૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

You leaned into Lois’ desk with a cup of tea, arms crossed, watching her and Clark discuss Superman’s latest encounter with the Hammer of Boravia. “I don’t even think that guy is from Boravia,” Lois commented.

“What makes you think that?” Clark asked, spinning his chair around to face her. “His name is literally the Hammer of Boravia.”

“I doubt his parents named him that, Clark,” you stated, taking a sip.

“You know,” he began, loosening his necktie, “Superman thinks he was faking his accent.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Superman said that?”

“Yeah,” he smirked, fixing his glasses. “I interviewed him right after.”

“You know,” you quoted him, setting the cup down, “it’s funny how you keep getting all these interviews with Superman.”

“I don’t think there’s anything funny about good journalism,” he countered and circled back around to face his desk.

You fantasized about throwing your cup at his thick skull. It infuriated you that Clark could get away with so much without any consequences. He was perpetually late to work, couldn’t spell a four-syllable word to save his life, and always knocked things over on your desk when he rushed by. But none of that mattered to anyone when he had a direct hotline to a superhero. Sometimes you wondered why you even bothered trying.

“Relax, guys,” Lois held up her hands. “It’s only nine in the morning. We have all day for you two to go at it.”

You rolled your eyes and walked back to your desk. There was much work to do in the aftermath of Superman’s unsanctioned arrival in Boravia. You just knew that you would be working past your scheduled hours tonight.

You were an hour into your research when your Editor-in-Chief stormed out of his office and onto the bullpen. “Everyone,” he called out, "I have an announcement to make!”

Everyone paused and turned around to face him. “I’m going to be hiring a Senior Reporter of Investigations. Lois is doing a fantastic job,” Perry said, glancing at her, “but she can’t do it alone.”

“The job is, of course, open to external applicants,” he continued, “but I’d like to hire from within.”

From the corner of your eye, you saw Clark stiffen. You scoffed at the idea of him thinking he would be well-suited for the role.

“There will be no interviews for the internal candidates,” he continued. “The decision will be based on the candidate's performance from now till Christmas. May the best man win.”

Or woman, you smirked.

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You and Jimmy spoke to each other in a hushed tone as you made your way to the local pub at nine o’clock.

You desperately needed a drink after the gruelling day at work. “You definitely have a shot, too,” you told Jimmy, waiting for the pedestrian sign to come on.

“I don’t want it,” he replied, shaking his head. “Sounds like too much work. You, on the other hand, love to work. You’ll make a great senior reporter.”

You grinned as you both crossed the road and entered the restaurant. Clark and Lois were already inside, chatting away. You scowled at the sight of him. He was probably asking her to put in a good word for him with Perry. Your suspicions became true once you were within earshot. “—you know I would be great for it,” Clark said, sipping on his milkshake.

“Hey,” you greeted Lois, slipping into the booth across from her.

Jimmy took a seat next to you, playfully slapping Clark on the arm. “Already campaigning?”

He shrugged, sheepishly. “Just fishing for some advice from the great Lois Lane.”

Lois waved him off, chuckling. Jimmy hailed a server down to the table for you two to order. He asked for an Old Fashion, which Clark appeared to approve of. You ordered your usual: seasoned fries with tequila in some cherry coke.

“I don’t know how you drink that stuff,” Clark commented once the server departed from your side.

You grabbed a tater tot off Lois’ plate and threw it in your mouth. “You know when I’m your boss,” you started, chewing away, “I’m gonna’ replace the espresso machine in the break room with a cherry coke fountain.”

“Oh, but you’re forgetting one thing,” he replied, slurping loudly, “you’re never going to be my boss because Perry hates you.”

“No, he doesn’t!” you cried, turning to Jimmy for reassurance.

“Clark’s being a jerk,” he said. “Perry doesn’t just hate you, he hates everyone besides Lois.”

You elbowed him on the shoulder, irritated that he was playing along. “And me,” Clark smirked. “But don’t worry, when I’m your boss, I’ll make sure that you are given many opportunities to earn brownie points with Perry. I know you’re into that.”

“When I’m your boss,” you hissed, fists clenching under the table, “I’m going to make you come into work an hour before everyone else.”

“When I’m your boss,” he countered, slamming his glass down on the table, “I’ll work you so hard that you’ll practically be living out of the Daily Planet!”

“The joke's on you, I already do that!”

Both Clark and you were red in the face by the time the server came back with your orders. You snatched the drink off the table, bypassed the straw, and began chugging the contents. You didn’t miss the face that Clark made at your action.

What is your fucking problem! you screamed on the inside.

You hadn’t stopped frowning since you had sat down. Clark hadn’t given you a moment of peace since you had begun working at the Daily Planet. You hated him deeply. Sure, he was easy on the eyes, and even his hideous oversized clothes couldn’t hide that impressive, colossal size of his, yet you just couldn’t understand why your coworkers fawned over him.

He was mean, rude, and plain disrespectful. He reminded you of those mean boys back in elementary school who would pull at your pigtails for fun with a nasty look on their faces.

You watched him from across the table. Anger bubbled in your stomach at the sight of him chatting away with your friends, seemingly unbothered by your interaction.

Yeah, you decided in that moment, I am going to win this hating game between us.

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The four of you spent the next two hours at the bar before parting.

You trudged to the bus stop, trying not to trip over your own feet. You swayed a little as the drinks began hitting your head. Upon your arrival, you noticed that the bus stand was empty. You slipped your hand in your purse to pull your phone out to check the time, but when your hand found nothing, you yanked the bag off your arm to check inside. The only things you saw within were your wallet, house keys, and a leftover sandwich.

Shit, I must have forgotten it in the pub.

You left out a frustrated groan and turned back around. This day couldn’t get any worse, you thought. You trekked back as the wind picked up. You suddenly remembered the special weather advisory out for tonight; a windstorm was about to hit Metropolis close to midnight. You sped up, eager to reach home, and soon the pub’s entrance came into view.

You were about to rush inside when you heard a loud noise coming from the alley next to the bar, followed by two men shouting. Curious, you altered your course to take a look; even intoxication couldn’t get the investigative journalist out of you. Hiding behind a dumpster, you peeked out and saw a familiar face.

Clark was cornered against a chain-link fence by a man holding a knife. “You can’t hurt me, sir,” you heard him say, “and I really don’t want to hurt you.”

You almost didn’t recognize his voice. He sounded stern, and that was surprising. He didn’t even speak to you in that manner. “Shut the fuck up and give me that phone!” the man spat, stepping closer.

Your stomach tightened. You knew Clark couldn’t survive a knife-fight; that man walked into door frames despite trying not to on a daily basis. You had to do something. Before your liquid courage could slip away, you heaved the closest thing you could find— a broken chair leg off the garbage can— and charged at the man.

“Hey, buddy!” you called out. “Eyes up here!”

The man spun around just as you brought down the wooden scrap against his shoulder. He cried out, stunned, and that gave Clark enough time to snatch the knife out of his hand and throw it over the fence. The man staggered, eyeing you with rage. Realizing that he was outnumbered and freshly out of weapons, he shoved you to the ground. “Bitch!”

You landed on the concrete, your arms painfully breaking your fall. Clark made an attempt to grab the man, but he took off running. You groaned, struggling to get up as pain radiated up your limbs.

Clark rushed to you on the ground. “Why did you do that?” he exclaimed, eyes blown wide. ‘ “I was trying to help,” you grunted, pushing yourself up with your elbows. “He was going to stab you.”

He wrapped his large hand around your upper arms and helped you stand. “I had it under control.”

You scoffed, stumbling. “Yeah, right.”

He caught you again. “You could have gotten hurt,” he argued, jaw clenching. “Who do you think you are? Superman?”

You slapped his hand off you. “I’m so sorry for saving you, Clark,” you spat, limping away from him. “Next time I’ll just leave you alone to die!”

He strode up to you in seconds. “You’re hurt,” he said. “Let me see.”

The wind picked up, painfully brushing against the scrapes and cuts littering your arms. He seized your wrist, gently. You turned to yell at him to let go, but the look in his face made you freeze. His normally bright blue eyes were icy cold, nostrils flared, and a slight tremor ran down his body. You realized that he was angry. “A-Are you seriously upset with me for saving your life?” you stuttered in disbelief.

“You could have gotten seriously hurt,” he repeated, eyebrows furrowing.

“Why the fuck do you even care?” you asked, scowling.

When he didn’t answer and just stood there, seething in place, you rolled your eyes. You yanked your hand back and moved ahead. “Whatever.”

You had walked a few meters away when he called out, “I have your phone!”

You spun on your heels, pushing past the affliction. “Give it back, Kent!”

“No,” he shook his head, sauntering your way.

Your frown deepened. “What do you mean by ‘no’?”

“‘No,’ as in a negative response,” he clarified, condescendingly. “As in, ‘No, I’m not going to give it back unless you let me see how badly you’re hurt’.”

Your jaw went slack. Your head spun, and it wasn’t because of the alcohol swimming in your belly. You just couldn’t understand why Clark was being so persistent in not leaving you alone. Maybe he was finally realizing what an asshole he had been to you all these months, or maybe he was just embarrassed that you had to come save him like a damsel in distress. “Fine,” you hissed, sticking your arms out. “Have a look!”

He stepped into you, quickly. You scent of his pleasant aftershave invaded your nose. He took your hand in his and turned it around to see where the concrete had cut you. His fingers slipped up, and his thumb traced the skin underneath a scrape that ran diagonally. “This needs to be disinfected,” he whispered under his breath.

Your mouth went dry. “It will be,” you croaked, licking your lips, “as soon as I get home, but I can only do that if I have my phone.”

He nodded, still not moving away. “Yeah, you’re right.”

He peeled off his coat and draped it over your shoulder. “What are you doing?” you asked, jerking underneath the material.

“I’m getting you home, cherry coke.”

“Absolutely not,” you stated, shrugging his fabric off, “I can get home by myself.”

He pulled the collars of his coat together, pinning you in place. “You can hardly walk, and the bus stop is at least fifteen minutes away from here,” he said, bending down to meet your eyes. “What are you going to do if that man is waiting for you around the corner?”

You gulped. You hadn’t thought of that. “I can fight him,” you mumbled, shrugging again.

“Yeah, you probably can,” he sighed, his warm breath fogging his glasses. “I don’t want you, though.”

“Why?”

His hands tightened around the fabric, swaying you forward. “Because you saved me,” he answered. “And as stupid as that was, I am very thankful. I don’t want to see you getting hurt for it.”

Your cheeks grew warm in the cold. Clark Kent apparently had a heart, and you weren’t sure if you liked that revelation; it made your hating game harder.

“So let me repay you,” he continued, “Let me walk you to the bus stop, give you your phone back, and then we’ll be even.”

Those waves of pain hitting your ankle made the idea sound appealing. Repentantly, you nodded. Clark swept down and hooked his arm behind the back of your knee and hoisted you up. You yelped in surprise, clinging to him for support. “Don’t start,” he warned before you could object.

If someone had told you earlier in the day that your night would end with you being carried away by Clark, you would have laughed yourself to death. This makes no sense, you thought. You had spent every waking moment basking in the heat of your resentment of him, and this moment made you numb. You recalled your argument in the pub to ground yourself in that feeling again. You weren’t going to let one kind gesture sweep you off your feet.

Your head dropped down to your lap, and all you could focus on was how easily Clark supported you in his arms. He didn’t appear to be breaking a sweat. A chill ran down your spine, and you told yourself it was the gusts of wind making you shiver and not him.

The stop came into sight with the bus already waiting for you. Clark carried you until the steps leading up to the vehicle were almost under you. He set you down carefully, and the pain in your ankle returned as your feet touched the ground. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, meeting your eyes. “Get home safe.”

You nodded, not trusting your voice. You stepped onto the bus and then paused. You turned your head and asked, “My phone?”

“Inside pocket,” he answered, slipping his wallet out.

You watched him pay for your fare as you moved to take his coat off. He stopped you. “Keep it. It’s cold outside.”

Without another word, you walked inside. You refused to look out at him as the bus’s engine came to life, but you knew he was waiting on the sidewalk. The bus had pulled away from the curb and onto the street when you finally allowed yourself to look out the window. The street behind you was desolate except for a flash of red and blue zooming across the sky.

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That night, you dreamt of Superman.

Rain thundered down on your room’s windows in the wee hours. You were laying down in bed, cuddling a pillow as a movie played on the television. You heard movement behind you, and then the mattress dipped under you. His hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you into his hard torso.

His nose buried itself into your hair, breathing in your scent. You hummed, sagging against him. His hand moved up to cup your breast over your shirt as your eyes fluttered shut. “When I’m your boss,” a familiar voice whispered, slipping your nipple between fingers and squeezing, “I’m going to work you so hard, cherry coke.”

Your eyes shot open. You whipped your head around. Clark lay behind you, head resting on an arm folded over a pillow, smiling lazily.

You woke up in the dark with a thundering heart. You were alone in your apartment with only the sounds of your laboured breaths echoing through the space. You reached under the covers, slick with sweat, yanked Clark’s coat off from over your legs, and threw it across your room in the dark.

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The next morning, Clark brought you a cup of coffee.

You eyed it suspiciously, resting on your desk. You clicked the back of your pen, glancing back and forth between the cup and him. Remnants of your dream last night played in your head, heating up your face. “Why are you bringing me coffee, Kent?”

“I heard it boosts subordinates’ morale when management brings in treats,” he grinned. “I thought about bringing some cherry coke instead, but I couldn’t bring myself to stoop that low.”

Your jaw clenched. He was still mistaken that Perry would promote him. You reached behind your chair and swung his coat out from under your back. “I’ll trade you,” you huffed, holding it out to him.

He accepted it without much issue. You heard the door swing open, and Perry strode in. His gaze landed on you as he crossed the floor. “Great! I was looking for you two.”

You scrambled to your feet. “Yes, Mr. White?”

“You are going to be interviewing Lex Luthor,” he shared, “and Clark is going to help you prepare for it. You will need his expertise in dealing with a high-profile figure. Luthor has declined all prior requests for an interview until now. I don’t know what changed his mind, and frankly, I don’t care.”

Your eyes nearly bugged out of your head. This was exactly what you needed to show your boss that you were the best candidate for the role.

“Why her?” you heard Clark inquire.

“Luthor has been soft-launching an anti-Superman campaign, and I’ll be damned if I let any other paper sit down with him,” he continued, ignoring him. “You will interview him at the New York Correspondent’s Dinner this Friday. Luthor requested that we send someone ‘pleasing on the eyes,’ and normally I’d ask Lois, but since she’s working on the Luthor Corp’ expose, that wouldn’t end well. Bottom line, don’t embarrass yourself, the paper, or me, kid.”

Your ears were ringing. The universe had just presented you the perfect opportunity: an interview to rival Clark’s own. “Yes, sir,” you replied, enthusiastically bobbing your head. “You can count on me.”

Perry nodded curtly and disappeared back into his office.

Lois whistled. “Hell yeah, darling!”

You mimed a silent scream at her, jumping in place. You spun around, grabbed your laptop and the coffee off your desk, and rushed past Clark. “Let’s go to the conference room, Kent.”

He followed at your heels to an inhabited room one floor up. You set your things down on the long table and sat on the seat closest to the door. He slipped into the empty seat next to you.

You buzzed with energy as you opened your device and opened a new document. “Are you seriously this excited for Lex Luthor?” Clark asked, glaring at you.

“Duh,” you made a face. “Why? Are only you allowed to do impactful things here?”

“Lex Luthor is a real jerk,” he frowned, displeased. “Aren’t you bothered by the fact that he asked for someone hot to interview him?”

You smirked. “Are you calling me hot?”

He ran a hand over his face and exhaled into his palm. “I just find it surprising that you’re all right with Perry sending you in as a honey pot.”

“Don’t lecture me on sexism, Clark,” you scowled, deeply. “I’m not stupid. I have dealt with that shit my entire life. I know exactly why Perry picked me, and no, I’m not ‘all right’ with it, but I’m going to make the best out of every chance I get. I’m tired of seeing others get opportunities that should be mine. ”

Clark watched you, lips turned downward. “Others?”

“You,” you answered, plainly. “Do you think Cat, or Lois, or I would last a week here if we started showing up late at work? If we began handing in final drafts with improper grammar? If we—”

“You are this upset over Perry being soft on me, cherry coke?” he asked, tilting his head.

Pure rage began to bubble in your stomach. “Soft,” you hissed, “is an understatement. He is lenient beyond what’s acceptable.”

“And you hate me for that?”

“Clark,” you spoke through clenched teeth, slamming your hands down on the table. “I hate that you are inconsiderate of other people’s time. I hate that you don’t let any opportunity to go by to undermine me. And I hate that there are no consequences for your actions.”

He had the audacity to appear offended. “You have no idea what my life is like,” he spat. “I deal with things beyond your imagination. You have all these nonsense assumptions about me, and have turned me into this bad guy in your head—”

“I know exactly what you’re up to! And don’t act like you don’t benefit from—”

“Let me finish!” he raised his voice. “I—”

“Did you just fucking yell at me?” you cried out, baffled.

“Don’t cuss!” he exclaimed. “I don’t like—”

“I don’t give a shit whether you like it or not, Kent—”

A knock interrupted your screaming match. The door creaked open, and Jimmy’s head popped in through the gap. “We can hear you both downstairs,” he shared apologetically.

Your head dropped your head in your lap, embarrassed. “Sorry,” you heard Clark say. “My fault. We’ll keep it down.”

The door closed, and you both sat in silence. The clock on the wall ticked away, and you counted the seconds and found them in sync with your thudding heartbeat.

Get it under control, you told yourself. Don’t let your anger overpower you.

You sighed and then looked back at your screen. “This is really important to me, Clark,” you said, forcing a polite smile. “I’m asking you, in the name of journalistic pursuit, to work with me. Can we call a truce and get started on this interview?”

You waited for his reply, keeping your eyes fixed ahead. “Yeah,” he answered, some painfully quiet moments later. “I can do that.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Relieved, you smile. “Great. Let’s start.”

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Perry sprinted out of his office to you as you clipped your earring in.

“Change of plans,” he huffed, stopping at your desk. “You’re not going to ask him the questions you submitted.”

The news of Superman being evil incarnate had just been released by Luthor Corporation, creating a frenzy at the Daily Planet. You stood up and gathered your belongings: a tape recorder, a notepad, pens, and your invitation to the charity dinner. “I-I know, Mr. White. I will focus on the recording instead,” you told him, shoving them into your purse.

“I have emailed you some notes,” he said, walking with you to the elevator, “if you stick to them, things should go well.”

“Yes, of course,” you replied, pressing the button to call the cart up. “I will do that.”

You were absolutely not going to do that. You knew that you had one chance to make an impression, and you weren’t going to do it by playing it safe.

The elevator came up and you stepped inside. “Good luck, kid,” Perry wished and then spun around. “SOMEONE GET ME CLARK KENT!”

The doors slid closed as you observed Jimmy scramble to pick up the phone resting on his desk. After begrudgingly working with you on the interview for days, he didn’t show up on zero hour. In fact, no one had heard from him ever since the world had heard of Superman’s supposed harem.

Maybe he’s sad that the world thinks Superman’s a monster?

You made a face at the thought of feeling bad for Clark Kent as you smoothed a hand over your silk dress. You just knew that when Perry got him on the phone, they’d have a nice chat and smooth everything over. It would be as if he had never abandoned work to begin with.

The elevator pinged and opened itself up to the main floor. You stepped outside and walked up to a car that the Daily Planet had arranged for you. You slipped inside, and the driver pulled into traffic immediately.

A pit had begun forming in your stomach. Trying not to focus on it, you pulled out your phone from your bag and began reading through Perry’s notes. They were good. Great, even. It just bothered you that he didn’t think you could do this without being micromanaged by him or Clark as a proxy.

You turned your phone off and tossed it away. It bounced off the seat and landed inside the door pocket on the other side. You groaned, reaching over to retrieve it. Your fingers caught a stack of folded papers, and you pulled them out. You saw that you were holding a copy of the Daily Planet’s newspaper.

The headline read: THE MAKINGS OF OUR NEWEST SUPERHERO.

Followed by the words, ‘by Clark Kent’. You scoffed. Even leading up to one of the most pivotal moments of your career, he somehow managed to haunt you.

You imagined your name on the front page instead. You had to nail this. You had to do good. So good that everyone at work would think twice before speaking down to you—

Why aren’t you here, Clark?

The car skidded to a stop, and you looked out the window. You had arrived at the venue of for the New York Correspondent’s Dinner. You thanked the driver and took a deep breath to ready yourself to step out. Before you could reach for the door handle, someone yanked it open from the outside.

A face framed with two familiar dimples poked in. “Hey, cherry coke.”

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You stepped out of the car, and Clark offered you his arm.

You didn’t have time to adjust to his unexpected arrival before he began leading you up the stairs to the venue. Clark had dressed up to the nines. You were amazed that he even owned a tuxedo.

You wondered if you had accidentally manifested him tonight. Next time I’ll ask for a million dollars, you thought.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, handing the invite to a staff member at the entrance.

“Couldn’t miss your big day,” he answered, looking ahead. “I’m her plus one. Clark Kent from the Daily Planet.”

The staff member nodded and pulled the velvet rope aside to let you both through. “Why didn’t you come into work? Were you with Superman today?”

“Are you supposed to be interviewing me or Lex Luthor?”

You grabbed onto his arm tighter. “I’m being serious,” you said. “Are you okay?”

He wouldn’t meet your eyes. “Yeah,” he shrugged. “Just a little under the weather.”

You knew he was lying, but you didn’t push further. The heat on Superman probably wasn’t sitting well with him. You both walked inside, and your eyes immediately landed on Lex Luthor speaking to some men across a crowd of people. He towered a foot above everyone else, just like Clark. Your stomach tightened at the sight. There was something strange about that man. His presence didn’t make you feel warm all over like Clark’s did.

You bit the inside of your cheek. That was twice within seconds that you had compared someone to Clark Kent. You shook your head to clear any thoughts of the field reporter.

You need to lock in, you told yourself.

You squeezed Clark’s arm and stepped away from him to make your way toward Lex. You saw him see you approach from the corner of his eye, but he made no attempt to cut his conversation short with the men surrounding him. You patiently waited, the back of your neck heating up, for him to finish before speaking. “Hello, Mr. Luthor,” you greeted, before anyone else, you claimed his attention.

He raised an eyebrow. “You are?”

You gave him your name. “Ah,” he recalled. “You’re that reporter from the Daily Planet.”

He snapped his fingers, and a waiter rushed to his side. He ordered you both a drink without asking whether you’d even like one to begin with. “I’m terribly sorry,” he said, flatly, “I don’t think I have time today for an interview. We can reschedule at my earliest convenience.”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

You had to come up with something quick to hook him in. You knew that you wouldn’t be getting another opportunity in this lifetime. “Oh,” you blinked, furrowing your eyebrows. “I was really hoping to get your opinion on the Superman tape released earlier today.”

Lex’s left eye twitched at your words. You fought back a smirk; you knew you had him then. He cleared his throat. “What would you like to know, miss?”

“I guess,” you started, curling a strand of hair behind your ear, “I wanted to know what your first impression was after finding the video?”

“I will admit that I was scared,” he answered, lips turning downward, “about learning that alien’s true mission.”

You nodded animatedly, trying to mimic empathy. “I’m sure many agree with you today. But what about all the kind acts Superman has performed over the years? The countless lives he has saved?” you inquired, shifting in place. “I mean, just today, he saved a squirrel from being crushed under debris. Some would argue that those acts define his true character rather than the orders given by his parents.”

Lex’s frown deepened. Behind his bald head, you saw Clark move into your line of vision a few feet away. He gave you a reassuring nod.

“I believe he is grooming us,” Lex responded, picking up a drink off the tray the waiter had returned with, “lulling us into complacency so he can dominate without resistance.”

You struggled to keep your face neutral. You collected your own glass and held it so tightly that you were afraid it was going to crack in your grip. “And why would he—”

“He is forging a path for his super-powered descendants to rule the Earth,” he continued, cutting you off. “Who knows how many children he has growing in his harem?”

Hatred rolled off the man in waves. Your forehead began to dampen at the change in his tone, yet you couldn’t help but challenge him. “You’re positive that the video is authentic and not some deepfake?”

“Twenty-eight of the world's top linguists have confirmed the translation,” he spoke through clenched teeth, “and thirty of the top forensic computer techs have confirmed the validity of the footage itself. Unfortunately, and much to your dismay, I’m sure, the video is real. But do tell me, miss, are you by any chance a fan of Superman?”

You froze, not expecting him to turn the tables. You had hoped he’d be self-obsessed enough to rant on. “I think he is doing some important work,” you answered, gulping a mouthful of your drink. “I always thought of Superman as a kind man, and I respect the work he does. He stands for hope and helping those in need. When I look at his actions, his choices, I find it very hard to rebuke him simply because his parents were horrible people.”

“Aliens,” Lex corrected sharply. “They were aliens. And that makes Superman not a man, but also an alien, sent from Krypton to rule over us humans with no mercy. It’s disappointing to see we are too busy fawning over a creature catapulted onto this planet to recognize that his strength illuminates how weak we all really are.”

A lump began to form in your throat. You could see that you had angered him. This was not how you had planned for this conversation to go. A woman in a gorgeous purple floor-length gown stepped into Lex, curling an arm around his torso. “Lex,” she called out, “Are you done? This party is very boring.”

He rolled his eyes and pulled his arm away from the woman to reach inside his coat pocket. He pulled out a card in between his fingers and handed it to you. “Feel free to reach me if you’d like an in-depth interview at a later time. I’d love to correct that opinion of yours regarding Superman.”

You took the card from him, his fingers brushing yours. You thanked him profusely as he walked away. Once alone, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Your eyes began to water. You recalled your encounter with Lex Luthor, replaying each mistake you had made on a loop. You had missed your chance.

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Clark caught you crossing through the crowd just as the first tears fell.

You had crashed right into his broad chest with your head hanging low. He grabbed onto your arms to steady you straight as you wobbled on your heels. “What’s wrong, cherry coke?” he asked, distressed.

“I-I,” you stuttered, “I made a mistake, C-Clark. I didn’t turn my tape recorder on, and I didn’t stick to the questions Perry sent. I ruined it!”

“That’s okay,” he reassured, slipping his hand down to the small of your back. “You’re okay. Let’s step outside for a bit, yeah?”

You let him guide you up the stairs to the empty terrace. Cold air bit your bare arms as you made your way closer to the railing. Your sobs echoed through the space. “I-I panicked b-because he wanted to cancel t-the interview, and I r-ruined everything,” you hiccuped and bit the back of your hand to stop the tremors. “He was s-so angry—I felt it.”

Clark did the last thing you expected him to do— he wrapped his large hand around your wrist and pulled you into a hug. “I heard everything,” he said, resting his chin on top of your head. “You challenged him and that was brave. A man like Lex Luthor needs that. He is so used to being surrounded by yes-men that I bet meeting you was a breath of fresh air. He gave you his card, didn’t he?”

You inhaled deeply. The scent of his familiar cologne settled your nerves. “I know that you can remember every word that left his mouth without relying on a tape recorder,” he continued. “And if he wants to see you again, then you didn’t put him off that badly. Have some faith in yourself, cherry coke.”

You nodded, shaking in his embrace. His gentle words carved a space for himself within your heart. You tried to remember all those times you had argued, but their memory was already fading. “Although you probably shouldn’t see him again,” you heard him say.

You leaned back to look at him. His hands moved up to cup your cheeks, and his thumbs wiped the tears streaming down. “Why?”

Clark didn’t answer you. His gaze shifted back and forth between your eyes, lips, and neck. He dropped his hand and stepped away from you. “I don’t know,” he sighed, spinning around. “He just gives me the creeps.”

He strode to the railing and leaned against it. You sniffled and gingerly walked up to him. “Do you not like him because he’s mean to Superman?” you asked, stopping a few paces behind him. “Have you spoken to him recently? Is he doing all right?”

Clark stared off into the distance for a few moments. “No,” he answered sombrely. “He’s not doing well. He just found out that his own existence is a lie, that his parents sent him down to kill people, and that the whole world hates him. You know the DOJ has a warrant out for his arrest? He’s all alone now— even the Justice Gang won’t back him up.”

You didn’t know what to say. You had been so caught up in preparing for your interview that you had tuned everyone out. Except Clark. You were hyper aware of his presence and absence in every room you stepped in, and you despised that.

Before you could think your actions through, you closed the gap between you two. Your heart thundered in your chest so loudly that you knew he could hear it. “I don’t hate him,” you whispered in his back, your nose brushing against the dark fabric of his coat.

You felt him tense. “No,” he croaked. “You just hate me.”

You let out a laboured breath, your chest pressing into his back. “You just make me so angry,” you confessed, glad that he couldn’t see you. “Why can’t you be this nice all the time?”

Clark didn’t respond. Instead, he reached for your hand and brought it across his torso so you were hugging him from the back. “I thought about what you said to me in the conference room,” he said, his voice dropping. “You were right, Perry is soft on me—”

“No,” you started. “Clark I—”

He squeezed your hand tighter. “Let me finish, please. I have prepared a little speech.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Okay, sorry. Go on.”

“You were right,” he repeated, exhaling. “Perry is soft on me, and it’s not fair. I can see that you work harder than anyone, but it’s not recognized. It’s almost like the paper doesn’t feel the need to recognize your or Cat’s accomplishments because they have satisfied their quota with Lois. There is something horribly wrong with how things are set up in our workplace, and it wasn’t correct of me to pretend otherwise. You were correct about me benefiting from it. You know what Perry said when I finally answered his call tonight? Nothing! Just told me to get a hold of Superman and that he’ll see me on Monday. If you had done that, he would have chewed you out for hours.”

You chewed on your lip, unsure of what to say again. You had always wondered about what it would look like when Clark acknowledged things for what they truly were, but in this moment, you were drawing blanks.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel bad,” he sighed, rubbing circles on the back of your hand. “I realize now that the way I have been speaking to you has been awful. You were right about that, too. My choices and actions make me who I am— and I haven’t been doing a great job lately. You don’t deserve to be put down by anyone, least of all me. I can’t tell you why I behaved like that, I-I’m not sure anymore. All I know if that I regret it.”

It was nighttime, but you were sure the birds were singing. You wrapped your other arm around him and he turned around to face you in your embrace. Your lips stretched into a grin. “You know what this sounds like, right?”

“Sounds like I’m apologizing for being an ass,” he stated, smiling.

You gasped. “Clark, you just said a bad word!”

“I guess I’m a changed man,” he shrugged, curling your hair behind your ear. “Can this new man suggest calling off the hating game between?”

You pouted. “It’s no fun just playing by myself,” you sighed, leaning into him. “Yeah, we can make our truce permanent.”

“Great,” he grinned, making his dimples shine through. “Can I suggest one more thing?”

“Yeah.”

He lowered his face closer to your own. Your stomach tightened, and goosebumps littered up your arms. The world quieted around you two. “Clark,” you whispered.

His hand slipped to cup the nape of your neck to angle your mouth up to his. Your head was spinning. You thought back to your dream the other night and the way his hands had roamed over your skin.

“I have been thinking about you a lot since the day I spilled coffee down your shirt,” he revealed, grazing his lips against yours.

“That was the first time you saw me,” you recalled.

He had soaked your white blouse dark within minutes of you walking into the Daily Planet. That was where the game had started for you. “Probably,” he let out a shaky breath as you clung onto the sleeves of his coat. “But who’s counting?”

You moved up to his mouth just as a surge in noise from the floor below caught your attention, breaking the charge in the air. You glanced down at Clark’s wrist, hovering above your heaving chest, and read the time on his watch. “They are starting the speeches,” you realized.

You groaned, resting your forehead on his shoulder. “Shit, okay,” you mumbled, looking back up at him. “We should go downstairs.”

He didn’t make any attempts to hide his disappointment. “Monday,” he promised. “We will pick this right back up on Monday.”

.

.

.

When you woke up the next morning, you thought you had imagined the whole encounter.

You had always hoped that you would eventually reach a point of indifference with Clark, but that day never came. As much as you tried to ignore it, something had changed between you two, like an atomic-level shift in the air right before lightning hits.

You just knew the next time you came into work, Jimmy and Lois would immediately pick up on it. Your phone buzzed under your pillow, and you reached for it blindly. Clark had sent you a text message.

Clark Kent Daily Planet: [photo]

You had received a photo of a ragged-looking dog. You tilted your head to the side in confusion; Clark had never mentioned being a pet owner before.

You: You have a dog? Clark Kent Daily Planet: It’s more of a foster situation. His name is Krypto. You: Hi, Krypto!!

You caught yourself grinning. Things were definitely different now. Your phone buzzed again.

Clark Kent Daily Planet: I can’t wait to see you on Monday. You: What’s happening on Monday? Clark Kent Daily Planet: You know precisely what’s going to happen, cherry coke.

He was right. You did know, and you couldn’t be more excited. The tide had definitely changed. Your phone buzzed again.

.

.

.

When Monday came around, you almost skipped into work.

Lois and Jimmy immediately asked you about your interview with Lex Luthor. You described the disastrous events, omitting all encounters involving Clark. “Have you started writing the article?” Lois asked.

You slumped in your chair. “Not yet,” you answered. “I’m not sure if I even want to.”

“What does that mean?” Jimmy inquired, leaning his hip into the corner of your desk.

“Lex was really tough on Superman,” you explained, “and I’m not sure if I want to add on to the dumpster fire he’s dealing with by publishing my article.”

Lois frowned. “You know Perry won’t like that, right? Are you sure you want to do this while he’s looking for someone to promote?”

You sighed. “I don’t know,” you admitted. “I was going to talk to him about— has anyone seen Clark?”

“He’s been with Perry for the last hour,” Jimmy said. “He showed up an hour early. Can you believe that?”

You kept your face neutral to hide your approval of him taking the whole ‘changed man’ thing seriously. You stood up. “I’m just gonna’ go talk to them about this.”

You crossed the bullpen to Perry’s office. You held up your hand to knock, but froze at the voices coming through the door. “—you can’t just say that to her,” you heard Clark say.

“I told you a month ago that the position was yours,” Perry replied. “Why should I pretend otherwise?”

Your heart dropped down to your stomach and began thundering. Nausea built up in your throat. He knew. Clark knew that Perry had already given him the role, and he let you bend yourself backwards to try to prove yourself anyway.

“Because she is a good journalist,” Clark stated. “She deserves a chance.”

“I’m not saying she’s not,” he scoffed, “but you interview Superman and she writes about animal shelters seeking donations. I don’t understand your sudden change of heart. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to see you both get along, but I’m not running a charity here.”

Tears sprang in your eyes. You felt like a moron for believing that things could ever be good between the two of you. Clark began to speak again, but you knocked on the door. All conversation inside the room immediately ceased.

“Come in,” Perry called out.

You yanked the door open and stepped inside. Perry stood in front of his desk with his arms crossed, with Clark next to him. Your eyes met, and you saw the moment he realized that you had heard everything.

You cleared your throat, blinking the tears away. “I wanted to let you know, sir,” you croaked, not looking at Clark any longer, “that I won’t be writing an article about my interview with Lex Luthor.”

Perry’s arms fell to his side. He started to speak, but you cut him off.

“—and that I quit”

.

.

.

You rushed to your desk, wrenching your name tag off your neck.

Fuck this. Fuck everything. Fuck the Daily Planet. Fuck Perry White. Fuck Clark!

Lois eyed you in shock as you threw it on the table and grabbed your work bag, slinging it over your shoulder. Clark was at your heels, calling out your name, as you dashed to the elevator. You called the cart up and quickly stepped inside. You punched the button for the main floor and spun around, rage flooding your veins.

Just as the door was about to slide shut, a hand shot in to stop it. Clark pulled it back and stepped in, wearing a painful expression. You let out a bitter laugh. “You have a lot of nerve, coming after me.”

He moved inside and let the doors close behind him. “I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he pleaded, eyes blown wide. “You have to believe me.”

“Believe you?” you echoed, scoffing. “I don’t trust a single thing that comes out of your lying mouth.”

He shook his head, stepping close to you. You held up your hands, pausing his stride. Your vision began blurring, and you decided that you weren’t above letting this man see you cry. You didn’t care. There was no need to hide your hurt anymore because this was the last time you’d ever speak to him. “You knew,” you spat. “You knew and you didn’t say a single thing. How could you do that? I would have never deceived you like that. I have never!”

He snatched your wrists, scorching you with his touch. “I wanted to tell you,” he blurted, breath hitching. “I wanted to tell you so bad. I just never found the right time.”

You yanked your arms out of his grip. “Really?” you asked, lips tugging down, “We work together day and night, and you want me to accept that you simply couldn’t find the ‘right time’?”

“No, no, no,” Clark repeated, grabbing onto his hair. “Cherry coke—”

“Don’t fucking call me that!” you yelled, throwing your bag on the floor.

He hit the emergency stop button on the elevator panel, and the cart skidded to a halt. “I won’t take the promotion,” he said, quickly. “Please don’t quit, okay? Just tell me what to do to fix this, and I will do it.”

“I don’t need you to fight my battles,” you hissed. “In fact, I don’t need anything from you. Just leave me alone!”

His eyebrows furrowed. “No,” he spoke softly, “not that. Anything but that.”

You took in a laboured breath, composing yourself. “I heard what Perry said about me, and I’m not going to stay in a place designed to keep me down,” you started. “I just won’t do it. You can have your Daily Planet and relish in the limelight with your exclusive interviews, but I will always remember you as a man who stepped on others to get ahead.”

I will remember you as the man who broke my heart.

He looked like you had slapped him. “T-that’s not who I am,” he stuttered, head dropping down. “I-I’m not a bad man.”

“No,” you frowned, “you are just the guy who does fake interviews of himself to get a promotion.”

His head jerked up, and his jaw fell open. “You knew?”

You scoffed again. “Of course, I did. I’m not an idiot.”

You had figured out months ago that Clark Kent was Superman. It wasn’t hard. Despite what senior management thought, you were a great journalist. You had never said anything because you believed that his work was important; a courtesy that he didn’t think to return to you. That was the main reason behind your decision against publishing Lex Luthor’s comments about the superhero.

It was also what made the whole thing more frustrating. Clark already had his own thing by being the most powerful creature to walk Earth. But that just wasn’t enough for him. He just had to take the one thing you cared about as well.

You could almost see the cogs in his brain turning at your revelation. “Why didn’t you ever . . . ”

“Because, unlike you, I have integrity,” you answered, coldly. “Don’t worry, I still won’t say anything. I also happen to be good at keeping secrets.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but the intercom buzzed. “Everything all right?”

You picked up your bag off the floor and slung it over your shoulder. “Yeah,” you said, clearing your throat. “Just bumped into the button. Mind letting us through?”

The elevator buzzed back to life and began lowering you to the lobby. Clark stood there, frozen in time, as the door pinged open. You moved around him.

“I never want to see you again,” you told him, walking out.

.

.

.

The week following your resignation was quiet.

Lois and Jimmy met you after work every evening. You exchanged office gossip with the events leading up to your departure from the Daily Planet. Lois shared that she and Jimmy had ripped Clark a new one and that he looked like a lost, sad puppy at the office these days. Perry, on the other hand, was distressed because some journalists had threatened to unionize after the recent unfolding of events.

Good, you thought, they both deserve it!

Tonight, you found yourself staying in. You couldn’t keep yourself distracted forever. Sure, you were still healing from a broken heart, but that didn’t mean the world stopped spinning. The shadow of unemployment hung over you, heavy.

You were sitting down on a counter stool in your kitchen, stirring your hot chocolate with one hand and scrolling through LinkedIn with the other, when the reflection in your screen caught your attention. You jerked your head back to see a man in red and blue hovering outside your sixth-floor apartment balcony. “Holy shit!”

Superman offered you a sheepish wave through the glass. He glided over the railing and landed on the balcony with a small thud. “Sorry for scaring you,” Clark said, sliding the door open.

You regretted not locking your balcony doors. There was no need for I before. You didn’t think anyone could climb up that high to break into your home. Obviously, you hadn’t accounted for Superman to be the one making an attempt. “What are you doing here?” you demanded, shooting up to your feet.

“I know you don’t want to see me again,” he replied, moving through your living room, “but I just had to talk to you.”

Your heart thundered in your chest. “Ever notice how you completely ignore other people’s wishes and do what you want anyway?” you asked, scowling.

“Bad habit,” he answered, sitting down on your sofa. “I will work on it. Can we speak?”

You huffed in disbelief. You thought you would never see each other again, but here he was, dressed up in his Superman suit, sitting in your home.

Guess the cat’s out of the bag now, you thought.

“You have five minutes before I call the police,” you told him, taking a seat on the other side.

A coffee table separated you two, but even that felt too close. “Noted,” he said.

He reached into his collar and pulled out a neatly tucked-away yellow paper. “I wrote some notes down,” he explained, unfolding it.

“That’s extremely strange,” you remarked, crossing one leg over the other.

“I don’t want to mess up— have you started timing me already?

You glanced at the clock hanging on the wall. “You have four minutes and thirty five seconds, now thirty-four. . . thirty-three. . .”

“Okay, okay!” he exclaimed, and then turned his attention down to the thin paper in his large hands. “I wanted to start off by apologizing. I was wrong. I should have told you as soon as Perry let me know that he was going to promote me as a senior journalist.”

Your jaw tightened. “Then why didn’t you?” you questioned, taking a sip of your drink.

“Honestly?” he glanced up. “I was afraid. I didn’t want you getting angry with me.”

You blinked, confused. “Since when have you ever cared about making me upset?”

“I have always cared about you, cherry coke,” he stated. “How could you not know that?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Clark,” you started, sarcastically, “maybe the message got lost between all the betrayal?”

Clark sighed and looked back down at his notes. “You have to believe me when I say that I wanted to tell you so bad. Every day we worked on that Lex Luthor interview, I came close to telling you the truth,” he read. “But then I saw you passionately you were working, and I just couldn’t. I didn’t want to crush your spirits.”

You wanted to hurl your cup at him. “You are such an idiot,” you frowned. “I would have given it my all regardless of the decision. That’s just the kind of person I am. What hurt me was being deceived and believing that I had a chance to begin with.”

“I know that now,” he admitted sombrely. “I was being a coward.”

“You not saying anything was a thousand times worse,” you continued. “Me hearing your conversation with Perry was a million times worse.”

He nodded. You took a sip to steady yourself. “I handed in my formal resignation, by the way.”

“Was it because of me?” he asked, in a small voice.

“Partially,” you admitted, hiding your face behind the cup.

“I will quit,” he stated, putting the paper down on his lap, “if that’s what it takes to make things better between us.”

“No, you will not,” you replied, sternly. “Don’t misunderstand. Your contribution to my decision was minuscule at best. I don’t want to work at the Daily Planet anymore because of the disrespect. I’m making that choice for myself. You don’t need to lose sleep over it. I will find work somewhere else. You, on the other hand, need a secret identity to help you with all that Superman stuff.

He exhaled deeply and ran his hands over his face. “How did you even figure it out?”

“It wasn’t that difficult, Clark,” you answered, setting the cup down on the table. “You only do field work when Superman is involved, yet no one has ever seen you together. You show up late to work anytime a meta-villain attacks Metropolis. Your dog is literally named Kyrpto. Plus, when you take your glasses off, you look exactly like Superman.”

He peeked at you from between his fingers. “Okay, when you put it like that, I just sound like an idiot.”

You gasp, mortified. “You just said a bad word!”

“Yeah. I seem to be doing many bad things lately,” he whispered to himself. “How come you never said anything?

“I did think about it. Especially on days you really pissed me off. I guess . . . I understood why you had to hide,” you shrugged. “Although it made my head spin at times. You were so kind to strangers, yet so awful to me. I just didn’t get why. For a solid month, I thought you were Superman’s evil twin.”

Clark let out a dry laugh. He looked up at the ceiling, staring at the chandelier bathing you both in yellow. “When you started as an intern at the Daily Planet,” he spoke, eyes growing distant, “you were obsessed with finding out Superman’s identity. Do you remember?

You nodded, twiddling your thumbs above your thighs.

“It freaked me out, really bad,” he confessed, blue eyes growing distant. “You once suggested in a team meeting that Superman may be Texan based on his accent, and I almost had a panic attack. I thought back then that if I was tough on you, I could discourage you from pursuing anything related to him. In hindsight, I understand that it was a dumb idea.”

You recalled the times he would shoot down your ideas about Superman during your time at the Daily Planet. “Are you being serious?”

“That’s the whole reason why I started interviewing myself as Superman to begin with,” he explained. “I believed you would let it go if he started speaking to another journalist, so I made interviews with Superman an exclusively Clark-Kent thing. It worked, and you never brought it up again.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, and your back arched off the cushion. “Are you seriously telling me you were being mean to me because you thought I was so good at my job that I would figure out you were Superman?”

“Yeah,” Clark admitted. “And I was right, you did figure it out. I still regret it, immensely.”

You felt as if someone had thrown a bucket of cold water in your face. You had always wondered when the hating game had started for him, but you could never have guessed the truth.

“This past week,” he continued, “I have been reflecting on everything I have done. I am so, so sorry, cherry coke. If I had only known, I wouldn’t have done any of that. I would have been a better friend to you. I would have . . . ”

“Would have what?”

He dipped his head down to finally look at you again. “You know exactly what.”

“No,” you shook your head. “I really don’t. I don’t think anyone truly knows what goes on your head.”

He paused for a moment before speaking. “You have no idea how hard it was for me to put on that act. And now I can’t stop thinking about how awful I was to you. I was trying to protect myself, but I went about it the wrong way and hurt someone I care about. I would do everything differently now.”

You felt your pulse throbbing in your neck. “Different how?” you insisted.

“I would have been honest about my feelings,” Clark answered, a remorseful smile playing on his lips. “I would have spoken to you kindly. I would have brought you coffee every morning. I would have asked you out to dinner months ago. And I would have definitely kissed you on that terrace, cherry coke.”

You squirmed in your seat, cheeks growing farm. “You can’t say things like that.”

“I know,” he said softly. “I wanted to anyway.”

Your mind couldn’t keep up with all the thoughts rushing in; you needed him out of your home.

He likes me. He was awful to me. He likes me. He made me feel so small. He likes me. He needs a reality check. Yes, but he likes me.

You sprang up and began pacing through your living room. “I need time to think,” you told him, marching back and forth.

He made no attempts to move. “Take all the time you need.”

You spun around on your heels to face him on the sofa. “Why would you tell me these things?” you cried, throwing your hands up. “This is b-bad timing . . . I need to focus. I need to be able to work on my job applications. Do you know I am working on six written pieces that ‘highlight my journalistic prowess’ right now?”

“I can help you with that!” Clark beamed at you. “You can submit an interview with Superman.”

You froze mid-step. “Are you being serious?”

“Sure,” he answered, voice getting higher.

You gulped. An interview with Superman would help get help against the gallows of unemployment. You desperately wanted Clark out, but Metropolis was an expensive city to afford. The spike in your home insurance after the Hammer of Boravia’s attack was enough to make you shudder. You grew distraught by the second.

Maybe think next time before you rage quit, you scolded yourself.

You took in a deep breath. “Okay, fine,” you decided against your better judgment. “If you’re sure you want to do this, I’m down.”

Clark grinned. “Let’s do it, cherry coke.”

.

.

.

You rummaged through your purse to find your tape recorder; it had remained undisturbed since your encounter with Lex Luthor.

You turned it on and set it on the coffee table, and returned back to your seat. You cleared your throat and began speaking. “It’s August twenty-eight, twenty-twenty-five, eighteen-hundred hours, I’m sitting here with Superman.”

Clark rolled his shoulder back and sat up straighter. “Hello,” he greeted, his voice changing.

“Welcome.”

“Thank you,” he smiled. “I’m pleased to be here.”

You reached to shut the recorder off. “This is weird,” you remarked.

He slumped back down. “I’m not weird-ed out at all. I want you to interview me.”

You ran a hand through your hair, frustration budding inside. “I feel like I’m acting,” you sighed, “pretending like I don’t know who you are.”

“You should sit a little closer,” he suggested, “maybe that will help.”

You rolled your eyes, but moved to sit on the other edge of the coffee table with the recorder in your hand. His thighs spread apart slightly to make room for your legs in between. You made a conscious effort not to stare at them. “Let’s try this again,” you said, turning on the recorder. “So, Superman—”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“— recently it was reported you flew to Boravia’s airspace and threatened President Ghurkos to stop the invasion of the nation of Jarhanpur.”

“Yes,” he replied, head tilting to the side.

“And you did this without speaking to anyone in the national or international defense organizations beforehand,” you stated, leaning forward to stare him in the eyes. “Is that accurate?”

He blinked. “Umm.”

His large fingers pressed the pause button on the recorder in your palm. “I thought this was going to be an overall profile.”

You frowned. “We never discussed that.”

“This just seems a little dark, don’t you think?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed.

“You thought I was going to write a 'puff' piece,” you scoffed, “after everything that’s happened?”

“No, no, no,” Clark said, quickly. “It just felt a little . . . attack-y?”

“Attack-y?

He held his hands up in surrender. “I’m not saying you meant it that way.”

Your scowl deepened. “You think that even the most harmless question from me is dangerous.”

“Harmless?” he echoed, raising a brow. “There’s nothing harmless about you, cherry coke. You just accused me of defying international treaties.”

“Because you did defy them,” you deadpanned.

Clark licked his lip. “I think you should come sit a little closer so I can explain to you how I helped save people’s lives,” he suggested, and pulled you toward him.

You moved to take a seat next to him, but he tugged you onto his lap. You landed sideways over his thighs. “W-What are you doing?” you inquired, shocked at your position.

“Just trying to hear you better,” he answered smoothly.

Painfully aware of the lack of professionalism, you turned the recorder back on with shaky hands. “So Superman,” you began, voice wavering, “we were just speaking about you defying international protocols.

He had the audacity to look surprised. “This is a ‘hit piece’.”

“What?” you exclaimed, attempting to stand up.

Clark held you easily in place by your arms. “You’re doing a hit piece on me,” he remarked.

“I’m not!” you cried out, squirming in his lap. “I’m simply asking questions that anyone would ask.”

“Okay,” he replied, a playful smile playing on his lips. “That’s fine. You can ask me anything you’d like. I’m an open book, baby.”

You turn the recorder back off. “This is on the record, Clark! I don’t want people finding out that Superman and I—”

“Are you doing what exactly?” he interrupted, repositioning you over him. “We haven’t even done anything . . . yet.

You sat on his large thighs, one leg folded on each side. “Are you messing with me right now?” you questioned, chest rapidly falling up and down.

“Not even in the slightest,” he replied, pulling you into him. “I’m just suggesting that you let me kiss you, and then we can get back to the interview. I’m finding it hard to focus on anything other than you right now.”

You blinked. Your head was spinning so fast that you wondered if you were still intoxicated from last night. This was the exact opposite of getting him out of your apartment. At this rate, he would be setting up camp in your living room by the next hour.

“Clark,” you whispered.

He called out your name, eyelids growing heavy. “Let me kiss you. Please.”

You tried to ground yourself in the memories of your numerous quarrels, but they were fading once again. “Clark,” you repeated.

His hands trailed up your shorts and rested at the fold where your hips met your thighs. “Cherry coke.”

“This is a bad idea,” you croaked, fingers moving up the fabric of his suit to rest over the red and yellow emblem. “We are enemies. The hating game is back on, remember?”

“Not a chance,” he said, rubbing circles with his thumbs. “It ended for me a long time ago.”

Oh. Oh. You were melting in real time. Your mind was devoid of all thoughts except the burning sensation of his touch. You gulped. “Okay.”

His dimples poked through his cheek as his mouth stretched into a grin. “Okay.”

Your heart drummed loudly as his lips dipped to meet yours. He pressed a chaste kiss on your lips, but that alone was enough to ignite a fire within your bones. Your lips parted almost instinctively. When his tongue licked in your mouth, you lost all self-control.

The kiss grew messier instantaneously, with his saliva mixing with yours. His hands grabbed at the flesh of your butt, making you gasp and arch into his chest. “Yeah,” you heard him say when you both broke for air. “I’m not letting you go.”

His lips trailed down to your neck, peppering kisses down to the hollow of your throat and then back up to your jaw on the other side. This was much better than what you felt in your dream. Your imagination couldn’t even come up with the real thing.

His warmth made your systems go haywire. You moved your hands to his combed-back hair, and you clutched the strands to make your mouths meet again and again.

You didn’t know when, but his fingers had found their way under the hem of your shirt. You jolted at the sensation. He tore his mouth away and leaned back to look at you. “What’s wrong?” he asked, searching your face for any signs of discomfort.

“Feels good,” you whispered, tugging his face closer. “You feel really good.”

You kissed him, and your hips rolled down on their own accord. His hands began to move you over his crotch purposefully, and you were sure your pyjama shorts were soaked by now. You let out a silent prayer that his suit was waterproof as you lifted off his lap. His hands were quick to hold on to your waist. “Where are you going?”

You exhaled, squirming in his grip. “I . . . ”

“Don’t leave, cherry coke,” he pleaded, big eyes blinking.

You looked down at him below you. His hair was dishevelled, and his lips were swollen red with your kisses. The sight made your heart soar. You smiled at him, eyes forming crescents.

Yeah, I’m going to give in to his bullshit.

.

.

.

You both stumbled into your room, lips connected.

Your hands moved across the length of his shoulders and down his chest. Clark’s arms circled your waist to crush you into him. “How do I get this off?” you demanded against his mouth, tugging at the tight collar around his neck.

“There’s a tab,” he spoke between kisses, “under the cape. Pull it down.”

You followed his instructions, and the suit sagged around him enough for it to slump down. He wrenched the material off him and slipped out of it with the ease of someone who had done it many times. You watched him, eyes blown wide, as he stripped down to his boxers. You licked your lips in anticipation; even through the dark fabric, you could make out the sheer size of him.

Clark dropped down to his knees in front of you. He lifted the hem of your shirt, and his lips found your stomach. You held on to his shoulders to balance yourself as he kissed the expanse of your belly. “I need you to know,” he spoke from under your shirt, “that I don’t do casual. I can’t, especially not with you.”

You let out a shaky breath. “I know, Clark.”

He peeked out from under the fabric, bright blue eyes meeting yours. “I’m going to still do the interview even if we don’t do this,” he breathed, deeply. “You can say no, and it won’t change a thing.”

You nodded, enthusiastically, to urge him on. “I get that. I still want to.”

He stood up. “I just don’t want us to just hate-fuck and never see each other again.”

“Oh my god!” you exclaimed, leaning back in surprise. “Don’t cuss, Clark! It’s weirding me out. And stop giving me disclaimers! I am fully aware of what we are getting ourselves into. You have got to trust me when I say that I want this too, okay?”

“Okay, okay,” he grinned, nudging his forehead against yours. “Go sit down.”

You walked backwards with him until your thighs hit the softness of your mattress. You sat down as he knelt before you again. His fingertips slid under the elastic of your shorts and panties, and he slithered them down smoothly. “You have no idea how many times I have dreamt of this,” he told you, earnestly.

He took hold of your knees and spread them apart. The cold air hit your bare cunt, making you shiver. You couldn’t believe that you were sitting pants-less in front of Clark of all people. A tremor ran through your body.

He tugged you forward so that your hips hung off the edge of the bed. “You've got to show me what you like. I wanna’ make you feel so good.”

Your throat went dry. “Mm-hmm.”

You looked away just as his tongue licks a fat strip up from your soaking hole to the clit. Electricity shot up your spine at the sensation, making your legs jerk close. Clark’s grip tightened over your kneecaps to keep you in place. There was no winning against his strength, especially when your thighs were shaking.

He slipped a hand down to your pussy and used his fingers to pull your folds apart. He began following each lick with a kiss. You quickly glanced back at him to see his gaze fixated on you. The sight made you bite the back of your hand to stop yourself from crying out loud. “I want to hear you,” he spoke into your pussy. “Please let me hear you.”

The vibration made you toss your head back into the mattress. He opened his mouth wider and started sucking on your clit. You let out a moan that echoed through your bedroom walls. Your toes curled so hard that you were afraid your foot would begin cramping.

He let go of your clit with a plop and looked up. “Good?” he asked, mouth glistening.

You nodded frantically.

He dove back in. He stiffened the tip of his tongue to circle your clit. Your hand shot out to grab his dark curls. You didn’t know if you wanted to push his face further into your cunt or move his mouth away from you entirely. You felt him grin into you as you made your decision and turned his head toward the spot that made you melt.

He obliged, concentrating on the side of your clit that made you squirm. The shyness from your end disappeared soon after as Clark started to messily make out with your pussy. The slurping sounds were obscene enough to make your back arch up. You cried out in pleasure. Your hips seemed to have a mind of their own with the way they gyrated up to meet his mouth again and again and again.

Clark broke away from you, panting. “I need to stretch you out,” he stated, shaking himself. “Can I, cherry coke?”

You didn’t trust yourself to speak just yet. “Mm-hmm.”

He moved his thick middle finger down to your hole. Slowly, he pushed through the initial resistance until he was down to his knuckles. You seized at the intrusion, and he pressed his free arm over your stomach to pin you down. “Tell me what feels good,” he exhaled, determination shining in his eyes. “Show me where.”

Your cunt clamped down on him every time he moved his digit in and out. “Here?” he inquired, curling it up.

You brought your palms up to cover your face. His fingers found the spongy bit inside that you were never able to reach before. “You gotta’ talk to me, cherry coke. I like the sound of your voice. Right here?”

You gave in, heart thundering beneath your ribs. “Right there! Right fucking there!”

His fingers dug into the flesh of your stomach as pressure built up in your spine. “Remember when you gave me back my coat?” he asked, rubbing against the spot.

“Yeah,” you answered through your fingers.

“It smelled like that jasmine perfume you always wear,” he reminisced, picking up pace. “It got me so hard. I jerked off to it every night until the smell faded— had to retire it from my wardrobe entirely. Did you know that jasmine is my favourite flower?”

The visual of him tugging at his cock with his nose buried in the coat made a sob tear out from your throat. “Fuck!”

“Yeah,” he whispered, eyes dazed. “I’m going to, don’t worry. Just have to make some space first.”

His mouth came down on you again as his fingers pumped in and out. Every time he pulled away, his mouth would suck around your clit. “More, please!” you cried out, grabbing his locks tightly again. “I need more!”

Without any delay, he slid his index finger inside of you while still licking away. You felt so full with his fingers alone, you couldn’t imagine what his cock inside of you would feel like. Tremors ran through your body as your pleasure rapidly reached a crescendo. Your eyes rolled back as your orgasm tore through you. Ecstasy rolled through you in waves, making your limbs tight in one moment and then relaxed in the next.

You laid on your bed, staring at the ceiling as you panted. Your ears were ringing. Clark moved up into your line of vision, eyebrows furrowed. You spoke, but he had a hard time hearing you. He brought his ear closer to you, and you whispered, “I think you killed me.”

His glossy lips stretched into a smile. “Was I that good?”

“So good that I can’t feel my legs,” you replied. “Didn’t think you could do that, Kent.”

He pecked your lips. “Still want me around?”

You sighed, heart hurting at his persistent concern. “I’m not angry with you anymore, Clark,” you shared, brushing back his curls. “We’ll talk about everything after we’re done.”

“Done?” he echoed, leaning into your touch.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “I still have to suck you off. You still have to fuck me silly.”

.

.

.

He froze, jaw falling open. You push him off you, so he is standing. You manoeuvred onto your knees; your legs still feeling too jelly to stand on your own. “You don’t have,” he gulped as you tugged his boxers down.

You nuzzled your nose into his crotch. “I wanna’ make you feel good too. Please let me?”

“Gosh, when you speak l-like that,” he sighed, broad shoulders dropping down, “I can’t think. A-All right.”

Your fingers hooked into the elastic of his boxers and pulled them down. His hands twitched at his sides, unsure whether to reach out to touch you or not. His huge cock slapped against his bare belly. “Whoa.”

You wished you had thought more about Clark’s penis before. If you had, you could have practised to fit it into your mouth. To say he was huge would be an understatement. His cock was thick at the base, too broad to fully wrap your small hand around, and adorned with a bulbous head only a little thinner. It truly was the perfect shade of reddish pink. Your mouth watered at the challenge.

“I wasn’t kidding about stretching you out,” Clark frowned with concern. “I don’t want to hurt you. L-Let me make you cum once more.”

You shook your head, adjusting your weight on your knees. “I’ll cum around your cock later, don’t worry.”

His eyes widened at your words. Before his mind could conjure any other thing that could possibly go wrong, you began peppering kisses along the shaft.

Clark shook at the contact, making you smile. You took as much of him as your hand could hold and slowly pumped him. His hands shot to grab your shoulders to distance himself from you, but you tightened your fingers around him in disapproval. “You can take it.”

You swiped your thumb along the head. His cock grew bigger in your grip. He swallowed and reached to push up the glasses he wasn’t wearing. “Please,” he whispered, licking his lips.

You gather the wetness pooling at his tip and smear it along the length. “You’re gonna’ make my jaw hurt, Clark,” you mused, looking up at him through your lashes.

He groaned. You lowered your head to his cock and slipped it into your warm mouth. You licked a long stripe from his perineum to the head. His body jolted, and his eyes fluttered shut at the sensation. “Watch me,” you said, holding him in your mouth.

He glanced at you in time to see your cheeks constrict around him. His hands slipped in your hair as his head fell back. You bobbed your head up and down, eyeing his prominent Adam’s apple from below. He tasted a little salty, mixed with something otherworldly you couldn’t quite discern.

You hummed in content. A thin sheet of sweat had formed over his body; he was truly a sight to behold. You pooled spit in your mouth and placed a palm flat against his taught stomach to help you pick up speed. His fingers grabbed onto your strands tighter. Your free hand clenched his left thigh as you worked him deeper into you. “Don’t ch-choke,” he grunted, eyes glistening.

I want to.

Much to your dismay, he was still holding back. If your mouth wasn’t stuffed full of him, you would have frowned. Instead, you move your hands to cup his ass to guide him in and out in between your lips. You wanted him to show you a glimpse of the strength you knew he possessed. You needed him to hold you in place and fuck your mouth.

A moan escaped him. He rocked his hips once, twice, thrice, and then pulled you away by your hair. “No,” you cried out in protest, “I wanted you to cum on my face!”

He exhaled harshly and crushed your lips against him in a messy kiss. You clung to him as he moved you back, climbing onto the mattress himself. He peeled off your shirt and then your bra from your torso as his tongue swept through your mouth. Once, you were just as bare as he; he gently shoved you down, making your head bounce on a gathering of soft pillows.

He hovered over you, panting wildly. You knew in that moment that the only place he would be cumming was inside of your pussy.

.

.

.

The air around you grew hotter as Clark climbed in between your legs.

He bent down to press his forehead against yours. “I have always wanted to feel something like this,” he exhaled, pupils blown wide.

You felt your heart double in size under your ribs at his words. You circled your arms around his neck. “Me too, Clark.”

“With you,” he clarified. “I have only ever wanted this with you. You make my head spin, cherry coke.”

Your eyes glistened as well. You cupped his cheeks and kissed him. Above, a light bulb shatters, bathing you both in darkness. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “My bad. This happens when I get too . . . excited.”

You giggled, running a hand through his curls. He trailed a hand down your neck and to your chest. He captured a nipple in between his fingers and gave it a tug. You hissed at the sensation. He lowered his head and wrapped his lips around it. Your spine tightened, and you arched up to him as he sucked at it.

Your toes curled. “Fuck,” you groan, squirming.

He let go of your swollen nipple with a pop and moved to the other. “I like it when you swear,” he smiled around your nub, dimples shining through. “It’s very punk rock.”

You couldn’t help but laugh again. His words cut through the tension. You felt at ease with him, like you two had done this many times before.

He reached down to grab his cock, and you spread your legs wider to make space for him. His leaking tip prodded at your centre. “I’ll go slow,” Clark promised, sincerely. “You’ll tell me if it hurts?”

You pushed yourself up on your elbows to observe and nod. You watch, breaths quickening, as his leaky head pressed firmly at your opening. He met a little resistance and glanced up to search your face for any signs of discomfort. When he didn’t find any, he inched in further. You collapsed back into the pillows as he slowly stretched you open on his dick.

He filled you to the brim soon after, almost like he was always supposed to be in there. He paused, buried inside of you to the hilt. You felt the mattress dip around your head, and his head pops into your line of vision. “Hey.”

“Hi,” you responded, meekly.

“Feeling good?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed.

The pressure inside you felt so tight that you couldn’t flex around him even if you wanted to. Your eyes grew wet as you tried to decipher if the feeling of him stretching you wide was too much or just right. “You’re huge, Clark,” you gasped, hands limp at your side. “Feels like you’re still in my throat.”

His cheeks redden at your words. “If you say things like that,” he bit his lower lip, “I won’t last long.”

You bit back your own smile. “I don’t want you to,” you confessed, holding his gaze. “I want you to fuck me into the mattress and then cum inside.”

He groaned in defeat and dropped his head into the crook of your neck. You jerked as his hips shifted, feeding his cock into you. “Shit!”

Clark moved again, and your arms flew to hold onto his shoulders. You hung on to him as he tentatively began to rock into you, getting you comfortable with his size. Your soft groans echoed through the room in sync with his rolls.

You moved your legs over his to tangle your limbs just as he snapped his hips forward, impaling you on the mattress. You cried out his name, nails digging crescents into his pale skin. His lips suck the spot on your throat that made you shiver. “I have wanted this for so long,” he gasped in your hair. “I can’t believe I’m finally inside you.”

Your eyes clenched shut, letting the tears drip down your cheek. “Every time we argued,” he continued, voice muffled, “every time you called me out, all I could think about was bending you over my desk and pulling your skirt down. Did you know that? Did you know that I was dying to be inside you?”

Your cheeks were scorching. Your heart battered in your chest hearing him speak like that. “Clark!”

He cupped the back of your knee and folded you like a straw at the hips. The sounds of your skin slapping together grow louder as he finds a new rhythm that makes you clench around him. “Tell me you needed this,” he demanded, leaning back to meet your eyes. “Needed this as much as I did?”

“Yes,” you sobbed, weekly shoving his chest. “Yes! Yes!”

“You just needed me to fill you up like this,” he continued, pounding you into the mattress. “I can do that. I can keep you full forever. No more fighting, okay, cherry coke? We can talk things out just like this.”

At this moment, Clark could ask you for anything, and you would agree to it. You’re lost in the feeling of his weight pressing down on you. You simply nodded, enthusiastically.

He leaned back on his knees, and you cried out at the loss. He grabbed your waist in his large hands to lift you up and began pulling you into his cock. Your belly grew warm. You squinted in the dark to see him staring at the bulge moving in your stomach.

You realized he was using his X-ray vision on you. “Gosh,” he gasped, sweat beading on his forehead. “I can see myself inside you.”

He adjusted himself, finding the spongy bit inside once again. “Right there,” he spoke to himself. “Gonna’ get you right there, baby.”

You groaned, legs wringing. He glanced back up at you. “You look so beautiful like this. If I had known, I would have done this sooner. I wanna’ watch you forever.”

Your back arced at a painful angle, but you pushed through the ache. Clark’s rambling was hurling you into the light, and you were so close. “Squeezing me so tight,” he grunted, driving into you harder. “We were made to be together.”

You took hold of the inky curls at the base of his neck. “Don’t stop! Do not stop!”

His lips stretched into a grin. If someone had told you a month ago that Clark Kent would be buried so deep in your pussy that you’d be feeling him in your throat, you would have laughed in their face. But there he was, inching you closer to bliss by the second.

His thumb found your clit and began rutting into you. “Clark,” you wheezed as he rubbed it. “I’m—”

Your vision went white. Your pussy clenched around him as waves of pleasure erupted from the base of your spine and out to your extremities. You cried out, shaking underneath him. Your vision blurred as the orgasm wiped your head clean.

Clark didn’t stop, cock still working into you. Your pussy grew sensitive when his rhythm grew sloppier. Groans began pouring from Clark’s mouth as he gathered you into his arms to thrust into you quick and shallow. Your stomach tightened at the sight of him losing himself inside you. You wished to engrave the image of his heavy-lidded eyes and slack jaw into your mind forever.

He let out a groan, heavy balls tightening against your ass, and flooded your cunt. He rocked into gently, riding out his orgasm. You felt impossible full as his cum leaked out of your pussy and dripped down the crevice between your cheeks.

Clark didn’t pull out. He cupped the back of your head and kissed you. You melted into his mouth, limbs still tingling. He manoeuvred you around so that he laid flat on the mattress with you on top of him.

His hands smoothed down your spine, and his lips pressed on top of your shoulders. “Are you okay?” he asked, breathless.

Your cunt pulsing around him as aftershocks of your orgasm worked their way through you made you groan. You nodded against his chest, breathing laboured.

“Please look at me,” he said, hooking a finger under your chin to lift your face up to him. “Did I hurt you, cherry coke?”

This was beyond anything you could have ever conceived. You couldn’t recall any discomfort you didn’t welcome wholeheartedly. “No,” you croaked, blinking at him. “You just made my brain all jelly.”

His lips stretched into a smile. He playfully nuzzled you, arms tugging you closer. You both settled in together, wrapped in each other's embrace, basking in the aftermath.

“Does this mean we are dating?” Clark asked in a small voice, breaking the silence.

You laughed into his torso. Only Clark Kent could be intelligent enough to keep up a secret identity, yet still be clueless when it came to romance. “Yeah,” you reassured him. “We are, Superman.”

You both stayed like that, joined together at the hip, until sleep took over. When you stirred up hours later, daylight was breaking over the horizon through your bedroom window. Clark’s eyes were closed, but his thumbs were rubbing circles on your back. He was just as hard as you last remembered.