☀️

“I have to go. Make sure Steve gets my message.” He hangs up, tossing his phone on the dresser.

You stir, stretching your arm over your head with a soft groan. Bucky loosens his tie, strolling across the room.

“I don’t think you know I much I missed you. Couldn’t focus on a single thing this afternoon because I kept thinking about you,” he murmurs, more to himself than you, as he approaches the bed. “I’ve been waiting all day to see my favorite girl.”

You turn your head, lips parting to respond when two little hands grab your arm and a sleepy Bee pulls herself up.

“Hi Papa. I was waiting for you too,” she yawns. You bite back a laugh, rolling over to face Bucky. “We missed you so much,” she continues, dropping her chin on your shoulder, a drowsy grin on her face.

"So much," you chime in.

Sometimes he wonders how he got so lucky to have you two in his life. His smile widens until it matches hers. Bucky plants his hands beside you and he places a kiss on Bee’s forehead before moving to you, slowly brushing his lips over yours like he can’t quite get enough of you.

“You two have a good day?”

“Yeah, I has so much fun Papa.” Her head lolls across your shoulder, and she climbs over you, plopping down beside your stomach.

“We had a great day,” you respond, a hint of laughter curling around your tone. Cupping his cheek. Bucky leans into your touch, his soft beard grazing your palm, another kiss placed on your skin.

He slides in next to the two of you, his long arm draped over your side with Bee in the middle, her bright gaze moving between you. She continues to talk as Bucky adjusts the pillow under your head before settling.

“We mades some pwetty art for your office and I gots a new book and—and I saw a ‘pider. Mommy scweamed so loud,” she laughs, wiggling closer to you.

His brow lifts, the did you so apparent in his playful expression that you roll your eyes in response. “I mean, I might have shouted but anyone would have," you say with a sniff. "The thing was trying to attack me."

“Me and Mr. Tato saved you. Right mommy?” Bee interjects with a proud grin, her adorable chubby cheeks jutting out.

Bucky’s brow inches up even more.Amusement blooming in his gaze as he takes in the two of you.

In your defense, you were minding your own business, painting in your studio when the spider decided it was going to swing down and land right on your shirt, startling you. You had just started to swipe at it when Bee waddled over, launching her stuffed dino at you with a fierce “get him Mr. Tato.”

Which technically saved you because it knocked the spider to the floor, far away from you.

She spent the rest of the afternoon protecting you while you finished your painting, taking her bodyguard duties very seriously. You can’t wait to show Bucky the video you took of her standing guard in her bear onesie. You both stopped after a couple of hours to take a much needed nap and wait for Bucky to come home.

“Yes, you did sweet Bee." Her face lights up when you drop a kiss on her head. "Why don’t you tell your Papa about the new drawings you made for him and how one of them is going on the wall?”

Her attention turns to him and she describes what she made. Bucky intertwines his fingers between yours, his thumb sweeping across the back of your hand in lazy patterns. He attentively listens to Bee tell him all about her art, encouraging her excitement with the occasional question. You watch as the stress melts off him in waves, leaving only serene happiness simmering in his deep blue eyes.

sweet enough that the idea of having sex with him stopped feeling like something insurmountable and started feeling more like excitement curling through your veins instead of terror.

so you told him. over dinner one evening. all casual.

he'd looked up from his pasta, nodded. "want me to… book a hotel? or a cabin? you wanted to go away for the weekend, anyway." a pause and then, "or is that too much pressure?"

you'd blinked. once. twice. like the idea of making an occasion of it hadn't even crossed your mind. you'd swallowed softly and then nodded. "yeah. that would be… nice actually." but then you'd pulled a face - eyebrows knitted together, lips pursed. "…what if i bleed on their sheets?" like the idea of inconveniencing hotel or air b&b staff was more concerning to you than the fact you might bleed at all.

then it was simon's turn to blink. "… i'll bring some blankets. if yer that worried love." he'd offered back - not mocking. just cataloguing all the things he can do to make this less stressful for you. there's a pause, "might not bleed. not everyone does."

you'd stared at him.

he'd shrugged.

"been doin' some… recon. about how to make it easier for you." he'd admitted quietly. "not… done this with someone who ain't before. don't want to… traumatise you or some shite. want you to enjoy it. not suffer though it."

your heart had flared warm in your chest.

you'd smiled softly down into your pasta.

"cabin would be nice."

the drive was quiet, just the low sound of what you teasingly called simon's dad rock coming from the car speakers. his right hand was on the wheel; left resting on your thigh whenever he didn't need to change gears, rubbing gentle circles with his thumb on the side of your knee.

"love, i want t' talk before we get there."

you spine stiffens automatically at the words, eyes flaring wide as your head snaps around to look at him.

the corners of his lips twitch.

"not like that love. you don't need t' act like i'm sendin' you to the headteachers office."

you can't help but laugh - a soft little huff of air as your shoulder relax.

"sorry, habit." you murmur back, slumping back into the seat. "so, if i'm not in trouble, what do you want to talk about, si?"

he rolls his eyes. "in trouble? when th' fuck 'ave you ever been in trouble with me love?" he grumbles back, but the crinkles in the corners of his eyes give away that he's nowhere near mad. there's a moment of silence - not heavy, but there - before he continues carefully, "i just want to talk about… expectations. or a lack of 'em really."

you open your mouth to interject. he squeezes your knee to stop you.

"jus' let me talk a minute love." he says softly, glancing across at you for just a split second. "i jus' want to be clear with you. we're goin' away for the weekend. that's all. i know we've said we'd… y'know. but if you don't want to? if you change yer mind? at any time? that's fine love. i just want t' 'ave a nice weekend with you. that's all."

you're quiet for a moment, warmth flaring in your chest. that feeling that's so close to love you can almost reach out and grab it. for a moment you don't know what to say, how to shape a sentence that conveys how much you appreciate that - or how sure you actually are about this weekend. and when you open your mouth? nothing eloquent comes out.

"i bought fancy knickers."

simon's eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, but he doesn't take his eyes off the road. he clears his throat slightly, absolutely shoving the image of you in whatever you mean by fancy knickers somewhere deep in the back of his brain so he doesn't drive you both into a ditch.

you bite your lip, suppress a laugh that threatens to bubble out of your throat. "i just mean… i went out and bought special pants for the occasion. i've been uh, looking forward to it. but… thank you. for being so sweet about it."

he glances sidelong at you, eyebrows pinched into a frown "it's not sweet. it's basic consent, love." he says quietly, squeezing your knee again and for a moment you think he's got more serious talk to get out of his system before you get to your destination; but then his mouth twitches in the corners, "but i am lookin' forward to seein' these fancy knickers, in that case."

simon has outdone himself with his choice of weekend getaway destination.

a cabin nestled in the clearing of a forest. log burner. claw foot bathtub on the deck.

no neighbours for miles; unless you count the owls currently hooting from the trees.

it's perfect.

he presses a kiss to the side of your head, "go unpack. i'll put th' kettle on."

forty minutes later you're curled into simon's side on the back deck, mug clutched in both hands, both just staring at the night sky with quiet awe; the stars visible here in a way they aren't back home.

your new fancy knickers and matching bra have already been slipped on under your sweatpants and hoodie. simon looks down at you, at how soft and open your face looks; the way your jaw hangs slightly loose with amazement as you look up at the sky. his chest flares warm, unable to stop the way his entire expression softens.

"i've been under a lot of nice skies, all over the world." he says quietly. "but this one might be my favourite."

he doesn't need to say it's because you're there. you can tell from the way his arm tightens around your shoulders, the way he leans his weight into you slightly.

you melt inside. like butter left on the counter on a hot day. that same warm feeling from the car flaring in your chest as you tilt your face to his.

then you're kissing him. mug discarded on the deck. half crawled into his lap, his arms wrapping around your waist to steady you.

for the first time in the months you've been together you're not holding anything back. you're not trying to leash yourself to stop this going further than you're ready for. you're all in.

simon can feel the difference. the way you're letting the energy you usually keep simmering under your skin out into the air around you; the way you kiss him deeper, let your hands wander over his chest and biceps.

he's instantly, painfully hard in his sweatpants.

and acutely aware of the fact that you can tell. that the fabric of his sweats does nothing to hide the way he's hardened underneath you, that he's thick and heavy against your inner thigh where you're now practically straddling him. he tenses slightly underneath you; not able to control his reaction but hesitant to be the one to take the next step.

but then you groan into his mouth.

the sound goes straight to his core.

"christ, love. those really are fancy knickers."

he scoops you up in his arms without hesitation, carrying you through the cabin and kicking the bedroom door shut behind him.

you don't think you've ever seen an expression on simon's face quite like the one he wearing now, staring down at you sprawled out beneath him, clothes removed with enough care it made your heart ache.

reverent. that's the only word for it.

"yer really… jesus. yer fuckin' beautiful dove, you know that, right?"

your cheeks heat automatically at the compliment, "it's the underwear. it's doing a lot of the heavy lifting." you reply, mock serious - deflecting.

simon rolls his eyes. "shut up. daft bint. s'all you."

before you can retort he pulls his sweatshirt off over his head, and the only word you're left capable of is "fuck."

you reach out; trace your fingers over the scars that criss cross his torso like a roadmap of everything he's survived. the muscle of his chest and stomach is solid; but there's a soft layer of fat over his abdomen that he gets between deployments - the layer that makes him feel warm and soft and human; not just the soldier everyone else sees.

simon's breath hitches when your nails graze lower, but he catches your wrist, bringing your open palm to his lips to press a kiss against the centre of it.

"lay back for me, love." he murmurs, "i'm takin' care of you first."

you nod, heart slamming in your chest so hard you're sure he can hear it.

your bra comes off first; carefully unhooked and pulled away from your body, placed carefully on the side next to you.

your underwear comes next, the soft black lace you knew was perfect the moment you picked it out in the store. cool air hits your skin as he tugs them down your calves and you fight the instinct to close your legs.

simon looks down at you from below his lashes. "yeah. it's not the fancy knickers love. yer just fuckin' beautiful."

simon settles between your legs, lips pressing a trail down your stomach to where your thighs part; and for a moment he hovers above your bare cunt, nose flaring as the warm scent of you hits him.

he groans.

your ears go hot.

he looks up at you, "gonna go down on you now love, alright?"

you manage a short jerk of your head, pupils blown wide as you stare back down at him.

then his mouth is on you.

the last time he did this - that one night on the couch - is burned into simon’s memory. and he remembers, in beautiful high definition, what each little gasp and groan you made sounded like, and what he did to drag them out of you.

the first slow lick from your slit to your clit pulls a shaky sound from your throat, fingers tightening in the sheets next to you.

he doesn’t rush.

has no intention of skipping steps.

he’s treating this like the main event. like if he could just stay between your spread thighs for the rest of the weekend and the two of you didn’t go any further than that he’d be fine with it, happy about it even.

he explores every inch of you with his tongue; licking broad stripes across your entire cunt, before flicking the tip of his tongue against your clit - little patterns that make your thighs tremble.

“si…” you breathe, feeling yourself relax into the mattress with every touch.

simon pulls away to press a kiss against your inner thigh, “okay up there, sweetheart?”

you nod.

vigorously.

then reach to tangle your fingers in his short hair and tug his mouth back towards you with a desperation that surprises even yourself, like now he’s started you really, really don’t want him to stop.

his lips twitch in the corners, his shoulders relaxing a fraction, like you’ve just convinced him you really are okay.

he seals his lips around your clit and hums softly; the vibration shooting straight up your spine and sparking white behind your eyes. you hips jerk, hard; immediately one of his hands comes to rest on your lower belly, pressing down gently - reassuring rather than controlling - whilst he continues to work you with his mouth. he sucks softly, then harder, alternating rhythms until your fingers are twisted tightly in his hair and your breathing comes in short, ragged gasps.

it’s messy.

the wet sounds of his mouth fill the quiet of the room - slick, obscene noises that you think should mortify you but actually only turn you on more. he pulls back just to groan softly, eyes flicking up to yours. “yer fuckin’ perfect love. can i open you up proper?”

one finger circles your entrance, spreading slickness - but he waits until he sees your chin jerk in confirmation before pushing in achingly slow. it’s an unfamiliar stretch; his finger thicker than your own, but it’s not unwelcome, not unpleasant. he sinks that first finger to the knuckle before curling it upwards, searching for the soft, spongy part inside you that makes your back arch sharply off the mattress.

“there you are.” he murmurs, a soft kind of satisfaction threaded through his voice.

he doesn’t stop, just keeps working you in a steady rhythm while his mouth finds your clit again.

your eyes flutter shut. body slowly melting into something that feels like syrup and not flesh against the sheets as pleasure crawls through you.

after a few minutes he carefully adds a second finger - immediately slowing when he sees you wince at the slight burn low down in your pelvis, only continuing when he feels your body go soft again. “easy sweetheart.” he murmurs against your folds, the slight pain mixing with pleasure as as he works his fingers in and out, scissoring gently to open you up. your thighs tremble around his ears; you’re gripping his hair too tight, probably hurting him, but he doesn’t complain - if anything he groans against you at the sensation.

you’re right on the edge. stomach tensing, muscles tightening when he pulls back. his mouth and jaw are slick and shiny with you and his eyes are so, so soft when he gazes up at you.

“not yet.” he murmurs, moving so his body covers yours, wiping his face with the back of his hand, leaning down to kiss you. “want t’ see if i can get you there with me inside ya.”

he shifts, stands, tugs his sweatpants and boxers off in one motion.

you swallow. hard. watching his cock spring free - thick, heavy. flushed dark at the tip and already leaking.

you have no idea how the fuck he’s meant to fit inside you.

he sees your pinched expression, the nervous flicker in your eyes, and he leans down, crawling back over you, resting his forehead against yours. “we go as slow as you need. you say stop, we stop. you say you need a break, we take a break.” he promises, voice thick with want but edged with control.

he reaches across into the bedside drawer, grabs a bottle of lube he’d clearly tucked away there earlier.

he really did do his research.

your pupils blow wide as he squeezes a generous dollop onto his cock. he wraps a calloused hand around his length and strokes it slowly, spreading the slick shine from base to tip, lower lip sucked between your teeth as he starts to guide himself to your entrance.

the blunt head nudges against you, slipping a little because everything is so wet.

he pushes forwards.

the first inch stings. sharply. you hiss through your teeth, nails digging into his shoulders.

simon freezes immediately. “too much?” he asks, voice strained.

“just… a lot.” you manage, trying to breathe through the burn. “give me a minute.”

he stays perfectly still, barely inside you, dropping soft kisses on your face - your eyelids, the tip of your nose, the corner of your mouth. he reaches between you, pad of his thumb finding your clit, rubbing slow, soothing circles until the edge of pain dulls into an aching fullness. you nod, shaky, but firm.

he sinks in another inch. the stretch is intense - you feel every ridge, every vein as he works himself in deeper; your walls slowly opening up and moulding around him.

then he slips. just a little.

simon is tall - broad and long limbed - and the angle he’s curved himself into is awkward. shoulders hunched, one arm braced at an odd angle so he doesn’t crush you.

his cock slips out completely on the next shallow rock of his hips.

“fuck.” he mutters - frustrated with himself. “sorry love. ‘ang on.”

he tucks a hand under your knee, lifting your leg higher and hooking it over his hip.

the new position makes it easier; opens you up more. so this time when he pushes back in, he slides a little deeper in one smooth glide.

you both groan.

the fullness is overwhelming, foreign, bordering on too much.

but it also feels right in a way that makes your chest ache.

simon’s breathing is ragged against your neck. sweat already coating his skin under your palms. “christ, you feel like fuckin’ heaven. you alright?”

you nod, nails digging into his skin. “move… please.”

he starts rocking into you - slow, shallow thrusts at first. the wet, obscene sound of him moving inside you fills the quiet cabin.

it’s messier than you expected. all of this is.

your bodies don’t slot together like puzzle pieces; there’s sweat, the awkward shift of limbs, your leg keeps slipping off his hip until he grabs it again.

every thrust drags against that perfect spot inside you, but there’s still a sharp little spark of pain when he finally bottoms out completely. you whimper. simon freezes again. “talk to me dove.”

“it hurts. a bit.” you admit, voice small. “but… don’t stop. please.”

he curses softly and adjusts again, reaching for a pillow and sliding it under the small of your back.

the new angle… changes things. the next thrust makes your toes curl for a reason that isn’t pain. pleasure starts overtaking discomfort -and on the next snap of his hips you rock up to meet him, chasing the sensation. his fingers press firmer against the sensitive little bundle of nerves just above where he's buried inside you.

you feel your cunt flutter around him.

he lets out a completely wrecked sound.

"that's it." simon hisses through his teeth. "yer doin' so fuckin' well love."

the praise goes straight to your head, to your core, setting alight nerves you didn't know could be affected by words.

both your movements grow less coordinated, more desperate. sweat gathers in the space between your bodies. his hips snap a little harder, still careful but less restrained; the slap of skin on skin louder now. his hand that's not still slowly stroking your clit between your bodies finds yours, lacing your fingers together beside your head.

the tenderness of the movement makes your eyes sting.

you come suddenly - a sharp, peak that makes you clamp down around him. it's an unfamiliar wave of pleasure, coming with him inside you like that, and you let out a long, low moan that he feels in his bones, that he feels burning its way into his brain as a new core memory.

simon groans, hips stuttering as he fucks you through it. the overstimulation makes you whine, but you can tell from the way he's tensing that he’s close too.

“gonna come inside you.” he bites out, voice wrecked. “that okay?”

you nod frantically, legs tightening around him. a few more deep, messy thrusts and he buries himself inside you with a broken groan, hips jerking as his own orgasm hits. thick pulses of heat flood you, his cock twitching, face dropped into the curve of your shoulder as he presses his mouth against where your pulse is hammering in your throat.

neither of you move. you just stay wrapped in a little bubble of oh fuck that just happened. simon's collapsed half on top of you, propped up on one elbow so he doesn't smother you completely with his body. his breath is warm on your neck, heart slamming in his chest against your arm.

“you okay love?”

simon's voice is gentler than you've ever heard it, cautious in a way that you know he only ever is with you.

“yeah.” you breathe back. “i’m good.” you shift slightly underneath him, wincing as you unhook your legs from his waist.

he notices. immediately shifts so you can untangle yourselves properly, sliding out of you with a soft, slick noise.

you wince again, glance down, see a faint smear on your thigh; cum, slick - both tinged faintly with pink - and stare down in fascination at the physical evidence of what you've both done lingering on your skin like a brand.

he follows your gaze, jaw tensing when he sees the faint pink mixed into your shared fluids. “you sure you're okay?”

you pull him down next to you, curl into his chest, tucking your face into the curve of his neck. “i'm good. i promise. i’m… i’m happy, si.” there's a brief pause and then you add, almost awkwardly, “...was that okay for you?”

simon leans down and kisses you slowly, before pulling back just far enough to rest his forehead on yours. “you were perfect.” he murmurs. “that was perfect.”

you laugh weakly. “that was not perfect. we were like… tangled giraffes at one point.”

he huffs a quiet laugh against your mouth. “yeah, well. still got there in th’ end. still perfect.” he drags his knuckles down your cheekbone, eyes soft in the low lamplight. “no regrets?”

you watch him pad naked across the room - huge, scarred, relaxed in a way you rarely ever see him - and feel a rush of affection so strong it almost hurts.

“none.” you whisper fiercely - and you mean it. you ache in the best and worst ways, but the warmth in your chest is brighter than any discomfort. “thank you. for not rushing me. for… that.”

simon kisses you again, slower this time, then carefully climbs off the bed. “stay there, dove. i’ll get a cloth and run th’ bath. i reckon that fuckin’ clawfoot thing outside looked big enough for both of us.”

you get that same pang when he wipes down your thighs with a warm, damp cloth and again when he deposits you in the bathtub on the deck, climbing in behind you without a second thought.

simon settles you both into the warm water, your back to his chest, his arms wrapped around you, the night breeze ghosting over both of your skin. one of his hands strokes lazily up and down your arm without thought.

“next time we’ll try you on top,” he says quietly, pressing a kiss behind your ear. “see if we can avoid the giraffe shite.”

you laugh, loud and free in the quiet night, and tilt your head back to kiss him again properly.

yeah, you're already looking forward to the next time.

Your hands flew across the keyboard without stopping, that familiar click click click sound that you didn’t even notice anymore because it had become so ingrained in your mind it was like breathing. Every now and then, you clicked your mouse once, then again, then again, as if that would somehow make the words come faster. But it didn’t. You were still stuck on the same sentence you’d been wrestling with for the last fifteen minutes.

You stretched your neck from side to side, feeling it crack slightly, and the small relief was enough to keep you going. You shifted in your chair because you could no longer feel your butt; honestly, you’d lost all sensation after sitting there for so many hours in a chair that was clearly begging to be replaced.

You adjusted the glasses you only wore for computer work. They were uncomfortable, always slipping down your nose or pressing painfully behind your ears, but without them the screen blurred and you’d end up with a headache.

You let out a deep sigh and looked over your monitor, directing your gaze toward the office elevator.

No one important.

Just familiar faces. Coworkers carrying coffee cups or folders.

But not the person you’d been waiting for since yesterday.

Since this morning.

Since the moment you arrived.

“Waiting for someone special?” Lois asked, watching you glance toward the elevator for what had to be the tenth time.

One eyebrow was raised, and she wore the mischievous smile you knew all too well.

You looked at her and shook your head, feeling your cheeks warm slightly.

“No... well... no,” you said shyly, smiling as you lowered your gaze to your keyboard as though the letters had suddenly become the most fascinating thing in the world.

You didn’t type a single word.

You simply stared while your fingers remained frozen above the keys.

“No?” Lois leaned toward you like a curious puppy. “Is someone coming to pick you up? A guy, maybe?” she asked, her voice quiet but excited, as though she already knew the answer and simply wanted to hear you say it.

You laughed.

A nervous laugh.

The kind that slipped out when someone caught you doing something you hoped they wouldn’t notice.

Eventually, Lois gave up and returned to her article, though that little smile remained firmly planted on her face.

The smile that clearly said, I know something you’re not telling me.

“A guy?”

Jimmy’s voice sounded directly behind Clark, causing the poor man to nearly drop his coffee.

It was strange because, well, Clark could normally sense anything approaching him from yards away. Hear footsteps. Feel vibrations. All those things that came with his abilities.

But something about being Clark Kent seemed to interfere with those hidden Kryptonian instincts.

When he was in the office, he wasn’t the man with the cape.

He wasn’t Superman.

He was just Clark.

And somehow that made things weird.

One moment he could hear a sigh from across the city.

The next, he failed to notice his best friend standing directly behind him.

He jumped, nearly spilling his coffee, surprising even himself with how startled he’d become.

You and Lois looked over briefly before returning to your work, as though Jimmy sneaking up on Clark had become a perfectly normal part of office life.

Of course, Jimmy didn’t know.

No one did.

Jimmy was interested in Clark, but not in the way Clark was interested in you.

Jimmy simply enjoyed teasing his friend.

It was entertaining watching Clark turn red whenever someone mentioned you.

Clark glanced in your direction while you continued typing, and the moment Lois whispered something to you, his attention abandoned his article entirely.

If anyone were being honest, Clark could probably be called nosy.

Or perhaps, to him, invading someone’s privacy wasn’t really a crime if the intentions were good.

And you were the girl he liked.

The girl who stole his attention every chance she got.

The girl who made him forget how to breathe whenever you smiled.

Listening a little wasn’t so terrible, right?

Right?

Clark looked at Jimmy, blushing.

How had his powerless friend gathered all that information so easily?

It seemed Jimmy possessed the superpower of overhearing other people’s conversations.

Or maybe Jimmy had only pretended to use Lois’s printer so he could come directly to Clark and extract information.

Jimmy leaned against Clark’s desk expectantly.

“I don’t know,” Clark said casually, though his voice came out tighter than usual.

“They’re stealing your girl, buddy,” Jimmy said, shaking his head as though he’d already accepted his friend’s inevitable suffering.

“She’s not... Jimmy, she’s not my girl,” Clark replied, raising a finger like a teacher delivering an important lesson. “She’s not an object that belongs to someone.”

Then he glanced at you.

Just for a second.

Long enough to see you laughing at something Lois had said.

“Besides...” he added quietly, “she’s allowed to date other people.”

His voice softened as though hope itself were slipping away.

As though the words weighed heavily on his tongue.

“Sure. Because you never actually ask her out,” Jimmy said, shaking his head.

There was equal parts affection and frustration in his expression, as though he’d already had this conversation a thousand times in his head.

“You heard Lois say she liked Andrew. Steve’s coworker,” Clark said, directing his gaze toward the man standing a few desks away.

Andrew.

The guy currently showing off his gym routine with his hands on his hips and his chin raised as though he owned the world.

“I wasn’t going to tell you,” Jimmy said with a shrug. “But I heard it. Sorry. Couldn’t keep it in.”

Then he looked toward Andrew.

“But come on. The guy is basically ‘Look at my biceps’ or ‘Yesterday I worked out for three hours’ or ‘I drink disgusting spinach smoothies every morning.’”

Jimmy imitated him in a ridiculous voice while flexing his skinny arms.

Clark couldn’t help smiling.

The day continued that way.

People coming and going.

Lois disappearing to discuss an important article with Cat.

Jimmy working through his fourth cup of coffee while flirting with the woman from the Culture section—the one who always wore enormous earrings and laughed loudly.

Clark looked at you.

Then at Andrew.

Andrew picked up a folder and smiled at you.

You smiled back while continuing to type, nodding as he walked away at an annoyingly leisurely pace.

Clark lowered his eyes to his keyboard.

A heaviness settled in his chest.

Maybe it simply wasn’t his time.

Maybe he was destined to be the supporting character.

The one who never got the girl.

The one who stood by and watched the person he loved fall for someone else.

Maybe under different circumstances.

Maybe in another life.

Things would be different.

“You’re here!”

You jumped up from your chair so quickly that you nearly sent it crashing backward.

Clark’s head snapped up immediately, his spine straightening without him realizing it.

You hurried toward the elevator, excitement radiating from every step.

For one terrifying second, Clark thought you were already spoken for.

That the guy you’d been talking about had finally arrived to take you away.

Then he looked closer.

The person stepping out of the elevator was a woman.

Shorter than you, but undeniably similar.

The same smile.

The same eyes.

The same lightness in her walk.

Clark tilted his head, confused.

Then he smiled.

Your mother.

There was no doubt.

Not after the way you hugged her.

Not after she lovingly brushed your hair back.

“Sorry, sweetheart. I couldn’t find the right floor. I got off on the fifth floor, and they told me you didn’t exist. I said, ‘What do you mean my daughter doesn’t exist?’ Then they finally realized who I was talking about,” your mother said as she walked beside you toward your desk, looking around with fascination as though the office were a museum filled with treasures.

You smiled.

That big smile that only ever appeared around her.

“I told you I could come get you, Mom,” you whispered, kissing her cheek.

Meanwhile, Clark kept his eyes glued to his computer screen while paying absolute attention to every word.

Every laugh.

Every touch of your mother’s arm.

“This is my desk,” you said, sitting down and gesturing toward the chair beside you so she could see where you worked. “I’m writing an article.”

You pointed toward the screen filled with words you’d written and deleted a hundred times.

Your mother nodded seriously.

“Mhm.”

She looked around.

Then leaned closer.

Without taking her eyes off the office.

“Which one is Clark?” she whispered, scanning the room like a spy in a movie.

You blushed instantly.

Heat rushed up your neck and into your ears.

“Mom,” you whispered, practically sinking beneath your desk.

Even though she’d spoken quietly.

Even though it was barely audible.

“What?” your mother replied with a knowing smile, leaning closer. “You spend hours talking about him on the phone. I deserve to meet the man my daughter is in love with.”

Those words echoed through your mind like they’d been shouted through a megaphone.

Across the room, Clark felt his heart somersault.

“It’s him,” you whispered, barely moving your head toward Clark.

Just a tiny gesture.

Your mother followed your gaze.

Clark wasn’t sure whether it was your heart beating that loudly or his own.

He could hear two racing heartbeats.

One closer than the other.

And he couldn’t tell which belonged to whom.

He licked his lips, trying to suppress the enormous smile threatening to spread across his face.

He lowered his gaze to the keyboard.

Tilted his head.

Tried to hide it.

Oh, sure.

This was definitely one of the advantages of super hearing.

Listening to the entire city wasn’t always enjoyable.

But moments like this?

Hearing your voice whisper that you were in love with him?

That made every second worthwhile.

“So you’re the beautiful mother of my best friend.”

Lois interrupted with her brightest reporter smile.

She approached with her hand extended and a sparkle in her eyes.

You stood so quickly you nearly knocked into your chair.

“Lois Lane, right? Of course. Black hair. Eyes capable of making any man fall in love. Gorgeous. That’s you,” your mother said, shaking her hand firmly while looking her up and down as though she’d just met a celebrity.

You laughed and shook your head.

Embarrassed.

Happy.

Both at once.

Lois looked at you with curiosity, one eyebrow raised.

You shrugged with a mischievous smile.

“She’s the one who gives me all the advice I give you.”

Lois laughed loudly before pulling your mother into a hug as though they’d known each other for years.

From his desk, Clark stared at his keyboard with an idiotic smile he couldn’t erase, listening to the laughter of the three of you blend into the sounds of the office.

Then Clark stood up.

Not gracefully.

Not remotely.

It was the kind of standing up that happened when someone’s legs suddenly forgot how to function.

His hands trembled around a sheet of paper.

His eyes shifted from you.

To the floor.

Back to you.

As though he couldn’t decide where it was safest to look.

Thankfully, Perry had asked Clark to print an article and deliver it to you so it could be passed along to the editors, just like always.

A real reason to approach you.

A legitimate excuse.

Not one he’d invented.

Yet even with that perfectly reasonable excuse, Clark felt as though his knees might give out at any moment.

He walked toward you in short steps, clutching the paper against his chest like a shield.

With every step, his heart climbed higher into his throat.

You looked up as he approached.

Your heart stopped.

Or maybe it stopped twice.

Or maybe it stopped altogether.

Your mother glanced at you from the corner of her eye, wearing that familiar smile.

You looked at her.

Or maybe you swallowed.

You honestly couldn’t remember which came first.

You only knew that the office suddenly felt warmer.

And your palms had started sweating for absolutely no reason.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Clark said quietly.

So quietly it sounded as though he were asking permission to exist within your space.

He smiled at you.

A trembling smile.

The kind that escaped before he could stop it.

His fingers continued squeezing the paper as though it were the only thing keeping him upright.

“No, no,” you replied immediately.

Far too quickly.

Then you looked at your mother with eyes that clearly pleaded, Please don’t say anything weird.

“I... this is my mother, Clark... no... what’s wrong?” you said, realizing halfway through the sentence that none of those words made sense.

You sounded as though you were apologizing.

Or answering a question he’d never asked.

He only wanted to hand you a paper.

Not meet your mother.

At least, that’s what you assumed.

But your mouth had sprinted ahead of your brain.

And it was far too late to catch up.

Clark smiled anyway, despite not fully understanding what you’d just said.

He extended a hand toward your mother.

Then immediately pulled it back.

Wiped it on his jacket.

Then offered it again more carefully.

As though presenting something fragile.

“Clark Kent, ma’am. It’s a pleasure.”

His voice came out slightly higher than usual.

The unmistakable sound of someone who was desperately nervous.

You smiled at your mother.

The kind of smile that hurt because of how hard you were forcing yourself to appear calm.

“Clark Kent,” your mother repeated, savoring the name like candy. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

She dropped the words casually.

Like someone tossing a grenade and waiting to see the explosion.

“About everyone,” you corrected quickly.

Far too quickly.

Far too obviously.

Your voice sounded rushed.

Artificial.

You fooled absolutely no one.

It was as obvious as the sky being blue.

As obvious as coffee being hot.

Your mother gave you a look that clearly said, Oh, my sweet foolish daughter.

Clark turned as red as a tomato.

“Yes, well, I hope my daughter does a good job and is a good coworker to everyone,” your mother said, releasing Clark’s hand after holding it a second longer than necessary.

Then she turned toward Lois as though she hadn’t just left her daughter internally screaming.

“She is. She’s the best.”

Clark’s words came out instantly.

Purely.

Directly from his heart before his brain had a chance to intervene.

Even he looked surprised.

You stared at him.

Speechless.

Your mother stared at him.

One eyebrow raised.

A huge smile spreading across her face.

Lois stared at him too.

Barely managing not to laugh.

Her expression practically screamed, These two are hopeless.

You smiled without entirely understanding why.

Then looked at your mother with a mixture of embarrassment and happiness you couldn’t conceal.

“I’m glad to hear that. I won’t take up any more of your time. Your work is important,” your mother said, waving a hand as though dismissing an entire army. “I’ll wait for my daughter downstairs.”

She paused for a moment.

Thinking.

“I’ll look for a restaurant while I wait. I hear Metropolis has excellent restaurants.”

She looked around as though expecting someone to hand her a map.

“The Italian restaurant next to the park is amazing,” Clark recommended.

The moment he finished speaking, he blushed so intensely it looked like he’d suddenly developed a fever.

He adjusted his glasses with a trembling finger.

A habit he always had when he was nervous.

Though he had no idea he did it.

“I think,” he added quietly, suddenly uncertain of his own recommendation.

You smiled.

One of those smiles that appeared without permission.

The kind you couldn’t stop even if you tried.

“Of course. When we went there with Jimmy,” you said, remembering.

Clark nodded, relieved that someone had confirmed he hadn’t imagined the place.

You turned to your mother, your eyes shining.

“It really is good.”

Your voice carried far more conviction than one would expect from a conversation about food.

“Oh, then you should come with us, Clark. You seem to know the city well,” your mother said casually, as though inviting an old family friend to dinner.

You shook your head so quickly your neck nearly hurt.

“He’s lived here exactly as long as I have,” you tried to point out, as though that were a perfectly reasonable argument against him joining.

Your mother didn’t even look at you.

Her eyes remained fixed on Clark with the determination only mothers possessed when arranging something their children never requested.

“It would be my pleasure to join you. I... yes... Perry said...” Clark began.

Then immediately tangled himself in his own words.

He pointed at the paper still clutched in his hands as though he’d only just remembered it existed.

“This is for you,” he said finally, extending it toward you with the care of someone presenting an important trophy.

His fingers brushed yours.

Just for a second.

Both of you pulled away at exactly the same time.

As though the contact had shocked you.

“I... I’ll leave on time so I can take you both,” Clark said.

Then he retreated so quickly it looked like he was escaping a fire.

He nearly tripped over a chair.

Caught himself at the last second.

Then walked straight into a doorway that had been there forever.

And kept going.

His cheeks were so red they looked like two apples hanging from either side of his face.

You looked at your mother with wide eyes, having absolutely no idea what expression you were supposed to make. Whether you should be offended, laugh, or simply crawl under your desk and never come out again.

Lois smiled at your mother, shaking her head from side to side with the expression of someone who had seen this story before and already knew how it ended.

“See, ma’am?” Lois teased, crossing her arms and leaning against the desk as though she were watching her favorite television show. “Those two are complete lovebirds. It’s only a matter of time before they end up together.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the silly smile that slipped onto your lips.

Your mother simply nodded.

Serious.

Thoughtful.

As though she were mentally documenting every single thing she had witnessed.

Saving every detail for later.

For one of those phone calls when the two of you were alone.

When she could finally interrogate you properly and you would end up confessing everything you felt for Clark Kent.