#first fic posted

[mousesize]

[INITIATING BLACK BOX RECOVERY PROGRAM...]

Chapter 1 of my bloodymary fic Ghostlight is out finally. Never shared any fic before I'm so scared.

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[loversscard]

I caught myself.

Clark Kent x Scientist!Reader

Plot- when Lex Luther brings you on to help kill “The Superman”, you don’t give it much thought and agree. But once you find yourself face to face with the man you can’t help yourself, inexplicably drawn to him, and ready to go through any means necessary to figure him out. (or) reader is a scientist who works for lex and finds themself obsessed with Superman. Oh, reader also is the person making all the weird animals and stuff.

wc- 16.2k (omg ya'll this bitch can write)

CW- 18+, fem!reader(reader has breasts and a vagina) but no gendered pronouns used, reader is a bit all over the place, implied ocd, mentions of syringe/injection, mentions of past depression/depressive episode, reader experiences a depressive episode, head(f!receiving), slight fingering(?), unprotected sex!!!, slight come eating from clark. I think that’s it but let me know if I missed anything.

AN- omg this took me forever!!! Sorry if characterization is all over the place or if Clark is ooc but I wanted to give off the vibe that Superman hasn’t been around for that long, which is why reader/lex don’t know much about him! Also I haven’t written anything in a very long time, so that’s why the punctuation and grammar is kinda crazy!!(written on iphone without autocorrect) Uhm…self-conscious about the smut but I felt wrong not including it 😔 this entire fic is basically reader getting off and on the bus, or traveling to work!! No scene of lex actually talking bc I didn’t think I could get him to sound evil without it being cornball behavior. anyway, hope you like it!! <3

At exactly 3:53 pm Superman turns himself into LutherCorp custody.

At exactly 4:00 pm Superman is placed into a containment cell in your office.

And at exactly- you look down at your watch.

And at exactly 4:25 pm Superman awakes from his kryptonite induced syncope.

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You watch his cell from the comfort of your desk, bathed in the darkness of shadowed corners where the artificial light from the containment cell hasn’t reached.

“Where am I?”

You don’t respond, In truth you don’t know what to say, months of preparing for this all boiling down to a singular moment.

“Hello?- I know you’re there.” He grits out through clenched teeth, then stands from the hunched position he previously held. He clutches the spot right below his second rib and grunts, when he removes his hand there’s a deep gash that looks infected; blisters and marred skin surrounding the cut. You think back, remembering the moment where lex stabbed him with a ‘meticulously carved piece of kryptonite’ (those were his words). You note that it was a bit overkill, but think ‘whatever helps him sleep at night’. Getting up from your desk, you step closer; still in the shadows, but close enough where he can make out a figure in a white lab coat. Your glasses catch the light coming from his cell as you push them further up your nose.

“You’re still at LutherCorp.”

He looks around the cell, around your lab, then in your general direction. “Still doesn’t answer my question.” he says, while stepping closer to the glass.

And though you don’t mean to, you take a step with him. Now fully revealed; it makes a shiver run up your spine. You don’t think he’d hurt you, or even be able to currently, but you can’t deny that he is quite imposing. All muscle, and height, and he most certainly must be angry, it would be easy for him to-

“Helloo-“ he trails off as he squints at your LutherCorp ID, once he makes it out he says your name slowly, testing the sound on his tongue. You narrow your eyes at him, promptly taken aback from his lack of, well..everything. Where was the yelling? The anger? The threats?

“what game are you playing?” and you don’t mean for it to come out as mean as it does…but it does.

“I’m not playing any games Doctor.” He exhales a small laugh, “I just think we should get aquatinted is all- since I have a feeling we’ll be running into each other quite a bit.” He says so with a smile, that is quite otherworldly and god you hate him. Then quietly a small part of your brain states that ‘you’re starting to understand Lex now’.

You march up to his cell and press a finger into the glass, nail digging into the material as if you were pressing it into his chest. “I want nothing more to do with you then what Lex finds necessary, we are not acquaintances…” the verbal fire starts to burn out, but not before the final sparks let loose.

“-you’re nothing more than a test subject.” You grit out before turning back to your desk, basked in the comfort of anonymity that darkness brings.

didn’t mean to blow up, not really. It’s just, you never realized your resentment for the man until now. How lex had you putting 110% of your effort into helping him kill ‘The Superman’ and how exhausting it had been, to put your own research and projects on hold; Just for him to waltz onto the front streps of luthorCorp and turn himself in.

You’re annoyed, and angry, and most of all, tired.

You take in a deep breath willing yourself to stay composed, and to stay on track. you gesture to the door that leads into the hallway, “lex should be here soo-“

He’s gone.

The cell is shattered, glass and metal debris now decorate the floor of your office space and lab. he must’ve escaped while you were trying to calm yourself down, too wrapped up in your own thoughts to see or even hear the commotion of- you still don’t know how he actually got out.

stepping over the broken glass you make your way into the now destroyed cell, still trying to figure out how he got away. Then, something warm and wet drips onto the top of your head, slides down your face, and lands on the floor. looking up you see a man sized hole carving through concrete, and pipes, going up- god, eight stories? you also see the sky and the setting sun, giving way for a scattering of faint stars.

Well. Nothing you can do now.

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The bus ride to your apartment is fairly silent, aside from the faint hum of music coming from a young man’s headphones sitting three seats down. That silence is broken when your bus stops, picking up an older gentleman who is very obviously drunk. He sways and trips into his seat, and as he lolls his head around his eyes land on you, but instead of the rude or abrasive yelling you expect it’s a worried,

“what the fuck happened to you?!”

You look down at yourself, no visible signs of anything. Utterly confused, until you look past the man into the window behind him; hair and shoulders are covered in pulverized concrete, and there’s a mysterious brown patch of some….liquid…all over your shoulder. You draw your focus back onto the man’s face.

“Bad day at work.” Is the only way you know how to explain the day you’ve had.

And he nods, like he knows what you mean.

You’re met with a rush of cold air when you step into your apartment, then almost immediately you hear the all too familiar sound of your neighbor practicing his guitar. See, you wouldn’t be upset if it was a couple times a week, or if it lasted a couple hours a day. But no, It’s every night. For hours on end. It’s almost, almost, commendable but god is it annoying. However after multiple attempts at sending over notes, or fuck, even storming over there yourself, you’ve given up. Trying to tune out the noise you start the familiar routine you’ve perfected over the years: hang work satchel on the rack next to the door, remove your shoes; place them carefully next to your umbrella holder. Walk over to your bedroom bath, strip out of work clothes, and set them into your dirty hamper. The lab coat is the only material that doesn’t go into your hamper, instead you place it in a large trash bag, preparing to drop it off at the dry cleaners on your way to work. Then finally, finally you step into the hot shower, letting the heat relax your muscles before lathering an unscented soap onto your skin. You get drawn back into the events that occurred; your meet with Superman, your chat, his unfortunate escape.

But something else makes its presence known, a wave of curiosity. The type you get when you’re studying a new organism, or in this case studying Superman. Residual anger resides in your chest, but it’s overshadowed by an undying urge to learn about him, to study him. And there’s nothing wrong with that. He’s a superpowered alien from a faraway planet, there’s bound to be some weird stuff about him.

Stuff you could use against him.

So you decide in that moment, as the water begins to lose its heat, that this curiosity is natural and will prove to be quite useful.

You spend the rest of your night compiling any information you can about Superman. You gather this:

1. He is a kryptonian, the last of his people, and he was sent here to do “good”.

(you’ve heard the speech so many times it’s words have started to imprint themselves onto your brain)

2. His list of confirmed abilities include the following

-super strength

-flight

(yeah. It was hard for you to confirm an actual source of all his combined powers. Some say he has x-ray vision, some say he can turn into a- you check your notes again, -an eight legged armored crab with razor sharp pinchers…you decide you’ll just have to figure that part out yourself)

And 3. Out of all his interviews, he’s done the most with a junior writer at the Daily Planet.

Clark Kent.

Clark’s information is thankfully more robust. his high school, his university career, his hometown, his years working at various newspaper outlets, his phone number, his home addr- you get the picture.

At first you bypass him, not giving the man a second thought until….well an idea invades your mind. The daily planet is on your direct route to the dry cleaners, you’ve even passed it on more than one occasion. There would be nothing wrong with stopping by….and asking Mr. Kent a few questions. So you devise a plan. you’ll bring your lab coat, stuff it into your satchel (and sadly wrinkle it even further), bring your lanyard (making sure to take out your Luther Corp. ID), and moonlight as a newly hired journalist. It wouldn’t be hard to pull him aside and ask a few questions, it makes perfect sense for a fresh faced writer to want to get an inside scoop from, ‘The Superman’s’ favorite journalist.

So for the first time in a very long time, you go to bed happy for tomorrow; willing yourself to fall asleep as quickly as possible, and ready to get a head start on your first day of work.

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The bus drops you off about a block away from the daily planet and about two from the dry cleaners. You take the short walk with a specific stride in your step, and it doesn’t take long until you’re on the front steps of the daily planet. The hustle and bustle of the building is, quite the contrast from your work environment at luthercorp. Journalists and reporters running about, various chatting of all volumes and interests. Perfect. It’s more than easy for you to slip through the main lobby and into the real workplace. Looking around desks and down various hallways, you search for him. The ever elusive Mr. Kent (you decided to coin him) is seemingly absent. And it would draw too much attention to yourself if you started asking around so you just…wait.

At some point a woman with icy blonde hair starts making her way towards you. “Are you lost sweetie?” The woman, cat- you deduce after taking a look at her Id, approaches you with a worried expression. You realize she must’ve seen you wandering around the building. “No no. It’s my first day and….-“ you trail off, trying to think of the best way to go about this.

“I’m waiting for Clark Kent actually. I got an email saying that he’d walk me through my first day a bit.” You speak calmly. Years of interviews, internships, and company meetings throughout your days have thankfully prepared you for thinking on the fly. Cat puts a hand on her chest, “awh! Well, Welcome to the family-“. She places that same hand on your arm and rubs her thumb up and down, “you might be sitting her for a bit longer though…Clark is usually late- But don’t worry, he’ll show up!” She gives your arm one last reassuring squeeze before throwing you a quick smile and walking away.

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Cat was right.

It takes about thirty more minutes of you sitting there idly, before a tall figure comes tripping through the revolving doors.

Mr. Kent.

He looks different compared to the photo you had seen online, more frazzled; Carrying a satchel, two coffees, a brown paper bag, (which looks to be stained with some kind of greasy food), a stack of papers? files? And finally a long tan coat thrown over his arm. He rushes past you and makes a beeline to a desk first in the walkway. He drops one coffee off at a Lois L.’s desk (you’ll have to look them up later) and then settles himself into one a bit further in the corner.

You give him a moment to gather himself. Open up his laptop, take a couple sips of his coffee, write some notes. Which look to be color coded. (Respectable)

Don’t know why you watch him for so long, but you do. Watch as he turns, looking around the room but not exactly looking at you, watch as the light from a nearby window catches a dimple he has on the right side of his mouth, then hits his face so well it causes you both to wince for entirely different reasons. He turns back to his desk, and you’re able to find your breath again.

Your’re stalling is what you tell yourself, which is unlike you, but what other reason could there possibly be? ignoring that train of thought you march up to his desk, getting puzzled looks from a couple of journalists.

“Mr. Kent.”

He whips his head around, and his eyes widen in something akin to recognition. “H-Hello?”, he rises from his chair and you stagger back a bit, having to follow his ascension up with your eyes. (You note that you might be a tad dramatic) though Mr. Kent is still hunched a bit his height comes a fair surprise, something his public records never mentioned.

He looks at you expectantly and, you’ve been around enough to know, a bit of nervousness. He takes a large gulp, and scratches the back of his head. “Could I help you with something miss?”

You’re snapped back into reality.

“Actually you could. See I think there’s been a slight mix up. Today’s my first day, and I believe you were supposed to-” you pause, make it more believable, and gesture with your hands, “-help me handle the reigns a bit..but-“ a small pout forms on your face, “It seems you weren’t informed about any of this.”

He holds a finger up, as if ready to explain himself. You seize the moment. “Is there any way you could help me sort this out?”

He stammers a bit before responding, “I’d be more than happy to!” he gives you a small smile, and god. All you can do is look away quickly before speed-walking to the ‘front desk’. Clark follows closely behind, then speeds up when you take the ‘wrong turn’ down a fairly empty hallway.

He laughs nervously, “Uhm, I think we might’ve turned the wrong way, front desk is act-“ you grab his tie and pull him into a small storage closet that you had scoped out while waiting for his arrival.

Once he’s in you push him, rather harshly you’ll admit, into the wall. Then you lock the door.

“I’m sorry this is all rather forward Mr. Kent but-“ you push your slipping glasses up your nose, “-I have questions, and I know you have the answers.”

Clark breathes heavily against the wall, licking his lips and darting his eyes from you, to the door, the ceiling, you again. “I’m not sure I follow.” He manages to squeak out.

“I want to know more about Superman and it seems you might know him the best.”

He breathes out a sigh of relief, closing his eyes briefly before responding with an almost completely different attitude. “And what if I don’t wish to tell you anything?” He stands confident; more assured. Now smiling at you with this look of ‘I know something you don’t know.’

It annoys you.

“Then every one in the daily planet and in a five mile radius will die”

(Completely not true)

“my team and I have planted a set of coordinated bombs that will detonate the moment I give my signal.”

(Not true either)

Clark looks at you with a determined look, as if he’s trying to figure out if you’re bluffing. He closes his eyes, then speaks. “What do you want to know?”

You almost giggle. Almost.

You pull open your small bag and yank out the mini recording device, turning it on quickly and pressing record.

“What is your relation with Superman?”

“None. I’m just a reporter who’s brave enough to seek him out. Our numbered meetings have always been after a fight or on the street. We have no intimate or personal knowledge of each other.”

it’s such a coordinated answer, too perfect, and most definitely practiced. You can’t help but roll your eyes. Clark shoots you a similar expression, “what? I’ve given you what you wanted. That is the only relation I have with the man.”

You move on since it seems you’re not getting anything from that branch of questioning.

“You once did an interview with Superman where he stated ‘ people have a lot of preconceptions about me that just aren’t true. I’m someone trying his very best to do good’, do you think-“

“Wow someone really did their research.” He interjects, giving you that oh so seeet smile from before.

You glare at him, clear your throat, then continue. “do you think Superman was referring to the speculation behind his true intentions regarding human life here on earth?”

He looks at you blankly for a minute before breathing out a frustrated sigh, “What do you actually want to ask me? Stop with the talk-show questions and say what you really mean.”

Well. At least you were trying to go about this a little more professionally.

“What does he want with us?”

Clark moves his head back in annoyance before looking at you again, “Nothing! All he wants to do is help. He’s said that time and time again.”

You ignore him.

“What are his capabilities? Any specific strengths or weaknesses?”

“How am I supposed to know that?”

“Well you seem to watch him the most and you’re miraculously there all the time. it’s also kinda your job as a journalist to get the “inside scoop.”

“Okay, whatever. He can fly, he has enhanced strength, he’s vulnerable to kryptonite, and he has laser vision.”

you perk up, now we’re getting somewhere. confirmed laser vision. You’ll have to do some more digging, however it’s a start.

But there’s one last thing

“He can’t turn into a crab? Big pinchers, armored shell?”

“What? No. No! I mean I don’t know. Thats gonna have to be something you research yourself doctor.”

Doctor?

“Doctor?, how’d you know-“

“Oh! uh- it took me a bit but, I recognize you now.”

You look at him skeptically, stepping a bit closer.

“Y-yeah I recognize you from the uh- what was it?” He snaps his fingers trying to find the words, “oh, you were in a newspaper article celebrating new hires at LutherCorp. Great job by the way!”

Were you? If so you had no idea of your inclusion. it’s not so far fetched though. You back down.

“Alright Mr. Kent. I think I’ve gotten enough from you.” And just like that you collect your device, open the door and run out of the daily planet. Leaving the frazzled Mr. Kent to his own devices in that small, small, closet.

After you drop off your coat at the dry cleaners it’s a short bus ride to LutherCorp, and a quick realization that the world has it out for you. At your very first stop a woman, close to your age, sits directly in front of you. In her hands is a nearly off the printer-fresh copy of a newspaper titled, ‘our savior superman’. Even though you can’t read it from here, you know exactly what it must say.

Our savior? Seriously? The world knows jackshit about this guy then suddenly he’s their savior?

Perhaps Lex was right.

There has to be a way to get rid of him.

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Back at LutherCorp your lab is starting to look better, glass cell now gone and the debris from his escape now cleaned.

You can now check on your pets. Nearly tripping as you rush over to a large walk in freezer labeled with various WARNING and CAUTION and DO NOT OPEN stickers plastered over the doors. You input the code, the date you got your first real pet; some goldfish from the fair that only survived a few days, but broke your heart all the same.

Once you open the door you’re met with the smell of chemical solvents, formaldehyde, and rose. The latter coming from a small plant you named Audrey for its penchant of consuming human flesh, but, he’s rarely used (only when Lex truly has a need for him) Then there’s Shelby, your newest addition to the family. She’s a tiny little thing, no bigger than a grape, akin to a fish like creature; she has the tiniest fins and the biggest eyes. Shelby makes circles around her tank when she notices your presence, and you sprinkle some food into the enclosure before continuing your way down the seemingly never ending fridge. You pass some of your other creatures, offering food, or a pet, or a simple hand to the glass.

Finally you reach Ezzie. A vulture you had nursed back to health after an experiment conducted by one of lex’s previous scientists, went wrong. The bird is weak but you think you can help it out with the proper equipment and suppelments. After she’s had time to rest, you study it further. Then give it one simple objective.

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The vulture had completed her task wonderfully and was now on her way back to LutherCorp, while you now stand in an empty parking garage, watching as the Superman crawls himself out of the large divot he made in the ground after being dropped from up above.

“It’s nice to-“ he lets out a small grunt, “see you again Doctor.” Now he stands right before you, closer than ever before. So close you could reach out and your fingers would be grazing the symbol he wears so proudly on his chest.

“Hello.” That’s it? All you can think of saying?

“So was that big bird thing you?” He points up to the sky.

“Yes, she can grow very big and very small.

(you don’t know why you felt the need to tell him that)

did you hurt her?”

He looks at you curiously, “no, I don’t think so. He then looks up at the sky through the hole he left. “Is she yours?”

“Yes and no.”

“Oh, well alright…” There’s a beat of silence, not awkward or strange. Just silence. You can’t figure out why, you had planned this all out, what you would say, what you would do, but it vanished the moment he opened his stupid mouth. Maybe if you find a way to shut him up you could think clear-

“So when are Luthor and his hounds gonna be here.” He stops and looks around expectantly, physically moving his body to assess every direction.

“It’s just me. I didn’t feel the need to disturb Lex if this turned out to be uneventful or if the bird didn’t work.” He turns to look at you, really look at you. And it sends a shiver up your spine, but unlike the first time this isn’t out of fear. It’s something else, it feels like he’s really trying to take you in.

He looks away suddenly. “So it looks like I was right.” He says calmly, putting his hands behind his back.

Right about what?

“How so?” You take a tentative step back and look him up and down, trying to figure out what he’s actually doing.

“I did say that we’d be running into each other again. Though I guess I was a little bit off, since it seems it was you orchestrating it this time.” He walks closer. You stand your ground this time.

“What’s your play Superman? What do you really want.”

He stops in his tracks and turns his head away, exasperated. Like he knew what you were going to say, and prepared for it. “Doctor.” He’s even closer now, looking down at you. toe of his boot almost to yours, “We both know what I’m going to say to that, but if you insist.”

You look up at him with a grimace, ready for the familiar speech. “I was sent here to do good and help humankind, and that’s what I have been doing, and intend to do for the very foreseeable future.” he walks back, putting his hands up in surrender. “No hidden agenda, no secret ploys, just me. Trying my best to help.” He looks at you so intently as if he’s trying to speak to you on multiple levels, really get it into your head.

It makes you feel dumb, like you don’t have the full picture. So you storm up to him, and this time there’s no glass separating you. You’re face to face, so close you can practically feel the heat radiating off him. This time you can actually put your finger to his chest, dig it in as you speak.

“I don’t like being played as a fool, I am not some misguided conspiracy theorist. I am someone who has done my research and is brave enough to question this,” you press your finger into him a little more, “and not follow it blindly.”

Then the actual proximity between the two of you comes into mind. You walk away a few paces, stopping only to collect yourself, similarly to your first meeting with him. “Leave.” You face him, He has a worried expression on his face and he opens his mouth, ready to speak. “Just go.” He backs off, giving one last look in your direction before he flies away.

You watch as his figure becomes smaller and smaller, until he’s just a dot on the horizon.

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When you step into your apartment you kick off your shoes, not caring where they fall, then beeline for your fridge. Empty, expect for a small box of half eaten takeout (that has to be more than a week old)

You close the fridge and walk back until your legs hit the counter space separating your kitchen from your living room. Rubbing the sides of your head you hope the pressure from your kneading relieves the building headache. You push yourself off the counter and make your way into the living room. As you sit down on your couch you take in how bare the room is, and quite frankly most of your house.

A small couch, no tv, a small coffee table in front of the couch. You look into the kitchen. Small ‘dining table’ big enough to fit maybe four? but with a very tight squeeze.

No decorations, a small plant on your countertop, good for air quality (something you had been told as a young child that stuck with you). In that moment you wish other things had stuck with you, the built in relationships you had, the family, the routine. And though you hated school growing up, a small part of you misses it, being in an environment where you had daily contact with others.

Now it’s just you. and maybe the occasional call from Lex when he needs something.

Can’t pinpoint what exactly has you feeling like this, this, uncharacteristic wave of emotion. Because you’ve known you were lonely, it’s been a part of your life for a very, very, long time now. But it was never something you sat in the dark on your couch stewing about. Instead of actually sitting with it, or accepting it. You think back to your office. your lab. your animals. you begin to itch with the feeling that you need to get out of her. Need to step into that cold sterile room. Hell, you’d be fine bringing your work stuff home, fully merge your space into one.

But sadly, you think, ‘lex doesn’t let workers take home company equipment.’

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The next morning on your way to work, while waiting at your bus stop, you spot him.

Clark Kent.

He’s speaking to an older woman while other civilians surround them. He has a little notepad, and a pen topped with a tiny…cow? It Looks like something you’d get at a souvenir shop. Then as you’re trying to figure out why on earth someone would use a pen like that, no less in a professional setting.

He spots you, He spots you. And instead of looking at you in horror, or running away (which honestly he should)….he smiles….and gives you a small wave. Almost sheepishly. He looks back at the woman he’s interviewing says some words to her, and gives her an apologetic look.

“Hi” he says, then fidgets with his hand a bit when you finally make eye contact with him.

“Hello.” You look down at his other hand, the one that holds the cow pen. “Why that one?”

He looks confused before following your gaze to his left hand. “Oh this?” He holds it up, “was a gift from my ma when I first started working at the daily planet.” He smiles at it, then looks back to you.

“Would you like to chat for a bit? I’ll buy.” He offers, then gestures towards a small coffee shop next to the bus stop.

You look down at your watch, twenty minutes until your workday starts, but no one is actually checking on you.

“Sure.”

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You don’t know why you actually agreed, maybe it was a spur of the moment situation, or maybe you just wanted to chat with someone who seemed like they just genuinely wanted to talk to you.

When Clark joins you at the small table, you have to stop yourself from laughing as he scoochez a little to close to the couple next to you while trying to fit himself into the insanely small chairs, the ones that coffe shops try to implement to ‘be hip’ but really they’re just uncomfortable. He mutters out a couple apologizes before placing your coffee in front of you and setting his down next.

He sets his hands in front of him, weaving his fingers tighter and twiddling his thumbs. “So, there was no bomb.” he states, very matter of factly.

You pretend to think for a moment while resting your head on your hand, elbow propped on the table. “No, not that I’m aware of- but If the daily planet is getting a bit dull I might be able to arrange something.”

Clark laughs then smiles at you, “I’ll let you know.” He then watches as you pour a couple sugar packets into your coffee, watches as you stir the drink with your straw, and then proceed to not take a sip.

“Did I get your order wrong?! I could go back and get a new one, or we could switch if you wanted something hot?”

It surprises you a bit, his eagerness for accommodation, but you reassure him “Nothings wrong, I’m just trying to pace myself. I’ve already had three cups today.”

He gives you an embarrassed smile then gestures at his cup, “this is my fourth.”

“Oh really? What has Mr. Kent so preoccupied that he has to resort to caffeine abuse?” Both elbows now rest on the table, with your head propped up by your hands on the side of your face. You look at him with an impish expression.

“i’ve had some late nights lately” An uncharacteristic smirk takes over his features, “something about a large bird being spotted in downtown metropolis”

Oh.

“Oh. how odd. Wonder what that’s about” you take a sip of your coffee to steer clear of any more conversation involving that.

Some silence plays out, the sound of coffee shop chatter, and the clanking of various cups and steaming machines. But it’s not weird, almost comfortable. Both of you sitting idly, sipping on your coffee’s and sharing a furtive glance when the couple next to you starts a small argument. Then-

“Could I ask you a question?” Clark looks at you expectantly, his coffee in hand while rubbing his thumb over the cup. Nervous tick.

“Sure.”

He licks his lips then sits up in his chair a bit “why do you hate him so much? Superman.” He rushes the last part out like he doesn’t really want you to hear it.

“I don’t hate him. I don’t know him, that’s my issue.”

(Not a lie)

“Well how are you supposed to get to know him if you immediately jump to distrust?”

“I think it’s perfectly reasonable for me to distrust a random man, with a dubious background, who claims that ‘he was sent here to do good’ and that we should just go along with it.”

“What’s so wrong with that? I understand that he’s been a bit mysterious but what other crimes has he committed that warrants you to dislike him so deeply?”

And, you can’t admit it to him, that it runs deeper than just distrust or world views. It’s changed your day to day life for months. Ever since Lex tasked you with helping him take down the Superman, it’s put your life on a hold.

And now, He’s all you can think about.

“It’s more complicated than that Clark. At least it is for me.” You stand up, grabbing your bag, then place a few bucks on the table. “I’m being honest when I say I don’t hate him. I just don’t get him.”

You leave the coffee shop, Leaving Clark alone and stunned for a second time.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · · · · ─ ·✶· ─ · · · · ─ ·✶· ─ · · · · ─ ·✶· ─ · · ·

After your meet with Clark, you clock into work, tend to your animals, and input all the recent information you’ve gathered on Superman.

Two days after your meet with Clark, you clock into work, tend to your animals, and review all the recent information you’ve gathered on Superman.

Three days after your meet with Clark, you clock into work, tend to your animals, and review all the recent information you’ve gathered on Superman.

Four days after your meet with Clark, you clock into work, tend to your animals, and review all the recent information you’ve gathered on Superman.

Five days after your meet with Clark, you clock into work, tend to your animals, and try your very hardest to forget everything you know about Superman.

Two weeks after your meet with Clark, you find yourself alone in your apartment, reading a book on your couch with a small cup of tea. It’s simple, and quite ‘normal’ and you like it very much. Then, your next door neighbor (the same one who seems committed to starting some band) turns on his tv, turns on his tv- to what you think must be the loudest setting possible.

The news reporter starts talking and your gut just knows what they’re going to say-

“Superman has just been spotted in down town metropolis after a building catches on fire, reports say there were no casualties and minimal injuries, just another day of Superman saving the day! We’ll be back with more information after this short break”

God.

After what feels like weeks of no Superman or trying to theorize some way to capture him. You’re sucked back in, your brain running in all sorts of directions about what he’s been up to. You throw your book to the other end of the couch and sink deeper into the cushions, you find yourself doing that very familiar motion of rubbing your temples, trying to relieve the tension.

You think vaguely that this most certainly is not healthy. how easy it was for you to fall back in. You can feel it building now, the itch to check all your information, and go over every clip, photo, and interview with him. Your skin starts to feel unsettled like ants crawling all over, you can do nothing more than cover your face and scream as loudly as possible into your hands.

Maybe you’re allergic to him.

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The next morning you rush into work and immediately delve into your ‘Superman collection’. you feel quite embarrassed calling it that, but any other term falls a bit flat when you reference it in your mind.

When it’s all laid out, the photos, the video clips (the photos you printed out yourself) the newspaper clippings, you take a step back and give the large whiteboard holding all your physical information a quick once over. You back up to take in the full scope of everything, but accidently bump into your desk and the small radio that sat atop it.

And because the universe now loves you, the very first channel just happens to be a radio station tuned to the local news. “this just in: Superman rescues six year old stuck in a tree, child is safe and sustained no injures. Family thanks Superman sincerely!”

You turn it off and finally, finally, realize what you’ve been missing this entire time.

It doesn’t matter, what Superman’s powers are or what his physicality can do. Superman’s true ‘kryptonite’ is his heart. You could hit him with any weapon, or threaten him with any pain, and it wouldn’t matter.

but protecting the people does. and a part of you softens at that. Superman’s inability to ignore any call or plea, then you think briefly. “How hard it must be, to be him.” You shake your head, trying to clear up any thoughts surrounding that.

Now you know exactly how to get to Superman.

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You had been waiting for about an hour, waiting in a vacant apartment going through some, you look around, very major renovations. But it would serve its intended purpose just fine.

You look out the window and see your mimic, in the form of a small child, sitting on the fire escape connected to the apartment. Earlier that day you had sat at a park bench and waited, waited for the moment some kid would cry or scream for its mom (most likely over not getting their turn on the slide or because they ran into a pole because they weren’t paying attention) It didn’t matter, all you needed was for your mimic to memorize the sound, and store it for this moment.

You look down at your watch, and see the hands tick as the sun begins to set. Then you relax and mentally prepare for the wails of the mimic.

After about 10 minutes of crying, Superman shows up. He tries to calm down your creature, asking it a couple of questions before realizing ‘they’ are too young to understand. When he reaches out to grab the child, it takes hold of his shoulders before pulling him into the room where you sit.

Superman, shocked and at a loss for words, tries to get a baring of his surroundings. Worried eyes looking for the kid before he settles his eyes on you.

“You couldn’t have, I dunno, gave me signal or something?” He stands up, dusts off his legs from the settlement that was on the floor.

“Where’s the fun in that?” You sit at a small table, abandoned with its chairs and all, they even left the tablecloth covering the table.

He walks up and pulls out the seat a bit, “is this taken?”.

“Mmm looks like your in luck, my dates cancelled. Something about ‘not wanting to meet in some random apartment complex.” God shut up. Ask him a genuine question. Or get angry, or yell at him, or something.

He settles into the chair. “Hello doctor.” He rests his hands on the table then, interlocking his fingers together. You take a brief pause and think back to Clark, not sure why, but you’re suddenly getting a strong sense of familiarity.

“Hello Superman”

“So is this your idea of a date?” His eyes scan over the room, “If so I’m flattered. But I’ll admit, I was expecting something a little more upscale”

“Ha.”

“Ouch. Tough crowd.” He settles back into the chair a bit. A pause, he strums his finger against the table briefly, “So what is this really about doctor?”

You should punch yourself genuinely, you don’t know why whenever in his presence you completely forget what you’re actually here for. Maybe it’s some part of his powers. mind control. or behavioral manipulation. It has to be that.

“I want to know more about you.” (the truth)

“Ah. So this is another interrogation.”

“No. Is it so wrong that a civilian wants to know more about their savior?” You try to sound genuine but you can’t fully fight the sarcastic tone that overtakes you.

“Under normal circumstances no, it wouldn’t. But you’re not normal, are you?” He looks at you, deeply, Truly, wholly.

“You don’t know me,” you scoff.

“Then let me.” He leans forward now, “I think it’s quite unfair that you get to hound me for questions, but I’m not able to return the favor.”

“There’s nothing important to me, I’m a doctor, I work at Luthercorp, and I’m curious about who the Superman truly is.” You lean forward, “that’s all there is to me.” You can’t even stop yourself when your eyes wander to his lips. Pink and full, and you wonder in that moment how they would feel; how you’d glide your finger over his cupids bow before tracing your way down to the swell where lip meets lip. Your finger twitches against the table, and you have to wrench yourself back.

Closing your eyes you let out a small sigh, you caught yourself.

“Are you alright doctor?” when you open your eyes, he’s staring. Looking so very worried, like a puppy dog almost, hands in lap, and waiting for the okay to just…do something. Help in any way he can.

“Headache.” Is the only reasonable answer you can muster.

“ Maybe I could-“ he reaches forward.

You stand up suddenly, causing the chair to make a startling screech against the floor, “I’m okay! Really, it’s just been a long day for me.” He looks even more concerned now, one hand about to reach out, and you think briefly that any contact between the two of you, would killl you.

You’re not sure why. But it would.

He begins to speak but you let the words pour out, hoping to stop any train of thought he was having.

“I think I should leave. It’s late, I’m getting tired, you’re probably tired as well. You know with all the uh, stuff you do.” You fumble for your small purse, and for the small fish tank your mimic is in, “okay, bye, it was great talking!” And you try to get out the room so quickly that some water spills out the side of the tank.

Unknowing to you; you had left Clark Kent, alone, and stunned for now a third time.

You need fresh air, cold fresh air, to walk the tension off that’s building In your chest. You pass the bus stop and take the considerable walk home.

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The walk didn’t help. You resort to kicking off your shoes, placing the fish bowl on your kitchen counter, before stripping off your coat. and pants. and shirt. Now left in your bra, and underwear.

Your heartbeat starts beating faster by the minute, and there’s this heat that settles over your skin; goosebumps raised as well. Your nerves must be causing this.

You could sleep this off, wake up and forget tonight happened. You run into the bedroom, slamming the door behind you and falling into the bed; body atop the covers (still too hot to get under them.) You squeeze your eyes shut, closed to the point of pain, and will yourself; pray to anything that will listen, that you’ll fall asleep. Soon please.

Then because the world actually hates you, you hear the faint sound of a moan, coming from that same fucking neighbor who must be sent from hell to ruin your life in any way he can. Then there’s a giggle and a quiet “shhh” from beyond your bedroom wall.

Their noises are so faint, but they’re there. Honestly if you hadn’t heard the first moan you would barely recognize that anything like that was happening.

But you do now and it’s too late.

You try to ignore the growing pressure and slight pulse between your legs. You squeeze your eyes shut even tighter. But it becomes unbearable. You let out a soft curse, then reach down and begin fondling yourself through your underwear. Breath hitching as you run your index finger against your slit; wonder if you should do it.

No one would know.

So you continue running that finger up and down, up and down, then press a little harder at your clit. You let out a soft groan when you do so, almost pained. You tense your legs up a bit, then start spreading them open some more.

It’s too much, you can practically feel yourself drip into your underwear; body far too neglected. It’s become painful, aching for more pressure, or friction, or- you want to sob, anything. You decide to give yourself some mercy, as you reach into your underwear and part your lips with your middle and ring finger. You feel the slick that’s gathered and let out a sigh, collecting more of the wetness before sliding back up; pressing on your clit then rubbing small circles.

It’s not enough, not even close.

You yank off your underwear, throwing them somewhere in the room before finding your rhythm again. Now more able to move and writhe how you want to get a good angle with your fingers. You find a nice, great even, pace and feel it building and building. a little more pressure and you’d come. You keep at it, then when you feel your orgasm coming you screw your eyes shut again, preparing yourself.

But then he’s there. All smile, and blue eyes, and those perfect dimples.

You stop. Fully stop. Tearing your hand away and feeling as you throb with abandonment.

Why? Why? You couldn’t even get off without him trying to invade you mind. You try again, finding that same rhythm, but as soon as you nearly reach your peak he’s back. You let out a frustrated groan and fall back further into bed. laying there you wonder if you’ll ever be free, or if you’ll at least be able to finish before you mind betrays you again.

Then, a sick thought crosses your mind.

No one would know, except for you. And like he’s always said, he’s here to help.

So. You grab a pillow, the one that’s rarely used and mainly just there to fill the space. You place it on the middle of your bed, and sit on it. beginning to ride.

This time you don’t stop when your mind wanders off and imagines him. Imagines him under you, the pillow his body. You imagine the ridges of his abs and how they’d feel sliding against your cunt. You grip the pillow harder, now clenching the fabric tightly in your fist, other hand next to you trying to help yourself balance. You’re close. So, so, close. Then because you love torturing yourself, you imagine, picture, practically feel, his hand coming up and caressing your hip. Your release comes with a moan muffled by the pillow, and a slight tremor in your legs.

God you hate him. You hate him, and wonder for a brief moment if he’s pictured you in the same way.

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The next day, after hours spent in the lab, hours spent looking and staring at his face, you leave. Needing some fresh air and- your stomach growls, apparenlty needing some food as well.

You leave the LutherCorp building and arrive at a small cart selling various quick and easy foods. You take some time to look at the options while waiting your turn, and mentally settle on a sandwich (reliable) you reach the front of the line and as the worker packages your meal and is about to give you your total, a voice from behind you speaks up, “I’ll pay for that.”

You turn around to meet the eyes, of metropolis’s favorite journalist. Clark Kent. He stands there, work satchel bursting open with papers. Has on a tan suit today and a green tie, a little daily star pin on his pocket. Clark reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out his wallet, but he doesn’t pay yet. Instead he buys another sandwich, a bigger size than yours, and two water bottles. Then he pays, but he doesn’t walk alway until he’s grabbed a handful of napkins and tipped the worker about 10 bucks. If it were anyone else offering to pay you would’ve politely declined, or maybe even walked off but, It’s Clark. And even though you curse yourself for it, you’d feel bad saying no.

When he meets you, He hands you the water bottle and your sandwich before walking away while opening his and taking a large bite out of it. You stand there, in the middle of the sidewalk, unmoving until he turns around to face you from the other side of the street, lowering his sandwich he looks at you with these big puppy dog eyes, “you coming?” You’re struck with that feeling of familiarity, like you’ve seen those eyes recently, but only on a different face. You chalk it up to not enough sleep and too much time spent alone.

Taking a peek at your watch you see that your lunch break has about thirty minutes left.

You could spare some time.

You run across the street and meet Clark where he waits for you at a the entrance of a tree filled park. The two of you walk side by side, no words exchanged. Clark eventually spots a park bench and the two of sit there, eating your sandwiches and watching as leaves quietly descend from the trees before landing on the grass and pavement softly. Every so often, a bird will chirp or you’ll hear the laughter of a small child, but besides that. It is quiet, just the noise of leaves against the wind. When you’re almost done with your sandwich, Clark suddenly speaks up.

“It’s a nice day out.” Then he’s silent again, back to admiring the day.

You finish your bite before putting down your sandwich and letting out a quiet reply, “it is.”

Once you’re done with your food (and the water bottle he had so kindly gotten you) you move to stand up, about to thank him for paying, but he stops you by holding up his hand. “Can we talk? Not about Superman or anything like that! But just,” he pauses as if he’s trying to find the right words. “We can talk about us.”

“Us?”

He smiles suddenly then stands up rising to his full height, “Yeah! we can talk about anything. Like our favorite bands, or favorite books, or gosh anything really.” He put his hands in his pants pockets sometime during his talking, and he shrugs a bit. (Another nervous tick) The sun that peeks through the tree canopy illuminates him, sun spots gathering in the lens of your glasses. It reminds you of the day you saw him working at his desk, before he knew who you were.

“Ok.”

Then you start walking away, not giving him any time to catch up really. you turn around after you stepped a few paces away, “you coming?”

He grins and meets you, then the two of you begin your quiet journey through the park.

“So, Mr. Kent. What is…” you chew your bottom lip for a bit, “what’s your favorite movie?”

He laughs, then removes one hand from his pocket to scratch behind his neck “That’s pretty hard.” You think he’s gonna bail; skip the question or not give you anything truthful, then “I dunno if it’s my favorite but I watched the notebook the other night, and well. I probably cried for a good chunk of time.”

When you turn to look at him his cheeks have turned a light shade of pink. “Cute.” Is all you can manage to get out, and he turns to look at with widened eyes and a smile.

You stop in your tracks, “no! no, I mean cute like. Most people wouldn’t admit to something like that, you know?” After a beat of silence you speak up, “it’s a good movie.” When you peek back over to him he’s still blusinhg. Clark clears his throat then, “okay my turn, what’s your favorite food?”

“Hard hitting questions Mr. Kent, I like it.”

a pause.

“I’m not really sure. Most days I just eat whatever’s convenient, or closest to LutherCorp or my apartment.” he was being vulnerable with his answer you’ll try the same. “when I was younger my favorite was always pancakes for dinner, but I haven’t done that in a while”

“Really? I love breakfast for dinner. Should probably broaden my horizons though.” Then very, very, quietly he says- “I’ve had it like three times this week.”

You let out a small laugh “Alright now very important question- cats or dogs………..”

The two of you go on like that for a while, taking turns asking each other various questions, or sharing pieces of information you think the other would find interesting. Like, you find out that Clark has been covering a story about this older woman who swears her basement is haunted; she’s even convinced a couple of her neighbors. So now there’s a bunch of people trying to dig up any information they can about the house and do ghost neighborhood watches. Clark says that it’s most likely nothing, but that it’s still been fun since he gets to hear a bunch of ghost stories, even if they’re unrelated to the actual house.

You tell him about your terrible neighbor, and his many slights against you. (You make sure to omit the part where you turned into a kinda-sorta voyeur but that’s beside the point) After what feels like hours, you realize the sun has begun to set. But, you’re not upset, not upset that you didn’t return to the lab. Instead there’s this feeling of peace; a breath released and then another taken before the process continues.

“I think it’s my time to leave…but I had a really nice time” your heart clenches at that, the admittance of time well spent out loud.

Clark looks down at his shoes, “one more question?”

“Shoot.”

“What’s your favorite flower?”

Huh, you had never really given that much thought. Sure some were pretty but none really had a connection to you. “None specifically, but….I like the smell or roses. Classic.”

“Okay.” He smiles at you again, that small sweet one that’s so charming it makes you want to pinch his cheeks, or run your fingers through his hair to see if he’d start making noi- (you store that image for later)

“I’ll be seeing you around Doctor.” then he’s gone. You’re left standing there watching him walk away further into the park before he becomes a speck admist the trees. You watch until he’s gone, then turn around and begin the walk back to LutherCorp, still needing to finish up a couple things before you can go home.

Though your mind ends up wandering back to Clark, and your brain and heart are conflicted. you like him. You’re not stupid, and you’re not oblivious. But your brain tells you, no. He’s off limits. Like you’ve put him on some pedestal that is high enough for you to reach but not close enough to touch. He’s cute, and kind. sweet. But far more interested in you than he should be; Clark doesn’t know the real you, the side of you that’s obsessive, quick to anger, the side that feels the need to keep everything under control.

When your brain stops overthinking, you find yourself at the entrance of the LutherCorp building.

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A couple days after your meet with Clark, you can’t help but feel that itch again. You’re stuck thinking about Superman, skin practically buzzing with the thought of continuing your research.

So, you get on the bus.

On your way into your lab you walk by multiple rooms filled with equipment, but one in particular catches your eye. A small storage closet filled with projects that other researchers have forgotten or discarded, the cleaners must have left the door open. Looking through the pile something in particular catches your eye. A small drone.

You think about your previous conversation with Superman and something about making your ‘grabs for attention’ less obvious. You think vaguely that you’re not actually doing this for him, it’s more for your animals sake, being taken in and out of stressful situations is definitely not good for them. You grab the drone, smuggling it into your lab coat before scurrying off into your office.

It had always been an idea of yours; to use some type of device to implement your creatures wherever and whenever you wanted, so that they felt real, but they wouldn't actually get hurt. But part of the reason you've never delved too deeply into the idea is because well, while you are trained in multiple fields of study, you have no qualifications when it comes to drone technology or anything of the sort. Under different circumstances you would have asked Lex or begrudgingly asked another scientists working for lex, but it's too risky. Someone would ask what you're using it for, or would want to use it for their own purposes. And that's not what you really need to happen right now.

As you start tinkering with the object it comes to you: you need something big, really big, to attract superman. But it would be a little too destructive for your taste to actually release a creature like that. You're desperate, not delusional. so, you gather any information you can on the subject at hand, and try your very hardest to do this yourself.

After hours of working, you’ve gotten nowhere. And so, you look over to the small fridge situated under your desk. Usually used for drinks or snacks, but in your case it contains an artificial stimulant. Which you promised yourself you’d only use in very serious situations. You know this doesn’t fit into the very serious situation criteria, but one wouldn’t hurt. So you open the fridge, take the syringe, and inject it into your upper arm.

One. One, and you would have this thing finished in no time.

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It ends up being more than one, more than three actually but that’s beside the point. you were one-hundred percent correct when you said that this was not an area of study you had qualifications in. but after seventy two hours of no sleep, no food, and no sunlight. You think you have something believable enough to get his attention.

so what better thing to do than immediately test it out?

the spot you decide on is a small sushi restaurant, the type that has fancy customers wearing the latest trending clothes and complaining about the temperature of the water, the pretentious type.

you had scheduled the drone to activate at about eight, but until then you would wait in a small booth in the corner of the restaurant, judge the diners, and order a lemonade to stall for time while you pretend to look through the menu. You look around the space, noting the various couples scattered about, it brings you back to your coffee date chat with Clark; end up imagining him here, seated across from you. you think about the park, and how you wanted to run your fingers through his hair, or how you had thought briefly about holding his hand. Now, you imagine him here, you sliding your hand across the table and interlocking your fingers with his.

Then you think to Superman, think about his dimples and how they’re so similar to Clark’s, maybe that’s why you’ve been soft when it comes to him.

you hear a quiet beeping and realize it’s time for the drone. you straighten In your seat, and try to rid any thoughts of Clark from your mind. you hear distant screams as various patrons and streetwalkers take notice of the simulated bird, they all flee the restaurant (kinda stupid) and you’re able to make it to the restaurants rooftop. It takes about ten minutes for him to show up. When he spots the bird, his fighting stance settles, and he looks around before his eyes eventually spot you. Taking out the remote, you press the small red button that shuts the drone off.

He flies over to you, descending slowly before his feet hit the ground. Then he rushes over to you, hands settling themselves on either side of your face. “What happened?!” You grab at his hands trying to push them off, “what are you taking about?” You spit out.

His hands turn your face to the left and to the right, and you mentally note that under different circumstances you’d laugh; he’s acting like a worried mother. He stops, looks you in the eyes as his humb brushes over your cheekbone.

“You look so tired.” He whispers, eyes stopping at various spots on your face; your eyes, your cheeks, your lips. finally you realize what he’s talking about. No wonder he's acting like this, he see’s a walking corpse in front of him. You must look like shit, days of no sleep, no food, and the same dirty clothes. You place your hands over his, removing them slowly until they’re hovering instead of on (the contact was making you dizzy but it could also be the exhaustion)

"i'm okay, really." you wonder if you should tell him the truth, but…how would he feel if you told him? When he realizes the actual depth of your obsession, So much so that you’d risk your own health just at a chance to talk to him.

Unfortunately for you, you’re delirious. Not in the right headspace to think about the full implications.

"i used an artificial stimulant. I'll be fine when it wears off and i get some rest, but I just-" No, please dont say it. “-I just wanted to see you.” he smiles sadly at that, but theres a small sparkle in his eye.

You move away from him, or at least try to. Your exhausted body and brain can’t seem to connect, so you end up tripping. But you don't fall, he catches you; warm hands resting on your back. When you regain your footings again, you push yourself off him gently then walk over slowly and sit at the edge of the building; dangling your feet and letting the cold air cool you down. Then you feel the sensation of something close to you, and open your eyes.

Superman is sitting next to you. Feet dangling over the edge.

"Doing any saving tonight." You smile, and go back to resting your eyes. Without looking away from the night sky he replies “No. Just you."

Oh. You feel something deep in your chest, like something pulling, or twisting. You’re not quite sure. The two of you remain there for a while, watching the stars glint and twinkle from up above. The urge overcomes you suddenly to say something, to hear his voice again. But you don’t mean for it be such a serious admission.

"I think Lex is wrong about you."

He looks over to you, eyes wide, while a worried expression takes over his features again, as if you grew two heads and started talking from a third.

"You're not dangerous. I know that. But, I still don't- I still don't know how to feel about you. I’m a scientist. It's my job to find all the answers and to have a logical reason for everything, but you're not logical."

He lifts a finger up, ready to say something.

"Shhhh let me finish. You're not logical in the sense that, I don't think any other person would be so willing and ready to help. To be that beacon of hope, and ask for so little…except for us to try and do the same for each other."

He looks at you, eyes soft at the edges and glossy. He looks up at the sky and you see a tear fall from the side of his face. Then, you get a piercing headache. letting out a wince you grip your head trying to wait it out. “Doctor, are you sure you’re okay? I could fly you ho-“

You look up from your hands, waving them if front of you in an effort to make him forget what he just said, "No! i'm okay. I'll just walk myself home.” While you’re speaking he shakes his head no, "I can't let you do that, it’s too dangerous in your state." and because he knows you too well he begins to speak up again, trying to sound convincing. “think about it like this, you're a civillian in need, and I'm here to help."

"I'm not a civilian. I'm a highly skille-" He shushes you, "pretend. Just for tonight." you huff out a groan, "i’m still not letting you fly me home." you realize theres no way to convince him.

"but you can walk me home."

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You wake up on your couch, it’s still dark outside. Rising from the cushions, you realize that your old clothes are still on, and your purse is still on your shoulder. You get up and check the clock hanging up in your kitchen. Nine? How? You were still at the restaurant with Superman at nine? You look for your phone, then realize it’s still in your bag.

A day. You slept an entire day. You yawn, note that it was probably for the best.

You yawn again and smell your own breath, actually smell your everything. Picking your phone back up, you order some takeout, then get into the shower. When you come out, the food has been delivered outside your door. you collect your food before settling on the couch, eating in the low light provided by your kitchen. You sit there, chewing your food, and just think. Take in all that’s happened this month. Think about Superman, think about Clark. Think about how you got home; Superman walking with you, watching as you almost fell into the street, watching as you entered the wrong code twice into your buildings security entrance, nearly getting yourself locked out.

You shudder.

Can’t help but to think about Clark again, and how you should probably call him. Or orchestrate some type of meeting with him.

You finish your food, but leave the box on the coffee table; walk into your bedroom and plop down onto the covers, eventually crawling in when the robe you put on after the shower didn’t suffice to keep the chill from your bones.

Don’t know how long you stay in bed, has to be a while. The sun rises and sets and you find yourself in the same spots. Bed or your couch. End up feeling accomplished when you’re able to actually leave the bed, only to grab the dropped off takeout, eat at your couch then get back into bed. There is no sadness just a numbness, no pain, no bad thoughts, it feels like you’re on autopilot. Your body eating, drinking, and breathing, trying its best to keep you alive; not dumb, you know where this all came from, but it’s too late now. Just have to ride the wave.

See, part of the side effects of the stimulant was, although uncommon, an extreme low. Those who have experienced depresive episodes are especially susceptible, which is why you promised yourself only to use it in serious situations. But you try not to worry much.

It could last up to a few days or a few weeks, you’ll be fine.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · · · · ─ ·✶· ─ · · · · ─ ·✶· ─ · · · · ─ ·✶· ─ · · ·

One day as you’re opening your fridge, about to see what’s leftover; there’s a knock at your door. you look over to your counter, grab a large kitchen knife from the holder, then quietly make your way to the door. You convince yourself that your neighbor has come for revenge, tired of your complaints. you prop your ear to the door , “Go home. I’m not expecting any visitors.”

a voice you’ve come to recognize says, “but I brought food.”

You yank open the door almost breaking the chain lock with your haste, Clark Kent stands; work jacket over his arm and white takeout bag in hand. Some part of you rejoices, and you grab him by his tie still situated on the white button up. You push him up against the door, causing it to close.

“What are you doing here!?”

Clark is flushed and has both arms up in surrender against the door, he grins “I texted you! I didn’t want to invade your space but…I wanted to see you.” You’re still shocked, but you take notice of the fluttering in your stomach at his words.

“How’d you get my address?! Wait, How’d you get my number?!” Clark pouts a tiny bit. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to intrude! I’ll just drop off the food.”

“No it’s okay! Just. Sit.” You step back and open your arm gesturing to your tiny dining table, embarrassed about the sate of your apartment. Rubbing your arm you walk behind him. “Sorry about the place. I’ve been…busy” then, “I’m sorry for not texting either.….my phones also been dead for a while.”

Clark stops in the motion of taking out boxes from the bag. He looks up at you, face turning into a small smile, but his eyebrows are situated in a sad kind of expression.

“It’s okay. I shouldn’t have just shown up. But I was worried about you.”

What?

“Why?”

Clark blushes, “it’s maybe dramatic but. I hadn’t seen you out in a while. I usually spot you getting off or on your bus, or getting something to eat. but after a while you were nowhere to be seen…so I uh, I did some digging. I found your number and I texted you a few times. I called today, then left a voicemail, then texted you again.I wanted to check on you but, I didn’t know if you were mad, or god forbid hurt. So I just showed up, thought I’d get my confirmation either way.”

Then he goes back to taking the food out the bag, as if he hadn’t just said what he said. He continues, now looking at your face.

“I’m glad it was neither of those though.” he looks back down, setting the final box on the table before balling up the trash bag and navigating your kitchen for the trash can. Your head starts to hurt with the tension of keeping tears in (it’s just the emotional turmoil of everything lately. Nothing else.)

You have to look away then; from the sight of him locating your cutlery drawer, pulling out a pair of forks and spoons before poking his head in a couple cabinets, getting cups for the two of you.

When he comes back you’re sitting down at the head of the oval dining table, Back close to the wall. He still has on that same smile as he sets down the plates, portioning some for you, then some for him, some for you, then him. Until there’s only a bit of food leftover. He begins eating, looking around your apartment; Eyes stopping at various spots of interest before moving his attention elsewhere.

“Thank you, Clark.” You move some food on your plate, trying to stop yourself from bursting into tears. No one’s ever treated you this…soft. Caring for you and asking nothing in return. But that’s just how Clark is you’ve come to realize.

He always notices. Like right now, “you okay?”

“Yeah. I will be” seems to be the best way to suffice how you’re feeling. You and Clark eat together, sometimes there’s silence, sometimes there’s a joke between the two of you, but it feels normal. domestic. You want Clark around. you always knew, even subconsciously.

When you’re finished, you stand up, grabbing the dirty dishes; Clark puts his hand over yours, takes them from you. He walks into your kitchen and turns on the faucet, “I wash, you dry?” Then he starts swiping over the plates with the dish sponge. You nod. Grab the blue rag hanging on the oven, and dry the dishes as Clark hands them off.

You whisper, so quietly, that if Clark wasn’t barely a step away from you, it would’ve stayed between you and the walls. “How’d you know?”

Clark looks at you, then back to the dishes.

“You looked different. Tired. a little sad.”

You turn, back against the counter, but still next to Clark. Crossing your arms over your chest, you speak; tell him what’s been going on. “I took an artificial stimulant. Which was really dumb, since I’m not really the type of person who can handle the drop that comes with it.” You pause, turn to look at him “Thank you Clark. It- it means a lot.” starting to feel vulnerable, you feel the need to cover it up with something else. “Still kinda freaked out that you stalked me for my address.”

He continues washing the dishes but a small smirk takes over his features and he shrugs, like he knows what you’re feeling. “Don’t mention it.”

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You wake up feeling better, not back, but better. Looking at the phone on the side table, you come to terms with the fact that you can’t ignore life forever. Sighing, you plug in your phone, and watch as the screen floods with various messages, some from an unsaved number, most likely Clark’s. (You can tell because of the amount of emojis and the polite tone in every one.) But there’s also messages from Lex.

He’s frantic; calls, texts, emails.

You check the one sent most recently, and your heart sinks to your stomach.

Lex states how he has a plan to kill Superman, and that all he needs is your help, and the research you’ve gathered to finalize the project. You worry for a moment that he caught you meeting with Superman or that he’s gone through your office and found everything. But, you know lex well enough by now. He would have sent someone after you, not desperately send you- looking at your phone you see, twenty-one messages.

You close your eyes and fall back into bed.

You don’t want him to die; you know how much he means to the people, know how much he means to you. You think back to when you first signed on to work for Lex; had no idea about his Superman vendetta. It was just a good job opportunity that had..more open ended rules than other establishments. you remember earlier this year, when Lex had asked for help developing a weapon that could kill Superman, you weren’t thinking much; never even paid attention to Superman before Lex had asked you to. Then you think about the natural progression; how you were’t actively involved with his projects, were just there for insight or when his other team got stuck. Now you remember when the switch flipped and you were fully pulled into the team, lex halting any access to your projects.

You stop thinking for a moment, realize ‘my anger with Superman was misplaced….’ You had never even developed or researched anything that could hurt him, let alone kill.

Start to feel bad about how you treated Superman. The anger he received wasn’t meant for him, if anything you were just, frustrated that you couldn’t understand him. He was an easy target, too. Kind when he had no reason to be, and far too willing to go along with your ‘traps’.

You don’t want him to die.

But now, lex has his mind set. He needs you at LutherCorp as soon as possible. you look around your bedroom; try to calm yourself down.

How are you supposed to save Superman?

Something has to be done. You can’t just ghost Lex Luther and get away with it. Don’t notice it at first but you start to pace around the apartment, thinking of how you’re gonna stop this all from happening, thinking about how in your own stupid way you’ve been helping Lex this entire time. If he gets to any of your files he’d see all the information you’ve gathered on Superman, all the observations you’ve made, he’d be set.

It suddenly feels like you can’t breathe, you head to the roof of your apartment building and wonder if just for a moment you could spot him. In a moment like this, you wish you were just a normal person, and that Superman could save the day, or that this had never happened in the first place. You don’t regret your work, but it’s all too much now. You’ve dug yourself in too deep. Then your brain yells at you saying, “It’s your fault if lex develops the weapon. You gave him all the information he needed.”

When you come to terms with the fact he’s not coming to save you, you head back inside. Knowing what must be done.

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You’re pulled into lex’s office upon arrival, where he greets you enthusiastically and asks if you’re ready to get to work. You agree, trying your very best to sound like your normal self. You start ‘helping’ the team already situated in a large conference room, the team talks for a few hours, debating plans of attack, theories, and the best way to deploy the weapon. The team thankfully agrees on one more day of deliberations (much to lex’s dismay.) When asked for input, or if you had any ideas you nod, restate something that was previously said; just slightly different or with a little more ‘flair’. You were able to bypass almost all questions with that mode of reasoning. After the meeting, you walk into your office, calmly close the door behind you, and then run to your desk; put your password in as quick as you humanly can and jump into action; deleting every file you have on Superman. Eyes wander over to your fridge, and you groan.

You’ll have to scold yourself later for the amount of malpractice you’re committing when you open the window to your lab, and let out all the possible animals you can. the creatures aren’t violent, they’d do fine until you can relocate them or bring them home yourself. The animals that can’t fly, or crawl down to safety, are put into a tank. Once you have saved, released, or destroyed everything you need to. You pull out the bunsen burner previously located under your desk; then running about the room until you find a beaker.

Ethanol goes into the beaker, and a grimace settles onto your face as you turn the burner up to the highest point. It’ll heat up gradually, becoming hotter and hotter until-

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · · · · ─ ·✶· ─ · · · · ─ ·✶· ─ · · · · ─ ·✶· ─ · · ·

“We’re reporting live about the fire that has broken out at LutherCorp Tower. The fire seems to have started at around 9:15 pm, and is still ongoing. Reports say that the fire started in lab no. 28, which belonged to a young worker around the age of twenty-five. Unfortunately we cannot share any more, As we’ve been asked to keep the victims identity private since there is still no news on casualties involved in this incident. We’ll keep you updated as more information is released.”

You hear the news broadcast from the radio saved from your office, turning it off before they can get to the next story and rising from your spot on the couch.

Making your way back to the rooftop of your apartment, you’re able to see the fire burning at LutherCorp in the distance. It’s chilly up here and you wish you had brought a coat or maybe even a blanket. You turn around, preparing to grab something to wrap yourself in.

Superman stands there, solemn expression on his face. His cape and hair blow in the wind, and his arms are crossed, he looks angry but you can tell there’s something more.

“Hi.”

He speaks finally, “You should’ve told me what you were doing. I was worried.” He steps closer and you can see his cheeks, tear stained. “-really worried.”

You turn your head down; can’t stand to look at his face, the guilt would start to consume you. “I’m sorry Clark. I shouldn’t have put that all on your shoulders….all your sensitive information is destroyed. no one can ever try to use it against you.” You pause, “Superman can’t die the world needs you.”

I need you, is what you really want to say.

He steps closer.

“I never wanted to hurt you.” You laugh bitterly, “I realized it was you when Superman walked me home, and when Clark brought me dinner. Behind the glasses, and the cape, or god, whatever you wear…it’s still you. You’re kind, and you’re forgiving, and understanding…regardless of whoever you have to be. It’s just who you are.”

He says your name, trying to get your attention.

“If lex was successful it would’ve been my fault. Clark Kent would’ve died because I-“

He grabs you, pulls you into his chest and squeezes. His hand comes cradling the back of your head, stay like that fore a while before he pulls away slowly. “it’s okay. You’re okay. I’m not angry with you, I never was.” He speaks softly, like he’s scared you’ll run.

You still can’t look at him; he notices, grabs your chin and guides your face until you’re looking into each others eyes. “I was more worried about you, I- I didn’t know if you got out in time.” And though you don’t feel okay yet, a part of you has settled knowing that he’s not upset. He gives you that sweet smile, says “who knows, maybe if I were in your shoes I would’ve done the same.”

You laugh, “No you wouldn’t, you’re too good.”

He looks away sheepishly before looking into your eyes again, you reach up and give into your urges. Hold his face in between your hands and finally look at him. He closes his eyes at the contact and you feel the wetness that’s gathered on his eyelashes when you touch his eyelids gently, you stay there, his hands on your hips as you trace the planes across his face.

“Clark?”

He opens his eyes back up, tenses his hands on your hips when he sees where your eyes have landed.

“Can I kiss you?”

And he nods, before he’s crashing his lips into yours. You make a small noise upon contact, which causes you to end up against the rooftops hedge. Clark deepens the kiss, nose now against your cheek while one hand rises up your back; pushing you into him even more. One of your hands ends up in his hair, running it through the styled tresses and releasing his curls, he groans into your mouth when your nails gently rake down his scalp, down his neck, and settle against his chest. When the two of you come apart for air your breathing heavily, his lips are kiss swollen and now a deeper shade of pink.

You speak up, smiling into Clark’s mouth when he comes back for more. “I’m glad it turned out you were the same person” you breathe heavily as he kisses slowly at your mouth, still trying to get your full attention back. “It would’ve sucked having to turn down Superman, just to end up with his friend.”

He stops, but his eyes find their way back to your lips (you can’t blame him though since you’re doing the same) he swipes his tongue over his lips then grins, “I think he would’ve gotten over it. Clark Kent’s a pretty great guy.” He whispers the last part into your mouth. You grab at him, hand fisting itself onto the collar of his suit and pulling closer until lips mesh together once more.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · · · · ─ ·✶· ─ · · · · ─ ·✶· ─ · · · · ─ ·✶· ─ · · ·

You lead him back to your apartment, kiss him through the threshold and try to pull him over to your couch. Instead you’re stopped upon entering, where he maneuvers you, now situated against the door. There, he kisses your lips, kisses the corner of your mouth, then your jaw until he’s at your neck; Body moves on it’s own accord and you buck your hips against his. He lets out a soft whimper at the friction then presses you against the door with his body; mumbles something against your neck before he stops. When you open your eyes he’s staring at you, breathing heavily. And looking at you expectantly with this glint in his eye, a devilish smile on his face.

“Can I?”

You’re dazed, “what? What’s wrong?”

He laughs; almost a giggle. Then his fingers find the waist band of your bottoms, index and middle finger barely grazing it. “Can I taste you?” His voice is heavy now, and his face grows serious after he asks, like he needs this to happen.

lost for words; can only nod your head and give him a small kiss.

Clark makes his way down, kissing you through the material of your clothes until he settles his knees against the floor. He starts to pull your bottoms down your legs, giving pecks to each new piece of skin revealed; helps you step out of your pants, too preoccupied and not wanting to part, he tosses the pants somewhere in the room while mouthing at your left hip. Clark slides his hands up your legs slowly until he’s settled them right below your breast’s. He’s laying kisses over your stomach now, at the area just above your underwear. His mouth ends up at your hip again and he gives you one final peck before looking up, “this okay?”

You’re breathing comes out heavily as you lift your hand up and rest it against his face, he leans into it, “please Clark.”

That’s all he needs before he’s planting a kiss through your underwear and hooking the material in his fingers, sliding it down. You let out a groan when his mouth finally, finally, makes contact with your cunt. He exhales through his nose before lowering his mouth, hot tongue running through your folds before he finds your clit and sucks. The both of you make a sound in unison, and your hips rise off the door; now fully pressed against him. He continues the movement, and you find yourself grabbing his curls and pulling him closer. He makes a sound of pleasure and you moan at the vibration that follows, bucking your hips whenever he swipes his tongue through your folds and licks into your hole; can hear the wetness of his mouth and cunt combined. You can’t help but curse when his right hand settles itself against your back and pulls you against him more, needing to be as close as possible. His other hand settles itself right at the curve where the back of your thigh and ass meet. The two of go on like that for a while, grabbing and pulling him closer.

Suddenly it becomes too much, your hand lands against his shoulder, “C-Clark, stop.” He pulls back, lips and chin, and the tip of his nose, covered in you. It makes your core tighten. “I don’t wanna come yet, not like this.” You breathe out, trying to gather any amount of air into your lungs.

Clark looks at your pussy, gives it one last final kiss before rising back up. He smiles and his lips glisten, and you can’t help but to grab the back of his head and kiss him, tasting yourself on his tongue. He reaches between the two of you and cups you fully with his hand, fingers teasing at your clit. You try to stifle the moan as you walk the two of you back, leading him into your bedroom until the back of his knees hit your bed. You shove him gently and he yields, dropping onto your bed and propping himself up with his hands as you crawl over him. You kiss his lips once you’ve made your way up and whisper against his mouth, “y’know, the cape is pretty sexy. but I think it should come off the first time.” Clark laughs against your mouth while the two of you try wrangling him out of the suit, clumsily bumping into each other and giggling at the other’s mouth.

Once he’s finally out of the suit; bare. Your eyes widen in shock. He’s big. (Very big)

You try to cover your worry with a tentative hand placed on his chest, but he notices, interlocks his hand with yours before speaking, “hey, we can stop if you don’t want this anymore.” You look back to his face, then kiss him quickly. “No I want this….I’m just not sure how you’re going to fit.”

Clark smiles, tries to be humble.

“We’ll go slow. And if at any point you wanna stop, we’ll stop.” He places his hand on your thigh and rubs gently.

His soft touch and reassuring words make warmth bloom in your chest and you kiss him on his cheek; close to being open mouthed, before stripping out of your shirt. Once you’re fully bare, Clark’s cheeks turn a deeper shade of pink; he doesn’t know where to keep his attention. You see him open his mouth trying to speak, the words get caught in his throat but he eventually manages out a whisper of, “You’re beautiful.” before kissing at your sternum; his mouth rising up and placing an open mouthed kiss at your breast. looking down you realize you’ve started to grind yourself into his thigh, he tenses the muscle to help you. But that’s still not what you want.

You put a hand to his chest and force him to lay flat against the bed, you craw over him trying to situate yourself into position. The tip of his cock catches your hole and two of you moan as one.

Clark speaks, “pleas-“

You reach behind and take hold of his cock, grabbing and aligning yourself before starting to sink down, there’s the felling of pressure, stretching around to accommodate. But there’s thankfully no pain. You sink yourself lower, and lower, and Clark whimpers along the way until he’s fully seated inside of you. Once you’re there you moan, settle both hands on his abdomen and flex your lower half up, both of you groaning, before going back down. You set the pace, speeding up as time goes by and clenching whenever you go down fully;you keep that same rhythm, start to feel your orgasm building and feel yourself drip onto his cock, leaving a ring of gathered wetness at the base. You take your hands off his chest, and lean; arms behind your back as you ride him as hard as you can into the bed. Clark moves his hands, now resting them at your ribs. You’re close, can feel it building in your belly as you tighten around him, vice like grip as Clark curses softly. You reach your peak, and end up falling against Clark’s chest as your release comes dripping down his cock. He slides his hands up, settling them on your back and gliding them up and down, in a soothing motion.

But you realize Clark hasn’t finished. You gather your breath and sit up a bit, kiss him gently whispering-

“use me.”

“What?! Are you sure? I don’t want it to be too much.”you cut him off by fucking yourself back onto him, giving him the okay.

Clark springs into action, arms wrapping around your lower back, as he plants his feet against the mattress and fully pushes into you, causing you to let out a whimper against his chest.

He starts slow, working himself in and out, building up the stamina again before he grips you tighter and lets loose, Clark moans against your ear, “You feel so good.” Before kissing the top of your head. It continues like that until he whimpers and you feel a warmth inside of you, before it drips back down. But he doesn’t pull out, the two of you remain there, catching your breaths as Clark runs his fingers up your spine.

Then, you’re suddenly flipped over, back against the covers as Clark pulls out. He lowers himself, shuffling down the bed and kissing at your thighs.

“I’ll clean you up.” and you mewl as his warm tongue licks at the seam of your pussy before he rests his entire mouth over you, sucking his, and your come out and back onto your cunt. He separates his mouth then kisses at your inner thigh, letting his hand come up and slide itself over your folds, fingers finding your clit for a moment before you’re spread open and he’s back at your clit with his tongue. feel pressure building again, but this time it’s calmer; feels like a warmth spreading over your body then nestling itself at your core. Clark delivers one more suck, and you find yourself clenching your thighs around his head and finishing with a loud moan. After you’ve settled down, he comes back up he pulls you into his arms. you end drifting off, comforted by the presence of Clark and spent by the recent orgasms he’s given you.

Clark speaks up, “I liked it actually, the back and fourth we had in the beginning.” He says so, drumming his fingers on your side. You peek one eye open, see his small smirk, and decide to mess with him. “oh really? Maybe lex will let us use the cell.”

Clark perks up, “really?! I mean where would we even put it? Maybe it would fit at-“

You laugh quietly as you nestle yourself deeper into his arms.

“Go to bed Clark.”

[fizzyklein]

— " mano danguje "

authors note : hihi... gulp... im mostly writing this because my lovely mutual ( @joostsmullet ) wanted to see zombie joost... so... here...! THIS ISN'T PROOFREAD!!! next part will be out soon 💗plz note that this is MYYYY au that IIIIII made, so it sill NOT be perfect! i will make a post explaining the au a bit after this! thank youuu! ALSO!!! THE TITLE IS BASED OFF THE SONG ' MANO DANGUJE ' BY ALANAS BRASAS!!! GO LISTEN!!!

tags : rpf, zombie!joost, zombies that don't actually want brains, joost is just an affectionate little zombie, technically hes half zombie but yk..., slight angst, fluff, f!reader, reader likes to explore a lot, readers appearence isnt described too well, google translated dutch, moderately detailed descriptions of a zombie, he's lowkey kind of a loser..., this is kinda short, (sorry), i got lazy, joost is insecure af here

pov : second person

ship : half-zombie!joost klein x f!reader

this is part one ! ~

WARNING 1/1: RPF AHEAD! IF YOU DONT LIKE RPF, DO NOT READ IT. BLOCK ME OR THE TAG.

You carefully walked throughout the forest, hearing as the birds chirped and animals scurried across the forest floor. You enjoyed the tranquility of it all. It wasn't all good though. You felt the odd feeling of being watched. As you walked closer to the destination you were trying to get to–a pond–you heard voices. Male voices. As you got closer, you began hearing it clearer. It sounded like two men arguing in Dutch. You listened in, the curiosity being far too much.

"Tantu, ik zei het toch! We kunnen niet door het bos blijven dwalen, je maakt mensen bang. (Tantu, I told you! We can't keep wandering through the forest, you'll scare people.)" You heard one man say. The other man just grumbled in response. You stepped closer quietly, getting a glimpse of them. They looked like... zombies? One did at least. One had the stereotypical green look to him, brown hair on his head. You could see a few bones, but it wasn't anything too gruesome. The other man wasn't too different, but only half of his face and body was green. He was pretty tall, and had beautiful blonde hair. He had splotches of green all over him. He had an eyepatch over his left eye.

You gasped, and both turned to look at you. "Ah, fuck." The blonde man cursed. He glared at Tantu. You didn't even realize it, but you were shaking. Was it fear? Maybe. You couldn't tell. He was oddly pretty for a man that seemed half-dead. "Please... don't run." The blonde man said, rubbing the back of his neck. He had a Dutch accent, and he seemed pretty awkward.

You shrugged simply, trying to hide the tremble in your knees. He wasn't scary, but you didn't exactly care. You had never been put in this situation before. What were you meant to do? The blonde man let out a breath. He began talking in a rather fast manner. "Hey! I'm Joost, that's Tantu, we don't eat humans." He emphasized that last part to the point it had you raising your eyebrow. Tantu mumbled something in Dutch, earning a wave from Joost. After that, Tantu walked away, probably to go home. It was just you and Joost.

"Well... hi!" He said awkwardly, forcing a tiny smile. He looked so awkward, it was almost cute. You waved back, smiling a bit. You could tell he was nervous. He smelled oddly like pumpkin spice. You stepped a bit closer. "You smell nice." You complimented him. He seemed to take it very well, blushing a bit.

"Thank you...!" Joost replied, holding his own hand. He seemed a bit shy, which was shocking. He was a good looking guy, and had the nicest hair you'd ever seen. You couldn't believe a man like him could ever be insecure. You decided to do your best attempt at small talk. "You're pretty tall." You commented. To be fair, he was a pretty tall guy, compared to you.

Joost nodded. "Well, I should get going." He mentioned. He looked around. Before leaving, he passed you a tiny paper. After he was gone, you opened it. Inside, it read: "my number :)" with his phone number just below it. He signed his name, too. Joost Klein, you thought. It was a nice name. You decided to go back home and call him. Maybe you two could set something up.

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After a few months of texting, Joost had bailed on a date twice. You knew he was probably too insecure, but it was making you crazy. You just wanted an answer other than "I'm busy". Joost was tall, strong, and hot, but you wondered if he even felt the same. The way he texted you, it sure seemed like he did. He called you sweet names in Dutch, and called you every night before bed. You just wanted him to confirm that he loves you. You decided to leave the living room of your apartment, where you were sitting, and went to bed, thinking about Joost as you laid down.

Why did this zombie have such an effect on you?