Planet Press!

Kal-El, the son of Jor-El and Lara, was sent down to Earth to serve and protect the people living there. Naturally, he adapted to human nature, going by Clark Kent. Nobody ever reached the Kryptonian part of him, so when you called him Kal-El, he knew it mattered, and it made his heart melt a little every time—or fear for his life. Either way, it made him feel seen, for every part of him. Not just the part Earth sees.

Clark walks through the door after work, slipping off his shoes, setting his briefcase down. He loosened his tie as he ran a hand through his hair before he heard the undeniable sound of your feet on the hard wood, rounding the corner to tackle him. You crashed into his chest, “Kal-El!” He didn’t stumble, standing solid as his big arms swallowed you whole. He perked up at the name, a smile already spreading across his face. “Hi, sweetheart. You smell like cinnamon…” he comments, wiping a patch of loose cinnamon that was smeared across your cheek. “I made you apple cake, you said you’d wanted to try it,” you said, guiding him to the kitchen and he followed with no complaint. “I don’t recall saying that to anybody,” he mumbles, sitting at the island as you gave him the spatula caked in cream cheese frosting. “You didn’t, you marked it in your little cook book.” You said it so casually, his cheeks warmed, licking the rubber utensil in his hand as he watched you work that little apartment kitchen like a professional.

Clark had invited over his work friends after a long time of you asking, you wanted him to have people around, to have friends other than you. So he invited Jimmy, Steve, Lois and Cat over. He had said, “Let yourselves in!” when inviting them. They were due to come in 30 minutes, so you were helping him cook and get drinks together before getting distracted by the radio, twirling each other in the kitchen before it ended in you kissing his face, leaving little lip gloss stains on his face. The front door swinging open stopped you both, when his friends rounded the corner they all laughed. “Did we interrupt something?” Jimmy asks. Clark looks at the confused, fixing his glasses. He touched his cheek, lip gloss coming off, his ears started to burn at his friends' laughter. You joined in, guiding him to the bathroom to wipe it off for him. Quietly you mumbled, “Don’t tell me you're embarrassed, Kal-El. As if you don’t save the world in bright red underwear on the outside…” The teasing made him get redder and furrow his brows. “You told me you liked it,” Clark said, watching your lips for any sign of the name Kal-El leaving them again. “I do, still a little silly,” you replied, the sound of his friends chatting in the living room stole his attention away, you casually walked out, sitting with them and passing around wine.

Clark had a few quirks that drove you up the wall, he breaks things easily from his strength, or apologizes for everything, even for dropping his spoon—but the thing that annoyed you most? When he got out of the shower and dripped water everywhere. He would step out of the shower, get it all over the floor, water all over the counter when he did his hair, his curls would be sopping wet after a shower. You lay in bed, watching a show on TV, the screen lighting up your bedroom. He climbed in next to you, grabbing his book. “What’re you watching?” he asked, opening to his book marked page. You look over at him, water dripping from his curls. “Gilmore Girls… Do you not dry your hair with a towel?” you asked, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. He looks at you confused, tilting his head. “Oh… I mean I do. Not very well, I guess,” Clark shrugged before shaking his head a little, harsh and quick, the cold droplets pelting you, landing on your nose and forehead, even on your shoulder. When he stopped he noticed you staring at him irritably. “Kal-El!” you snap, your brows furrowed. Clark stopped quickly, looking at you wide-eyed, and giving you a guilty grin. You look over at the floor and notice the trail of water from the bathroom. “There’s water all over the house!” you continue, sitting up. He got up quickly, and he could tell you meant it. “I’m sorry, honey…” He froze for only a second at the sound of his Kryptonian name before his eyes darted to the trail of water he’d left behind. 

He always works hard at Daily Planet before putting time in as Superman for days on end without any rest. During this, when he’s home he can get snappy, or he loses that positive attitude that you love so much about him. Clark promised tonight would be the night he takes a break, you made him swear it, but after you went to sleep, he caught himself going out anyway, helping take down a Luther corp robot in minutes. When he landed on that balcony, sliding the slider open, he was greeted with you, arms crossed on the couch waiting. “Kal-El. Where have you been?” You asked, your voice stern but the undertone of worry he didn’t miss. He took his boots off before moving to the bedroom to change back into his pajamas. “I heard something… Lex doesn’t stop at night.” When he turned around you were close, standing solid and intimidating despite him towering over you. You learned that his height wasn’t intimidating because of the little puppy that was underneath it all. “You’re over working yourself, and don’t say you don’t need to sleep. Even if you are an alien with superpowers, you have to, Kal!” you lectured, guiding him to bed. Clark held his head down, and he felt bad immediately. You were just worried, hearing his name made his heart hurt a little, he had let you down and he’d hurt your trust a little. “‘M sorry… Tomorrow I’ll be off, all day. Promise,” he whispered, climbing into bed before pulling you close. The stern tone, “Kal-El.” rang through his head a few times before he drifted off, feeling more comforted in the warmth of your arms around him.

When Mr. Terrific delivered Clark to you, his veins were a deep green, clashing with the sweet ivory of his skin; you were in near shambles. Lex Luthor had poisoned him to the brink of possible death; how he managed, you were unsure, but it was a few days of no contact from Clark, and you were worried. You were in contact with Mr. Terrific immediately. He tracked him for you; he could tell by how worried sick you were. “Oh, thank you so much… Is he going to be okay?” you ask, stroking Clark’s face. He was in a deep sleep; his suit was dirty and smelt of smoke. He was limp in bed, making your head feel like it was going to explode. “He should, just don’t let him go anywhere, get some sun and rest…” he replied, before leaving—leaving you to worry how you worried best. With a struggle, you got his suit off, his body twitching in his sleep. The green veins ran in rivers all over his body, down the muscles of his chest and stomach, his legs, even to his fingertips. “Oh, Clark, come back to me…” You whisper. He was out cold for 2 excruciating days. You kissed his cheeks, tucked him in while he slept, and worried sick. When you heard him shift in bed for the first time, you rushed in, stroking his forehead. “Sweetheart…” you whisper, tears starting to roll down your cheeks in relief. His eyes fluttered open, comforted by your warm voice. He weakly moved his hand to yours and gave you a soft smile. The sunlight shining through the window warms his skin. The green veins were close to gone now. “You scared me, Kal-El. So bad…” You cried, pressing kisses on his face. He took them, his heart kick-starting again. Hearing his Kryptonian name in your voice grounded him. The sound of Kal-El in your voice settled something sweet inside him. It wasn’t Superman you were relieved to see. It was him. “Lex… tricked me. I’m sorry,” he croaked out. You shook your head, “Don’t say sorry…” you whispered.

At work, he had a busy day. Perry had sent him back to rewrite his article three separate times. Lois still landed the front page after all that work, only scoring the third page. Then, while helping a civilian as Superman, he managed to pull a Clark Kent and clipped the corner of a building. He’d taken the hit instead of the civilian, but the embarrassment stung right to the core, more than the impact ever could. He came into the apartment, head down, looking at his shoes, his hair messed up, a few curls flat, and his shirt all ruffled, ink-stained up the white sleeve. “Clark!” You yelled excitedly, and when you rounded the corner to see him with his head down, very upset, you changed, your eyes softening and brows furrowing. “What’s wrong...?” you asked, watching him take off his shoes and carelessly toss his briefcase by the front door. He sighs, looking at you with his big blue eyes filled with guilt and disappointment. “Nothing went right today… I was so clumsy, and I just felt like a big oaf,” he mumbles, walking off to the bedroom without even a kiss to your forehead. You padded behind him and wrapped your arms around him from behind as he unbuttoned his shirt. “You aren’t a big oaf… I’m sorry, honey,” you said quietly, your eyes looking up at the back of his head. You reached up to ruffle and adjust the curls in the back, how he liked it. He walked to the bathroom, using the restroom before coming back out. Clark looked at you, feeling miserable. “Come here, Kal-El,” your tone soft, and you opened your arms for him. He looked down, your arms empty and waiting for him. Without another thought, he crossed the room, melting into your embrace and holding you tight. It was all he needed to hear, that soft tone and feel your arms around him. He knew that at least he had you—and that was all he needed at the end of the day. The world expected Superman to be invincible. The Daily Planet expected Clark Kent to be brilliant. You expected neither. You only asked him to come home in one piece.

Superman had the world to balance on his shoulders. If Metropolis needed him, he was there. If the Justice League needed him, he was there. Even a call from a mile away, Superman was there to save the day. 

After endless days of fighting, hardly any rest, and work, he neglected the person who mattered to him most—you. His wife. He got homesick when flying over rooftops, patrolling, and protecting the citizens who couldn’t protect themselves. Five hundred miles from the woman he called home, he missed your laugh, the sound of your heartbeat in another room, and your sweet freckled skin that he loves to spend hours counting when the city is too noisy for his sensitive hearing.

He kept two things in his boot: his wedding band and a picture of you next to it. When it dug into him, he remembered who he was strong for. 

Of course, you missed it too. Turning on every news station and reading every paper to see his whereabouts, and checking his little picture and looking closely for any cuts too big. He was helpless, but you couldn’t help but worry about him. He’d been tricked by lead and kryptonite too many times. 

He’d tried to stay away from you during missions, just to decrease the risk of someone following him and finding his safe little nest of a home. Superman would do anything to protect his wife until the day you died. 

Finally, that day came, after 2 excruciating weeks, he was able to go home. His power of flight pushes him past his limits to see you just a bit quicker. He landed on the patio, taking off his boots, not wanting to ruin the spotless house. You were in bed sleeping, and he came in quickly, swooping you up, pulling all the blankets off with you. You startled from your sleep, and at first panic set over your face before your eyes met his ocean blue ones. Filled with sensitivity and love. “Hi, sweetheart…” Clark grinned, ducking down to give you kisses all over the face.

Groggily, you look back at him, a small smile coming over you. “I told you to stop doing that, it scares me nearly half to death,” you mumble, accepting his overbearing kiss on the lips. He gives a small shrug, “Sorry, just been thinking about you since I left. The Justice League makes fun of me, you know? Say I’m like your dog,” Clark mumbles, burying his face in your neck and breathing in your smell deeply. “Don’t let them bully you, Clark. It’s very sad,” you mumble. Clark gently lays you down, adjusting the silk sheets around you before piling the comforter on. He tucked your stuffed puppy under your arm, something you cuddled in his absence. “I don’t… I tell them I love being whatever you need me to be,” he said proudly, grinning ear to ear, making you laugh. 

He started to undo his suit, and your eyes fluttered open to watch, his back to you. You saw the muscles of his back flexing as he slowly stepped out of it. “Hot…” you mumble, knowing he could hear. Clark just shook his head, grabbed a towel, and took a shower. Washing away all the grime of his battles, the mess from his hair. Your eyes fluttered shut at the tranquil sound of the shower running. He wasn’t gone long; once he stepped out of the shower, he was quick to moisturize and get dressed before climbing into bed. You turned to face his side, being greeted by his perfect face. His curls were already starting to curl up, no effort needed; you were jealous. “Hi, pretty boy. I missed you,” you whisper. You noticed how he had slipped his wedding band back onto his ring finger, the cool metal resting on the skin of your back. He had no plans of ever letting you go, squeezing you almost too tight. “I missed you more. What’d you do with the apartment to yourself?” Clark asked—he still had adrenaline pumping from his trip home. 

“Oh, you know, the usual. I watched a few movies, had some karaoke time to myself, and got to lie in this big bed all alone. Painted pictures,” you rattled off, your eyes closed and cheek squished against his, making him laugh a little. His hand went to stroke your hair, “Oh, good. Hope you didn’t have too much fun without me…” Clark whispered, and you saw hope and questions fill his eyes. You giggle, kissing his cheek a few times. “I love having you around, and you know it. No pouting…” You said, shaking your head. He shrugs, his ears heating up and his heart beating quickly. He missed those sweet giggles and the softness of your skin on his. “You were safe out there?” you asked. 

This question entailed that he didn’t strain himself, he didn’t fall for any lead tricks, and he made sure to refuel. He nods, his hands rubbing up and down your back, the spots your tank top didn’t cover. “Good boy,” You mumble sleepily, your eyes fluttering shut. He perks up at the nickname you’d awarded him. “You can say that again!” he teased, kissing you; his freshly shaven face was a relief against yours. A small sigh and the room fell silent. Clark adjusted to his favorite spot, his ear on your chest to hear the sweet beat of your heart, counting the beats per minute. He tried to keep talking, asking about every little thing he’d missed, but halfway through your answer, his words started to slur. Within minutes, the steady rhythm of his breathing told you he’d fallen asleep to the beat of your heart. Even Superman had his limits. And he just couldn’t help himself when cuddled up against his person.

After weeks of revisiting with your husband, he had to go again. It was devastating, helping him put on his suit to get him going. The world needed him more, though, and you could never stop him from saving the world. He fastened his belt over his hips, settling his cape across his shoulders afterward. You grabbed his freshly cleaned boots. As he stepped into them, you clung to him, your fingers tracing his family’s crest. He was Kal-El. Superman. And he was very handsome. You watched him slip off his wedding band, tucking it into his boot. “You are the sweetest…” You complimented. Clark sighed, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’ll try to visit, honey. As soon as I can,” You giggle, “I know you will.”

Hand in hand, you walk him to the balcony. There you both stood, the ring heavy in his boot and Clark’s eyes downcast to his red boots, and your socked feet. He looked at your sweet eyes and your skin. He could smell it from where he was standing, like your lotion and shampoo. His big blue eyes watered a bit before dipping down for a hug. No passionate kiss—a hug filled with a devotion he could never put into words. He heard your heartbeat, and it grounded him. You wiped his tear with your thumb. “Aw, pretty boy…” You mumble, watching him go to the edge, ready to take flight. The Justice League needed him now. “I love you…” Clark said, moving his hair from his face, one curl managing to break loose.

“I love you, Kal-El. Go save the world,” you said, crossing your arms to defend yourself from the cold breeze. He turned quickly, surprise softening the hard features the world knew as Superman. Kal-El. Hardly anyone called him that—not even himself, or Kara, for that matter. Just Clark Kent or Superman. “Kal-El? He asked, beginning to hover on the small patioed area. The moon casting a gentle light on him. You only used Kal-El when you were serious. When it mattered. 

Your boyfriend only interviewed himself, getting himself rights to the front page of the Daily Planet newspaper for the hottest Superman story. It was risky; he could get caught quickly if someone caught him, and you begged him not to give up his identity, to be careful. But he couldn’t help it; there were questions out there to answer, and getting these questions answered was the best thing for society.

You were sharing a glass of wine on your worn couch, his feet propped up and his arm slung lazily around you. “Clark… you know you have to start being careful about your interviews. Let someone else do it,” you suggest. Looking up at him. His glasses sat on top of his head, not having to hide from you in the privacy of your apartment. You always insisted on staying at yours because his was too empty and boy-ish, which made him laugh.

He looked down at you, his thumb slowly rubbing circles into your hip before shrugging. “What? Are you suggesting you do it?” he asked, sitting up slightly. You give a small nod, sitting up with him. “Sure… but you gotta be real careful because—” you cut him off with a kiss on the lips. “I’ll be careful, I know,” You say quickly, scurrying to get your recorder. He watches intently, his eyes narrowing in on you. Clark loved you a lot; of course, you could interview him.

You set it up, pressing the record button after Clark gives you a nod of confirmation. “Superman… It’s a pleasure to be meeting you, we’ve heard so much about you in the media,” you said, your tone cool and collected. He gives you a nod, “A pleasure to meet you to, miss. Clark Kent said I could trust you,” his voice was deeper, more confident. Superman seemed to wipe away the sweet farm boy underneath when his cape was on, you grinned at him. “So, shall we jump right in? Your most recent enemy, shall we say, Lex Luthor, do you have any leads on what his plans are?” you start. Clark shifts in his seat, “No, I believe he just want’s control or to rule an area, whether it’s Metropolis or not, I’m not sure. But Lex always seems to have an idea, and advanced tech, and the motivation to do so,” he explains, you watch him use his handss to talk and you nearly giggle, you couldn’t help fangirling over him a little. 

“Is this something you are worried about for the city of Metropolis? And do you think that it’s manageable for you, who is just one man? Or are you planning to call in the Justice League to help at all? They’ve been making lots of appearances lately…” Clark thinks for a moment, brushing his untamed curl away from his forehead, taking his glasses off his head. “I’m not so worried about Metropolis, but Justice League has an eye on this place, knowing that Luthor is scheming. Mr. Terrific has tried to get what he can with his… spheres, but everything is mostly inconclusive. Luthor really is a criminal mastermind,” he said. His glasses clatter onto the coffee table. 

You nod, thinking of something else. “I’m going to shift a little bit, your fans with much attraction to you… Well, they are curious, does Superman have a girlfriend at home? Rumors about you and other females on the Justice League have been spread around, but can you confirm any to be true?” you asked, the words clumsily slipping out. He shook his head, scowling at you. Was he sensing jealousy, or were you just asking to keep cover? “How do you pause this…” he asked, looking for the stop. You quickly snatched it from his hand, turning it off. “You know I can’t reveal my love life! If Lex knows I have a girlfriend, he will use you against me; he could get you killed!” He ranted, standing up quickly, pacing your apartment in a few short strides. Clark was getting overprotective, and it showed. “Okay, I’m sorry, but you know it’s what fans want to hear…” You mumble back, getting up quickly, walking over and wrapping him in a hug. 

Clark buried his face in your hair. “I just want to protect you, honey… You know that. I’m sorry I snapped; that was very silly of me,” he said, pulling away to look down at you. “It’s okay… ready to keep going?” you asked, holding up the recorder. He leaned down and kissed you, taking the small device and tossing it onto the couch behind you. “I think that this…” he pulled away from the kiss before diving back in. He didn’t need air like you. “Is more important…” Clark said, and you melted into the kiss. 

The room was starting to heat up, your skin starting to leave a sheen of sweat, he broke this kiss to carefully tug your shirt over your head. “Clark… Shut the curtains…” You said, looking at your big apartment windows. He shook his head, “You have to have vision like mine to see in here, trust me,” Clark mumbled, as if he had tested it before. His lips trailing to the skin of your neck. He pulled away to admire your bra, how your breasts sat in it, and just relish in his beautiful girlfriend. Your hands went to unbutton his shirt, it was slow and clumsy, so he did it himself, your hands travelling his arms while you waited impatiently. “Hurry, Clark..” you pleaded. When he got the button undone, shrugging it off his shoulders, he tossed it onto the couch. You started to sink, peppering the toned muscles of his stomach. 

A small whine left his lips, making you grin. You start to undo his belt, eyes on his big blue ones. Your heart was beating in your ears, and the pit in your stomach was blazing as it got deeper and deeper. “You don’t have to, sweetheart… I’d rather eat you out instead,” he said, his voice husky and his pupils now blown wide. You shake your head, getting his pants and boxers down enough for him to spring free. Clark was modest, but he was huge. “I want to, let me take care of you, Clark.” With that, your mouth was slowly taking in his length, making his whole body shudder. His hand went to your hair, gripping lightly, always scared his strength would get out of control and hurt you. “That’s… oh my good—gosh, honey. Please don’t stop,” his voice was shaky and sweet. He was typically this needy during sex, and you found it endearing. Your mouth went up and down his shaft, moving your tongue around for sensation, his tip kissing the back of your throat, which made your eyes prick with tears. 

As your head bobbed with a steady rhythm, he was getting closer and closer as you hollowed your mouth around him. “‘M close… Can I come? Please…” Clark begged, his hips twitching at the sensations running through his body. You nodded, sucking harder on his shaft, drool dribbling down your chin and onto your breasts. Without a second thought, a loud groan slipped from his lips before he exploded, his white, hot release dripping down your throat. You pulled off him, your lips swollen and his come around your mouth. He slowly came down from his high, helping you up to give you a tight squeeze. “Thank you, it felt so good,” he praised, nuzzling into your neck. He needed the physical closeness; it’s what held his sensitive and loving heart together. “Told you it’d feel good,” you teased, kissing him. 

Clark got a taste of himself, making him sour. “Seriously, how do you do it? It doesn’t taste good,” he asked, picking you and carrying you to the room as you kissed his collarbones. You shrugged, “Same way you do it for me…” you whisper. Clark carefully sets you down, putting your head on the pillows. “I’ll make it up to you… Promise.” He mumbles, his eyes locked into the curves of your body, his determination to please you is higher than ever. He starts by peppering kisses on your stomach, his hands gripping the sweet fat of your hips to hold you down. He climbs on the bed, helping you take your pants off. Clark’s hands carefully brushed the skin, making your heart race and a shiver run through your body. “So jumpy all for me…” he speaks, low and tranquil, his voice grounding you. “Clark, don’t go so slow, please!” you groan in complaint. You knew he could spend hours just looking at you, letting his hands explore, but the heat in your core wouldn’t allow that.

“Sorry, sorry.” He apologizes, tugging your panties down quickly, making you gasp. He now gets to see your sweet folds, glistening and ready for him. Clark reaches for your nightstand, grabbing a small foil from inside, unwrapping it and pulling the rubber down every inch slowly, teasing. Your head could nearly explode, he could see it on your face and how your hips writhed. Today, he didn’t warm you up like he usually would; instead, he put your legs up, each one resting on one of his shoulders, then lining his tip up with your core. “Ready?” Clark asked, trying to be polite. He pushed inside you the second you nodded, sinking slowly into the depths of your pussy, which stretched around him. Your sounds got louder as he got deeper, the imprint of him on your stomach from his irregular size that you blamed on Kryptonian genes. “Golly… so tight. Can’t get enough of you.” 

Once he bottomed out, his hips slowly began to move in and out of you. At first, it was gentle, until you squirmed against him, making him go quicker. He plunged in and out, the wet noises of you connecting making him impossibly harder. “Clark! Please, right—” a moan cut you off, his tip kissing your g-spot over and over again. Hearing the sweet golden moan of approval made him work harder; he bullied that sweet, gummy spot inside you. Your hearts were both pumping a million miles a minute, and your sweat was running down your foreheads. You squeezed him tight, a choked moan escaping him. “I’m close,” you warned, knowing he was too. You could tell by the throbbing of his cock inside you. “Okay… Okay, sweetheart. Together?” Clark asked, his eyes big and in need of some approval. You nodded quickly, “Yes, baby. You’ve been so good. Come with me,” you talked him through it quietly, your voice soothing.

He pulled all the way out, making you whine at the loss before he slammed back in with a force that knocked your orgasm out of you. You clenched hard around him, your hands gripping the sheets, your chest bouncing with each thrust of his hips. His hands grip your legs as he gives a final thrust before burying himself deep inside you, his release crashing over him, making him tremble. Once he was done spilling into the condom, he pulled out slowly, trying not to hurt you. “Thank you…” You both whispered together, making you laugh. He kissed your forehead before getting up. He tossed the rubber and came back with a rag to clean up your thighs. Clark dabbed carefully at the soft skin before cleaning himself up. 

Your heart beat slowed, the switch of the lights turning off made you look up at Clark. He climbed into bed next to you, the bed dipping under his weight. Both of you bare, he pulled you close to him. “So much for that interview…” he said, a smug look on his face. You had completely forgotten about that in the midst of all the pleasure. “Guess I’ll just have to write about how good Superman is in bed,” you joke, nuzzling your face into his sweaty pecs. His brows furrow, serious now. “Don't you dare… I don’t want my fangirls getting any ideas!” Clark explained quickly. 

While the whole world obsessed over Superman, pins and his logo were plastered everywhere. Some wore it on their chest, and others had stickers on their phone case. You saw the hype; of course, he was a man who could do anything with big muscles. But you had your eye on someone in particular. 

A cubicle over was one of the best writers at the Daily Planet. Clark Kent. He wore thick glasses that he always pushed back up his nose, his shirt sleeves rolled to his elbow, doing nothing to conceal his biceps. Of course, you appreciated muscles, but it was different for a little nerdy guy like Clark. They made you crazy. It wasn’t just his arms; his large 6’4” frame was packed with muscles despite being the softest guy you had ever met. You caught yourself admiring his pecs in his shirt that left little to the imagination from how fitted it was, along with his black dress pants that showed off his ass just right. You felt perverted, but you couldn’t help but take it in sometimes. 

He was like a greek myth, or an angel sent from heaven, you couldn’t decide.

At the coffee makers, he would ramble to Lois about his new article on Superman, before accidentally spilling coffee down his front. “What the hay!” he complained, patting himself with napkins. You tried to hold back a small smile, and he gave you a goofy one while shaking his head. He was clumsy, but you still loved it.

When he was nervous at his desk, he would play with his tie. He was always well put together, never a wrinkle on his clothes, you wondered how he did it sometimes. Sometimes, whenever he rounded a corner too hard, hitting the wall, he’d make a small apology, despite it not even having feelings. Too sweet for his own good. 

In the room of records, filled with sources, you bumped into him a lot. He always offered to grab stuff on the tall shelves for you, and you’d watch in awe as he stretched up, his shirt getting a little frumpy. “For you, m’lady…” he’d tease, looking down at you. His teasing always made your stomach jolt with the hot feelings of attraction. He made it very hard to ignore.

At Lois’s desk, you sat rambling, both of you talking about your love life. “So, what about you? Any movement with Clark?” she asks, her voice low. You shrugged. “He’s really cute, Lois. I can’t tell if he likes me, I mean, he’s nice to literally everyone…” You grumble, sipping from your mug. Lois gives a small shrug. “You’d be surprised, I think he likes you. He gives you big puppy eyes from his desk, hoping you’ll look at him!” she teases, grinning. You shook your head, leaving her desk. “Yeah, right.”

Little did you know—Clark had heard every word, making his heartbeat just a little quicker and his cheeks flush. Jimmy watched him haul off to the bathroom to collect himself, ‘Weird guy…” he mumbles. Normally, Clark would be a bit offended, but his mind was too preoccupied. Those small smiles you gave him made him feel like the only man in the world, and to think that you liked him back? It was earth-shattering. 

When he returned, he accidentally bumped into you, your coffee spilling down your front this time, staining the white of your shirt. “Oof…” you mumbled, looking down at the mess. Clark should’ve known; he had heard the click of your heels down the hall. “I’m so sorry…” he apologized quickly. He left and hurried back with a fistful of napkins, instinctively pressing the bundle against the coffee stain on your chest. His hands quickly jerked away, like he’d touched a hot stove. He froze, starting to stutter; you had noticed it was worse when he was nervous. “Golly—I’m sorry!” he apologized again.

Clark Kent has a hard time saying no, especially to you. When you looked up at him with those big doe eyes, he couldn’t help but cave the minute you asked. He lives to serve others, and especially you, he just can’t help the gooey love in his core that makes him want to do anything you want. Clark was just a loverboy at heart.

When walking to a restaurant, he’d offer to carry your coat after you had peeled it off. “I told you you’d be too warm… you always are,” he said, shaking his head, but tossing it over his shoulder anyway. “Hold this too?” you asked, and soon it was your purse after you needed both hands to shoot a quick text. So he held it, nodding along as he listened in. Soon he was holding your coffee, sneaking sips from it. You looked over before laughing. “Sorry, Clark! I’ll take those back!” He just shrugged. Clark didn’t mind.

You had 3 cats at your apartment, all of them having been scooped off the streets by you. On your way home from work you found a fourth, it was dirty with bright orange fur, and you could nearly see its ribs. You came through the door, Clark sprawled out on your couch, watching the TV. “Hi, sweetheart!” he said perking up, his ears picking up on the deep purring of the cat and he knew it wasn’t yours. “What do you have?” Clark asked quickly, making you shake your head, his hearing was too good. “I found a cat! Can we keep him? I already named him Ginger!” you hollered, coming into the living room with a scruffy, skinny cat. He hesitated, you already had so many, but what was one more? “Whatever makes you happy,” he said, reaching a big hand out to scratch behind its ears.

You stayed at his apartment tonight, not having any clothes. You walked out of the bathroom wearing his old flannel, your small cotton shorts underneath with little flowers. “Clark?” you asked, coming into the bedroom. His ears reddened and he almost dropped his book. Clark pushed his glasses up higher, sitting up. “Can I keep this? I never see you wear it,” you ask, looking at the tags on it. “Of course…” he said, knowing you wouldn’t have returned it anyway. He just gave you a small smile, pulling you in close.

It was late at night, the clock just hitting 11:30, but the need for ice cream never subsided. “Clarkie…” you whisper, putting kisses on his cheek and jaw. He gave a small hum of confusion. “I want ice cream… Can we go get some?” you asked, still in a hushed tone. Clark slowly opened his eyes, looking up at you. “Sure, I’ll go; you stay right here.” He kissed the top of your head before heading out. He was back in five minutes, handing you a big bowl that he made you share with him. “Least I can do…” You say, giving him a big spoonful.

At work, you come up behind him, playing with his curls in the break room. Jimmy continued to talk about Eve and her clinginess. “Can we go walk downtown tonight? I wanted to look at the pet stuff, I think Ginger needs a new cat tree, don’t you think?” you asked quietly, knowing Clark could hear. He gave a nod, “Anything you want, my schedule is free.” Clark looked up at you, giving a small smile. You smile ear to ear, giving him a peck on the forehead before going back to work. Jimmy had gone quiet. “You are so far gone for her, I’ve never even heard you say no to her! It’s absurd,” he teases, sitting up straighter. Clark’s ears flush red, and he rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t mind, she deserves the world. Golly, I’m lucky…” he trails off. Jimmy just makes a fake gag and leaves.

While Clark’s parents took a vacation for their anniversary, Clark gladly offered to help take care of the farm while they were gone. You both needed a break, so you hitched along with him. Who could resist a charming weekend at the little farmhouse in Smallville? Even if it was freezing cold out, and snow was starting to slowly collect on the ground.

You and Clark had gotten married out here, a private event with your parents and a few friends from childhood but nothing more. You admired Smallville a lot, marking it as one of your favorite places, and Clark couldn’t be happier. 

You snapped on the lights inside the house, the dim orange glow casting over the house. Shelby came waddling up, the gray in her coat finally catching up, spreading around her eyes. She gave a heavy sigh and rolled onto her belly after scratching gently behind her ears. You giggled, moving to fill up her food bowl. It was late into the night and you knew she wanted it. 

Your suitcase plopped on the ground with a thud against the kitchen tiles, they squeaked under everybody’s weight after years of use. You took in the space, how open it wass. Clark came in through the door, carrying a big bundle of wood, grinning at you. “I’ll start up a fire, and I’ll get the bags into our room. Do you mind letting Shelby out and tossing the horses some hay?” he asked, pushing the glasses on his nose. 

“Sure, you know you don’t have to wear those glasses now, Clark?” you said, zipping up your big coat, shoving your hands in the pockets. The winter clothes made you feel like a marshmallow but Clark insisted you’d need it, and you were glad you had listened. He gave a shrug, crouching down and starting to add paper into the fire, getting it started,

Shelby scurried out the door, running around at the new found freedom. Slowly, you made your way to the horse's pen, your boots crunching in the snow. Your red rainboots quickly became caked in mud hidden beneath the snow. You went into the barn, tending to the horses, the cows, making sure they had water and some food. It was freezing in the barn and you wondered how they could stand it. “Hi, Silly Goose…” you whispered to one of the horses, gently petting its snout. The golden retriever started to bark at your feet, holding a big tennis ball. With small giggles, you threw it far for her. You fed the chicks, too. They pecked food from your hands before you ran back inside, Shelby on your trail. You tugged your shoes off in the mudroom before bounding inside. 

“I’m back!” you yelled, despite Clark being able to hear you even if you whispered. He emerged from the living room, now wearing more comfortable clothes, and gave you a dimpled smile. “A lot quieter out here, real happy you came with,” he said, looking around. The Daily Planet had been so busy lately that’d it had been a while since he was out here. He missed it. 

You grinned, your hands going around his neck as you swayed back and forth playfully. “Well, of course, I hate being in the apartment without you,” you replied. He ducked down for a kiss, then let you go. “Well, what are you up for?” he asked. The wind outside was starting to howl, and it was getting late; you’d both had a long day of travelling. You wandered to the living room, looking at all the DVDs his parents kept. “Maybe we could watch something, unless you have something else in mind?” Clark just shook his head, going to the kitchen to make popcorn. You put on a random movie, you figured you’d both fall asleep anyway. He slept much better out here, away from the noise of it all, anyway.

He came back in with a bowl, flicking the lights off. You had changed quickly and now nuzzled under blankets on the couch. “What movie?” he inquired. He sat next to you, tugging you into his side. Clark was quick to prop his feet up on the coffee table. “The Notebook,” you replied, nuzzling in close while reaching your hand in for popcorn. “Haven’t seen it…” he mumbled, kissing the top of your head. You perked up, “What? That’s crazy! It’s so good,” you said, your intensity making him chuckle. “Good thing I have a pretty wife to show me what I’m missing then, huh?” You just shook your head as the movie began, Shelby clumsily jumps onto the couch, squishing into your side best she can.

Clark gave a small laugh, reaching to rub behind the old pup’s ears. “Everytime I see her she’s getting grayer and grayer…” he mumbled, making you smile a little. “She’s lived a long life of herding, of course she is,” you replied, looking up at him. His eyes were on Shelby, slowly you guided his chin with your hands back to the movie. 

As the movie rolled, he picked up on the winds outside before the inevitable—a gust too harsh and the power went out with a flicker. You sat up with a groggy groan, as you had been nearly asleep. “What the hay…” he said quickly, getting up. He navigated the house with ease, getting a lighter. You rubbed your eyes, getting up but quickly hitting your leg on the coffee table. “Ouch… I didn’t know you could see in the dark…” you grumble, rubbing the aching spot that was sure to bruise. “I thought that was obvious,” he replied, lighting a few candles and setting them on the coffee table, the crackling fire helping illuminate the room. You shook your head, “Learn something new every day.” He just shook his head, a small chuckle leaving him. 

He laid out a blanket on the floor in front of the fire. “When I was a little kid, when the power’d go out, ma and pa would lay out blankets by the fire and tell me stories. Or we’d play games. Pa’s favorite was cards but we always did board games because it was ma’s favorite,” he explained, sitting in front of the fire, reaching out for your hand. “So what are we gonna do then?” you asked, allowing him to guide you, plopping into his lap, the fire’s light cascading over your face. Clark tugged up your sleep shirt that was slipping down your shoulder—it was his but he gladly gave it up to you because it was your favorite.

“The world is your oyster,” he said, waiting for your go. You gave a small hum of thought, “maybe a board game, get away from all the tech for once,” you said. You quickly hopped up, going to the basket of games that sat by the arm of the couch. You picked out Clue, setting it in front of him. “Ma would be over the moon, this is her favorite.” Clark started to set up the game, folding everyone into the files and dealing the cards. “I’m gonna be Ms. Scarlet, who are you?” you asked, grinning ear to ear. Your cheeks were rosy from the heat of the fire and he couldn’t help but take in your beauty. He was a sucker for his wife. “Mr. Green, duh. He kinda looks like me,” Clark said, pridefully. You laughed, looking at the card. “I don’t think so, Clark! He’s bald and old on the card…” Clark shook his head, “In the movie, he has the same side part I try to do and big glasses!” he explained. 

You just shook your head, placing Mr. Green in his place. “Prepare for me to beat your butt!” he said, making you laugh. “You are too good for this world,” you reply, shaking your head at his one liner. The game was filled with serious accusations, laughter and eventually leading to him winning. “I think it’s Ms. Scarlet with the revolver in the lounge!” he accused, opening the confidential file, he won and gave you a big grin of pride. “What the heck! You didn’t use your x-ray vision like you did last time, did you?” you asked, tossing your cards down. Once he had cheated in a game of Cribbage, using his vision to see your cards. 

“No! That was a one time thing!” he insisted, before you jumped into him, surprising him with kisses all over his face. His hands went to your sides, starting to tickle you. “Clark, don’t you dare! You still cheated!” you yelled, bursting out in laughter when he didn’t let up. “Shelby help!” you called out, the old retriever starting to bark, playfully wagging its tail. When he finally let up, he pushed his glasses up his nose, a boyish laugh coming from him. “She likes you more than me, I swear. And for the record, I apologized, sweetheart,” he half-complained, shaking his head. He started to clean up, you helped too, putting the box back in the basket. 

Clark watched you, pulling you in once you come back. “Wanna sleep here or in bed? It’s gonna be cold up there,” he bumbles. You give a small shrug, “You say that as if you aren’t a furnace,” you teased. He shrugs. “Down here, more romantic,” you said, taking his glasses off and setting them on the coffee table, the blowing out the candles quickly. 

He just nodded, his eyes never leaving you. He laid back on his back, pulling you against his chest and bringing the quilt over you both. His ma had made it years ago, and it was a staple in his childhood. “I love you, pretty girl. So lucky…” he whispered, the sweet sparkle in his puppy eyes were hard to resist. You melted into his arms, “I love you more,” you replied, propping your head up on your hand and looking down at him. “Not possible, there’s more of me. Means I can hold more love, duh,” he said it like it was obvious, and this time you let him win.

You put your head on his beating heart, it was different from a human’s—more efficient, quicker—but it was all the same to you. It was still the sound that put you to sleep every night. He buried a kiss in your hair, his large hands stroking your back, lulling you to sleep.

The newest fuss around the office was Superman. No one knew how  Clark Kent kept landing interviews with the hero without a single eyewitness to confirm whether they were real or not. He would just hustle back into the office with a big grin on his face, throwing down his final edited draft of his latest interview.

It was cute really—the little dimple that popped out of his cheek with pride whenever he brought in the winning piece. You knew he’d have the front page the next day, that his name would once again be reposted to the media filled with many questions.

Where was Clark Kent finding Superman?

Clark was easy to miss in the hallways of work. Despite being 6’4 and 200 something pounds. arms of literal steel, and somehow he made himself small. Those glasses and his farm boy talk made him easy to pass. 

When the rumble of new chaos outside started, you watch Clark Kent quickly excuse himself. Sweat on his brow and his body antsy to get moving. Which isn’t too far off from Clark but very suspicious

Today, you follow him. You could see for yourself; get your name on the cover too. He was gone quickly, disappearing into nowhere as Superman shot out of an alleyway, so quick your eyes couldn’t catch up. All you saw was the blur of his red cape soaring behind him. 

Where had Clark gone and where had Superman come from?

You quickly snapped back at a nearby car skidding to a halt. Lex Luthor had another trick up his sleeve to take over Metropolis. Testing his robots caused citizens to go running as robots raided the streets, starting fires. You were frozen in place watching Superman pull tricks, spinning and dipping down to save innocents. 

Before you could process, a metal set of arms wrapped around you, wrapping you tight in its claws, ensuring you wouldn’t let go. You screamed and flailed in its grip, but it didn’t let loose. Was this what total takeover felt like? What would Lex do? Especially with a human like you.

It wasn’t long before Superman’s heat vision melted through the machine, much to Lex Luthor’s dismay. The almighty hero quickly scooped you up, flying you to the front doors of the Daily Planet. It was like your world had stopped when you looked up into those icy blue eyes and the familiar black curls. 

When you moved sections at the Daily Planet from floor 2 to floor 5, you were initially nervous. But this floor wasn’t too bad. Lois, Cat, Jimmy, and your favorite—Clark Kent. You had been single a while now, and seeing the pathetic but very attractive man in the cubicle next to yours, you couldn’t help but start to crush. 

And boy, was he oblivious! You tried flirting, batting your eyes at him and twisting your hair on your finger, but he didn’t seem to notice. He would give you a geeky grin and go back to what he was doing. 

This drove you crazy; you’d rant about it to your cat at home, and it’d look up at you and meow. Hoping for dinner rather than another rant about your love life. He wore those big, bulky glasses, and somehow he still couldn’t see your obvious attraction for him.

Clark had noticed you; how could you not? On your first day, Jimmy had nudged Clark’s side as you set up your new cubicle, nervously fumbling things into place. “Lookit, she’s pretty and on our floor…” he said, raising both eyebrows with a grin. Clark rubbed the back of his neck, his cheeks starting to redden. “Golly, Jimmy. I don’t think she’d ever go for me. Plus, I don’t want to drool all over her on her first day; she just needs guidance.” 

They both paused, watching you drop a few pens before scurrying to pick them up. Clark’s heart fluttered, but he hated to admit it. Just a little work crush didn’t hurt anybody. “You're so hard on yourself, Clark! You need to let loose. Show the ladies your muscles on occasion. You have so many for some confusing reason…” he grumbles to himself, sorting through some recent photographs on his computer. The dull click of his mouse faded away as Lois passed by.

“New hire looks your type,” she said, handing Clark a stapled booklet of her newest work for him to edit. He just glanced at the floor as he tried to combat all these ideas. He took the packet into his hands before turning back to his desk casually. He heard Lois and Jimmy whispering, thinking he couldn’t hear. “He’s so tense about girls, you’d think he wasn’t attracted to them at all,” Jimmy mumbled to Lois, who gave a half-laugh, half-scoff in return. Lois had a betting pool with Cat about which one of you would finally crack first.

Clark had introduced himself, making it clear he was someone you could lean on, someone who had advice for just about anything you needed. He noticed quickly, though, that you needed a friend more than anything. So, that’s where it all started.

The romantic tension between you both was unbearable; Jimmy avoided you both when in the same area. You spent plenty of time trying to stoke the fire with Clark. When he was at the printers, you just so happened to be right behind him to ask him questions, making sure your hair looked nice.

Sometimes he flirted back. He’d tuck a hair behind your ear or get you a coffee in the morning, a small treat, like a cake pop, on top. When he saw that smile break from you, he was gone. It was like sunshine on a rainy day; all good would come soon. 

After a few after-work ‘get-togethers’—that were most definitely dates disguised as hangouts—he’d walk you home. Clark insisted. ‘I’m real strong, I’d hate for you to walk Metropolis all alone. Means we get to talk more anyway,’ he would say, shrugging with his broad shoulders. You couldn’t deny that.

And every time at your door, he’d give you some dorky line. No hug. No kiss. Not even a high-five or something! Did he not feel the same way? You were starting to worry. 

When Superman was in the city, leading to Clark’s strange habit of disappearing, you wandered up to Jimmy’s desk. He was Clark’s friend; he should know about Clark’s feelings and such.

“Jimmy…” you said, drawing out his name as you leaned against his cubicle. He looked up at you, his camera slung lazily around his neck. “Yes?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow. Jimmy knew it was about Clark; he could see it in your eyes. You bit your lower lip before spitting the words out quickly. “Has Clark told you anything about… us? I mean I thought it was going somewhere, but he won’t give me any signs. He keeps walking me to my door and not even kissing me!” 

Jimmy cocked an eyebrow, thinking for a second to extend your eagerness. Your eyes were wide, curious, and desperate; he could laugh at how pathetic it was. You and Clark both. “Yes. Well, I mean nothing about you as a couple. He thinks your real pretty, but he’s just an idiot when it comes to this stuff. Not a lot of action down in Smallville,” Jimmy said flatly, watching your expression deflate. “He does, I promise. I would never steer you wrong,” he said, flashing you a grin. You just sighed. It felt pointless; Clark wasn’t showing any interest. “I just… I think he’s super cute, and I think he’s so sweet. I want him a lot, but I’m scared to get my heart broken.”

You looked up, and Clark himself came hustling into work, his curls a little untamed and his glasses low on the bridge of his nose. Jimmy gave a smirk to Clark as he passed by—he knew his secret identity, and he knew that Clark heard every word. You waved goodbye to Jimmy before migrating over to his desk. He wasn’t even slightly out of breath, and he seemed fine. 

“Where’d you hustle off to?” you asked, messing with the Rubik's Cube on his desk. The colors were all mixed, and you somehow mixed them more. Clark paused, looking at you. “Just wanted to see if I could catch Superman, so I could get an interview. No luck,” he said, looking up at you from his chair. You could’ve melted.

He had sweet puppy eyes, the blue irises burning their spot into your head. His glasses low and his arms in his white work shirt were hard to ignore. Without thinking, you pushed up his glasses, making his heart jump. It felt like the whole office froze—the loud chatter in the room and the dull humming of the printer going off silenced. It was bold of you, but enough to keep the ball rolling.

“Oh… Better luck next time. Do you maybe want to get dinner again tonight? I had some things I wanted you to look over,” you stuttered, the nerves present in your voice. Clark could hear the rush of your heartbeat, making his chest ache. He had it bad for you.  A lot worse than he thought he did. He gave you a small nod, “Gee, sure. I could eat…” Clark said.

You nodded, walking to your desk. No work happened, though;, your brain racing after your bold move. This one felt like an actual date, not a friend’s thing. Every time you thought about it, you got sidetracked. Lois was gonna kill you for your production at this rate. 

Clark was much the same, he could hear your racing heartbeat from a few cubicles over, and every time he did, warmth bloomed in his chest. He could still feel the burn of your hand, so close to him, pushing up his glasses. 

The night went well, it was a real date. No pretending, just enjoying each other’s company. Though you could tell how nervous Clark was, his knee bouncing on occasion, he kept wiping his sweaty hands on his trousers. He paid after much argument, even getting you ice cream that you shared romantically. 

You took a lick before passing it off to him, strolling down the streets of Metropolis. He was walking you home as usual. “You got it on your cheek…” he said, wiping it off with his thumb without thinking. You gave him a small grin. “Thank you, Mr. Kent,” you teased, watching him take a lick or two. “Just some regular hero, I guess.” The joke made you both laugh. The ice cream was gone by the time you made it to your apartment. 

Clark went up the elevator with you, your jacket slung over his arm. The night was warm, far too warm for a work jacket. Once at your door, you smiled at him, a thanks. Jimmy’s words were replaying in Clark’s head over and over again. “Kiss her, idiot. She likes you!” and yet, he still didn’t kiss you. He sighed, watching you walk in. 

You turned around in the open door frame. “Really, Clark?” He perks up, surprised. He gave a cute head tilt before you laughed, stepping back to him, grabbing his tie and tugging his lips towards yours. At first he went stiff—was he really kissing the girl of his dreams? Once he snapped back, the feeling of your soft lips on his, he basked in the glow of it. It was like straight electricity through his bloodstream. 

Why had he waited so long to do this?

You quickly found out that this was all you had to do the whole time. Both of you were stumbling into your house, the door shutting behind him. Clark had been here enough times to know where your room was. He picked you up gently, his strong arms holding you under your thighs. Soft hums came from both of your lips, moving together in a perfect rhythm. 

You made a small noise, and Clark pulled away. “‘m not hurting you, am I?” he asked, carefully laying you on your bed. He watched your hair fan out and how your pupils were heavily dilated. You shook your head quickly; he was rooted to the floor, watching you carefully. His curls were all tousled and his shirt wrinkled; the white shirt left little to the imagination, showing his biceps well. His breathing heaved with relief before he dove back in. Slowly, slipping off your heels, undoing your work pants, sliding them down the smooth skin of your legs.

“Good, I’d never forgive myself if I was…” he mumbles, dropping to his knees at the end, peppering kisses up your thigh. His glasses were foggy, his chest was rising and falling rapidly as he looked up at you with puppy-dog eyes. “Can I go farther?” Clark asked politely, he would never do anything without consent. When you gave him a confident nod he dove back in like he was a man starved. 

What was he to you? It's a question Clark asked himself daily. 

Both of you had spent many nights knee-deep in overdue articles, whether it was in your apartment or his own.

Some nights were coffee on the balcony with constant giggling; others were intense debates about something as silly as grammar.

Clark was drawn to how fierce you were, how confident every word was. How your tone never shook and how you always produced quality work. He was enamoured by you. Especially after his nasty break-up with Lois, you were just what he needed.

So he thought.

He felt like he was stuck in the friend zone all the time. You never gave lingering looks, flirty undertones, or even quick touches. He knew he didn’t put himself out there, but damn it, this was hard! 

Watching you twirl your hair around your finger and bite on the eraser of your pen drove him crazy. Why couldn’t you just look at him like you did your reports?

Not to mention you kept going on dates where guys were letting you down over and over again. You’d come home crying, your lip quivering as you tried to push down the rejection. Or you’d talk his ear off about how men sucked and that you’d never go on another date again. 

Clark wished he could grab your shoulders and shake you, make you realize that he had been waiting here this whole time, just disguised as your best friend. But of course, he was always there for you. He hugged you through every emotion, ran to the store for a tub of ice cream—whatever you told him he did.

He hated to admit that if he picked up on the sniffles while out on his Superman duties, he quickly found a place for cover to change into his suit and glasses before hustling up to your door. Even if it hurt, he had to be there for you.

He looked over at you now, your back hunched over your work as you wrote furiously, your tongue was poking out in concentration as you occasionally sitting up to shake your hands out and get the blood pumping again. 

Clark leaned back in your dining chair, his eyes going to your face and his broad arms crossing over his chest. His curls were stubborn tonight; he had tried to make them look just right, just in case you happened to notice, and nothing was working. The usual curl rested stubbornly on his forehead—he tried fixing it what felt like about a million times by now. 

“Yes?” you asked, looking up from your work for a moment. His blazing blue eyes were nearly staring a hole through you at this point. He straightened, clearing his throat. “Just taking a break; we’ve only been at this for hours now,” Clark shrugged, getting up. 

He wandered your kitchen, opening the fridge to find whipped cream and strawberries. “Got any angel food cake?” Clark asked, poking his head from behind your fridge door, pushing his glasses up his nose with his shoulder.

Your breath hitched, being Superman—he heard it. You had been harboring your attraction for him very well, but sometimes you couldn’t help it when his biceps flexed out of his little t-shirts like that. You gave him a nod. “Yeah, it’s in the breadbox by the paper towels,” you said, putting a pause to your work.

Clark was just wondering if he imagined the whole thing; had your breath hitched? He turned to the breadbox, opening it and smiling at what he found. A pretty angel food cake sat waiting for him—or for anyone, to take it. A pretty angel food cake sat awaiting. He started to dish it up. “You know, my ma used to make these all the time. I’d go pick the strawberries for her, and she made a mean strawberry shortcake. You oughta come out and try it sometime!” he exclaimed. You watched his eyes gleam with happiness as he explained.

It was endearing how much of a mama’s boy he was. Clark always spoke highly of her (he spoke highly of all women if you wanted to be exact), and he always spread his praise with a mushy little grin that you couldn’t help but love. “Maybe I will. Clark, I don’t need that much!” you said quickly, a laugh bubbling from your chest as he slapped a piece far too big for you onto your plate.

He just looked up at you, cocking an eyebrow. “Why? You on a diet? Or are you saving it?” he asked, clueless. It looked like a good size to him. You walked up, a hand brushing his arm as you moved his hand to where he should cut the piece, a smaller, more reasonable slice. “No, I’m just not 6’4 and two-hundred and forty pounds,” you giggled.

Slowly, your hand guided his as you cut a slice of the cake. “Let me dress it up at least!” he insisted, shooing you away. You put your hands up, sitting at the island. “So Clark, what made you move here from Smallville? You talk so highly of it, like you miss it more than anything,” you asked, sitting on your knees on the stool. 

Clark paused before giving a small shrug. “Wasn’t gonna make it in reporting out there; the only interesting thing in the paper would be, ‘Breaking News! A cow got loose!’ Plus, we still got to do stuff, even if we don’t want to,” he explained, decorating your slice of the spongy cake carefully. 

“Right. I guess that sounds about right…” You mumbled, watching him carefully. He passed your slice over the counter, setting it in front of you. He did a little spin to get a fork before turning back to hand it to you. “Got any more hot dates?” Clark asked—he couldn’t help himself. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly before preparing himself a slice.

You gave a small thank you when he passed it over, then grinned. “A barista asked for my number the other day, so tomorrow we’re gonna have a nice dinner. Or I hope it’s nice, at least.” The explanation of the whole date night made his heart sink deeper and deeper, until it felt lodged somewhere in his stomach. He nodded along, keeping his motions steady and his head clear.

He couldn’t ruin what you had now. Clark would never forgive himself.

Clark gave you a grin as he started to dig into his own. “Sounds fun… If you need anything, give me a jingle,” he pulled his phone from his pocket. “I finally figured out how to work this thing, especially all the media!” You just shook your head, grinning. Countless times you had tried to teach him how to use social media, each time resulting in a total dud. 

“Ah, congrats. You’re tech-savvy now,” you teased, giving him a grin that made his heart melt a little. Once you finished dessert, he cleaned without any complaint, despite your insistence. “I don’t mind, I made the mess after all,” Clark said, throwing on your apron to shield his shirt.

It made you laugh; he just shook his head. He knew how silly he looked—Clark Kent, a near-giant, in a frilly little apron with corny designs on it. “Very mature, you know that?” he asked, giving you a begrudging look as he scrubbed the dishes efficiently, giving you time to wrap up your work. 

“Golly, it’s late…” he said, packing up his briefcase, then tying his shoes. “Why, got somewhere to be, Clarkie?” you asked. His ears always got red when you called him that, and he had to will his cheeks from burning too. “No… But you need sleep, and I have to feed my… dog,” he lied. 

You tilted your head to the side. “You have a dog?” you asked, stepping forward to fix his glasses that were sliding off his face. Clark frowned; he felt like he was gonna explode after being in here too long. There was too much tension hanging in the air. “I have to feed my neighbors. Sorry…” he wiped his brow and fixed his glasses. 

You walked him to the front door, opening the door for him as he slid his coat on. You pegged this up to Clark being… well, Clark. It was in his nature. “Good luck on your date…” he said, giving you a small wave, instead of a kiss—like he wanted to give you. 

Once the door was shut, he face-palmed. Why was he such a baffling idiot sometimes? He rushed home, contemplating. How could he soft launch these feelings for you without crumbling the whole foundation of what you had? 

After a night of tossing and turning, the loud rush of cars gushing by, sloshing the rain puddles, filled his ears. By morning, he chickened out. Clark could be your friend as long as you needed, and maybe one day you’d see him as more. 

When he looked in the mirror, brushing his teeth quickly, his thoughts were pitiful.

I save Metropolis every day, and I’m too much of a coward to even look this girl in her eyes. 

Pathetic.

That day, he kept himself busy with rescues and emergencies, anything to keep his mind off your date. He could faintly hear you, his sense more intense when it came to you—like he was only searching for you out of the hundreds of thousands in Metropolis.

The night ticked on and on; he flew from building to building. Attempting his usual duties. He kept close to your apartment, and the minute his ears picked up on your door slamming shut and the sobs that followed. He was soaring down to the street quickly, slipping into an alley to change, conceal his real self. 

He stopped by the corner market, grabbing ice cream. Quickly, he sent a text: ‘Coming over, Date go okay?’ In return, he got a two-letter reply that said ‘no.’ 

When you called, he was running to you with all he had. It was who Clark was. He was at your door in minutes, barging in like he owned the place. It wasn’t hard to find you, in your bed, drowning in your hoodie and blanket. “I brought ice cream…” The tub was left on your nightstand, forgotten, as he pulled you into his arms. 

You buried your face in his shoulder, crying it out. The moment you were in the familiar warmth of his arms, your shoulders sagged in relief.

Clark Kent was a sweet little farm boy in the big city. You had fallen in love with him the minute he sat at his desk at the Daily Planet. 

Seeing his big glasses slide down his nose when he got particularly focused, and the curls spilling over his forehead drove you crazy.

That little nervous stutter that came out or how he said “Golly!” made you giggle. He was clumsy, and he always played with his hands nervously when he talked.

He wasn’t the best with pretty girls, because he didn’t think about girls much. Clark had the city in his mind more often than not. 

But he couldn’t help but indulge in the feeling you gave him, the way his heart raced every time you laughed at his jokes, or complimented his reports. 

He had memorized your coffee order within a week, bringing you coffee every morning since you were always in too much of a hustle to get your own.

Thank god he worked up the nerve to ask you on a date, leading to your dating.

It was peaceful; when he wasn’t working (or saving the world), he was at your apartment on the 10th floor. He was making you dinner in his tight dress pants and his slightly undone dress shirt that showed off his back and broad shoulders just right.

Sometimes he’d even wear your apron that made him more attractive if that was possible. 

You would sit and watch him while talking about work.

“How was work, Clark?” you asked quietly, flipping through a magazine at the bar. 

He hums slightly before looking over at you. Tonight he wore his apron, and his glasses were fogged up. “It was good, I got my interview with Superman out on the front page today,” he said.

You gave a small nod, looking up from your magazine and at his face. “You can’t keep interviewing yourself, Clark. You know how dangerous it could be. If people find out who you are, you can’t live a normal life like you are right now…” you sigh.

“And trust me, I like having you in my kitchen.” You added quickly, standing up. 

He turned from stirring his sauce to look down at you. His hand went to your chin as you got close enough. “You don’t have to worry about me, sweetheart. I have a pretty good disguise,” he gave a dorky grin that made you laugh.

“Glasses aren’t the best disguise, especially since they’re so easy to take off,” you pointed out. You reached up and took his glasses, then wiped them on your shirt. Slowly you slid them back onto his face.

He dips down and gives you a kiss, his hands resting on your hips. “Well, no one will be close enough to take them off now, will they? Only you,” his stubble scratched the delicate skin of your neck, and he started to nibble at the soft patch of skin that made you fold for him.

Your bones nearly ignite, and that familiar pit grows in your stomach. Why did he have to be such a big, geeky teddy bear? His kiss was rarely filled with hunger, even at the most intimate times. 

Your hand went down to his ass; it was strong and built with purely muscle from his Kryptonian genes, you figured. “What the hey! Keep your hands off my… rear!” 

Laughter erupted from you when he said rear; Clark always avoided bad words. It was silly but endearing. “What’s so funny?” he asked, cluelessly. He tilted his head side to side as Krypto did.

“Just you, Clark. You are too sweet for your own good,” you replied, a hand going up to tangle in the curls of his hair. He leaned into it, his eyes fluttering shut. 

“Ma and pa always said I have to be gentle with my lady,” he said matter-of-factly, pushing his glasses up with his finger. You giggled, pressing a kiss to his jaw. 

The giggle was like music to his super-hearing; just the sound alone blocks out all the chaos of the city below you. 

The noise grew too much sometimes, despite dealing with it his whole life. 

His arms were fully around you now; he hoisted you up onto the counter, your rear resting on the cool wood of your panels. “I would say they did a pretty good job,” you said, your eyes locking into the deep blue of his.

His eyes were an unimaginable blue, hence his alien DNA, but it was like getting lost in the ocean. So calming and gentle, there wasn’t a single evil bone in his body.

His lips tentatively found yours, your lips tangling quickly. He held you steady on the counter, opening his mouth enough to let you in.

The making out was slowly getting heated as his hands explored your body and he started to make little sounds that drove you crazy. Each one whinier than the last.

He groaned your name into the kiss before the smell of smoke hit his heightened senses before your own. “Golly!” he yelped, letting go and rushing to his saucepan and the oven. He opened the oven, grabbing the charred bread with his hands. 

Flames roared from it, and he cooled the roll with his freeze breath. Before casting you a nervous glance over his shoulder. Clark’s glasses crooked, and his hair all mussed up.

Only Clark could jump back into action after a kiss like that. That smile made you melt more as you fixed your shirt and skirt, still in work attire. Then moving to fluff up your hair after his traveling hands messed it up.

“Maybe I should focus on dinner so I don’t have to save this whole building tonight…” he said, wiping his brow and undoing the top buttons of his shirt that felt suffocating. He started to stir the sauce with care.

He used his x-ray vision to look for the spices he needed.

You looked at him wide-eyed. “You are an evil, evil man, Kent,” you mumbled under your breath as you hopped off the counter to go change.