a mental list of who fits that category.
Then come the words of encouragement, said by a select few genuine people. Perry and your best friend, Lois were the only members of this group.
Clark being an addition to this list is obvious, it was only a matter of time, but it means so much coming from him.
You blink and feel lightweight.
“Thank you.”
He gives you that award-winning smile you love seeing so much and is on his way to work.
You feel distracted as you work, cheesing like a kid every now and then when his words ring in your mind.
You deserve that promotion.
Resting your head in your palm with your elbow extended in a comfortable position, you sigh dreamily; staring blankly at your loading computer screen.
“L/n.”
You immediately straighten your back and set both hands on the keyboard, suddenly irritated with how slow the network on your computer is.
“Sir?” You acknowledge him by poking your head out from behind the screen.
“Good work on the Stenson article,” He shows the newspaper bundled in his hand. “It’s gotten Star’s attention.”
You’re impressed with yourself. “Oh.”
He angles his head down to where he can see you through the space above his glasses. “You okay?”
You nod in a way that is more convincing yourself of what you’re saying than him. “Mhm. Just, uh… surprised because they’re our rivals.”
Knowing The Daily Star has its eye on you is a bit unnerving but what kind of opps would they be if they didn’t?
He hums in thought. “Well, I thought I’d stop by and let you know.”
“Right. Thanks.”
You track his movements until you’re sure he’s gone and smack some sense into yourself.
“Focus, Y/n. Focus.”
You are invited to attend a conference in Washington, D.C. along with a few handpicked journalists.
As you await for the plane's landing, your mind wanders back to the new guy. You wish Clark could’ve came.
You just think he would’ve had so much to learn and experience, nothing else…
A rattle echoing through the jet brings you out of your thoughts.
The captain makes an announcement but you feel like something’s off.
It’s the reporter in you, a sixth sense.
Another shake and now everyone’s a bit nervous, worried looks painted across their faces and yours.
You open the flap to your window and see nothing but soot. Dark gray matter surrounds the jet and it’s so thick, you can’t see past it.
You start to smell it soon and so does everyone else.
“What’s that smell?”
“It smells like… like smoke?
“Is something burning?”
The captain makes an announcement telling everyone not to panic but of course, that ironically sets off an opposite reaction.
Oxygen masks drop down and you don’t waste any time grabbing yours, but the dread spreads all over you when you take a deep breath in.
Suddenly, the jet jolts forward and it feels like you’re diving into something. It’s going headfirst into the direction of the ground so quickly and you can’t make sense of anything.
The passengers frantically scream and descend into chaotic paranoia as they hold on to dear life.
Your heart pounds in your chest, threatening to jump out.
This is it, you think. This is how it ends for you, in a freak accident.
You close your eyes in fear and hope the impact crushes you so quickly, you don’t feel anything.
A quick and easy death is a death that is most favorable.
Suddenly, you feel the aircraft being lifted up. The speed of which is swift yet steady, unlike the previous moments when it felt like you were falling to your deaths.
You don’t dare look out your window in fear of it all being a figment of your imagination but someone else does.
“We’re… we’re saved.” Someone gasps in disbelief.
The plane is set down on the ground and the doors open up automatically.
Your eyes widen when you see a man in a blue suit and red cape step onboard.
He’s kind-looking. The steely blue eyes somewhat familiar, maybe it’s his aura.
“It’s alright, everything’s okay.” He smiles and you’re taken aback with how eerily familiar the action is.
“Is everyone alright? Nobody hurt?”
Everyone shakes their head simultaneously as if in a trance, left and right.
He nods in consideration. “That’s good. You all can step out now, it’s safe.”
Nobody moves. No one can! They’re still trying to wrap their heads around this miracle.
There’s this man— in a cape, no less— and he’s asking if everyone’s okay from what could’ve happened.
There’s no doubt in your mind that somehow, he is singlehandedly responsible for saving you all.
Someone in front dares to speak everyone’s mind. “You saved us.”
The mystery man looks at the passenger with a humble look.
He puts a comforting hand on their shoulder and escorts them out, everyone else following suit.
Everyone else but you. You’re frozen in a whirlwind of emotions, mostly shock.
You’re so out of it that you don’t even notice him coming up to you, his striking blue eyes steady on your form.
“Are you alright, ma’am?”
You whip your head up at him and realize you’re the only one onboard the plane.
“Umm, yeah. I-I think.” You furrow your eyebrows as you feel your foot stuck in a comatose position.
“Can you stand?” He gently asks.
You go to stand up from seat when a sharp pain shoots through your ankle.
A quick breath is drawn from your teeth and he notices immediately.
“Your ankle.”
“Yup.” You hastily breathe out.
He looks at you in contemplation for a moment before doing what he has to do.
“Do you mind if I carry you out?”
You pause your unsteady breathing and look up at him through your lashes.
I didn’t hear that.
“Uhh…”
There is a right answer but you don’t know if it’s the answer.
He’s strikingly handsome, so unfairly dashing.
He’s looking at you with those kind eyes and waiting patiently for your word.
“No. No, I don’t mind.” You clear your throat gingerly.
The soft curve of his lips make you feel a bit at ease for a moment.
He holds his hand out for you to take and gently pulls you into him when you do, wrapping that arm around your back. He bends down to hook his other arm under your knees and lifts you so effortlessly, you feel yourself swoon at his display of strength.
Your brain goes quiet and you can’t think about anything else but him. You’re starstruck by him.
Is this a bad time?
He looks straight ahead as he walks towards the open doors but the slight curve of his lips gives the impression of a soft smile.
Soft gasps and wide eyes paint the picture of surprise and you’re immediately flushed so deeply into embarrassment.
The man holding you doesn’t say anything but he silently shares your opinion.
As he walks down the ramp, you look anywhere but at him and the very obvious audience in front.
The symbol on his chest catches your eye and you’re analyzing it. It appears to be a red diamond encasing a capital letter of the same color, an ‘S’.
You wonder what it stands for, what it means to him.
People make room for him as he walks to a spot where you can comfortably rest.
You can feel everyone’s eyes on you and it bothers the hell out of you, but you bear with it for the moment.
He finds a bench within the stagnant ocean of people and sets you down on it, an apologetic expression framing his face.
“I’m sorry.”
You peer up at him in surprise. “For what?”
He sets his hands on his hips, subtly tilting his head to the left and you see behind him the wandering eyes and gossipy mouths.
You snort softly, shaking your head lightly at their antics. “It’s not your fault. They’re just… trying to figure out what just happened.”
He nods, turning back to the plane with a determined look.
“The ambulance is on its way.” He says as he turns back to you.
You nod, not wanting to look away from his eyes.
The air is thick with so many unanswered questions left unasked, but your throbbing ankle takes a frontseat to it all.
This man is a miracle in the flesh and he’s filled your mind with so much curiosity, you don’t know what to do with it.
“You’re gonna be alright.” He says it with such confidence that you believe him.
And he’s gone, flying upwards into the air and in a direction one can only point to.
People crowd the spot he just stood in and stare up in awe at the phenomenon: a man just flew right to the sky!
What a headache and headline this is going to be.
Your ankle was as swollen as an orange, thankfully like the ones that are really small and are known as ‘Cuties’ or whatever the hell.
There's a brace on it to keep from hurting as much but the swelling's still got a long way to go.
You're currently icing it as much as you can before it falls off when you hear a knock on your window.
You hold your breath and lean out a little, trying to hone in on the knock.
Was it real or a part of your imagination?
It's when you hear it again that you decide, nope, totally real.
You move slowly, setting the ice pack on your dresser before carefully moving your leg and setting your foot down on the floor.
Eventually, you make it to your window and look through the blinds to see what could be causing that noise.
You softly gasp. “Holy shit.”
It's the guy from earlier, the same man who saved your life. And he's floating, literally standing on air.
You pull your blinds all the way up and open your window, not hiding the shock on your face as you stare at him dumbfounded.
He titters softly, finding your reaction amusing. “Can I come in?”
You wordlessly step aside with your mouth slightly agape, not really grasping the gravity of the situation.
He flies right into your bedroom while you budge the window back down and close the blinds.
With his back turned against you, you take this chance to make yourself look more put together. Your hands find their way into your hair and subconsciously pat down your body to press the fabric of your clothes as flatly as possible.
He’s studying your room and now you’re even more self-conscious even though it’s relatively tidy.
“I’m sorry for showing up here unannounced.” He says as he turns around to face you. “I hope I don't come off as a stalker.” He snorts softly.
You laugh along, nervous. “I was just icing it before...” You trail off, making a gesture towards the window.
He nods, clicking his teeth. “Ah, right. Sorry, once again.”
You shake your head. “No, don’t be. It’s okay.”
You move to sit back down on your bed and continue icing your ankle.
“You left your purse.”
He reveals the black purse to you and you gasp at the revelation, so relieved as you thought you were going crazy looking for it.
“Oh, thank you. Thank you so much.” You say as he chuckles softly and hands you your purse.
“No, don’t thank me. Just doing what’s right.”
Something about his words makes you pause. The familiar syntax reminds you of someone who’d do what he just did.
You don’t even look inside to see everything in order because oddly enough, you trust it is.
Your grin makes the man in front of you feel strangely victorious.
“Not many would do what’s right.”
He squints his eyes and tilts his head to the side, as if to disagree. “I think we all deserve a little grace every now and then.”
“You have faith in humanity?”
You don’t mean to start a conversation about the moral dilemma of being human but his response intrigues you.
“I do.” He answers with such confidence that you believe him.
“That makes one of us.” You look back down at your hands applying pressure to the pain.
“Why don’t you?” He asks with genuine wonder.
You tilt your head at him, intrigued. “I’m an investigative reporter. I’ve seen and heard things that have made me come close to quitting.”
“Why haven’t you then?” He cheekily asks with a smirk of his own.
You're taken aback with his playful wit exuding a flirty vibe.
You'll bite.
“Because even though my job can be draining, I still love what I accomplish.”
He's delighted with your reasoning, appreciating your love for the game.
“Well said.” He nods.
You tilt your head up, the reporter in you wanting to talk to him more.
“Your turn.”
He raises an eyebrow at your proposed question.
“What do you do?” You ask.
He clicks his teeth lightly. “Well, you’ve seen me fly. I can hear well over the distance and lift very heavy things, if that’s what you’re asking.”
He knows that’s not what you’re asking, you know he knows that.
You smile, shaking your head at his quips. “As in your occupation, Mr..?”
He stands with a knowing smile. “I’ll tell you next time.”
You blink, startled by his suggestion. “Next time?”
He walks towards your window and you follow, opening it for him.
“Until next time, miss L/n.” He says with a knowing grin and two-finger salute.
The he's gone.
You're left staring at his fantastic display of power, soaring into the night sky before he disappears into the clouds.
You've never been this fascinated with anything before, but he isn't “anything” or “anyone”. He's a phenomenon, man with great power.
You don't see that often.
You wonder who he really is, where has he been all this time? What's his story?
So many questions, so little time but you'll hold him to that promise of a next time.
“Next time.” You murmur in confidence that he'll find you again.
Lois enters your office with a particular pep in her step, a knowing smile on her lips as she sees you.
You don’t look up from your work as you know there’s nobody else that can enter your office that way. (even perry knocks, lois)
“Sooo?” She asks, strangely enthusiastic.
“So.” You reply uninterested, flipping through pages.
She stares at you like you know what she’s talking about before bombarding you with questions.
“Who is he? What’s he like? Where's he from—? Wait, he’s human, right?”
Your eyes widen just a fraction before you dial it down.
You can't tell anybody about your encounter with him. At least not until you've had some questions answered.
A hurried breath is pushed past your lips, your eyebrows furrowing in annoyance at your friend’s prying form.
“No comment.” You say plainly, not indulging her.
Clark walks by with a new drink of the day and sets it down on your desk, a sweet smile on his face.
“For you.”
You know those certain people who just have you on automatic smile as soon as you see them? He's quickly becoming that person for you.
“You are such a nice guy, Clark.” Lois shakes her head in amazement.
She can't believe men like him do, in fact, exist.
That causes a noticeable blush to coat the tips of his ears and spread thinly across his cheeks.
He's humble. “I appreciate that Lois.”
This tradition is a declaration of friendship, a bond he claims to regard just as much as you do.
A sip of it simultaneously warms your heart and reawakens the butterflies lying dormant in your stomach.
“I agree.” You softly smile. “You’re committed to keeping up with this.”
He looks down and pushes his glasses up with an index finger, clicking his teeth together shyly. “Well, I’m no guy in a cape.”
There he goes downplaying his efforts and staying humble, as usual.
“How’s your ankle?” He asks as he eyes it.
You look down like you just remembered. “Oh, yeah, it’s fine. The swelling’s gone down a lot so I’m good to come back.”
Lois watches the news on one of the tv’s in the room play a clip someone managed to record of said guy fly up into the air, departing with a sonic boom.
She leans into Clark a bit, looking straight at the tv with that same damned topic on her mind. “Clark, do you think he’s handsome?”
He clears his throat lightly, sniffing as he tries to figure out how to answer that wild question. “Well, I— uhh… um— he’s, he’s… conventionally attractive.” His tone gets pitchy at the end, like he's asking, not telling.
“Lois.” You sigh.
“What? He’s so cute guys, I don’t know why no one else is talking about it.”
You take a peek at Clark and find quite a bit of blood rushing to his face.
“Clark, are you alright?”
“Huh— yeah. Yeah, no, I-I’m good! I’m fine, it’s just uhh… hot.” He nods, trying to look convincing.
Lois doesn’t miss a beat. “He’s hot.”
“Oh my god.” You groan.
“No, like, seriously.”
And it’s your fault for knowing how serious she is.
“Do you guys think he’d go for me?”
“Oh, yeah. For sure.” You nod with a fake smile. “He’d be all over you.”
She bursts out laughing, her focus on the poor guy in your midst. “He’s as red as his cape.”
You turn your head to see and it’s true, he’s super red in the face and just refuses to make eye contact.
“I’m just gonna go… do that thing Perry wanted.” He sends you girls a quick nod and smile before basically running out of y’all’s presence.
You watch him go and find his vulnerability endearing. He’s not afraid to show his feelings but like in typical Clark fashion, gets a little embarrassed when he does.
She purses her lips apologetically.
You shake your head at her. “Lois, if you were a man...” You raise your eyebrows and push air out in yet another sigh.
She takes your lack of words as a sign to contemplate the idea, then says, “You’d be my first target.” with a determined nod and serious look.
“Get out.”
You hadn’t anticipated your savior to be the subject of fascination so soon. Later on in the afternoon, in fact.
“L/n, you’re a firsthand witness. What do you think?”
Everyone’s eyes are on you as they wait for you to tell your story. You haven’t felt this nervous since your interview with this place.
You clear your throat a bit, feeling your nerves on fire.
“I believe he stopped the plane from crashing.”
You don’t need to be a telepath to know what they’re all thinking: you’re fucking crazy.
Of course, that’s an impossible thing to do but not everyone in this room was there.
“You think… he was responsible for saving everyone that day?” Perry asks, intrigued by your line of reasoning.
“As soon as we were on the ground, he entered through the doors and immediately asked if everyone was alright and if anyone was injured.”
A few people murmur in doubt but you continue.
“I sprained my ankle somehow and he offered to help me off and took me to an area where I could wait for an ambulance.”
They eye your gloved ankle, unimpressed. (it’s not like you’re here to knock their socks off anyway)
“He helped you off the jet?” Someone asks.
“He, um… carried me out.” You quietly say.
The atmosphere shifts and you can really feel and see just how shell-shocked everyone is.
“He carried you out?!”
“As in, in his arms? You were carried out in his arms..?”
You immediately jump to your defense. “I’m not sure why or how that matters.”
They’re incredulously adamant about it. “How come? You’ve not only had a conversation, but also came into close contact with him—”
“And that’s where your focus lies?” Perry cuts in.
You look at him in thanks and he nods in acknowledgment.
“I don't know.” A board member sighs. “Some mysterious man coming to save the helpless woman story won’t run headlines.”
You scoff in disbelief. “Excuse me?”
Perry feels a headache coming on.
“You asked about my encounter and I told you. I’m not here to be a headline.”
The man who thought of that “brilliant” idea is coated in embarrassment, feeling annoyed at receiving the heat.
“Anyone have any useful ideas?” Your boss asks with his thumbs pressing down on his temple.
There’s some chatter about this man and how he managed to save the plane, if he did. Some even discuss if he’s capable of being a potential threat to the country.
“You’re dismissed.” Perry says with a pointed look.
You leave with your head down and jaw tight, coming to sight with Mark.
“Excuse me.” You drop the hint of ignoring him but he doesn’t care.
“Going somewhere?” He asks with a smug expression.
You still push past him, only for him to turn around and tail you.
“Yeah. Some of us have jobs to do.”
You don’t care how you look and/or sound.
You just got reduced a damsel-in-distress by a board member while your boss ignored him. Granted, he stuck up for you when it came time but he also dismissed you like you weren’t needed anymore.
Mark pokes a tongue into his cheek, his frustration with you at its boiling point. “And what’s yours? Playing hooky with Superman?”
You don’t know whether to be offended or question the ridiculous choice of name for the man.
You choose the first option as it’s the most relevant.
“What did you just say to me?”
He smirks like he just found a pressure point on you. He takes a step closer. “You heard me.”
He actually thinks he's got you this time.
“What, got nothin' to say now that Kent isn't here to save you?”
All that annoyance you were feeling just know? Yeah, that's amplified by a thousand now that he brought that up.
“I can stick up for myself, and I definitely won’t take any shit from you.” You utter. “If I took that promotion back then, you would’ve been fired and on your ass in less than a minute.”
You're pulling rank and it's true.
He's seething now. A vein protrudes from his forehead and he inhales deeply to try to keep himself together as much as possible.
“Oh, I know how you got that promotion.” He spits venom so carelessly with the most malicious intent.
You squint your eyes with wariness, having a bad feeling about his intentions.
Mark continues his verbal assault.
“Yeah,” He nods. “It wasn't that hard to figure out why the old man favors you so much.”
You were right, it had been what you suspected.
The envy in him has always given off a strong stench, he literally gives the evil eye to those better than him in every way possible.
At your loss of words and hurt expression, he smirks before delivering what he thinks is the final blow. “I’m willing to bet you slept your way to the top.”
In this very moment, you realize you don’t have to listen to his shit any longer.
Your strike his face, open-handed; hard. A powerful smack resulting in a red handprint on his blanched face.
The ear on that side of his face rings piercingly loud and in his disoriented state, nearly collapses onto the floor.
A chorus of sharp gasps and sound grimaces snap you out of the adrenaline-fueled rage consuming you.
It seems that you’ve gathered quite a crowd of spectators. The horrified look on your face isn't nearly enough to convince your innocence to anyone just joining now joining in.
“What the hell is going on out here?” Perry's voice booms.
You shakily inhale, meeting his accusing gaze and you watch as he tracks a path between you and Mark writhing on the floor.
You fight the urge to roll your eyes at his pathetic acting.
“Get in here. Right. Now.”
With your chin up, you walk right past the whimpering mess on the floor; your heel almost crunching his fingers if it weren't for his reaction time.
You know you shouldn't be the one to feel embarrassed but there's still a part of you that does.
After all that you've put into this place, some overzealous, whiny little piece of shit wants to humiliate you by attempting to slutshame? In this day and age?
You huff in exasperation of being on your way to overstimulation by the very quick turn of events.
You're already sat when Mark comes in and Perry shuts the door, but not before yelling at everyone to get back to work.
You feel your victim to your far right, not wanting to sit down.
“Sit down, Mark.” Perry says before looking at him quizzically. “And why are both of your hands covering one side of your face?”
You bite back an explanation and a smirk.
Mark doesn't say anything but instead opts to show, he drops both hands hesitantly to his sides.
Perry's reaction is nothing short of priceless. He thinks about exclaiming but when side-eyeing you and carefully assessing your careless reaction, he clocks it.
“I was counting on you being bitch-slapped one of these days but I was not expecting you to be dumb enough to try her.” He dryly chuckles in half admiration and half disappointment.
“You're actually siding with her right now?”
You close your eyes and mentally prepare to be fired.
Perry’s expression is that of a Don’t try me and Mark actually takes it seriously this time.
Wonder what’s the difference between you and Perry giving him that look…
“What happened, Y/n?”
You open your eyes nervously and take a breath, preparing yourself to speak your truth.
“I slapped him… because he accused me of sleeping my way to the top for the promotion.”
There’s about a few seconds of silence before Perry speaks up.
“...What.”
Mark's sweating now. “W-well, I just said that in the heat of the moment.” He chuckles nervously. “I didn’t mean that—”
Perry pinches the bridge of his nose to try to calm himself down. “I have no tolerance for this kind of behavior, Mark. You know that.”
Said boy clears his throat and sniffs. “Y-yes sir, I do—”
“Then why did you do it?” Perry’s eyes bore into his with such intensity, it makes you a bit uneasy as well.
Mark opens and closes his mouth trying to come up with an answer to that obviously rhetorical question like a fish.
At his lack of words, your boss scratches his forehead. “Here’s an easier one: what did you think you were going to accomplish by demeaning her character like that?”
Still no answer.
He points a finger at him. “She is your superior regardless of that promotion because she, unlike you, gets it. She gets this job, she gets what it means to be a reporter.”
His condescending tone towards the other male isn't unheard of but it sure as hell surprises you a lot.
Mark tightens his jaw and turns his head to look at you in malice. “With all due respect, sir, you should try to understand why I said that.”
“I don’t have to understand a goddamn thing, boy.” His gruff voice reverberates through the walls, causing you to straighten your back.
Perry then carefully and slowly says, “Get the fuck outta here, you’re fired.”.
Mark dares to speak up even now. “But, sir—”
“Right now!” The older man barks his orders and like the sad little puppy Mark is, follows one last time.
When he leaves, Perry sighs and turns to sit down in his chair. He pours himself a drink, offering one to you.
You stare at him wearily before declining but he pours you a drink, anyway.
He silently takes a sip, prompting you to do the same and you feel the smooth, mellow taste of Brandy.
He groans, satisfied with the drink.
You set your glass down, feeling your nerves becoming slightly undone by the aftertaste.
It’s momentarily quiet, the awkward silence now comfortable.
You’re the first to break it. “Am I fired?”
This is apparently funny to him because he laughs. Yes, he wheezes before giving in to the chest-laugh every man his age has.
You nervously chuckle along, not knowing if that's the right move.
He sighs in satisfaction once more.
“Y/n,” He begins warmly. “I can't fire you after that shitshow.”
Anyone else would think that statement was made in fear of being seen as an asshole who doesn't stand in solidarity with women but not you.
Perry White can put on a show of being a bitter old man but now's not one of those times.
“You did what you had to do and since I'm being honest,” He leans in a little like he's about to share a secret. “I'm glad you gave me a reason to kick his ass out.”
That brings a soft smile on your face, one that expresses your gratitude.
“I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”
“Most bosses wouldn't give a fuck.” The word rolls off your tongue with such smoothness, you forgot to code switch.
He takes no mind and instead lets you talk informally, he gathers you deserve that much.
“I'm not most bosses.” He wittily replies with a wink and tight-lipped smile.
“No, you are not.” You say with an appreciative nod.
You ignore everyone that didn't need your help for the remainder of the day.
As Mark took the walk of shame, it made you feel a little better when you saw people who you've never spoken to give him dirty looks and shake their head at him in disapproval.
Even though he got at least half of what he deserved, you still felt the aftermath of his words. They stung and it just made you think, how many other people feel that way?
You drown yourself in work, you felt as if you're now obligated to work twice as hard.
“Y/n?”
You move your head from your hand and look up above your computer, spotting no other than your trusty colleague and friend.
“Clark, hey. What’re you doing here?”
“I was just about to ask you that.” He says with a boyish smile and points at you.
You smile back instinctually. “I'm just finishing up some stuff, meeting deadlines.”
“Ah.” He nods.
You eye the time and decide to save what you have left, planning to resume tomorrow.
“I was doing the same.”
You put on your jacket and grab your purse, walking out with him.
“This late?”
Poor guy, you hope he doesn't have a workload as big as yours if he's staying until almost one am.
“Yeah.” Clark sighs tiredly. “Perry gave me Mark's last assignment.”
You pause locking your office door, not expecting that answer.
Clark pretends not to notice.
As you enter the elevator (before clark, of course), you make light conversation.
“So ready to go home to my bed.” You tip your head back close your eyes, letting yourself rest for a moment.
“For real, I was about to fall asleep at my desk if it wasn’t for you.”
Both of your eyes open. “What do you mean?”
“I thought I was the only person here but then I saw your lamplight on so, I figured why not fight it for as long as I can.”
Had he stayed this long for you?
“Clark…”
You feel guilty and why wouldn’t you? He was basically waiting on you to call it in and stood by the entire time.
“It’s completely okay! No harm done.” He insists.
He was actually meaning to go home the same time you were, so he could talk to you.
He knows how pathetic that sounds but he'd rather be a pathetic man with a crush, even if that sounds elementary.
Instead, he opts on telling a half truth. “I needed the extra hours anyway.”
You turn to face him. “You did?”
Uh oh. He wasn’t supposed to say that.
Stupid sleep-deprived brain making him say things he’s not supposed to.
“Yeah, cause my research and work ethic is different from Mark’s.” He purses his lips and nods lightly.
Though he may look confident on the outside, he’s freaking out on the inside.
What was he supposed to say, the truth? I'm out saving the planet one country at a time so I need the time to do my day job ha ha ha.
He hopes you believe him and don’t inquire any further so he won't have to come up with another lie.
You hum before yawning lightly. “Makes sense.”
Clark watches you cover your mouth with the back of your hand and notices how you close your eyes when you yawn.
He also notes that you're really comfortable around him. You don't think twice about saying certain things in front of him.
He likes being the reason you let your guard down, he does the same around you.
You can see him staring into the side of your face so you turn your head, meeting his warm yet intimidating stare.
Your lips automatically purse into the friendliest awkward smile you have and he returns the sentiment.
You both then look away simultaneously. You look up at the countdown whereas he looks down on the shining metallic floor.
There’s still twenty-five more floors to go before you meet the garage parking lot.
The atmosphere grows a little awkward but is forgiven as there’s a shared understanding: you’re both fucking exhausted.
Though, there is something Clark wants to talk to you about.
“Y/n?”
“Hm?”
He hesitates for a moment, his mouth opening then closing as he thinks about how to bring this topic up.
“I heard about what happened.”
You slowly turn your head to him wordlessly, waiting for him to continue.
He stares back at you and you notice how blue his eyes look under fluorescent light.
“I’m sorry.” He murmurs, affected by the outburst as anyone else who gave a damn.
You’re touched. “You don’t have to apologize, Clark.” You say as you look down at your shoes, suddenly growing shy of his eyes.
“I know,” He says. “But I care.”
The sentiment doesn't go unnoticed. Your lips turn up appreciatively.
“I know that as a woman, I'll be undermined at times but that was seriously a low blow.” You vent. “Even for him.”
Your disappointment isn't hard to assess. Even though you knew he'd be the one to say something like that, you still would've liked to be proven wrong.
Clark feels for you, you shouldn't have to feel alienated by your colleagues.
“I'm sorry nobody spoke up. I would have.”
“I know. Thanks, Clark.”
“Of course. Anytime.”
You think about how nice it is of Clark to say this but you’re reminded of his absence prior.
“Where were you today, by the way. I barely saw you.”
He begrudgingly lies straight through his teeth. “I was out running some errands.” He was actually stopping a country from getting bombed but that’s a story for another time.
“Perry still giving you the Miranda treatment?”
He chortles at your reference. “What can I say, I make a great Andrea.”
“You do. Who’s your Emily?”
You both take a moment to think about this.
“I got nothin’.” You say.
Clark agrees, although he’s come up with an alternative approach.
“There’s Mark, but he’s more Emily to your Andrea.”
You make a motion to wrap your hands around your neck and pretend to choke yourself.
It gets a good laugh out of him.
You blow a soft raspberry. “I just want my Nate. Without the “I'm insecure and feel jealous because my partner is having it better” part.” You look up at him and say without thinking, “You’d make a great Nate.”.
You’re so tired, very exhausted from the day taking a toll on you; which explains why you don't kill yourself after admitting that sober.
Clark feels hot, like his whole face is on fire. He chuckles bashfully, very obviously failing at trying to not let that affect him so much.
The elevator dings and you both look up, finding the doors to open and reveal the garage parking lot.
“So, what do you mean by that? Exactly.” He furrows his brows and pushes his glasses up.
You step out, not realizing the weight of your words. “Oh, you know. I mean that you'd be a supportive and secure boyfriend.”
He's stumped, left watching as you walk to your car.
You wave goodbye before getting into your car and he returns the gesture.
You turn to face him, walking backwards. “Good night, Clark.”
He feels the blood wash over his heart like the ocean returning to shore.
“Good night.” He murmurs fondly.
“Dude, this is a terrible idea.” Jimmy scolds. “Your worst one yet, and you barely get those!”
But Clark isn’t listening, he’s already made his mind up. “If I like her as a man then I have to respect her as Superman.”
Okay, that was a bar, Jimmy concedes.
“Besides, she wouldn’t tell anyone.” Clark adds.
Of course you wouldn't tell anyone about Clark’s identity, he knows that.
“I know that,” Jimmy sighs. “But think of your relationship with her as Superman from a journalistic standpoint.”
Jimmy just wants the best for his best man, he wants Clark to really think about this.
“She won’t let her bias for you stop her from doing her job, even if that means asking questions you can’t answer directly.”
Diving headfirst into something like a romantic relationship without going over the logistics is bound to crash and burn.
But it’s you; the same woman who understands him. You see him, know him. You’re not one to hide how comforted you feel when he’s around, he literally hears your heart rate when he dotes on you.
You must feel the same way… right?
How would you react to this news? Would you still feel the same? Would you still view him as that mild-mannered, bumbling, fresh-eyed boy from Smallville? That Clark Kent?
After some careful consideration, Clark comes to a conclusion.
“Okay.” He says.
Jimmy closes his eyes in relief, sighing at the fact that his friend chose his mind over his heart.
“I’m going to tell her everything.”
Jimmy slaps a palm across his forehead with closed eyes, not believing he got bamboozled this way.
He now has to watch his best friend throw everything away for the ruzz (reporter huzz).
Clark feels a weight lifted from his chest at this decision.
He's always wanted to tell you but his moral obligation was to this planet, regardless of what his heart wanted.
He walks to your office, stopping just before the door to check on his appearance. He moves his head to the side, inspecting his hair. He then fixes his tie and glasses.
Satisfied with himself, he knocks and waits for your approval.
“Come in.”
Clark pokes his head in comically.
Your eyes flit up and when you see him, giggling at his silliness. “Hey, you.”
His chest warms at the sight and sound of your delight.
You seem so easygoing, truly content when you smile or laugh. Do you know that?
His takes in your face.
Your hair shines from the light, cascading down your shoulders and framing your head nicely.
Your eyes are on him and every time you look at him, he feels as though he can tell you anything. And though they're beautiful, his favorite part about your face have to be your lips.
You're a very expressive person so your words and reactions make up everything about you.
He loves seeing them pull you into a smile and laugh, especially when he's the reason. It’s like a reward seeing you joyful because of him.
He's momentarily distracted by the sight, always on the verge of forgetting his objective as soon as your pretty lips move around.
You say his name like you're in the middle of something.
He blinks, shaking himself out of his daydream. “I'm sorry, what? I was not paying attention, I'm sorry.”
It's refreshing to see a man apologize so much but it feels weird coming from him.
“It's too early for this, I know.” You jest kindly. “I asked what can I do for you?”
“Oh! Right, why I'm here.” He chuckles, embarrassed.
Get it together, Clark he warns himself mentally.
“I, um... I wanted to ask you something.”
You lean your elbows on your desk, giving him your undivided attention. “Sure, what's up?”
He walks to your desk, taking out a sticky note folded in half. He hands it to you.
I have something I want to talk about, meet me in the mailroom? Lunch is on me ;)
You can't with this guy sometimes. Asking you to lunch via sticky note?
“That is seriously the cutest thing ever.” Lois coos.
You've been smiling since he gave the note to you, grinning at him as he walked out of your office.
You even did a celebratory squeal before containing yourself.
“Isn't it?” You giddily ask. “Ugh, he's so cute.”
Lois nods in agreement, wondering when she's gonna find her own Clark Kent.
“What do you think he wants to talk about?” You ask.
Lois looks at you bewildered. “What do you mean? Isn't it obvious?”
You stare at her expectantly, blinking.
“Oh my god.” She groans. “He's gonna tell you how bad he wants you, Y/n!”
“He is?” You say, hopeful.
She nods ecstatically and spins you around in your chair to face her. “Think about it. You two have been dancing around this unspoken attraction between you for how long?”
You instantly give her a time period. “A little over a month.”
“That was rhetorical.”
“Oh.” Your lips pull to the side, sheepishly. “Sorry. Continue.”
“The point is, he obviously feels for you. It was just a matter of when he’d get the balls to make the first move.”
You nod along, finding her logic unarguable. “Okay. Okay, so I just walk in and tell him—”
“No, no, no. What? Don't do that! He's the one asking you to come over so let him go first.”
“Right, right.” You blink. “Let him go first, you're right.”
Lois puts a sympathetic hand on your shoulder. “You're nervous, and that's okay. Just breathe, be calm, cool, and collected. You're Y/n L/n, investigative reporter at the Daily Planet.”
“I’m Y/n L/n, investigative reporter at the Daily Planet.” You repeat like a mantra.
Lois smiles encouragingly, being your best hype-woman. “You’re fucking amazing.”
You close your eyes and blindly trust her. “I’m fucking amazing.”
“You’re the baddest bitch here and you know it.”
You blow air deeply, feeling yourself relax a bit. “I’m the baddest… bitch here and I know it.”
“Fuck yeah, you do!” She exclaims and you find yourself smiling, shaking your head at her theatrics.
You fucking love this girl.
“You got this, okay? Don't think too much, it'll feel natural once you let him talk.”
You feel like you’re about to get in the boxing ring with everything that could go wrong.
“Go get him, tiger!”
It's lunchtime and for the first time in history, you're not hungry.
You can't even think about eating out of anxiety.
You walk towards the mailroom and suspire when you go to twist the door handle.
You're immediately met with the dreamy pair of eyes you were hesitant to see.
You shut the door behind you, none of you want to be the one to move first.
“Hi.” He hums.
“Hi.” You say, equally as soft.
He clears his throat lightly and gestures you over, some sandwiches and sodas decorating the table.
“Panera?” You say with glee.
His lips pull back at your reaction. “Yup.”
You reign in your excitement, remembering why you came here in the first place.
“So.” You hint subtly.
“Sooo.”
You tilt your head at him, narrowing your eyes playfully at him. “Sooo, what'd you have to tell me?”
He clicks his teeth. “That's the question.”
You tip your head back and half-whine, half-laugh. “Stop baiting me!”
Clark finds humor in edging you on like this, how often does he get to see you so highstrung?
“Okay, okay, alright.” He airily chuckles. “I'll stop.”
You blink patiently, the remnants of a grin on your face.
He soughs, building up the confidence to tell you how just much he feels for you.
“Okay.” He licks his lips, meeting your gaze.
He's caught, mesmerized by the way your attention is on him. He doesn't realize just how heavy his stare is until he watches you squirm.
“Clark..?” You call out to him thinking he's spacing out.
“Sorry.” He says on default, though he's not really apologetic for anything at all.
You're just so— “Beautiful.”
Your breath catches in your chest and he's mortified.
“I, I just said that... outloud.” He stammers.
You watch him scramble for a way out.
“I'm sorry— not that you aren't beautiful, which you are. You so are.”
He cringes at himself and you hold back a simper, finding him so endearing.
“I just, um... Alright, here's the thing.” He claps both hands together softly.
“Mhm.” You nod, furrowing your eyebrows and to show you're just as serious about what he has to say.
“I... I have, uh— wait, no. That's not right.” He mutters to himself.
You come closer, standing right in front of him. “Clark.”
He looks down, stunned at your proximity and stops babbling.
“Just say it.” You coax gently. “Whatever it is, I'm sure we can work through it, together.”
Together. He thinks about the good ending, the one where you do end up getting together.
As you look up at him with those kind eyes, he feels everything he has to say come right out.
“I can't stop thinking about you.” He confesses.
You blink, startled by this even though you were expecting it.
“I like you, a-a lot, and I have so much to tell you.”
Clark's eyes flit between yours, desperately searching somewhere for you to feel the same.
He hears your heartbeat skyrocket, he feels your hands shake slightly from the adrenaline. The smell of your perfume thickens the air and he can't get enough. He can almost taste the color of your lips with how close they are.
He gulps, growing jumpy from your silence.
“Say something, please.” He whispers.
Another moment of quiet, not voluntarily. You're just trying to find the right words.
“I... feel the same.”
That familiar megawatt smile graces his lips and you feel the tables turn, you in his previous postition and he in yours.
“I have for a long time.”
His eyes crease at that and he can't help the laughter bubbling out of him.
You laugh with him, not believing this is happening right now.
“You have no idea how long I've been holding that in.” He tells you, leaning on the table behind him.
“Not longer than me.” You suppose.
His eyebrows quirk up, silently asking you to go first.
So you do. “Since you started bringing me my daily dose of energy.”
He hums.
“Now, you.”
He looks at you with the fondest expression ever, you hold yourself back from kissing him stupid.
“Since my first day.” His voice thick with honey.
Your eyes soften and though he's won, you don't take this as a loss.
“Seriously?”
You don't mean to be so anticlimactic but how else does one react to feelings of romance being reciprocated?
As if Clark Kent couldn't get any more attractive, he takes your hand with the utmost care and rests it right on top of his heart.
“Can you feel that?” He asks while gauging your every little microreaction.
It speeds up gradually as your hand connects with the fabric of his shirt, pure electricity binding you together.
You nod, involuntarily fighting the tears you sense.
“Aw, don't cry.” He cradles your face in his hands and you close your eyes, overwhelmed by his affection for you.
“Come on, let me see you.” He ducks his head down, trying to catch your shy eyes.
When you finally do, he smiles so brightly that you swear it's like looking directly into the sun.
“There she is.”
You chuckle weakly, sniffling once.
He lets go of your face and can't resist the temptation of not touching your arms. He rubs them up and down a couple times, feeling goosebumps arise in their wake.
“Can I have a hug?” You ask, looking back at him through your lashes.
He feels his heart stop right there, that look sends him over the edge and you don't even know it.
Clark wordlessly leans down and pulls you in, his strong arms wrap around your waist comfortingly while you reach up on your toes.
You rest your head on his shoulder and feel your hearts beating under each other so passively, a sigh escapes the confines of both your mouths simultaneously.
Something about this feels like déjà vu, like you've been in a similar position.
“Hey.”
“Hm?”
“Remember that conference I was supposed to go to in DC but got cancelled because the jet almost crashed?”
He pulls away with a straight face, hiding the absolute chaos unfurling behind those eyes. “Yeah..? Why?”
You look at the door then back at him. “I haven't told anyone about this but afterwards, Superman came by my place.”
“What? No way!” Clark gasps.
You nod cooly.
“So, what happened? What'd you guys talk about?”
You tell him how he stopped by to return your purse but something has been bugging you since. “I just don't know how he got my address.”
“Oh, that's easy.” He doesn't feel like playing this game anymore, too many sweats. “I know where you live.”
You’re perplexed and then some because what does that mean?
“What are you saying?”
He puts both hands on your shoulders and gives you a riddled look that says, Come on, you know what I’m saying
A lightbulb turns on in your head but it can’t be. There’s just no way you’re thinking what he’s thinking.
You’re too flabbergasted to say a word. You just stare at him, open-mouthed and wide-eyed as you say it out loud.
“You’re… you’re— you,” You chuckle dryly, your head spinning a bit. “You’re Superman?”
He doesn’t give any indication of agreeing with you but his silence does.
Clark’s trying to get a read on you.
You then cover your mouth with both hands, muffling an excited ‘Oh my god!’.
He feels reassured.
“You’re Superman!” You whisper-scream.
“Yes. Yes, I am.” He nods while checking the door to see anyone coming in.
You just stare at him in wonder, taking this all in.
It all makes perfect sense.
Who else would be selfless enough to protect those who can’t protect themselves? To have integrity is the most Clark Kent trait you can think of.
You know Clark has a big heart but this? This is next level.
“Why are you telling me this?”
He looks at you like the answer to that is simple, which to him, is. It’s always going to be simple if it involves you.
“I don’t want to start this on a lie.” He reveals as those damned blue eyes fixate on you.
You can fly right now.
He leans in ever so slowly, tracking any detail on your face that may give away the impression of not wanting him in your space.
When he finds none and is absolutely sure, he puts a hand on your cheek and asks, “Can I kiss you?”.
“Yes.” You sound softly and it’s as if a prayer has been answered.
Your eyes flutter shut and he parts his lips for you, you anticipate them to be just as soft and lush as they seem.
He believes he’ll finally be able to understand the languid nature of your mouth and decipher its meaning.
Sparks fly when you make contact, it strengthens the electricity that makes your chemistry.
The kiss is a breath of fresh air, the kind that blows in quietly; peacefully.
He’s sweet, undoubtedly so. His palms hesitantly splay across the curves on your waist. You smile at the soft touch and he does as well.
Your hands are on his chest and you can feel every pulse, flutter, and pang of his heart.
You think it’s poetic; the influence you have on his heart, both figuratively and literally.
He rests his forehead on yours and you look up at him from under your lashes.
He’s about to speak up when he hears something, something you don’t. His ears perk in the direction of the distressed sound and he turns his head apologetically.
“I have to go.” He regretfully informs.
You reach up to kiss his cheek and rid him of guilt. “When you come back, I’ll be right here.”
Clark hugs you once more and asks, “You’re my hero, you know that?”.
You chortle and respond with, “Is that Superman talking or you?”.
“Both.” He pulls back with a kiss on your hairline, winking at you with a cheeky grin.
He runs out the door and leaves you with the ghost of his touch and words that form a sappy smile on your face.
Superman may be the world’s hero, but Clark Kent is yours.