K.

It’s one of those warm night that makes everything wet. Sweat sticking under your clothing and hair to your brow. The ground slick with dew and making you trip every five steps. The fog so dense that seeing more than a foot in front of you is nothing short of a miracle. The city buzzing around you, but in nothing more than a hazy, neon glow. 

It’s rarer, in Metropolis, for these kinds of nights to happen. It’s something you’d expect from Gotham, or the upstate country sides. 

But it’s here, and you’re going to punch a brick wall. 

Walking alone is already something that sucks. Everyone tends to let their guard down and fuck around like idiots, thinking that Superman is just going to fall out of the sky and save them.

And he probably will.

But being saved by Superman is always a whole thing. People post a video of the rescues online if they can get one, and then suddenly you’re getting an exhaustive, unwelcome fifteen minutes of fame. The news wants to talk to you. Brands are reaching out to be sponsored by “Superman”—or at least someone who’s touched him, which they think is enough—and people are recreating your rescue as videos for clicks and likes. 

It sounds like a fucking nightmare. At least if you get mugged you only have to talk to insurance. 

And you’re not a helpless baby. You’re prepared, and alert, and lived in Gotham. Once a Poison Ivy burst into apartment, told you that your landlord had been secretly using doing illegal things with energy—either stealing it or using it too much, you hadn’t really been paying attention—and for some reason you had to die about it. 

Compared to that, one person with a gun and shine of desperation in their eyes wasn’t much to be afraid of. 

You’d be fine. 

So you walk home from work every night—a hand tight on your bag and eyes scanning around the dark—and it hasn’t gone wrong yet. 

But you also haven’t had a night like this one. 

And when you hear the click of a gun, from a darker alleyway to your side, you’re more disappointed than anything else. 

“Give- Lady, hey-“ A skinnier kid—with his hair ragged around his face and his fingers shaking slightly—slides out of the dark. “Stop walkin’, and give me your money.” 

You turn with a sigh, tilting your head at him and squinting through the dark. “Just my money?”

The kid blinks at you. “Yes?”

That’s easy then. “Alright.”

“Alright? You’re just-“ The kid frowns. “You’re going to give it to me?”

“Well, what happens if I don’t?”

“I shoot you through the head and take it anyway?”

You give him a pointed look, and the kid scowls, cocking the gun. 

“Are you trying to get smart with me, lady? That what this is? Some fucking mind trick?”

“Me?” You point at yourself in mock innocence, and shrug. “I would never. Do you want the coins as well?”

“I- Yeah.” The kid spits on your feet, and it seems more like a defensive mechanism than anything else. “Yes. Give me everything you’ve fucking got.” Then, as a last afterthought, he adds, “Bitch.”

“Hey.” You frown at him, hand stuck in your purse. “That’s pretty fucking rude. I’m being cooperative.”

The kid stares at you for a second, then shakes himself, raising the gun higher. “You got like a fuckin’ death wish, lady?”

“Not right now, no.”

“Jesus fucking- Stop being a bitch, and just give me your fuckin’-“

You never get to know exactly what the kid wanted you to do, because a lot of things happen at once. 

Superman drops out of the sky, landing between you and the kid. 

You grab your pepper spray out of the bad, using it liberally on the air and stepping off to the side, behind Superman’s back.

The kid fires his gun with a shout of pain as the chemicals hit him, hand blindly following your path behind Superman.

The shot echoes through the alley, making you wince slightly, but the bullet just crumples against Superman’s chest. The kid has ended up shaking and crying on the ground, the pepper spray quickly dissipating into the thick fog, and you sigh, tucking the empty container back into your bag. 

“Alright, buddy.” You step out from behind Superman with a frown, kneeling down at the kid’s side. “Let’s see who you are.”

You roll him over as he whines in pain, and makes a weak attempt to shove you away that you dodge. 

“Hey.” Superman’s voice cuts through the air, and it’s somehow deeper and higher than you thought it would be, all at once. You’ve heard him give interviews, in those on the street videos when someone gets lucky enough to corner him and ask for his favorite soup or whatever. In person, it feels slightly different. 

Less god-like. 

When you look up at him with a frown, he looking between you and the kid like he’s not quite sure what to do. 

“That’s pretty rude, trying to hit someone who’s helping you.” He says, taking a step forward towards the kid. “And you,” he turns, his eyes seeming to shine in the low, misting light as they land on you. “Pepper sprayed me.”

You shrug. “And? You’re fine.”

“You didn’t know I would be fine-“

“I didn’t know you’d be here.” You look back to the kid, who seems to have resorted to just curling into a little ball. “And he shot you, if we’re keeping count.”

“We’re, uh- Not.” Superman clears his throat, and you can hear him walking closer behind you. “You can go, ma’am. I’ll take it from here.”

“I’m okay, thanks.” You keep rolling the kid until he’s on his side, and you can pull out his wallet.

Superman freezes. “Miss, if you’re stealing from him I have to-“

“I’m not stealing from him.” You roll your eyes, and Superman pauses, before muttering-

“It sort of looks like you’re stealing from him.”

You hum, pulling out the thick card of the kid’s driver’s license, and holding it up to the light. “That sounds like a you problem.”

Superman coughs, not taking off into the night to look for more crime, for some reason. You’re not really sure what he’s still doing here at all. 

“Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to step back, please. This man is in medical distress, and I need to get him to a hospital.”

“Don’t take him to the hospital.” You mutter, and Superman frowns, kneeling down across from you. 

“Listen, I understand that he just did something that caused you distress, but he’s still a person. He deserves the same care as anyone else, even if he’s made mistakes-“

“Yeah, I know that, dummy.” You roll your eyes, dropping the ID back into his wallet. “But this is a fake. And he doesn’t have an insurance card.”

Superman stares at you. “And?”

“He won’t be able to afford the hospital. This Fake ID is shit, he probably can’t even afford the pudding in the hospital cafeteria.” You tuck the man’s wallet back into his pants, then wrap your arms around his torso. “There’s a shelter, three blocks down. He should go there.”

You grunt, trying to drag him up, but you barely get him an inch off the ground before Superman’s jumping in, grabbing the man and pulling him into his arms, bridal style. 

“Three blocks down?” He asks you, and you nod, wiping your hands on your legs. 

“Yeah. Don’t tell them the mugging, though.”

“Why-“

“They’ll legally have to hand him over to the cops after.”

“And you… don’t want them to?”

“No.” You look up at Superman with a tight glare. “Do you?”

He’s not glaring at you. Superman is looking at you with an open, almost curious expression, his head titled to the side and lips in a strange sort of pout. 

It hits you a little like lightning, how he does look like only a man—he’s got all the fearless humans have—but there’s something more. His skin is clear, posture perfect, and in the glow of the streetlamps, there’s a strange sort of angelic halo around his body. 

And he’s handsome. 

You’ve seen photos. You watch the news. You’ve been at work and listened to the interns fawn about how hot Superman is, and how they hope they need help because they’d love to be saved by him, but it’s just different in person. Striking, a little mind numbing, and making your skin buzz because he’s staring at you. 

You wish he’d stop. It’s making you dizzy. 

“No.” He says softly. “I don’t.”

“Alright then.” You cross your arms, raising your chin at him. He doesn’t just get to make you feel gooey with his eyes. “We’re in agreement.”

Superman chuckles, and that just makes your face heat more. “Yeah, I guess we are. Would you like an escort home, ma’am?”

“A- What?”

“May I walk you home.” He holds your gaze, and you might be about to burst into flames. “We can drop this man off together. I don’t think it’s that safe for you to be walking alone at night, even in a city as nice as ours.”

You swallow. “I have pepper spray.”

“You have empty pepper spray. That can will be useless, and I think you know that.”

“Well, I-“ You scowl, adjusting your jacket and standing up a little. He’s so fucking tall. It’s hard to intimidate someone so stupidly tall. “I don’t live very far. I’ll be fine. Goodnight, Superman.”

He blinks at you, opening and closing his mouth once, then bows his head. “Goodnight, ma’am.”

Part of you wants him to stop calling you ma’am. You’re not a fucking ma’am, even if the gentleness and respect in his voice is making you feel even more lightheaded. 

So you turn on your heels, and march out of the alley like nothing ever happened at all.

But you can still feel it. 

Superman’s gaze. 

When you glance over your shoulder—because you’re an idiot—he’s watching you walk away, the fog almost seeming to part just long enough for your eyes to connect, before he vanishes into the dark.

———

“You can’t say that.” One of your co-workers mutters, crossing out something on the paper before looking up at you with a sigh of your name. “You know you can’t say that. Last time Ms. Lane had to stop you from saying it. Do you know how bad it has to be for her to do that?”

You shrug, rocking the chair the chair your foot is resting on back and forth. “That’s not my fault, I didn’t make her.”

“You’re dodging the question.” Your coworker gives you a flat look, and you just smile in return.

“I’ve never dodged a question in my life.”

She sighs your name again, and shakes her head. “Just- don’t say it. We’ll get sued into the next century, you know that, and Luther doesn’t fuck around-“

“I don’t fuck around.” You mutter, spinning your pen in your hands. “And you know we’d win if we tried. It’s not defamation if it’s true, and his reputation is already so damaged he’d have no proof that my remarks caused his stocks to tank lower than hell-“

“Just don’t say it. Please.”

You roll your eyes. “Fine. I won’t say the factually correct thing about how Luther is such a pathetic man-baby he’s been keeping a harem of ex-girlfriends, and everything he says about Superman is just what’s true about himself, he just can’t see it because whenever he looking in the mirror because he only sees the glare of his bald head.”

Your coworker sighs, right as the door pushes open. “Thank you for not saying it.” 

“Listen, I’m so sorry I’m late.” A large, dark haired man with glasses and sharp jawline drops across from you, chair spinning as he gives you an apologetic look. “I just lost track of the time, thought this floor was the next floor, and- Gosh, I’m so sorry, I hope you haven’t been waiting too long.”

You frown at him, opening your mouth, but your words die as he stares at you. He’s acting like he’s looking at a ghost, with wide eyes and a startled flinch. He’s still holding his briefcase, grip white-knuckled, and your frown deepens. 

Your co-worker clears her throat, and the man’s attention shoots away from a second. 

It leaves you oddly cold. 

“We haven’t been waiting long at all, Mr. Kent.” She gives the man a sweet smile, and he returns it in a second. “You actually just gave us enough time to finish our briefing.”

“Oh, well, that’s good, isn’t it?” He looks to you with another nervous expression, pushing his glasses up his nose, and your frown deepens. “Are you ready then, miss?”

“She’s all yours.” Your co-worker beams, shooting to her feet, and right before she leaves the conference room, you get a firm glare and a mouthed don’t fucking say it. 

You ignore her. You’re not going to say it. And if you do, it will be naturally in the conversation, wherever it may come up.

The man is fumbling, across the table. Pulling out his notebook and laptop with clumsy hands, clearing his throat and straightening his tie, shooting you an nervous look every few moments, as if you’re going to jump across the table and bite him or something. 

You lean forward, tilting your head, and he sits up straight. 

“It’s nice to meet you, miss-“

“You’re not Lois.” You say, voice flat, and his ears turn red. 

“Lois is, uh- She’s busy.”

“Busy?”

“Sick.” He mutters, pushing up his glasses again. “She caught something, in that bad weather we’ve been having. She’s very sorry she can’t make it, though.” He gives you a small, charming smile. “Gave me a whole speech about how you’re her favorite, and if I mess this up, she’ll strangle me.”

You hum, scanning over him wordlessly. It’s a strategy that works with almost everyone, staying silent until they get uncomfortable and blurt something. Something that, usually, tells you enough about them to sketch out a picture that lets you color in the lines how you want. When you’d used it on Lois, she’d stared back at you before asking if you were trying to intimidate her. When you’d met the Boravian president, he’d asked if they’d sent a mute to interview him and make him look like some sort of fool. 

This man—Kent, your co-worker had called him—is just staring at you right back. Not uncomfortably, but silently. He’s fiddling with his pen and holding your gaze, waiting for you to break the silence. 

You never break the silence. That’s losing. 

Kent doesn’t seem like he’s trying to win, though. He just seems like he’s trying to be polite. 

And after about five minutes of staring at each other in silence, he clears his throat, and frowns at you. 

“Do you want some water? Or to call Lois? She can vouch for me, I promise.” He chuckles. “Actually, she’ll probably say I’m an okay journalist, and that I’m asking the questions she wrote.” He pauses, then holds up his notepad. “I am asking the questions she wrote. If that makes this better.”

It doesn’t.

But now you know what Kent is like. 

Polite, gentle, kind. 

You can work with that.

“I’m good, thank you.” You give him a sweet, slightly mocking smile, and he returns it with the same charming grin from before. 

It’s throwing you off. You can’t be cool and collected and sharp, here. With Lois it’s like sparring. 

With Kent, it’s just making you feel like a bitch. 

“Great, then are we ready to- Oh shoot, Wait-“ He reaches back into his bag, then pulls out a tape recorder with a sheepish grin. “Almost forgot. Gosh, Lois would’ve killed me.” He places the recorder between you, and gives you another nervous grin. “Now, are you ready to get started?”

You nod, and he hits the record button. You’re silent as he rattles off the date and time, who you are—top human right lawyer, heavily involved in negotiations with the United Sates government about aide to Jarhanpur and immigration protections of Jarhanpurian refugees—and who he is. 

Clark Kent. Reporter for the Daily Planet, sitting down for a conversation about the recent developments with Lex Luther using surveillance technology to tip off Immigration authorities about illegal refugees. 

He gives you another handsome smile, before he asks the first question. You just stare at him. He doesn’t get to use his pretty face to throw you off your game. 

“So,” he glances down at his notepad, then back to you. “You’re suing the United States government for unconstitutional detainment of Jarhanpurian journalist, claiming they were both complicit in and knowingly funded the unlawful imprisonment that goes against their first amendment right to free press. Is this correct?”

You nod. “Yes, Mr. Kent, it is.”

“Great. Um-“ He flips his notepad, squinting at the words. “The United States had claimed that they had no knowledge of Luther’s methods, and says that they never once paid him to contain a private American citizen. They also stated that, if they did use Luther to hold someone, they were not aware that their funding for his research was helping him to contain people for other countries. So…” He gives you another nervous smile. “What do you say to that?”

“I say that the government is not known for being truthful about their dealings, Mr. Kent.” You raise your brows at him. “At the very least, we know they paid to have Luther contain Superman. That alone indicates that they were aware of the security of his pocket dimension. And I also happen to have several victims of the holding, all legal immigrants from Jarhanpur who were critics of Boravia, who were kept in Luther’s harem jail.”

Kent frowns at you. “Harem jail?”

Shit. “There have been allegations that he used it imprison ex-girlfriends.”

“So you…” Kent’s lips twitch. “Call it a harem jail?”

“Yep.” You give him a challenging look. “And?”

“Nothing.” He looks down at his paper again, ears red. “Just sort of graphic, I think.”

“Graphic-“

“But funny.” He gives you a small grin, pushing up his glass again. “I think it’s funny.”

There’s a fuzzy, warm feeling, over your skin. You don’t fucking appreciate it. “Oh. Thanks.”

He grins. “No problem. Uh- Right. There we were-“

Kent keeps asking you Lois’ questions, and while he doesn’t really have the edge that works you both up until she asks a hard hitter and you knock it out of the park, he’s not the worst to work with. He doesn’t fuck up the questions. He asks a few follow ups about crime rates and the responsibility of the United States to regulate business’. He even asks a pretty good question about the ethics Luther using federal funding when he’s a billionaire, and seems to have come up with it himself. 

He’s certainly better than almost any male journalist you’ve worked with. He doesn’t talk over you, or question your qualifications, or do anything but listen and nod like you’re saying something fascinating. You’re really not. You’re using words that are too big and talking too fast and discussing the constitution, one of the most boring topics of conversation. 

But he’s still looking at you as if you’re doing Circe de Solie tricks in this bland little conference room. 

He laughs at a few of your jokes, and it makes you buzz again. 

At one point, you go to the bathroom, and when you get back he’s gotten you both cups.

You lean over it, then look back up to Kent. “What’s this?”

“Uh- Water?” He glances down at the cup, then you. “I figured after going to the bathroom, you might need to stay hydrated.”

That’s such a strangely fucking good thing to do. It’s making your heart beat too fast. “And if I say I just took a shit?”

Kent blinks. “I can get you a snack?”

You snort, and that seems to make him relax again. His shoulder slump and his eyes fucking sparkle like a cartoon character, when you take a sip of his water. 

He’s like a fucking puppy turned into a human. You might be able to see his tail wagging. 

“Alright, Kent.” You set the water down. “Let’s keep-“

“Clark.” He says suddenly, wincing to himself. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you but- Clark is alright. You can call me Clark.”

You stare at him, and he turns a little red. 

“It’s my first name.”

“Yeah, I figured out that one myself.” 

“Oh. Okay. Good.” He looks back down to his notepad, adjusting his tie like it’s burning him through the suit. “So- Next question is- Oh this is a good one. I mean, it’s rougher, but Lois told me you’re… Uh-“ He turns red again. “Never mind-“

“No.” You cut him off, leaning forward. “You don’t get to say Lois called me something then not tell me. What.”

He won’t look you in the eyes. “Just that you’re a little bit of a masochist. And that you were going to be… vulgar enough to make me blush.”

You laugh, soft and through your nose, and Clark looks at you nervously. “That’s it?”

“Uh- Yeah?”

“That’s nothing,” you wave him off, leaning back in your chair. “I thought you were going to say she called me a cunt or something.”

Clark gapes at you. “Gosh, no, she adores you. Told me she’d strangle me, if I messed it up-“

“I know.” 

He frowns. “How?”

“You told me earlier.”

“Oh. I did, didn’t I. Darn it.” He gives you another nervous smile. “Sorry about that. Did I tell you about how she also said she’d dump boiling soup on me? And that it was the soup I made her.”

You smile, and it feels a little too wide and toothy, but Clark doesn’t move away. “No, you didn’t.”

“Well, she did. And I don’t think she’d ever call you a- That. You don’t seem like one at all?”

You raise your brows. “I don’t?”

“No, you seem like a… Ah- A really lovely lady.”

It’s hard not to laugh at that, even if Clark looks genuinely confused by your reaction.

“Okay, Kent-“

“Clark.” He corrects with a mumble, eyes bright and almost curious on yours, and now you feel warm. 

“Clark.” You keep it together. He does not get to fuck you up. “What’s the good questions.”

“Right. Sorry, um-“ His eyes dart down to the notepad. “A lot of people are worried that by letting Jarhanpurian citizens and journalists into the country, we’re taking away jobs away from American’s and giving these immigrants shelter when they only bring danger. What would you like to say, to American’s who believe that?”

“That our country is built on the backs of immigrants.” You answer smoothly. “And the idea that they only bring danger is a frighteningly xenophobic myth that’s simply easy to believe. Lex Luther is an American citizen, and he nearly split Metropolis in half. Superman is, in all essence of the law, an illegal immigrant, and he’s saved countless lives. It’s the person, not their origin or government, who decides what they are. And the Jarhanpurian refugees have come here to be the good, strong and kind people they want to be. It is our job to protect them, and so far, we are the ones who have failed.”

Clark stares at you for a long, strange moment as your answer hangs in the air. For a second, you think he’s going to argue, or offer a counter question. 

Instead he just clears his throat, turns off the recorder, and smiles at you. 

“Thank you for talking to me,” he says your name with a warm smile, and the air feeling strangely light, when you take his hand. 

It’s big and warm. 

You have to bit your tongue as he smiles, because it’s making you want to smile back.

And when Clark walks away after a few more formal pleasantries, you’re just standing in the center of the room. He’s said your name in a deep, rich way that made your heart skip and breath hitch. He’d grinned and you’d felt warm, like a fucking idiot. Your goddamn knees feel sort of weak, because you’d been able to feel his heat from across the table. 

Or that’s just still in you. Burning up from where your hands had connected, and through your whole body. 

It’s a good thing you’ll probably never have to see him again. 

You never want to feel that soft and dizzy, for a long, long time.

———

There’s a thud on the pavement behind you, and you don’t think before you react.

Your hand shoots into your purse, wrapping around your pepper spray, and you turn on your heels. 

Right before you spray it, a big hand wraps around your wrist, and Superman takes the can from you with a small frown. 

“Sorry.” He lets go of your wrist. “You just got it replaced, and I didn’t want you to use it for no reason. I’ve heard those things are expensive.”

They are. 

You still scowl at him. 

“Are you stalking me?”

He blinks, eyes widening. “No, I’m not. Swear on it. Superman’s honor.”

He places a hand over his heart with a grin, and you frown at him. 

“It’s scouts honor.”

“I was never a scout, miss.” He gives you a small grin. “I don’t want to dishonor their badge.”

“Their scout badge?”

He nods, and you huff in amusement, shoving the pepper spray into your purse.

“Sure. Why not.”

“Well, those boys work very hard-“

“Most of them are rich kids whose parents can afford scouts.” You say dryly, and Superman frowns at the air. 

“Huh. I suppose you’re right about that.”

 “I know I’m right about it.” You wrap your arms around your stomach, frowning at him. “If you’re not stalking me, what are you doing here.”

“I’m… checking on you.” He gives you a bright, charming grin. “Just making sure you’re holding up well, after last week. Seeing if there’s anything else I can do to help.”

“To help me.” You narrow your eyes, and he keeps grinning. 

“I think so. Doesn’t seem to be anyone else.”

You hum, staring at him, and he just stares right back. 

It’s too long, that it takes him to break. And he breaks just like Clark Kent did, yesterday. Not with a nervous expression or uncomfortable shift. 

Just with worry. Which makes you feel fuzzy. 

Jesus fucking Christ, you can’t handle doing this twice. 

“Are you feeling safe, walking home? Would you want- Maybe have a driver?”

“Could you get me a driver?”

“No.” He gives you another smile, and now you feel gooey. “But I could walk you home. To make you feel safe.”

“Hm.” You raise your chin, and he quickly adds. “Do you do that for everyone whose muggings you crash?”

“I mean, normally people call it saving.” He frowns, and you scoff. 

“You didn’t save me. I was fine.”

“No- I mean, yes, you were, but I still helped.”

“How?”

Superman blinks at you. “I carried the guy. He’s okay, by the way, in case you were worried-“

“I wasn’t.” You shrug, holding his gaze. “I checked on him in the morning.”

“Oh. Good. Of course you did.”

Of course you did. 

He says it like it’s a fact. He doesn’t even fucking know you. 

“What does that mean-“

“Do you want me to walk- Sorry.” Superman sighs as you speak over each other, bowing his head. “You first.”

You stare at him, scanning over handsome features in the dark, and there’s something. It’s scratching at the back of your head, and it doesn’t have a voice yet, but it’s there. He’s being too kind, it’s odd. And he’s making your head feel a little light, and maybe you need to call the Metropolis facilities department, because there must be something in the water if you’re feeling this way twice in a week. 

“Are you actually going to walk me home?” You ask, trying to make your voice venomous, the kind of predator’s warning that makes people back away and leave you to keep walking, alone in the dark.

If you succeed, it doesn’t seem to work on Superman. 

“If you want me to, yes, I will.” He smiles at you, and it seems to light up the whole street. 

You can’t look at it too long. Your knees will start to feel weak. 

“Alright. Fine.” You turn on your heels, not looking back. “Let’s go.”

“Let’s- Okay. Let’s go.” Superman echoes your words, quickly catching up to walk at your side. 

You walk in silence for a few minutes, and it’s the kind of silence that leaks. That makes everything else feel bigger and quieter, until your breathing is shallower and your skin is prickling, and if there’s not something to fill up the creaks and horns of the night, you’re going to lose your fucking mind. 

Superman isn’t even doing anything to make it worse. He’s just walking at a respectful distance next to you, looking around the streets like it’s all the most interesting thing he’s ever seen, and you want to punch him in the face.

“Is this all you do?” You blurt, and he looks at you with a curious expression.

“No? I mean, sometimes I fly-“

“Not walk.” You sigh, looking back out into the night. “Like- Aren’t there robberies and murders for you to be stopping?”

He pauses, tilts his head, then clicks his tongue. “I can’t hear any, no.”

“Can’t hear any.” You mutter under your breath, and he shrugs. 

“Well, I have super senses, including hearing, and-“

“I know about the hearing, Supes. I just think it’s ridiculous.”

Superman blinks at you. “I- Ridiculous seems like a strong word-“

“It’s just- It’s not ridiculous. Well, it is, but-“ You sigh, glaring down at your nails like it’s their fault you’re fucking up your words around the pretty alien. “It’s crazy. To be able to hear a robbery across the city.”

“I can’t control it-“

“I know.” You shrug. “It’s just hard to imagine. I think it would overwhelm me, and I’d put a screwdriver through my head.”

“Oh.” Superman chuckles, and it’s a deep, low sound that feels like it fucking rolls through the night, and vibrates in your chest. “It can get overwhelming, I suppose. It’s just how I always am. Always have been.” He pauses, and you can feel his attention. “For me, not being to hear everything sounds terrifying.”

You hum. “Have you ever heard people have like- The loudest fucking sex?”

He coughs, and when you look over, his ears seem a little red. “Yes, but- I’ve sort of learned to tune out the grosser things.”

“Right.” You pause, then frown at him. “Do you poop?”

“Do I poop?”

“You’re Kryptonian, I don’t know how your bodily functions work.”

“They’re mostly similar to humans.” He says, amusement obvious in his voice. “Almost entirely similar, actually.”

You nod, looking back ahead. “So you do poop.”

“Yes. I poop.”

“Fascinating. I have a reporter friend.” You grin to yourself. “I’m going to sell that fact to her for a million dollars.”

Superman laughs again. He needs to stop doing that. “Something tells me she won’t be interested in that scoop.”

There’s a long beat, and you look back to see him grinning at you, wide and proud. 

You groan. 

“That’s fucking horrible.”

“You smiled-“

“I did not-“

“Yes, you did. I saw it. It was on your face, and it was a smile.”

“On my face is where all smiles happen- And it wasn’t a smile.” You glare at him, stopping in your tracks. “That was an awful joke. Zero out of ten.”

Superman mock flinches. “Ouch. That low?”

“Yeah. You should be sent to space jail.” You glance behind you. “And- This is me.”

“Oh.” He looks at the building, then back to you. “And you’re not just pretending it’s your building because of what just happened?”

That time, you do actually smile. “No, I’m not.”

He nods, then gives you another one of those knee-weakening smiles. “Well then, have a good night…”

There’s a long silence, and you never told him your fucking name. 

You do, with your arms crossed over your chest, and he echoes it back. 

Your stupid heart skips. 

And he waits for you to go inside, before he takes off. Waits all the way until you’re in your apartment, and you lean out the window to wave at him mockingly, because he can hear you. He knows you’re inside. 

He waves, grins at you, and shoots off into the night 

You stand stupidly at the window, for a moment. 

It’s just bad luck, twice in one week. Kent and Superman, making your breath hitch and body warm. It probably really is just something in the water. 

So you close the curtains, and just pray this isn’t the kind of thing that comes in threes.

———

Someone shouts your name, and you’re not fast enough to dive behind the potted plant and make them think you pulled a magic trick.

You don’t want to talk to anyone. It’s too early to speak, too public to have to play nice about everything, too loud to do anything but press yourself against the wall of the little cafe and drink your coffee. 

They haven’t even gotten your muffin yet. 

You just want your fucking muffin. 

Instead you have to just stare at the floor, hoping your lack of acknowledgment will make whoever knows you here think you have headphones in or something. 

It almost works. 

The person says your name again, then pauses. “I think she can’t hear me?”

“I, uh- I’m not sure.” Another voice—this one sending warm little shivers through your body, and Jesus Christ not again—mutters, a little lower than the first. “I think she just doesn’t want to be bothered, Jimmy.”

“Really? No, I think she can’t hear me.” Jimmy repeats your name, touching your shoulder lightly, and now you have to pretend you never heard him in the first place. 

You look up with what had to be a horribly fake expression of surprise, your fingers curling on your coffee cup. “Oh. Hi, Jimmy, when did you get here?”

Fuck, that’s such a bad fucking lie. Somehow, Jimmy, with his million-dollar toothy grin and sweet freckled face, is buying it. 

The guy standing over his shoulder, who gave you those stupid shivers, looks a little less convinced. Mostly nervous, like he’s caught the lie but doesn’t really want to fucking do anything about it. 

And the good news is, these things don’t come in threes. 

The bad news is, they come in two that just keep fucking popping up in your life. Like tall, hot weeds with puppy faces and deep voices and probably abs, given how he’s filling out that shirt. 

You stare at Clark Kent. 

He stares back at you, face a little red and mouth hanging slightly open. 

“Hi.” You say, voice a little blanker and awestruck than you wanted—it doesn’t crack, but it does have a breathlessness that you don’t really fucking appreciate—and his smile is small, but genuine. 

Which is really fucking annoying. 

“Hey. I, uh- I like your pants.” He pushes his glass up his nose, still smiling at you, and Jimmy groans. 

“Jesus, Clark, we gotta work on your compliments, Buddy.” He gives you an apologetic look. “Sorry, he was raised in a barn. He only knows how to flirt with like, cows. I’m working on it.”

Clark turns a shade of red that’s almost impressive, right as your face heats, and before either of you can protest, Jimmy’s pushing on.

“We have so much to catch up on, I was going to ask Lois to have you come out with us, but then she went and got herself sick. Which was really annoying because I had to deal with Clark’s twenty questions about interviewing, something he’s supposed to already know how to do.”

“I don’t usually do high profile people.” Clark mumbles, and Jimmy gives him a flat look. 

“You interview Superman, dude.”

“Well, uh- That’s different? He’s a chill guy, all he does is like, save squirrels, that’s different than law stuff.” He grins at you again, and it’s still charming and attractive and dumb. “Your stuff is smarter. Above the Superman league.”

You can’t stop from smiling back. It’s not fair, how he does that. Maybe he’s a secretly meta with the ability to make people smile. 

“That’s a little better, buddy.” Jimmy claps Clark back on the back, and it somehow manages to make the tower of a man stumble slightly. “See, my classes are working! Soon we’re going to have you on these streets, picking up ladies left and right.”

Clark sighs, shooting you a nervous look. “Jimmy, I’ve told you I don’t- That’s not what I’m trying to-“  

“You don’t have to try, Clark. I mean,” he says your name, and it can’t take this long to get you a muffin. “Look at this face. I know I’d kiss it-“

“How do you get your interviews with Superman?” You raise your voice over Jimmy—this really isn’t a conversation you want to have right now—and Clark stares at you.

“What, uh- What do you mean? I just- We’ve built a relationship, that’s it-“

“Like how do you find him.” You keep our voice steady and bored. “Does he just appear on the street next to you? Or have, like- A key to your apartment?”

Jimmy snorts. “I don’t think Clark is dating Superman, if that’s what you’re getting out. Our guy is way out of that Kryptonian’s league. 

Clark blushes again “Well, I- Uh- I don’t think that’s true-“

“Do you call for him? Does he have a phone number?” You keep pushing, and Clark shakes his head. 

“No- I mean- Yes-“ He sighs, running a hand over his face. “He doesn’t have a phone number, but I just sort of call for him, and he hears me and shows up.”

Jimmy’s eyes widen. “Oh, cool. Can I be there next time you call for him?”

“Well- He doesn’t like other people being there. For security. One at a time.”

You frown. “He’s bulletproof, why does he need security?”

Clark stares at you. “That’s- A really good question. I’ll be sure to ask him next time.”

There’s a long silence, as you and Clark stare at each other, ended only by the barista calling your name for your muffin. 

You promise Jimmy that you’ll go out for drinks with him, before you walk away. 

You can feel Clark’s warm, curious stare, all the way until you walk outside. 

And it might be branded on you, because you feel it a long while after as well. 

———

“Superman?”

You call up to the sky, and you’re met with only whistling wind and the distance sound of car horns.

“Superman!” You raise your voice, wrapping your arms around your stomach to stop the chill of the wind, and still nothing. 

You’re alone. You’re calling him, like Clark does. And unless he’s already forgotten you, he has to be at least curious what you’re doing on the roof, calling his name. 

But there’s nothing. Not even a whoosh or streak of red in the distance, showing you that he’s busy or circling around you like a bird or something.

“Superman, can you please-“ You sigh. This is so fucking stupid. “Can you come here, please?”

Silence. 

You walk slowly to the edge of the roof, frowning out over the city skyline, and nothing’s even attacking right now. It’s not like he has a fucking day job to be occupied with, he’s Superman. 

And it’s pretty fucking rude that he’ll show up for Clark and not you.

Your gaze slowly falls down, to the people rushing past on the pavement below you, smaller than ants. And you have an idea. It’s bad idea, and he’ll probably be really pissed at you, but it’s also an effective idea.

You drum your fingers on the railing, trying to weigh how important this is. In the grand scheme of the universe, not worth throwing yourself off a building for. In terms of all the people relying on you to win this case, absolutely worth throwing yourself off a building. And it’s not like you’ll die. Superman will save you. 

“Please don’t do that.”

You whip around, squeaking in surprise, and stumble a step back. There’s a split second where your balance is gone, and you’re falling backwards, and God, that was a horrible idea and now you’re going to die because you’re a dramatic idiot- 

But there’s a whoosh. 

And a strong arm wraps around your waist, pulling you quickly upright before you can topple off the edge. 

Superman grins down at you, keeping you pressed against him, and your hands somehow ended up flat on his chest. He feels strong, under the suit. And you’re really not cold anymore, because he’s like a person fucking furnace. 

A furnace with a nice smile and kind eyes and a little curl falling over his forehead that makes him look like an old movie star. 

You’re staring at him. Your heart is going to fast, and there’s the buzzing feeling again, and you’re not sure you’re going to be able to keep your balance by yourself. His proximity is making you drunk, and it’s not fair-

“Who’s stalking who now?” He says, voice rumbling through your chest, and you flush. 

“Shut up.” You push him away, and he releases you in second. 

His hand lingers on your forearm. To help you get upright. 

Only to help you get upright. Nothing else. 

He does not get to turn you into a fucking idiot, any more than he already has. 

“I need to talk to you.” Arms cross over your chest. Chin raised. Voice firm. You’re going to win this conversation. 

Superman just nods, still smiling. “Yeah, I think I figured that out myself. You know, you really don’t have to jump off a roof, I was on my way.”

Shit. “I wasn’t-“

“I think you were, but if you say you weren’t, okay. I believe you.”

“Well- I wasn’t.”

“Okay.” He shrugs, still fucking smiling, and he needs to stop being so kind. It’s making you feel more things you don’t have time for. “What did you need me for, so badly you weren’t going to jump off a roof?”

You flush. “I want to ask you questions. About being an immigrant.”

He raises his brows. “Oh? Like what?”

“Your experience. What it feels like not having a home to return to, or being divorced from the governmental ideals of your home. What you’re grateful for, what you’re not grateful. What you wish would change, what you think America needs to improve on. Why you stay here, when you of all people could feasibly go anywhere in the world.” 

Superman blinks. “Well, for the last one, this is my home. And it’s not perfect, but I have no wish to be anywhere else.”

“I know that. But a lot of other people are in similar shoes, and having Superman echo their thoughts and sentiments would be good to hear. Plus you hold a lot of public sway.”

“I didn’t know you were a journalist,” he says your name with small laugh, and you shrug. 

“It’s testimony. Are you going to answer my questions, or do I need to jump off the roof.”

“I’ll answer them. They’re smart questions, and anything to help people in my position. But…” Superman pauses, watching you with a strange expression, then lets out a long breath. “You never need to jump off a roof for my attention.”

It’s like he punched you in the fucking gut. You blink, pressing your lips in a tight line as your heart stumbles and your breath becomes shallow, the heat moving down to your lower gut. He can’t just say things like that while looking at you and being so kind. You’re not going to jump off the roof, you’re going to do something stupider, like trying to kiss Superman on his pretty, full mouth that says such sweet things. 

You need to calm the fuck down. You’ve met him three times, and this is nothing more than a professional interview.

You can’t kiss Superman. 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” You drawl, pulling out your phone to record. 

He just nods, and takes a step forward. If you wanted to, you could reach out and poke his chest. There’s heat, radiating off his body again. 

Calm the fuck down. 

You’re not going to make a habit of calling for him. If this goes well, you’ll have everything you need from Superman, and you can go back to living a quiet, long, focused life. 

Alone. 

Without any stupid, kind puppy-men making you feel like maybe, just maybe, you’d like to let everything crumble down and just be warm. 

———

You turn the corner too fast. Slam right into a large, broad chest with a squeak.

A strong arm wraps around your waist, pulling you quickly to your feet. There’s a strangely familiar feeling to it, that your slightly addled brain—a little from shame, a little from drinking—can’t quite place. 

Then you look up, and it would be nice to burst into flames, or melt into the ground. 

Clark Kent is blinking down at you, and he looks almost unfairly good in a suit. You don’t know why a journalist works out so much—and he doesn’t seem like the type to be a gym rat—but his muscles are almost pushing out of his dress shirt, and you can feel them under your fingers where you’ve grabbed his shirt, and why are his eyes so blue. 

“Hi.” He says your name, glancing down to where your bodies are pressed together, before back to you with a small blush. “You look nice.”

You do look nice. You spent three hours today, making sure you looked nice for the fancy gala. At least five people have told you that you look nice since you got here, because you’d put so much fucking effort into it, it’s a little impossible not to notice. 

For some reason, it wasn’t the appreciative look from Bruce Wayne and smirk—his hand brushing over your lower back and eyes hooded with desire—that got your to feel like you were glowing. 

It’s Clark, and his stupid, honey-like voice that’s getting under your skin. You look nice. He thinks you look nice. Enough to say it so truly, as if it’s just a fact of the universe. With a gentle element of kindness, like he’s acknowledging all that work it took you to get here. 

With his red ears, like you look so nice it’s doing something to him. 

Which isn’t fair.

“You look nice, as well.” You manage to get out, and he grins. 

“Thanks. I mean, it’s nothing really. Less expectations for me, I think.” He helps you to your feet, before taking a carefully step back. “I’m not giving the big speech tonight.”

“Oh, well- Yeah.” You try to smile back. It’s too easy. “Do you think you could, though? In my place?”

Clark laughs, and there it goes again. Making you feel like you’re fucking shining. “I would, but I don’t think I can trick people into thinking I’m you.”

“Not with that attitude you can’t.”

“I think it’s a little more than the attitude. I don’t have your gravity.” He gives you another small smile, and before you can ask what the fuck that means, he’s holding out your champagne flute. “I caught this, by the way. But- If you’re giving your speech, maybe go easy?” He blushes, shaking his head. “Not that I’m telling you what to do. You- If this is like, your process. Do your process.”

You blink at him, then the champagne. You’re not sure how the fuck he caught it and you, without spilling a single drop. 

And when you take it back, you’re fingers brush, and fucking electrically shoots through your whole body. 

You down the rest of the champagne in one swig, and Clark gapes at you.

“It is my process.” You mumble, carefully wiping your chin. “It’s called get buzzed so I forget people are looking at me.”

Clark chuckles, glancing at your glass. “Do you, uh- Do you want me not to look at you? While you’re talking? If that helps?”

“Yes. Close your eyes for the whole speech.” You sigh, spinning the flute between your fingers, and Clark nods. 

“Okay. But- I think you’re going to great no matter what. You’re good at talking and- Um- Captivating.”

Melting is back on the table. You feel a little dizzy. “Captivating?”

Clark nods, fidgeting with his tie. “I mean, you’re passionate. Makes me- And, uh, everyone else- Makes us like listening to you.”

“Oh.” You swallow. “Okay.”

This is too nice. You’re going to fly out of your skin if you don’t shift it. And Clark is opening his mouth, probably so say something else that’s sweet, so you blurt the first thing that comes to mind. 

“Do you have any pets?”

“Uh-“ Clark blinks at you, then nods slowly. “Not really, no. My cousin has a dog that I watch sometimes, but that’s about it.”

You nod, looking down to your shoes. Looking him in the eyes feels dangerous. “Is it a cute dog?”

“Yeah, but he’s also….” Clark pauses, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Rowdy. Do you have any pets?”

“No.” 

“Oh. Okay. Um- Do you like pets.” 

“Of course I like pets.” You frown at him. “My apartment just doesn’t allow them, so- I mean, I guess I sort of do have a cat, but she lives with my mom.”

Clark’s face lights up slightly. “You have a mom?”

“Yes? Most people do, I think, even if it’s just like a donor-“

“No, I meant like- Do you get to see her a lot?” He clears his throat, fiddling with the cuffs of his sleeves. “Like, does she live in the city?”

“No, but- She’s not far.” You pause, and either the drinks or Clark’s presence are loosening your tongue, because you add, “I’m from Gotham. And I’ve told her to come here like- A lot. But she doesn’t want to leave home.”

“Oh.” Clark nods. “That makes sense. Not her refusing to leave but- I mean, that makes sense as well, it is her home, and I don’t think you could drag my parents from their farm. But they don’t live in Gotham, they’re in, uh- Kansas. I’m from Kansas. And you’re from Gotham. Which is what makes sense.”

You stare at him, and he coughs, giving you a smaller, slightly ashamed smile. It’s impossibly fucking endearing. 

“It makes sense that I’m from Gotham?” You finally say, and he nods. 

“You’re tough.”

That makes you flush. Which isn’t fair. “What’s your cousin’s dog’s name?”

“Kr- Oco.”

You frown. “Kroco?”

“Coco.” He says quickly, taking a small step forward. “What about your cat?”

“Godzilla.”

Clark laughs again. “That’s a good name.”

“Thank you.” You’re smiling again, and you can’t even bring yourself to look at your shoes. “I came up with it.”

“I bet you did.”

You don’t get to know what that means. You want to. So fucking bad. You want to understand why Clark is saying so many nice things and why he’s so handsome and why he’s still talking to you. At no point has he tried to end the conversation and escape. He just kept grinning and talking and saying nice things, right up until one of your co-workers comes up behind you and drags you away for the speech.

And when you’re giving it, it’s impossibly easy to find Clark in the crowd. 

Towards the back, somehow shining to through the glare of the spotlights. 

Eyes squeezed shut the whole time.

———

You have the willpower of a sheep on cocaine.

Already easy to herd. 

Very easily baited by more cocaine. 

Cocaine being a handsome superhero, who you haven’t been able to shake since you shouted for him on a roof.

It started the night after the Gala. You’d walked home you with skirt hiked up and jewelry left upstairs in your office—because you’re not a fucking idiot—and Superman had dropped out of the sky with his stupid smile. 

“Do I need to wait for you to get mugged again, to say you shouldn’t walk alone at night?”

You’d laughed softly, and kept walking right past him. “Are you going to let me get mugged?”

“No, that’s why I’m here now. Offering my escort services to ladies in need.”

That had gotten you to stop. You’d had to. 

You’d started laughing so hard that if you didn’t, you would have fucking fallen over. 

Superman had stared at you with a bemused smile, taking a half-step forward, like he was worried you’d been hit with something. 

He’d said your name slowly, and you’d shaken your head, still giggling.

“God, that- That’s-“ You’d snorted, and he’d reached for you carefully. 

“Are you-“

“I’m fine, dude, that’s just- I can’t believe people thought you have a harem.”

He’d frowned. “Well, I don’t-“

“Yeah, I know.” You’d laughed again, and he’d frowned.

“I’m sorry, I just- I’m not quite sure what the joke is.”

You’d drawn back up, giving him an amused look. “What do you think an escort service is?”

Superman had blinked. “I’m going to walk you home.”

“Wrong. You handsome, sweet alien, that is so wrong.”

He’d—impossibly—stood a little taller. “Handsome?”

Shit. “Yeah, pretty boy. You’ve got a nice face.” You’d doubled down like it was nothing, and it had seemed to be an effective strategy. “You know that. People make thirst edits of you on the internet.”

“They do?” 

“Oh.” You’d beamed at him. “I have so much to show you.”

And every night after that, he’d walked you home. It’s an effective system. You show him the online form that’s dedicated to trying to convince to actually form a Harem, and he gets to make sure you’re never mugged. You wave to him from the window—which is far too romantic, yet you can’t stop doing it—and then he grins at you, and blasts up, up, and away. There are a few nights that he misses, but there’s always a sticky note on your fire escape saying dragon trying to burn down the harbor, see you tomorrow, with a little smiley face. 

You’re keeping them in your nightstand. And it’s not like anyone is going to find them anyway, so that’s not pathetic. 

But it might make you a bad person. 

Because you’re putting them right next to the other thing in your nightstand. 

The second dose of cocaine. 

Clark won’t stop popping up either. And it doesn’t start in the same seeking you out way that it does with Superman, but it builds faster. Into something more. Something bigger than you might be able to handle. 

It starts shows up for drinks, with Lois and Jimmy. Which should be nothing. 

But the universe is out to get you. So it’s everything. 

“I’m so glad he didn’t scare you off.” Lois said with a dramatic sigh, setting down her beer. “You’re my favorite person to interview.”

Jimmy had frowned. “Why, because you don’t get to interview a lot of women?”

“No, Jimmy, I interview plenty of women. It’s just- The unfortunate thing about most of the women in power right now is-“

“They’re all fucking cunts.” You’d finished for her, and Clark and Jimmy had choked on their beers with impressive comedic timing. “Which is mostly an unfortunate byproduct of the system. It’s hard to be in a significant position of power and be a good person.”

“I don’t know.” Clark had frowned. “I mean, there must be a lot of pressure. And I’m sure they’re not happy with compromising their morals, it just- It must be hard.”

Lois had shrugged. “Or they’re all just cunts.”

“That’s- Seems like a harsh word-“

“Once I was at a congress hearing.” You’d said dryly, and Clark had looked at you with his full, unwavering attention. It had made you more drunk than the beer. “And one of the congresswomen asked why I was betraying American women by supporting bringing such violent rapists into our country. Her husband isn’t allowed within a hundred yards of schools.”

“Oh.” Clark had frowned. “Well, I hope she realizes she can divorce him. Or- Maybe something will get her to turn around? Like an- Intervention?”

Lois had snorted. “What, from God?”

“No, not God, but- I don’t know.” He’d looked at you, his tone so fucking sincere. “I’m sorry she said that to you.”

You’d had to look down to hide your flush. “It’s okay. Happens.”

Clark had frowned, like it shouldn’t. 

But you hadn’t scared him off. 

He’d come to another night of drinks. Then another. Then five more, until Jimmy got sick and Lois had an article due, and it was just you and him, sitting across from a booth so small your knees bumped, and hands brushed with every gesture. 

“So, why journalism?” You’d asked. “You don’t seem to have the same passion for it that Lois does.”

He’d chuckled, pushing up his glasses. “No, I guess I don’t. And I don’t know, I like talking to people. Hearing their stories. Nice, stable career, you know?”

You’d opened your mouth, but barely spoken before Clark has shaken his head. 

“Wait, you probably don’t know, do you. You’re passionate about everything you do.”

“I- Yeah. I am.” You’d swallowed, and he’d kept saying those things like they were obvious. Looking at you like you’re fascinating. Like he could see right through you, and whatever was in there, he liked. “I mean, I like what I do, but I do it because I want to do more.”

Clark had nodded, taking a slow drink of his beer. “Bigger ambitions, huh?”

“Yeah. Do you just-“ You’d frowned. “Not have those?”

“I hate to break it to you,” he’d said your name with a small grin. “Most people don’t. Almost all the folks I know aren’t necessarily happy with what they got, but they’re not lookin’ to make the Earth spin clockwise.”

You’d blinked at him. “What?”

“Sorry, that’s just- Something my Pa says.” He’d blushed, looking down to the table. “I’m trying to say it’s admirable. To want to change things and actually, uh- Do it.”

“Thanks.” You’d whispered, and he’d grinned. 

“No problem. Mind if I guess your ambition?”

Normally, you would’ve minded. But it was Clark. And you’d sort of been desperate to know what he thought of you. “Be my guest.”

“President. Or- Actually.” He’d examined you, slowly and with an element of light, playful amusement that had made you giggle. “United Nations, but maybe still Congress?”

You’d laughed, shaking your head, and Clark had raised his brows.

“Am I close?”

“Maybe.” You’d hummed, holding his gaze as you take a drink. “But I’d rather eat glass than go into politics.”

“Ah, right. Sorry.” He’d grinned. “Just got caught up in the idea of you showing that rude congress woman what a good person looks like.”

Your grip had tightened on your bottle. “You think I’m a good person?”

“Yeah.” He’d shrugged. “Of course.”

Of course. 

You let the conversation keep going. Clark had told you about some game he and Jimmy went to, and how he’s pretty sure Jimmy’s sick because a supermodel was slobbering over him all afternoon. You’d told him about how you’d won a big litigation about your case, and smiled at your fingers when he’d made a big, happy deal about it. And the night had flashed by until it was almost two in the morning, and you’d been kicked out the bar.

And Clark had asked if you wanted him to walk you home, and you’d said no. 

Not because you hadn’t. 

But you’d wanted to see Superman. 

Because you aren’t a good person.

That night, Superman had landed on the sidewalk next to you, and you’d smiled at your fingers. 

“You’re late.”

“Sorry,” he’d fallen into pace so fast beside you. “Got busy.”

“If people need saving-“

“No, I was just talking to someone important.”

You’d hummed. “Oh? Can you tell me, or is it classified super business?”

He’d laughed. It had been a few months, and it wasn’t making your heart skip any less. “Super business, I’m afraid. Actually, I have a question for you.

“I might have an answer.”

“Alright, well- If you could be a meta, like me-“

You’d mock gasped. “You’re a meta? Why did you tell me?”

“Very funny.” His voice had been flat, but you’d been able to hear the amusement, and it had made you shine. “I just want to know what kind of powers you’d want to have.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I’m curious, is that not allowed?”

“No.” You’d squinted at him in the dark, he’d stared right back, and your heart had skipped a beat. Shit. “It’s allowed. But it’s suspicious.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll try to be less suspicious in the future.” 

“Thank you.” You’d paused, thinking about his question, and you’d been walking closers and closer lately. Almost as close as you’d been to Clark, in the bar. 

And you’re a horrible person. 

“I think I’d like to be able to speak any language.” You’d told Superman, speaking slowly. “But like, any language. Plants and computers and animals, too. Understand and talk to all of them. If it’s communication, I’d be able to do it.”

“Ah. That’s one of the best ones I’ve heard.” Superman had smiled at you in the dark, and you hadn’t even needed to ask. “I might know someone who’d like his power to be knowing the weather.”

“Knowing the weather, like-“

“Just a weatherman. With total accuracy.” Superman had smiled to himself. “I know it’s ridiculous, but it makes him happy.”

You’d kept walking, and talking, and laughing until you reached your apartment. Then you’d waved to him from your window, and he’d vanished back into the night. 

The next day, there had been a knock on your door. You’d opened it to find Clark, shifting on his feet with a book in his hands and a nervous smile.

You’d frowned at him. “How do you know where I live.”

“Oh, uh- I-“ He’d cleared his throat, something like alarm flashing over his face. “You’re not going to like it. I, um- I sort of stole your contact from Lois. And she had it, so- Now I have it.”

He’d been beet red, and you might have pushed it if he didn’t look like he was about to make himself pass out. 

So you’d just nodded, watching him carefully. “And… Why are you here?”

He’d let out a sharp breath, holding up the book. “Just want to give you this. I don’t know if you have time to take care of a plant- You’re so busy I’m guessing you don’t- Which isn’t bad, but-“

“Clark-“

“They’re pressed flowers.” He’d said quickly, opening the book for you to see. “My Ma taught me how to make them. To celebrate winning your case.”

You’d stared between him and the flowers, your eyes starting to sting because that was so fucking sweet, and you want to sink teeth and claws into his pretty face, or maybe just let him tear you apart, or- 

Just keep growing. Up and up, into whatever kinder, softer thing Clark is made of.

That had terrified you. 

“I- I won a litigation of my case.” You’d whispered, voice breaking, and Clark had shrugged.

“Still worth celebrating.” He’d said softly, and that had felt like a dose. You never wanted him to go too far, where you wouldn’t be able to find him. 

You’d put his flowers in your bedside drawer. And the sticky notes Superman’s been leaving keep building up.

Bar night after bar night, you lose track of time with Clark, because you don’t want him to go, but you still let Superman walk you home. 

You stare at the flowers and notes in your drawer, and you might be forgetting how to not smile at either of them. 

And worst of all, you don’t really want to remember at all.

———

The world is spinning. 

And you giggle to yourself, because the world is always spinning. Always going round and round and right back to where it started, but a million miles away, and now you can just feel it. 

Either because of the many, many drinks you’d slammed down in an attempt to soften some sort of self-sharpening edge, or because of Clark’s proximity. 

“Oh, gosh.” He catches you around the waist, as you walk up the stairs, and you giggle again. “Let’s slow down, I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Aw.” You smile, wiggling around to face him. “You care about me.”

Clark frowns. “You know I care about you. I don’t think I’ve made that a secret- Woah-“

You fall forwards, right into him, and press your face into his neck. 

“You smell good.” You mumble. “Like… rain.”

Clark pauses, hand splayed on your back. “Is that good?”

“I like it.” You whisper, fingers curling on his sleeves. “This jacket is nice.”

“I mean, it’s alright.” He frowns at the jacket, then you. “Do you want it?”

You nod, mostly because your drunken, addled brain isn’t connecting one and one to mean two. 

Clark had asked if you wanted it. You’d been staring at where his button up was slightly undone, as if you’ve never seen bare skin before.

Yes, you want him. So bad it’s making your stomach flip, although that might just been the liquor. 

It’s a heavy, crushing disappointment like titanium, when he just props you carefully against the stairwell wall, and helps you into his jacket. You pout at the floor, trying to savor how it’s warm and smells like him, but now you’re chasing a painting of a ghost that’s haunting you from a foot away. 

You turn, pout deepening, and try to march up the stairs by yourself. 

You trip, because the world is spinning and you don’t have any balance. 

Clark catches you, because the world is spinning and he’s Clark, so it’s just one of those things that happens. 

You fall. He’s there, strong with an arm around your waist.

This time though, he picks you up with a small grunt. 

Something distant and vigilant in your head is wondering why he grunted picking you up but never while carrying you up four flights of stairs. 

It’s drowned out by how warm he is, and how much you want him. 

“Why do people call them guns?” You mumble to yourself, poking his biceps, and Clark frowns. 

“Well, if you asked my Pa, he’d make some joke about them being lady killers, then say that we shouldn’t be killin’ ladies. Should be treating them well.” He chuckles, and you stare up at him because in the florescent light of the hallway, he somehow looks like an angel. 

“I like it when you talk about your parents.” 

Someone needs to put a muzzle on you, before you say anything else truthful and dangerous. 

But stupid, perfect Clark always wants to hear what you’ve got to say. 

“Why?”

“I dunno,” you play with the folds of his collar, as he sets you down on your couch. “Makes you seem real.”

Clark’s brows furrow. “Do you no think I’m real.”

“I think.” You grab the lapels of his shirt, yanking him down to your eye level. “That you are too good.”

“…To be real?”

“Yes.” To be yours. “And no. Can you tell me your cow’s name again.”

“Bessie. What do you think I’m too good for, if it’s not being real-“

“Shhhhhhh.” You press a finger to his lips, frowning out your window. “Oh. No.”

Clark tenses. “What’s wrong.”

“I can’t tell him I’m busy.” You whisper, tears starting to sting at your eyes, and Clark reaches up to carefully brush them away.

“Tell who, sweetheart. I can, uh- I try to pass on a message. If this guy is important to you.”

You don’t understand the frown in his voice. “No. You can’t find him. It’s Superman.” You whisper the last part, and Clark blinks. 

The world is starting to get fuzzy. Everything feels heavy, and it would be nice to maybe go to sleep. 

But Clark says your name, so you slump forward into him as your body demands that you listen.

“You- Um- You know Superman?”

“Yeah.” You mumble against him, pulling his jacket a little tighter. “Walks me home. Why I don’t go with you.”

“Oh.” Clark pauses. “And you’d rather have him? Walk you home, I mean?”

“I dunno. But don’t worry.” You yawn, the world slowly falling down into black. “He’s not real either.” 

———

It had hit you, with the splitting headache of a hangover. You’d stared at yourself in the mirror, and been unable to get it together expect to form one conclusion. 

You love Clark. 

And you open the drawer, and see the flowers and the sticky notes, and know that he deserves far better. Not you. 

Never you. 

Someone good like him. Who does it so easily, and trusts like he does—with everything in him—and can hold his heart in both their hands. 

You can’t.

Because you might be a really bad person. 

Leaning over the roof of your apartment, breath fogging up the air, you wait. For an answer, that only one person can offer you, even if he doesn’t know. 

You’re not sure if either of them know. It would make it a lot easier if one didn’t, and was just friendly.

Or if one felt nothing, and you’d been reading too much into it all. 

That would split you in fucking half. But that feels like it’s going to happen no matter what. 

At least if neither of them want you, you’ll have both pieces to stitch yourself back together. 

But first, you need to know.

“Do I need to tell you not to jump?” Superman says from behind you. “Or are you just trying to talk to me again?”

You smile into the dark, voice a little too soft. “I’m just trying to talk to you.”

“Okay.” You can hear the frown in his voice “And were you going to jump?” 

“No.”

“You know, that time I actually believe you.”

You turn to look at him in the dark, and it never fails to stop your heart, when he smiles at you. You thought you’d get past it. Get used to how it seems to light up the dark.’

But there it is. 

The little skip that you get high on now, because it means he’s looking at you, and there’s never been anything better. 

Or maybe just one thing better. 

Or the same. 

Jesus. You look away, bowing your head to stare at your hands, and Superman clears his throat. 

“Are you feeling okay?” There’s a beat. “Anything I can help with?”

“No. Nothing you can-“ You sigh. “Can I just ask you something?”

“Always.” 

You run your fingers over the rough rock of the roof wall, keeping your eyes fixed on everything below. There are shadows moving down there, people walking the streets alone through the dark. That’s where you belong, not up here. Not where the sun would hit you, golden and bright, when it breaks the horizon. 

Superman mutters your name, and a warmth heats over your skin. 

You push it out, before you can think better. 

“Do you think I have bigger ambitions?”

He’s silent for a moment, then, “What do you mean?”

“Like- With my life. I- I know someone who’s happy with everything he has, he- He knows everything he wants to be, and-“ You swallow, your voice starting to hurt. “I don’t know if I am.”

“Is it your job? Or someone doing something-“

“No, it’s me.” You turn to look at him, pressing your lips tight together, because you won’t cry. “I’m doing too much and I- It’s still not enough, and I- I don’t- I don’t know where I’m going. I feel like I’ve been in the same orbit for so, so long and it was fine but now it isn’t and- I don’t- I’m tired.” Your voice cracks, and Superman takes a small step forward. “I’m barely doing anything, and I’m so tired, and I don’t want to be tired anymore but I don’t know how to- I’ve never-“

Your voice dies, because it’s cracking and if you don’t pull it the fuck together soon, you’re going to cry. 

Superman moves forward in a blink. Wraps his arms around you, and cradles your head to his chest as the tears start to silently roll. 

He just holds you in the dark for so long, and there must be better things for him to be doing, but he’s not trying to move. It’s not until you’re breathing him in at a steady pace, that he loosens his grip enough for you to push back. 

And when you do, he holds your face between his hands, wiping the tears slowly from your eyes. 

“I think you do enough.” He murmurs, and you sniff. “Don’t argue with me about this one. You do. You tell me about work, and you do good things. Thing most people are afraid to, because you don’t seem to have that setting. Whatever rest you want, you deserve, because you,” he says your name, his gaze locked onto yours. “Do more than most anyone I know.”

You wipe your nose with your sleeve, mumbling into the cloth. “Everyone you know probably penguins or something, with where you live.”

“In the Arctic?” He laughs softly, attention on you still so affectionate and tender. “Yeah, I guess I know a few penguins. They’re good guys. One of them got me an icicle for my promotion.”

You frown at him. “Your promotion? You have a boss?”

“I’m my boss. I gave the promotion to myself.”

“That’s so stupid.” You smile at his shoes, and he slowly tips your gaze back up, right onto his. 

“Yeah, but it made you laugh. I’d say it was worth it.”

You take a long, deep breath, and it’s too easy to get lost in him. In this moment. You don’t want to get swept away in it. 

So you press your face to his neck, and just breathe.

He smells a little like rain. Feels a little like a home. 

And it’s not a question anymore. You have your answer. 

You know. 

———

You’re clinging to the walls of the room. Gripping your glass like a lifeline and scanning over the crowd, trying to calculate when it’s going to thin out. 

When you’re going to be able to escape. 

It’s not life or death. You just really don’t want to be here. At the big, important event Metropolis is throwing for the new Bavarian president. You’re not sure if they’re trying to make amends—or a new plan—but you know you’re only here so they can say you’re here. So in the morning they can talk about how they have nothing to hide, and how the tattered relationship of Boravia and Jarhanpur are healing, all because of America. 

You’d told your boss that going was a stupid idea. 

He said you had to, or he’d replace you on the Jarhanpurian refugee case. 

So now you’re standing on the edge of the party, watching it move around you, and trying not to think about anything at all. 

If you think about things, you think about ways out of here. Ways like sneaking up to the roof, and asking Superman to get you out. If you’re not thinking about that, you’re thinking about how the buffet table has the exact type of bread rolls Clark likes, because he’s told you about them multiple times. 

No matter what, you end up feeling like you want to cry. And you don’t, because you’re a fucking professional, but fuck if you don’t want to. 

It’s mostly just lonely. You had a plus one, but you can’t bring yourself to ask Clark if this is anything—not when you’re sort of always looking out the window—and you ended up going alone. 

That’s probably how this is going to end anyway. 

Might as well get in some fucking practice. 

Someone calls your name from across the room, and you brace for the impact of some Boravian diplomat about to berate you or an ambassador who’s going to make stunted conversation trying to convince you that you’re a bad person. You don’t need them to do that—you’re already so fucking good at doing it yourself—so they’re just going to be wasting everyone’s time. 

But it’s not a cruel, taunting diplomat.

It’s Jimmy, pulling a nervous looking Clark behind him. 

“Hey!” Jimmy stops right in front of you, and it takes a Herculean amount of effort to look at him and not Clark. “Why are you here, I thought they’d be trying to stop you from knowing this is even happening.” 

“I think it’s a weird chess move.” You turn your glass in your hands, and measure out the perfect amount of time to wait before you look up and give Clark a smile. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He responds so quickly, he looks a little surprised with himself. “I- Uh- Are you at least liking the food?”

“It’s fine.” You shrug. “They have the bread rolls you like.”

Clark blushes, fidgeting with his tie. “I know, we- Uh- We’ve been here a bit-“

“Clark ate a whole basket of them.” Jimmy tells you, and you can’t stop your soft laugh. “Then he got upset because he thought he might have taken them away from everyone else-“

“But I didn’t.” Clark jumps in quickly. “They put another basket out- I can go get you one. Do you want one?”

You don’t give a fuck about bread rolls. “Yes, please.”

Clark stands a little taller now that he’s got a mission, and smiles at you before he vanishes into the crowd. He’s left you tapping your nails on your champagne glass, giving Jimmy a tight smile. 

“What are you guys doing here?” You ask, and Jimmy shrugs. 

“Lois wants this and the protests about this covered. She decided to do the protests, gave me the event. I,” he holds up a press badge. “Am working.”

“You and Clark?”

“He’s interested in this kind of thing.”

“He is?” You frown at the crowd, and Jimmy nods. 

“Guess he doesn’t talk about it with you. Invasions and genocide aren’t romantic at all.”

Your heart moves into your throat. “They aren’t- What-“

“Hey, has he asked you his power question yet?” Jimmy cuts you off, mostly looking out at the crowd, and you frown. 

“His what?”

“Past few months he’s been asking like, everyone we know what power they’d want as a meta.” Jimmy shoves his hands in his pockets, giving you a curious expression. “Started when he was talking to Lois about if she thought Superman being able to hear everything is weird. Then he asked her what power she would want, then he asked me, then he called his parents or something- I don’t know what’s up it, but it’s a pretty good question.”

“It… is.” You frown, and there’s that thing in the back of your head. The one that had been drowned out by liquor, then pain, but now how nothing but noise around it. And it’s getting louder. “What’s Clark’s answer?”

“Um- I don’t think he’s actually said.” Jimmy shrugs, then gives you a winning grin. “But I’d know the weather. If you want to know.”

“You’d know the weather.”

“Yeah, like a weatherman, but I’m always right.”

“That’s pointless, Jimmy.”

“To you, maybe. I would figure out how to turn it into a fortune.”

You open and close your mouth, the something in your head getting louder, but it doesn’t turn into words before Clark reappears through the crowd, holding two of the not small bread rolls in one hand.  

“I got them.” He says you name, and your stupid stomach does a happy, traitorous little flip. “Here, I got you butter as well, in case you want to use that.”

He shoves the rolls into your hands, holding your gaze, and your fingers brush. He’s standing so close, he doesn’t need to be this close, but you never want him to move away-

“Clark,” Jimmy mock gasps. “Did you get two so she could give you one?”

“I- No, of course not-“

“I’m just teasing you, man.” Jimmy claps him on the back, scanning out over the crowd. “Alright, I gotta go do my job, or Lois is gonna crucify me.”

Clark wrinkles his nose. “I think that’s a little dramatic-“

“It’s not dramatic enough, and you know it.” Jimmy grins between you and Clark. “Be safe, kids. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

You want to grab him, before he disappears into the crowd. Not because you don’t want to be alone with Clark, but because you do. More than almost anything. So you need a buffer, before you do something stupid. 

But Jimmy vanishes, and you have to stuff a bread roll into your mouth to occupy it. Clark just stands next to, still far too close, making your head fucking spin. 

He clears his throat, voice low enough that only you can hear, and you might be leaning into his gravity. 

“You must hate this.” He mutters, and you swallow. 

“I don’t like it.” You mumble, and—because now there’s no bread to block your sappy feelings from spilling out of your mouth—add, “It’s better now, though.”

Clark raises his brows. “Yeah?”

You nod, shoving the second bread roll into your mouth, and Clark won’t stop looking at you. Like you’re the sunrise, as your cheeks push out like a chipmunk and your lipstick smudges slightly. 

Even his voice has a kind of soft reverence, when he speaks. “Do you like them? The bread rolls.”

“They’re good,” you try to say through the mouthful, but it comes out more of a wordless grumble, and you stare at Clark for a moment before you both start laughing. 

It shatters whatever strange tension had just bene in the air. Everything flows smoother, as you talk about the food and drinks and how made up this whole thing is. Clark compliments your dress and you’ve never felt warmer. You think you could go out into the dead, winter night and still feel this warm. 

The air is getting lighter and lighter. You might be in danger of floating away.

“So,” you give him a curious look, and he mirrors it. 

“So?”

“Jimmy says you’re interested in all these events.”

“Oh. Well- I guess I am, yeah.” He’s watching you carefully, words slower than usual. “I just like to know what’s going on in the world. Part of my job, right?”

You hum. “Aren’t most of your articles about Superman?”

He coughs. “Yeah, well, he’s interested in this too. You know how everything went down, with Boravia. He likes to keep tabs on it. And I like to know what I’m probably going to talk to him about.”

The thing is starting to ring in your ears. “How often do you talk to him?”

“I don’t know, every few nights?” Clark smiles, but it’s more taut than usual. Almost nervous. “How often is too often?”

He’s saying it like it’s a joke. 

You’re not sure it is. 

“I mean, you talk to him. He’s a great guy to talk to. Right?” He gives you a strange look, and you sigh.

“He is, yeah. But I don’t interview him.”

“Yes you- I mean, you interviewed him for your case, right?”

“Maybe.” You shrug, narrowing your eyes, and Clark coughs. 

“Well, I don’t get why it’s a big thing, right. I’m interested in things. He’s interested in things. You’re interested in things. And- Yeah. We’re all interested in the same things, and we talk about them, and- I mean, he must have mentioned to you as some point how he talks to me all the time. Mutual friend.” He pauses. “I’ve told him about you.”

You tilt your head at him, lips pressed tight together. “You have.”

“Yeah? I mean, after we talk shop, sometimes he asks how life is, and- I’ve told him about you, and he- He also really likes you-“

“You really like me?”

Clark’s ears go red, and you feel a little guilty—you’re sort of treating him like a hostile witness—but the thing in your head is so fucking close to piecing itself together, you just need to push a little more.

“Yeah, I like you.” He gives you a small grin, pushing up his glass. “But- Superman does to. You’re the best, and- We talk about you all the time.”

You just keep staring at him, because that should make you feel sick. The two men you love, talking about you without you there, when you don’t even know which one you’d want forever. 

But it’s just making you suspicious. Because there’s something so slightly fucking off. 

“Superman has never once mentioned you, Clark.” You say carefully, and  he winces. 

“Ouch. I mean, all is fair in- You know-“

“Love and war?” You finish, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him more nervous. “Which part of this is which?”

He stares at you, mouth hanging slightly open, and right before you’re about to find the words, the world finds them for you. 

Clark’s head shoots up, drawing up to his full height, and pushes his glasses up his nose as he looks over the crowd. And there’s this smallest fucking shift in all your thoughts, as if a veil is being lifted. 

They have the same fucking face. 

You don’t know how you missed it, but they have the same fucking face. 

Your mouth barely opens to tell him that you know, before the first gunshots ring through the air. Clark grabs you around your waist, and the world turns into a rushing, cold blur. You’re not even sure what’s happening, besides your arms wrapping around his neck and the air being knocked from your lungs. 

Then you’re outside, in the freezing cold. Clark steadies you with wide eyes, pulling off his jacket and dumping it into your hands. 

“Put this on and go home.” He mutters, words so fast you almost don’t catch them. “Take a cab, don’t walk. I’ll pay for it, I just- I can’t go with you tonight- I’m sorry-“

You gape at him. “Go with- Clark, what the fuck-“

“I’m sorry.” He repeats, and shoots off into the night. 

Flies off into the night. 

Leaving you alone, on the cold street, with his jacket strangled in your hands and the world upside down. 

———

You’re pacing outside his door. You have been for almost an hour, waiting for him to get home. 

He’ll have to be back soon. It’s past five, you don’t think he has plans tonight, and even if he doesn’t he’d probably have to stop back home to get something.

It’s okay. 

You can wait. 

You have the week off, because your boss feels back for putting you in the middle of a terrorist attack. When he’d told you, he’d looked at you like he expected you to protest. 

Normally, you would have. Slowing down wasn’t the thing to do, not when you were so close to the finish line—even if it kept moving further and further away—and a single faltered step or second to breathe might lead to you falling so far behind. 

But this isn’t a normal week. 

And Superman said you deserve some rest, so you’re listening to him. 

It’s just that rest might not mean the same thing to you that it meant to him. Rest meant answers. Rest meant three days combing over older Superman reports, and drawing out a timeline of Clark’s life to see if things lined up, and writing down everything either of them have ever said to you, to see what lined up. 

And it did. 

Of course it did. It all falls together an avalanche, leaving you standing in to rubble and looking to the sky and wondering how you ever fucking missed it. 

He says your name, and you turn to see Clark staring at you from down the hall, grip white-knuckled on his bag. 

“Clark.” Your voice sounds faraway and cool. You don’t want to be a bitch to him. 

You don’t know how else to be. 

“Are you alright?” He takes a half-step forward, and you wrap your arms around your stomach. Of course he’s just worried about you. Asshole. “I wanted to come check on you, I promise. There’s just been a lot to deal with, and- I wasn’t sure if…” He clears his throat, watching you nervously as you just stare at him. “You’d want to see me?”

“Really?” You raise your chin. “Why wouldn’t I want to see you, Clark?”

“Um...” He glances around the hallway. “Why don’t you tell me, and we can see if we have the same reasons?”

“No, I think you should tell me first.”

“It’s just- I don’t think I should, because what if our reasons aren’t the same and mine sounds crazy-“

“Is your reason that I know?” You snap, narrowing your eyes. “Because I know.”

Clark stares at you for a long, wired moment, then lets out a long, defeated breath. “Can we do this inside, please?”

You nod, and step off to the side so he can open the door. Clark gives you another one of his small, nervous smiles as he brushes past you, and it doesn’t feel any different from before. When he’d sat too close to you at the bar. 

Or stood to close, on the street. 

That’s the worst part of it. Is not you’re not angry, or bitter, or heartbroken. You just feel stranded. Like you’re hanging over a pit and trying to work out if it’s worth falling, or trying to claw your way back out. 

Because if you’re right—and you are—you could have something. Everything. What you’ve spent so much time on, convince yourself that it really wasn’t going to matter. 

But once you have it, it’s real. Something you can lose. Something you can fuck up or neglect or break. 

It’s a good thing. 

Clark—taking your jacket because he’s a stupid gentleman and brushing warm hands on your upper arm—is a good thing. He’s the good thing, the one that everyone looks to for hope, that everyone wants. The god among men, who leaves you little sticky notes and fumbles all his words and makes you trust his every compliment because he always says them like they’re just obvious truths. 

And you can’t figure out how to hold that in your hands, even if you get to use both. 

You don’t know how to wrap your head around the idea that you could just have something good.

“So.” Clark takes a step back, as if he’s trying to offer you space. “You, uh- You know.”

You nod. “Yeah.”

“And I’m guessing you figured it out after…” He trails off, and you sigh. 

“After you flew me outside, then took off like a rocket? Yeah, Clark, that kind of gave it away.”

He frowns. “You didn’t know before?”

“I had a theory.” You mumble, and his brows furrow. 

“But you didn’t know.”

You shake your head, and he groans.

“Darn it, I- I was really sure you knew. Wouldn’t have done that if- Shoot-“

“Clark.” You raise your voice, hugging yourself tighter, and he freezes. “Am I right?”

“Uh-“

“Are you Superman?”

“I-“ He lets out a slow breath, and nods. “Yeah.” 

Clark seems to lock your gaze to his as he reaches up, and slowly pulls off his glasses. 

It’s such a small shift. He stands a little taller, even as his features remain nervous and weary, and his face seems to almost shift. It’s the same face—you know, logically, that’s it’s the same face—but it’s like your head couldn’t fully connect the two into one, couldn’t hold them at the same time. 

But you can now.

And your mouth falls open as Superman stares at you with an almost fearful expression. 

“I- How?”

“The glasses?” He glances down to them with a frown. “Well, they’re hypnoglasses, so-“

“No, I mean- How did I not know?” You take a step back, shaking your head. “I- I talked to you every day and every night and it took me months to put it together, and that was only after I realized- Fuck-“

“Don’t- Wait-“ Clark takes a large step forward, arms twitching like he wants to reach for you. “The glasses make sure you don’t know, that’s the point of them, and it’s not like I told you-“

“Why?” Your voice is rising, and you take another step back. “Why are you telling me now, why- Why did you keep coming to me as Superman when I was talking to you as Clark, why- Which one of you is the real one-“

“Both. Both are real, there wasn’t- I’ve always been both- And I just wanted, I guess any reason to talk to you, so I sort off just indulged both, and-“ He takes another step forward, and you take another one back. “Can you please stop walking away? I know that you’re mad at me, and I- I understand, but- Please, just listen-“

“Why didn’t you hate me?” You blurt before you can stop yourself, everything rising so fast up your throat like an eruption, and Clark freezes. 

“I couldn’t hate you.”

You shake your head, your back hitting the wall. “No, I- I was talking to both you and- You at the same time, and- I was-“ You cut yourself off, pressing further back, and Clark takes a smaller step forward.

“Are you worried that I was jealous of myself?”

You nod weakly, and Clark sighs.

“No,” he says your name, voice firm, and takes another step. “I mean- No. I mean, I thought about it. Which one would make you happier. But I kept finding that you were always happy, and I- I thought maybe if I told you, you’d be happy. And we could laugh about it, and you’d say something- Uh-“ He stops, barely a foot away. “I mean, it’s kind of stupid now.”

“What?” You whisper, and Clark frowns.

“Do you really want me to say it?”

You nod, and he runs a hand over his face.

“Just maybe- Like- I love you either way. Both ways. I want you both ways, and wow, what a great way this worked out, that I get to love both of you, because you’re the same person. How convenient.” His ears are a little red, and he mumbles. “Most of it was just going to be you saying you love me.”

You swallow. “How do you know I love you?”

“I- uh- I don’t? I mean, I do have a reason, but it might be not- Sound. And if I’m wrong, that’s fine and we can forget the whole thing, but-” He takes a half-step forward. “Your heart. It goes really fast, when I’m near you, and, uh-“ He coughs, eyes darting down your body. “I can- Sometimes- Not that I’m trying to, but it just- It happens, and I can’t control it-“

“Clark-“

“I can smell you.” He mumbles, and your eyes widen. “So- I know there’s something. Might be wrong about love, though.” He looks at you under hooded eyes, and your face might be burning. “Am I wrong?”

You want to tell him that he’s not wrong. To tell him that he’s not wrong, that you’ve loved him for longer than you care to say aloud, and fell for both version because it was him. It wasn’t just a craving not to be alone anymore, it was him. Your heart moved in the same rhythm because it was playing the same song. Love for Clark. 

But you don’t want to mess it up. Say it wrong. Open your mouth and just start crying, because it’s so sweet and embarrassing all at once. 

So you just push out, in barely a breath. “Do you want to be wrong?”

“No.” He answers so fast, and your nails dig into your sides. 

“And- What would you have said?” You blink at him slowly, choosing every word so carefully. “In your… dream scenario?”

“That I love you, too.” He takes another step forward, and you don’t flinch away. There’s nowhere to run anyway. No reason to. “That I’ve wanted to tell you the whole time, because I don’t like lying to you but- I just wanted to make sure.”

“Make sure?” You frown. “What, that I wouldn’t- Turn you in?”

Clark’s eyes widen. “What? Gosh no, I- I just wanted to check that you felt the same and that- I don’t know, it would be worth it. Not that you’re not worth it. That me telling you would just- End in nothing. That I wouldn’t be putting you in that danger just to have gotten caught up in my feelings.”

You swallow, scanning over his open, handsome features. He means every word he says. He always does. 

And you have to ask. 

“Is it worth it?” 

Clark nods, giving you a small grin. “Yeah. I’d say it is.”

You nod, staring at each other in the dark, and the moment maybe drags on for a million years. Or only a second. It doesn’t matter, because you’re here. With Clark standing over you, one of his arms braced next to your head and the other slowly, lightly tracing up your arm. And he loves you. 

So you could waste away, and it would feel like you were drowning in daylight the whole time. 

“Can I kiss you.” Clark whispers, and you nod. 

“Yes, please.”

His hand trails up, sending shivers through your body and making your knees weak, and ends up resting on your face. He stares at you with such open affection and reverence, it’s going to put you in danger of crying again. 

When he dips down, he just brush a soft, warm kiss over your cheek, and you grab a fistful of his shirt. 

“Sorry.” He tries to lean back, eyes wide. “I- Uh- I should’ve asked you what you wanted, sweetheart, I’m sorry-“

“Clark.” You hold his panicked gaze, feeling his muscles flex as his breathing grows heavy. “I want you. Just- Touch me.”

His eyes dart down to your lips, voice hoarse. “Touch you?”

You nod, and his throat bobs. 

“How much?”

“All of it.” You try to sound commanding, but it’s just sort of coming off needy. 

He doesn’t seem to mind.

“All of it.” He echoes, and slowly leans down to ghost his lips over you. It makes your whole body light up, just from such a light touch, and you try to yank him down but he’s stronger. Doesn’t even budge an inch.

“Clark-“

“Are you sure you can take all of it?” He murmurs, lips still brushing over yours, and it’s not a challenge. It’s just a question of pure, true concern. “I mean, we can try, but if you want to stop, during any of it, you can just tell me and I’m never going to take it personally. Okay?”

You stare at him, and Jesus, you might be about to fall over just from that. He’s so close. He can’t be this close and just do nothing.

“Can you, uh- Just say that you want it, please?” Clark looks a little worried, his thumb tracing over your lower lip, and you smile. 

“I want it.” You give him a small smirk. “Please.”

He stares at you for a moment, eyes flashing with something dark, and his voice drops to an octave you’ve never even heard it before. 

“Alright.” He murmurs, and you suddenly realize exactly how pinned you are between him and the wall. “Whatever you want, baby.”

You barely get a second to process what that means, before Clark’s pulling you up into a long, deep, hot kiss. It’s consuming. Sets of every nerve in your body with how carefully he moves, how deliberately he holds you. How you feel both weightless and burning, in his arms and under his attention. His mouth works quickly against yours, like he’s been starved for it, all as his hands find a respectful place to rest on your body—under your thigh and around your back—and seems to be carefully holding back his weight over you. 

It unravels you so fast. Lights a fire in your gut and makes your legs spread. Your hips grind for more friction, broken sounds of need falling from your lips. Clark dips down to kiss your neck and shoulders, and you yank on his hair when his hand on the back of your thigh slowly starts to rub higher and higher. 

“Clark- Oh-“ You gasp as his knee pushes up between your thighs, and start to fuck yourself desperately against him. “God, please-“

“I know.” He mumbles, pressing a soft kiss over your lips. “I’ve got you, I’ll make it feel good, just-“ He grabs your hips, starting to drag them as a slightly different, rougher angle, and your head falls back with a moan. “There you go.”

His voice is gentle and deep in your ear, and he keeps kissing you almost anywhere he can reach, as you keep chasing release against him. 

A loud, broken whine falls from your lips when he pulls away, right before your release. 

“Sorry.” Clark kisses you again, groaning when you try to bite on his lower lip. “Just give me a moment, baby don’t want to do it here, and- Come on-“

He scoops you fully into his arms, bridal style, and you squeak as the air rushes past you. There’s barely a moment to register what’s happening before you’re flat on your back in a soft bed, and Clark is kissing you into the mattress.

His bed. 

You’re in his bed. 

But somehow, everything that’s happening feels like yours. 

Clark is so sweet. With everything he does, he’s just good and sweet, and it’s going to drive you out of your mind. He asks again, before taking off your clothing, and when you nod feverishly, he kisses you again with a smile on his lips. 

“You’re so pretty.” His hand rests carefully in your hair, and he pushes the kiss a little deeper. “You’re going to look even prettier when you cum, sweetheart, probably like a painting.”

You flush, a small moan escaping your lips, because somehow Clark just saying something like cum is dirtier talk than anything you’ve heard in your life. 

He catches it. Of course he is. 

He’s paying such good attention to you, rubbing a hand on your hips and letting you grind up against his bulge. Every few moments, his hand will trail up your side right as the need in pussy starts to unbearably ache, and it will offer a brief respite that just falls into more need. 

It’s like he’s trying to learn everything, with almost nothing. 

And worst of all, it’s working. 

Clark leans up, watching you with a curious expression. “Do you want me to fuck you?”

Your mouth falls open, his words rushing straight into your dripping cunt, and Clark’s nostrils flare. 

“Yeah?” He leans down, the hand on your waist slowly moving to draw big circles on your hips. “Do you like it when I say dirty things?” He says your name, voice still so gentle, and you like to sink into the sheets forever. 

“Maybe.” You whisper, trying not to squirm as his hand moves slowly between your legs, rubbing against your inner thighs without ever touching where so you desperately need him. “But- I you don’t want to-“

Clark leans down, silencing you with a deep, hot kiss, and devouring your moan as his palm finally presses against your cunt. 

He groans over you, starting to rub it back and forth at such a tortuous pace, and your mouth falls open in a long plea. 

“Oh my god- Please- I- I can’t- I need more-“

“Relax, baby. I’ll give you more.” He mutters, and when you try to wiggle below him, all it takes a deeper press of his palm, and you’re trapped. “I’ll give you anything, don’t worry about me.”

You hum, and his words are like a drug. You don’t have to worry. You can just relax, because Clark says to, and he doesn’t say anything that isn’t true. 

“Do you like your clothing?” He kisses a spot below your ear, words rolling through your body, and you barely shake your head before you hear the rip. 

There’s not even a second to feel cold, before all of Clark’s heat is over you. He seems to have taken his clothing with yours—cock pressing against your pussy, back strong beneath your hands as you try to map out his body—and you’re so quickly lost in the feeling of just being close to him. Kisses over your face as he ruts against you and holds you with such care.

You’re going to implode, though, if he doesn’t touch you properly. And you’re about to start begging when suddenly Clark is pulling you both upright, so you’re falling over his chest and sat in his lap. 

Clark grunts, as you writhe above him, and your eyes flick down. 

You might be drooling. He’s palming himself with strict, controlled movements, his face pressed into your neck as he sucks dark marks on your throat. 

“Is it…” You trail off, words broken up by a moan as Clark finds a sensitive spot. “Do- Is that part of Kryptonian- Fuck-“

Your back arches, as Clark’s hand moves to your dripping pussy, slowly sliding two fingers inside and crooking them right against that deep, hyper-sensitive spot. 

“Don’t know.” He mumbles. “Never checked. Shit, you’re so soft, and-“ He grunts as you clench around his finger. “I’m going to wreck you, sweetheart, going to play this sweet pussy until it’s soaking my cock-“

“Clark-“ You whine. “Fucking- Don’t just say that-“

“Why not?” He smiles against your skin, starting to kiss his way back over your face. “You like it, don’t you. Want it all.” He pulls his finger out, and before you can grab his wrist, he spanks your pussy. Just once, lightly, not enough to cause more than a sting. But enough to make you yelp a prayer of his name. 

“Oh- I-“ You go limp as he does it again, and you meet his hooded, arduous gaze with a soft whine. “Yes, Clark, God-“

He just keeps watching you. Grinding and rolling above him as he traces his thumb around your clit, then drags his fingers through your dripping folds.

He brings you arousal, gathered on his fingers, up to his mouth. 

Licks it clean, with a low, guttural sound from his chest. 

“So damn good.” He mutters, before pressing his thumb lightly to your mouth. “I swear I don’t think you’re real sometimes, sweetheart, you’re so- God-“ 

He groans as you suck on his thumb, moaning at the taste of your own need for him, and Clark drags you into a long, rough kiss. Falls flat on his back and starts to jerk his hips up into you, cock brushing torterously on your clit. 

“Clark.” Your fingers scratch at his chest. “Please-“

“Right. Uh- C’mon.” He grabs your ass, shifting you so that he can see your puffy, soaked cunt, and nods to himself. “That’s good, yeah- Hold on, baby. Relax.”

You nod, but no amount of sweet words could’ve prepared you for this. How fucking good it feels as he lifts you up like it’s nothing, and slowly drags you down onto his cock. He’s splitting you open and moaning as he does it, looking up at you like you’re an angel while filling you up so good you can’t remember your own name. 

He gives you a long moment to adjust, both your breathes ragged, an almost growling noise escaping his lips when you flutter around him. 

You pout down at him, trying to drag yourself back and forth for a little friction, and that’s all it takes to get Clark moving. 

He’s not going to let you do this yourself. He holds you by your hips and guides you back and forth on his cock, hitting every single spot inside of you, rutting up every few moments to kiss your cervix, and- Fuck-

“God, yes-“ You moan, throwing your head back as your dragged right up to the edge. “Clark- Yes, fuck- Feel so fucking big-“

He groans your name. “Don’t- If you keep talking I’m gonna- Fuck-“

“What?” You giggle breathily, and Clarks hands are going to leave bruises on you in the morning. It’s still not feeling him enough. “Fill me up? Fuck me stupid?”

Clark groans, twitching inside of you. “God, you got fuckin’ how much I- I wanna-“

“You said you’d give me everything.” You whisper, looking at him with your best glossy, needy eye. “I want all of you, Clark, please- Make me feel it, show me how much you- Oh-“

He flips you like you’re nothing, drawing out fully before slamming back in, and swallows the scream of his name with a harsh kiss. 

“I’ll make you feel it, pretty girl.” He mutters, setting a rough, unforgiving pace. “Love you so much, I wanted to go slow, but- You want to get cockdrunk, don’t you. Want to stop using that big brain and just feel good.” 

You moan, already so close to the edge. “Clark, please-“

“I told you, baby.” The kiss he gives you is almost taunting, with how he’s wrecking your cunt. “I’ll give you whatever you want.”

And he does. 

Clark fucks into you like he’s trying to leave a mark. Every kiss on your lips and face and neck seem made to brand you, and his hand worship your body with such care, but every touch is firm and certain. He maps your body with his hands and thrusts into you with such borderline fervor, you don’t think you’re ever going to feel anything but Clark again. It’s the only word you know. The prayer that falls from your lips, over and over until you’re shaking and burning like a live-wire, desperate for just some release. 

Before you can even beg for it, Clark’s thumb finds your clit, and starts to rub it at an inhuman speed. 

“Cum for me, darling.” He almost growls in your ear. “Show me how good it feels, fucking say my name-“

You scream, just as he wanted to, and almost white-out as your orgasm wrecks through your body. Your pussy squeezes around Clark, overwhelmed and dripping with his perfect abuse of your pleasure, and he moans in your ear as he cums. You might have passed out for a second, from the feeling of him holding you so tight, fucking you through both your orgasms and muttering your name, over and over as you float down. 

He helps you clean up. Of course he does. Uses a warm cloth on the mess between your thighs, before carrying you to the bathroom. Starts the shower as you pee, then coaxes you into the warm shower, because you’re going to be sore in the morning. 

You have to convince him to get in with you. You’re pretty sure trying not to make assumptions, or take advantage of you. 

So ask him if you can stay, and try not to feel too big when he nods eagerly. 

But you have him. 

All of him. 

And you’ve maybe never felt more peaceful than when you’re folded back in his arms, just resting in his bed. 

“Was that good?” He mutters in your ear, and it’s not fair. How perfect he is. 

You nod weakly, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Yeah, did you-“

“It was amazing.” He turns his head to kiss your cheek, warm breath fanning over your cheek as he laughs. “Probably should’ve told you sooner, if this is what it got me.”

“Maybe.” You whisper. “But we’re still here, right?”

“Yeah.” Clark hums. “And I- I think I’m just happy I get to love you at all.”

You push on his chest to look at him, and when he smiles, you smile right back. 

“I’m happy, too. And I- I do love you.” You lean down, letting your nose bump against his. “So much.”

Clark grins, pulling you down into a full, slow and lazy kiss, and you bask in it. The warmth on his body, and the light, happy feeling in your chest. Sinking deeper and deeper in, making you know that you don’t really need to see through the dark of Clark’s room. 

You have him. 

And that makes everything clear.

Someone is watching you. You can feel it, prickling on the back of your neck and making your stomach do odd, little flips. Like it’s trying to pull you in the direction of the attention, even though you can’t think of one good reason for someone to be looking at you.

You’re hiding at your desk, head down, typing fast enough to make the clacking sounds almost louder than the music in your ears. Nobody bothers you when you’re focused like this. People don’t really bother you period. Not at work, when you’re purposefully drowning everything else out. 

But you can feel someone. 

And when you pause, just to scan around the office and check that you’re not insane, everyone’s eyes are on their own computers or each other. Jimmy and Lois are having a low conversation near the coffee. Cat is examining her nails while snapping at someone on the phone. Steve is laughing at something on his phone—a little too loudly, in the boisterous, fake way that always makes you pretty sure he’s not actually seeing anything funny, and just wants someone to come talk to him—while Perry watches the TV with a focused frown, and Clark stares at his computer. 

Just stares at it. Doesn’t type. Doesn’t scroll.

He’s probably just reading something, very intently, over and over. 

You look back to your own computer, and call it paranoia. 

That would be why your skin feels raw, when you start to type again. Nobody’s watching you—and you check again, just to make sure—and you’re just paranoid. 

You’ve been oddly paranoid lately, so it’s tracking. You’re checking the locks of your windows and doors three or four times before you go to bed, like you’re in Gotham. You keep running back up the stairs after you try to leave for work, just to make sure you closed the door. When you walk down the street your gaze lingers on longer shadows, and you look up to the sky as if you’re checking for something. 

You’re not. 

You don’t even know what you’d be looking for. 

All you do know is that you feel like someone is watching you, but they’re not. That you’re paranoid, but it’s likely lack of sleep. 

You haven’t really been sleeping, either. Your bed has felt too cold, lately. Too empty. You haven’t been able to bring yourself to even lie in it for more than twenty minutes at a time, resorting to trying to sleep on the couch. 

Which is probably why your back always hurts, now. 

It hasn’t been a good few weeks. Everything has felt off.

But it’ll pass.

Hopefully. 

It’s not, but hopefully, it will. 

Someone taps on your shoulder, and you almost jump out of your skin, hand flying out in a faster reaction than you can process. 

You smack Jimmy in the jaw, and he stumbles back with wide eyes.

“Oh my god, I’m-“ You yank off your headphones, reaching out nervously. “Jimmy, I’m so, so sorry, you scared me, I’m- I don’t know why I did that, I’m so-“

“Jesus, stop apologizing.” Jimmy gives you a small grin, dropping his hand from where a red mark is starting to form. “I’m alright. Made of steel, you know me.”

You blink at him, and suddenly feel a little dizzy.

“You don’t need to get me a band-aid, sweetheart. They don’t say I’m made of steel because it sounds cool.” 

“I, um-“ You shake your head, giving Jimmy another apologetic look. “Do you want some ice?”

“Nah. That sounds cold.”

“It’s ice-“

“Yeah. Cold. I’m a big boy,” he says your name with a shrug. “I’ll live, you know?”

“I guess, but-“

“Can I ask you a question?”

You blink, and Jimmy’s staring at you with an odd intensity. “Yes?”

“Did you guys have a fight?”

“You… guys?” You shake your head, spinning your pencil nervously between your fingers, and Jimmy nods. 

“Yeah. You and Clark.”

“Me and-“ Your eyes dart over to Clark’s desk, and he’s still staring at his computer. He’s scrolling now, though. Typing a few words, then scrolling again. 

You haven’t spoken to him all morning. And he doesn’t look all that bothered. His hair is messy, and from his side profile you can tell his glasses are a little askew, but that’s just Clark.

“No?” You look back to Jimmy. “Why would we have had a fight?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.” He shrugs, looking over to Clark himself. “Poor guy just has been looking bummed. I thought someone yelled at him, but he hasn’t even really been talking to anyone. Which is weird, right?”

Jimmy looks at you like you’re supposed to agree, and you give him a tight smile. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” Jimmy nods to himself. “I mean, he’s Clark. He talks. We all talk. And I don’t know- Maybe I should set him up on another blind date. He hasn’t said yes to me in like, a year, but now- Poor guy might be feeling the loneliness.”

Something tugs on your heart. It’s sore and hot and makes your skin fucking itch.  

Your pencil flies across the room, as you accidentally fling it from your fingers. Hits Steve in the back of the head, making you wince. 

“Damn, you’re on a roll, killer.” Jimmy grins as Steve glares around to see the culprit. You quickly pick up another pencil. “Is there something going on with you I should be worried about? Are you secretly a vigilante

“No, I’m just…” You take a deep breath, glancing back over to Clark. 

You don’t know why you keep looking at him. It’s like you’re looking for some kind of reaction, and you don’t even know to what.

“It’s just a bad week.” You mutter, and Jimmy nods.

“Right, first one back from vacation. Those always suck.”

“Huh?” You’re not really listening, mostly just staring at Clark. His leg is bouncing. 

That means something. 

You can’t fucking remember what. 

“Your vacation. How was it, by the way?” Jimmy bumps your shoulder with his coffee, and you blink.

“How was… my vacation?”

“Yeah. Cuba, right? Or… Cairo. China? It was somewhere with a C. I think. I don’t know.” Jimmy laughs to himself. “Clark did tell me you were going, so maybe I’m just thinking of him.”

“Oh.” You swallow, and Clark’s leg is still fucking bouncing. 

“You’re doing it again.” You smile at him, poking your foot against his shin, and he blinks up at you. 

“I, uh- I’m not doing anything-“

“You were listening to me. I know you were.”

“But I didn’t even look-“

“I know.” You smile at him. “I just know you. Do you think we should do Rio?”

He turns a little red, eyes darting around the office to make sure no one else is watching, then places his hand on the back of your thigh. Squeezes gently, and gives you a small smile. 

“I’ll go where you want, baby. But if you’re asking-“

“I am-“

“Then I’ve been thinking we could go to-“

“Redwood park.” You mutter, looking back to Jimmy. “I think I just went to see the Redwoods, Jimmy.”

“Oh. Well, California starts with C.” Jimmy glances over to Clark. “You should’ve brought Clark with you. He’s always wanted to see those things. Don’t know why he hasn’t. We get plenty of vacation time.”

You nod. “I- I don’t know why either.” You whisper, and Clark’s head turns. 

For a split second, your eyes meet. And something flashes over his handsome features that you can’t quite place. 

Then he looks away, and his leg stops bouncing. 

Your head sort of hurts. 

But it’s just been an off week. Jimmy leaves you alone, and you can’t do anything but stare blankly at your computer screen, hoping your fingers will remember how to do anything but spin a pencil, and your brain will clear of this strange fog. 

You don’t even remember going on vacation.

And it feels like there's a massive fucking hole, in the center of your chest. It’s got an odd shape. It hums and kicks into a loud gear—like an echo through a cave, a ghostly replication of something that had been there before—whenever you feel it again. 

Someone is watching you.

Your pencil flies out of your fingers again.

But when you look around to see if anyone noticed, they haven’t.

It’s like nothing ever happened at all.

The day moves fast, but the strange feeling doesn’t fade. It only gets more and more pressing, until it feels like there’s something iron wrapping around your lungs. Maybe you should go back to therapy. You’re not sure why you left it in the first place. 

There’s just a faint impression of it not working. Of something on your tongue you couldn’t let go, that was holding you back from saying anything at all. 

But it’s gone now.

You just wish you’d known what it fucking was. 

There are a lot of things that are making you feel that. Like you’d had something in your hands, and it had been taken away. Leaving your skin covered in a soot or stardust you don’t know how to wash off, because you can’t even fucking see it. And maybe it’s nothing. Maybe you’re still paranoid. It’s all you’ve been, lately, and there’s no reason for it to just vanish when you go to work. 

It’s almost certainly the paranoia. 

It will be a whole lot easier, if it’s just the paranoia. 

If people have noticed you’re acting differently, they don’t say anything. You fumble your coffee when Lex Luther comes onto one of the TV screens, and Lois gives you an odd, worryingly gentle look, but helps you clean up. Perry talks to you about your article about international metahuman law, and you type slowly, struggling to remember where you found any of your sources. Superman has another save—a kitten, in a tree, and for some reason that makes you feel fuzzy—and you stare at the screen for a little too long. You only stop staring because Cat hits your arm, amusement sparkling in her eyes.

“He’s cute, right?”

“I- Superman?” You can feel your cheeks heat, and this shouldn’t be making you flush. It’s Superman. Everyone thinks he’s cute. 

“You think I’m cute?”

“Don’t get a big head.”

“I can’t. Ma raised me better than that, sweetheart. And my head is already huge, but it’s mostly just facts about cows.”

“Yeah? What kind of facts?”

“All of them. Did you know people used to use “cow” as a compliment?”

You smile at him, and there’s something earnest on his face that always makes it hard to even play fake mean. “How the fuck would you use cow as a compliment.”

“Like, uh- You’ve got cow eyes, baby.” He squeezes your hip, and you giggle. 

“I have cow eyes?”

“Yeah. But you’re my cow.” He pauses, then frowns. “I don’t like that. It makes seem like, I don’t know, I won you at a county fair.”

You lean down, mock-pouting at him. “So you don’t think I’m a prize?”

“No, I just-“ He sighs. “Can we pretend I never said anything?”

“Nope. I’m your cow, Mr. Kent.”

He groans. “Gosh, no, don’t say that-“

“It’s too late. Live with the consequences of your actions.”

“But I regret this action, I regret it a lot, I should have just told you how to milk a cow- No.” He gives you a firm look, and you’re giggling so much you might fall over. “I know that face, baby, no.”

You shake your head, pushing your words through the laughter. “Were you going to do a demonstration, farm boy? You’ve milked me before.”

“Alright. Come here.” 

A large, warm hand glides up to your waist, and you’re still giggling when he pulls you forward. He doesn’t look cute anymore. He just looks handsome, darkened eyes on you, lips curled in a small grin as he watches you-

Cat says your name, waving a hand in your face.

“Sorry, I- Um-“ You look around, and the room isn’t spinning, but all the color seems to be washed out. Like there should be a reason for them to be vibrant, and you can’t find it at all. “I think I need to go to the bathroom.”

“Okay.” Cat shrugs, looking back to the TV. “Weird thing to tell me, though.”

“Yeah, um- Sorry.”

You almost run away from her, and your stomach feels like it’s rising up your throat. Something is wrong. It’s paranoia, but it still feels wrong, and you don’t know where you’re going but you know it needs to be somewhere quiet. Somewhere nobody can touch you, or see you, or say your name. Somewhere in the dark, where your chest won’t keep trying to pull at something you can’t name, where you can put a hand on your throat and just breathe- 

You’re only watching your feet, as you walk, because you need to walk in a straight line. You’re not dizzy. It just feels like you’re wading through mud, and if you’re not counting every step you’ll fall over.

So when you turn the corner, you don’t see him until it’s too late, and you’re slamming right into his chest. 

“Hey, woah.” Clark's arm wraps around your waist, and your fingers fly to grab the lapels of his suit jacket. 

You stare at each other. There’s that same, strange look from before, and it’s everywhere. In the slight, worried pout of his lips, the furrow of his brow, and somehow in the strong line of his nose. His eyes are burning into you, and that buzzing feeling starts to push up your throat, spreading and spreading until the hollow in your chest stirs, and Clark’s hand flexes on your back- 

“Taste it.”

He frowns at your offering, a finger covered in frosting. “I know what frosting tastes like, sweetheart. You just slipped, I want to look at your knee-“

“What are you, a doctor?”

“No, but I think I’ve learned enough to know if need to take you to the hospital, and I can x-ray for free-“

You cut him off with a strange noise. It’s as if it’s coming from underwater, muffled and strange. You can’t really hear it at all. “It’s just my fucking ankle. Look,” you swing it dramatically, and his frown deepens. He doesn’t let go of you. 

You poke his nose with the frosting, and giggle as his eyes cross to look at it. 

“Geez, you really want me to try this frosting.”

“Well, I made it, and I want your opinion.”

He nods, tongue shooting up to lick it off. And it takes a few seconds of ridiculousness for him to get it, but he does. Because he can do fucking anything. 

And your heartbeat is in your ears, now.

“That’s really good, baby.” He looks at you with a proud grin, and you don’t give a shit about the cupcakes anymore. 

He can see that. 

His throat bobs, and his ears turn red as his voice drops. 

“You’re sure your ankles okay-“

“Yes.” You cut him off quickly, and his lips twitch.

“May I please have a full cupcake, after we finish?”

You nod, a little like a bobblehead, and he grins at you like he won the lottery. 

“Thank you, sweetheart.” He leans down until your noses are bumping. “But just so you know, you’re still my favorite dessert.”

“Are you okay?” Clark says, and it jumpstarts your body. 

You shove him back quickly, eyes wide, and try not to think about how he looks like a wounded puppy. 

He says your name gently, like he’s trying to soothe a feral animal, and you take another uneven step back. 

“I- I’m- I don’t-“

Clark’s voice becomes a little more urgent. “Come here, sw-“ He swallows, syllables sliding together. “We need to get you sitting down-“

“No- No-“ You take a ragged breath. You don’t want him to touch you. Your whole body is leaning to him, like he’s got the gravity of something more than a man, but if Clark touches you, it’s going to hurt deeper than your skin. “I- I’m okay. I’m okay.”

Clark doesn’t look convinced by your repetition. “I know you might feel okay, but- You were staring at me for five minutes, I- Uh- I just think you should rest-“

“I’ll rest. I can rest.” You nod, taking another unsteady step back. The whole earth feels like it’s sliding below your feet. “I might have, like- Food poisoning? Maybe? I’m just- I’m not feeling well, Clark-“

“I know, we can go to the doctor- I mean, not we, but- You and someone-“ The strangeness flashes over his features again. “It can be me. I can drive. I’m good at it, sweetheart, I can drive you-“

“No, I’ll take the subway, I’m- Can you just tell Perry I got sick. Please?”

“I-“

“Thank you, Clark. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

You don’t wait for his response, don’t look back as you almost scramble out of the hallway.

It’s still just the paranoia. You’re just off, and maybe you did get food poisoning. You’d eaten some strange, old pastries that had been at the back of your refrigerator last night. You didn’t even remember putting them there, and they’d tasted fine, but maybe it was a fake fineness.

No. It’s all fine. 

There’s still that carved-out, empty feeling in your chest, but you’re fine. 

You’ll take a day. Maybe get back with a therapist, or install new locks on your door and windows. Everything will be fine.

Everything was not fine. 

You’re having nightmares. And they’re of strange things you’ve never even seen before, like colorful, lava rivers and infinite blackness and odd, jagged edges of strangely shaped cliffs. You’re having nightmares of a gun to your brow and a shining light in your eyes and so much cold. You can’t really feel anything in the nightmares, but you can feel cold, and it makes you wake up shivering and screaming until your voice goes hoarse. 

The one day you took off didn’t do much—you mostly just stared at the ceiling, and tried to will everything into being better, which obviously didn’t fucking work—and the moment you’re back at work, everything starts to move too fast for you to catch your breath. 

You were gone for three weeks, on a vacation you don’t remember. There’s work that needs catching up on, informants and sources you apparently forgot to tell about your vacation that you need to reach out to, and a lot of time that needs to be wasted on the floor of the bathroom. 

It still feels like someone is watching you, in the office. Still feels like something vital is missing from your chest, like an organ that’s been removed. With the nightmares, your sleep doesn’t get better. The paranoia only grows, until you beg Perry to give you a desk that has your back to the wall. 

He obliges, with a frown and muttered weird kids. 

And you’re slightly calmed, by being able to see everyone who comes in and out of the room. Nobody can surprise you, anymore. When you feel like someone is watching you, all you have to do is look up. 

“Just look up.” He says, fingers tracing slowly over the bare skin of your arm. “All you ever need to do is look up, and I’ll be there.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” you say the noise you can’t hear. “What if you’re in Kansas, or- I don’t know, France-“

He cuts you off with a deep, slow kiss that makes you dizzy. “Then call my name.” He mutters against your lips. “And I’ll come for you.”

You rub your eyes, and all the lights are a little too bright. You might need to start wearing sunglasses to work. Inside. Like you have a permanent hangover. 

It certainly feels permanent. All these strange, invasive phantom thoughts.  

Nowhere is safe from them. It’s why you like the bathroom so much. Sparse and quiet and lonely—which is only making the nightmares worse—but without anything to set you off. 

Because fucking everything sets you off. 

“Shit.” You mutter, wrinkling your nose at the fridge, then checking the time on your phone. “Shit.”

“What’s shit?” Lois asks, standing over your shoulder, and you slam the door closed. 

“I- fuck-“ The sound echoes through the room, and it was too big for such a tiny little thing.

It hums at you. Tauntingly. About how you can be as mean and crude as you want, but it’s still solid. It’s not melting apart at the seams. 

You kick it, for good measure, and grunt as it refuses to budge. Stupid fucking fridge.

Lois laughs softly. “I think you beat it.”

“Thanks.” You mutter, wrapping your arms around your stomach. “It’s too late anyway.”

“Too late?”

“I forgot my lunch.”

“Seriously? That’s what you tried to murder the fridge over- Right, sorry.” She smiles apologetically at your glare. “Not just a joke, this time. Didn’t read that one right.” 

“No, it’s-“ You let out a slow breath, and you’re so fucking tired. “You’re right, it’s stupid-“

“It’s not stupid, it’s just kind of insane.” She gives you a small smile. “Forgetting food sucks. I’m sorry I laughed at your plight.”

You huff, just through your nose, but with everything feeling a little lighter. It sucks. It’s not the end of everything. 

“Who forgot their food?” Clark says, and you turn to see him frowning at you and Lois with an odd intensity. “Lois, you ate earlier, you got taco all over my keyboard-“

“No, I didn’t. That was Jimmy.”

“But Jimmy said it was-“

“Jimmy is a liar. And I didn’t forget my lunch,” she says your name, and all of Clark’s attention seems to hone in on you. It makes you feel fucking dizzy. “She did.”

“You did?” There’s a depth to the concern in his voice. Like you’re swimming into the ocean, when it was just supposed to be the deep end of the pool, and now he’s worried everything is going to sweep you away. “What happened?”

“I don’t know.” You try to hold his gaze, as you speak. It’s shockingly difficult. As if you’re staring at the sun, instead of clear, blue eyes. “I haven’t been sleeping well. Must have thought I grabbed it, then didn’t. I’ll be-“

Clark cuts in, voice earnest. “Do you want mine?”

“No, yours looks like it was made out of dead fish guts.”

“Huh.” He frowns at his spaghetti, still in the white take-out box. “I think it’s just like- Gooey pasta.”

“Wrong, fish guts.” You keep his arm around your shoulders, holding one of his large hands in both of yours, playing with his fingers as you examine dinner. “Why couldn’t we just do pizza?”

“Because Pa taught me to treat a lady-“

“To fish guts?”

“To fancy food.” He kisses the side of your head, dropping the food onto the plate. “If it tastes bad, I can hold your hair back while you vomit.”

“What if you vomit,” you say the noise you can’t hear, and he grins at you.

“I don’t get sick, darling.”

“Maybe. But look at this, I’m sure it could do the job, even on you-“

He kisses you, and your words fall into a loud, long moan. He smiles against your lips, and you wish he’d never figured out this trick for shutting you up. It’s playing dirty, for someone who always follows the rules. You think he justifies it to himself with how you try to chase him when he pulls away, and how he always asks you to finish your thought. As if the kiss was just to kiss. 

This beautiful, sweet man might really believe it is just a kiss. 

Something low shines in his eyes, though, when he finally gets you to come up for air. 

And he fucking knows. 

“Gosh,” he mutters, looking over to the food. “You think this will make me sick?”

“Maybe.” You blink at him slowly. “I don’t know.”

“Huh. I mean, I don’t mind pizza. If you don’t mind. I can go get it, right now, but, um- Only if you think this will make me sick-“

You say the sound you can’t hear softly. “I know you worked hard to get this, you don’t have to-“

“No, I think I want pizza.” He leans down, holding your gaze. “Do you want pizza, sweetheart?”

“Yes.” You smile at him, planting a small kiss on his nose. “Please.”

Clark says your name, and you swallow. You don’t feel hungry, anymore. Only sick. 

“I’m good, Clark.” You mutter, ripping your gaze down to your shoes. “Thank you.”

You almost run back to your desk, and start talking to people at work less and less. They seem to always set it off—the empty space, the echo—more than anyone else. And avoiding them isn’t a permanent solution, but it should ease the vastness of everything feeling like it’s just fucking wrong.

It should. 

But as long as you’re where people can say things to you, it doesn’t.

“You look nice tonight.” A guy with dark hair and darker eyes grins at you, taking a slow swig of his beer like you’re supposed to respond. 

You turn your glass in your hands, and give him a small smile. He’s pretty. Not that pretty, but enough to make you not hate looking. And in the dark—once you’re one drink deeper and everything has been numbed a little more—it won’t fucking matter. 

“You end up here often?”

You smile, and try not to make it too many teeth. Just be easy, and you can forget better. “Here, or at a bar?”

He laughs. Not a bad sound. Just sort of flat, like there’s an element of it that’s missing. “Either, dollface.”

“Well, I’ve been here a few times.” You try to keep your voice light and breathy. You feel fucking insane. “But usually, I’m just soliciting.”

“Yeah? For what?”

“Mormons.”

The man laughs again, and you try to make your smile wider. The drink can get you halfway there, easily. 

It’s the rest of you, that’s always the problem.

You end up in a booth, half on the lap of your bar man—Jack or Jax or Max or Miles or Martholomew, but it really doesn’t fucking matter—and with your tongue shoved down his throat. You’re grabbing at his shoulders and dragging him forward as you try to grind down, but it feels like trying to start a fire with soggy driftwood.

There’s just not enough of him. This man is nice enough, but there’s something shaped like the hole in your body that’s missing. His hands are possessive, but they should be teasing and gentle as well. As if you’re a delicate work of blown glass, that’s stronger than it looks but still needs care. He should let you play until you get tired, and he eagerly jumps in to take over. He’s supposed to have slightly longer hair, and bigger hands, and wrap around you as he kisses, as if he’s more shield than man. 

You don’t have any idea where you got those fantasies. 

No one has ever touched you like that. Kissed you like that. Been enough that you’d hold them higher than the sun. 

“Yeah, doll,” the man grabs your ass as he drawls. “You’re such a dirty girl, aren’t you.”

You frown against his lips. That’s not right either. He’s supposed to say- 

“There you go.” He keeps your legs spread apart easily, pushing a finger in until it’s knuckle deep. “Yeah. That’s it. Oh fuck, you’re soaked.”

A loud, desperate moan tears through your lips, the word fuck maybe the most sinful thing in the world, when it’s from his lips. “Please, I- I need it, just-“ You try to roll your hips forward, grabbing at the sheets. “Please-“

“You’ll get it, baby.” He kisses your inner thigh, rubbing the sensitive skin in firm circles. “I always help you, don’t I? I take care of you.”

“Yeah, yes, you do, but- Fuck-“ You moan the sound you can’t hear, grabbing at his wrist. “More-“

“Can you relax, darling? For me, please?”

You go slack, and he grins. 

“There you go. That’s my good girl.” 

For a moment, as the bar comes back into focus, you’re frozen. 

Then the man grunts from below you, and you almost vault off his lap. 

Wrong. 

Everything, everywhere, is so fucking wrong. 

You leave with rushed apologies and a twenty-dollar payment for two drinks—too much, but you just need to go so they can keep the tip—and try not to trip over yourself running home. 

And you check the locks, twice. Close the windows and keep all the lights on, even as you get ready for bed. 

But it’s not safe. 

Not anywhere. 

You’re digging through your underwear drawer, and your fingers brush over a thick, warm fabric. When you pull it out, it’s a flannel that smells of stale amber and wood. It feels right, on your fingers, but you don’t have a clue where it came from, or why it’s here. 

But it’s warm. Even after months at the bottom of a cold dresser, it’s so warm. Like an ember. Like something clinging to a flickering fire that just refuses to die. That sparks, just when it’s about to go out. 

That keeps you warm. 

“Put it on, baby. Please.”

“No.” You raise a hand, blocking him from your view. “Puppy eyes don’t work on me,” you hum the noise you can’t hear, grinning out at the field. “I am perfectly warm. I’m basically a furnace. I think I could power the eastern seaboard, with how warm I am.”

“I, um- I don’t think that’s how energy works, sweetheart-“

“But maybe it does.”

He sighs, even as the heavy sound is laced with affection. “Okay. That can be how it works, but- Please. Put it on.” He pauses. “For me?”

You drop your hand, and glare at his pretty, innocent face—which is a fucking act, because he was face deep in your pussy like three hours ago—and hopeful, clear eyes. He just smiles at you nervously, still holding out the flannel, and you roll your eyes. 

“I hate it when you play that card.”

He blinks, looking honestly confused. “What card?”

“Shut up.” You grab the flannel out of his hand, and he grins.

“Yes, ma’am. Do you want help putting it on?”

You nod, shuffling closer to his side. If it were anyone else, they’d get a biting, harsh no. You can do it yourself, it’s just a flannel, and—because you’re not fucking seven—you know how sleeves and buttons work. 

But it’s him. And you want a reason to be as close to him as possible, so you can figure out how to crawl into his lap after. Be as surrounded by him as possible, and run your fingers through curly hair as he breathes against your neck. It makes you shiver, the feeling of his lips grazing sensitive spots on your throat while his hands splay over your back. 

“I’m not cold anymore.” You mumble in his ear, and you can feel his lips curve into a smile.

“Sorry, darling, but- I thought you weren’t cold at all?”

“Don’t be mean.” You whine the sound you can’t hear into his neck, and he chuckles. 

“I’ve been learning from the best. And she,” he kisses a spot behind your ear. “Is also so smart, and cares so much, and never lets anything hold her down-“

“That’s not true.” You grumble. “I let a lot of things hold me down.”

“Yeah, but you never give up,” he pulls back, holding your face gently in his hands. His thumb traces over your cheek, and it feels like he’s taking you apart. “You’re strong.”

You laugh dryly. “You’ve been through more.”

“Yeah. Once a goat ate my favorite shirt, and- Gosh, sweetheart, remember how the ice cream place didn’t have the flavor I wanted to show you.” He grins, kissing your cheek. “I’m basically going to hell and back.”

“I’ve had banana splits before-“

“Not like these, though-“

You sigh the sound you can’t hear, and he falls silent. “You know what I mean.”

Something blurs. Like you’re scrubbing through film footage. The world moves fast, and you’re being pulled like a puppet. Saying something, but not having a clue what. Like your voice was taken from your throat. Then it slows down, the world resuming, and your voice resumes.  

“I just think- It’s not the same-“

“I know it’s not the same.” He mutters your name, kissing your knuckles. At some point, his hand had taken yours during the blur. You hadn’t even noticed. “But you still get through a lot of stuff, baby. I think it would make most people fall.”

You smile at him sadly, voice dropping to a whisper. “I think it makes me want to fall, sometimes.”

“Well.” He folds his fingers through yours, and the sleeve of his flannel flops slightly. It looks like you don’t really stop at all. You just continue. Right into him. “I’m pretty freaking grateful that you don’t.”

The flannel gets shoved back into the underwear drawer. 

You stop looking around at things.

And it’s not fine. Nothing’s fucking fine. You’re not talking to anyone, really. Not going anywhere. Hiding in your own bed, just knowing that something is so incredibly off, as the echoes continue to grow, but you don’t have a word for it. And if you tried to find one, you’d sound fucking bananas. At best, you’re just having hyper-realistic daydreams that are freaking you out way more than they should. At worst, you have a brain tumor. 

You’ve explored all the options, in your new favorite place, the bathroom floor. And you’ve settled on a very sustainable do nothing until you either drop dead or someone pins you down and makes you get help. It’s a strategy that’s worked well this long, and nobody has managed to get you pinned down at all. 

“You’ve got a flu, sweetheart, you need to stay in bed-“

“You can’t make me,” you sing the sound you can’t hear, spinning in a wide circle, all the colors neon and pastel around you. “You’re not my boss, and you’re not bigger than me. I am,” you wrap your arms around his neck. “Bigger than a mouse.”

“Well, that’s not wrong.” He sighs, and picks you up as if you weigh nothing. 

“Wow.” You poke at his muscles, squirming in his arms. “You’re strong. And big.”

“I, uh- Thanks.”

“And hot. It’s so hot.” You whine the sound you can’t hear. “Why is it so hot?”

“That’s the fever, darling.” He sounds amused, but kisses the side of your head so gently. “I’ll text Perry from your phone, okay?”

“Okay.” You mumble, clinging to his shirt when he tries to set you down. “Can you stay?”

He sighs, scanning carefully over your face. “I have work, and- You know, the other thing-“

Everything blurs again. But this time, all of his words blurring together while you’re stuck in a static. Then it all resumes, and it’s as if nothing happened at all. 

“Please?” You pout, and he nods slowly. 

“Yeah. Okay. I mean, I can’t make a promise about that, but- I swear to you I’ll see what I can do-“

“Yay.” You beam, and flop back down onto the mattress. “I love you, Martian Man.”

“Different guy. And, um- Wrong planet.” He kisses your brow, and your eyes flutter shut. “But I love you too, my cow.”

You hum. “Would you buy me in an auction?”

“You know I’m not answering that, pretty girl.” He mutters, and he’s using the other voice. The deeper, smooth one that always makes you listen to whatever you say. “Go to sleep.”

The lights are getting long. The shadows of the small, Daily Planet bathroom feel longer. 

Your eyes are stinging with tears, and you wipe them with the thin corporate napkins. 

Spend a little too long looking in the mirror. 

Apparently, your thoughts aren’t fully safe anymore either, even in the quiet.

And you’d never said I love you. To anyone. 

But you said it to him.

The man who just lives in your head, who you can’t even afford to give a name, pulls love out of you in a way that feels bigger than the hole in your chest. In a way like a tree. Always growing and growing and taking deeper root, until it’s embedded in the Earth.

And he loves you back. 

But only in your fucking head.

“I’m not saying it’s weird.” Steve is almost shouting at Jimmy and Lois, and you poke your head over your computer to watch. “You know I’m a big fan of the guys, Lois, I’m just asking questions! Isn’t that our job?”

“To… learn about Kryptonian biology?” Lois snorts, taking a sip of her coffee. “No, I think that’s up to scientists, Steve.”

“Well, they have nothing to study-“

“Neither do we, dude.” Jimmy’s grin is shit-eating. “It’s not like Superman is in this room, so we can ask him questions about his penis.”

Clark coughs loudly, and you frown at him. His leg is bouncing, and his ears look a little red. 

Lois sees it as well, and calls across the room, “You alright, Clark?”

“Uh, yeah- I’m, yeah.” Clark clears his throat, shooting to his feet and walking over to join their group.

Which is gathered near your desk. 

It’s not making you nervous so much as wired. With every step Clark takes across the room, you feel more and more like electricity is humming under your skin, sparking up in that emptiness and just making everything very fucking confusing. 

Then Clark looks at you.

Only a quick glance, with that same worry in his brow and odd shine in his eyes. It’s the only way he’s been looking at you, lately. 

You flush, and look back to your computer with everything in you feeling like it’s on fire. 

“Um-“ Clark’s words are low, and you see him shake his head in your periphery. He’s looking at you. For too long, you can see the clearness of his eyes, feel them singeing on your skin. 

Then he looks away.

And you just feel cold. 

“What are we talking about?” He asks the group, and Steve scowls.

“I don’t want your thoughts on it, Kansas, I’m looking for the big leagues opinion-“

“Steve wants us to give Superman a pat-down.” Jimmy says quickly. “The full TSA. He says it’s for science.” 

“Which is a ridiculous claim.” Lois adds. “But also pointless. Because what, are you going to just call him out of the sky and start asking him questions?”

“I mean...” Steve pauses. “Isn’t that just what you and Kent do?”

“No. Or, well-“ Clark coughs. “Sort of, I guess. But we’re asking him important questions. About world politics.”

Jimmy raises his hand. “Didn’t your last interview with him consist of only questions about cows and breakfast.”

You peek over your computer again, and Clark is blushing. 

“I- He had a hard few weeks-“

“Or you’re just a pussy, right?” Steve laughs, raising his hand for a high five, and Lois gives him a flat look. 

“None of us are high-fiving that, man.”

“Whatever.” Steve rolls his eyes. “Why does Kent get to work with Superman and not me.”

Jimmy laughs. “You write sports, dude-“

“I’m sure he has opinions! The people want to know who he is! What baseball team he’s rooting for this season!”

“Yeah,” Lois shakes her head. “I don’t think that’s what people want to know about Superman.”

“I know.” The wind is biting at your skin, and you’re glaring at him in the dark.

This seems like it’s from a long, long time ago. The air is hotter, your shirt one you think you lost months ago. When you reach up to nervously run your fingers through your hair, that’s different as well. And he’s across from you, something different in his clear eyes. 

Different from all the other flashes. 

The same as it seems to be now. 

He sighs, taking a large step forward. “Can we not do this on the roof, please? I’m worried you’re going to catch a cold-“

“I’ll live.” You snap, raising your chin. Which is a mistake—the wind only bites you harder now—but you’re not going to back down from it. You’ll see this through. “I want you to tell me.”

“Tell you what?” He frowns, and winces slightly under your withering look. “I can’t say it. You know I can’t. If I tell you, then that’s on me-“

“What’s on you, the truth-“

“No, what I’ll be doing to you-“

“You’ve done a lot worse-“

“This isn’t a joke!” He shouts your name, taking a large step forward. “You could get seriously hurt, if you actually know! And if you get hurt, and I can’t save you, I’m-“ He shakes his head. “No. I’m not telling you.”

“I already fucking know-“

“Then just know, don’t make me tell you-“

“No, Clark! I know what it means that I know! I-“ You take a ragged breath, wrapping your arms around your stomach. “I’ve known for months, you dummy. I just- I sort of-“ You swallow, choking on the sob forming in your throat. “Never mind.”

You turn to walk away, and the world is blurring from tears in your eyes, but everything is also getting sharper at the same time. Like a camera lens, coming into a focus you hadn’t even known was off.

“No, wait-“ Clark shouts your name, grabbing the crook of your elbow. “Don’t- Shoot-“ 

He moves in front of you as you yank your elbow away, blocking your path off the roof. 

“Move.” You mutter, and he shakes his head. 

“You said you wouldn’t never mind me, baby.” He’s using the deep, commanding voice. The Superman voice. It’s cheating. “You promised. I always want to know what you’re thinking. Please.”

You shake your head, staring at his shoes. “It’s stupid-“

“No.” He grabs your chin, gently angling it up. Forcing you to meet his clear, bright, affectionate gaze. When you don’t speak—not out of spite, you’re mostly just trying not to cry—he prompts you gently. “You’ve really known for months?”

“Yeah.” You whisper. “I knew like, the first week I met you.”

His eyes widen. “How-“

“You wear your suit under your clothing, Clark.” You smile at him weakly. “You stretched. I saw. That was sort of it.”

“Oh.” He sighs, glancing down at that same suit, then back to you with a guilty expression. “Shoot.”

“Yeah. But nobody else has noticed, I promise. I asked around in a very covert way and the only other person who’s seen is Jimmy. But he said he asked you about it, and you said it’s just a weird compression shirt. Which, by the way, we need to come up with a better lie, Clark, because that one is-“

“Why didn’t you tell me you knew?” He mutters, and you swallow. 

“I wanted you to tell me.”

“Oh.” Clark nods, then says your name gently. “Why were you looking at my shirt, darling?”

You flush. “Don’t- This isn’t about me-“

“Really?” He grins. “Because I kinda think most things are.”

“I- Well-“ You sigh, dropping your face into his chest. “You’re cute.”

“Cute?” You can hear the grin in his voice. “You think I’m cute?”

“And… other stuff.”

“What other-“

“We’ve fucked, Clark!” You shove away from his chest. “You know I think you’re attractive, don’t be mean-“

“Yeah, I’m sorry.” He catches you easily, pulling you back into his body. “I just like hearing what you think about me, sweetheart, I’m sorry.”

“You said I’m sorry twice.” You grumble, and he kisses the tip of your nose. 

“Well, I am very sorry. And I love you. You’re the only cow I’d ever want to love.”

Your eyes widen. “You- Clark-“

“You don’t need to say it back,” he mutters your name, moving to kiss the corner of your mouth. “But I do. And I need to tell you something.”

You stare at him, and he grins at you, swiping his thumb over your lip.

“I’m Superman.” 

“Oh.” You can’t stop your stupid, wide smile. “Cool.”

“It kind of is, right?” He laughs, and pulls you up into a deep, full kiss. 

The long, dramatic kind of kiss. Where there might be music swelling in the background, and spotlights angling down to make the whole focus of everything just you and Clark. He’s dipping you down slightly, and your foot kicks into the air, and you’re dizzy and breathless when he finally pulls you upright. Still giving you smaller, softer kisses as you find your balance. 

“Just, um-“ He sighs, still holding you tight to his chest. “Please don’t call me Clark when I’m in the suit, sweetheart.” 

You giggle, murmuring against his lips. “I won’t if we can use it for sex stuff.”

“Oh. Uh-“ He blushes, but nods, dipping down to kiss your throat. “I think we can do that. You know you might be the death of me, right?”

“No. You’re not allowed to die.” You kiss the side of his head, and he sighs. 

“Yeah. But you aren’t either.” He pulls back, a deep furrow in his brow. “I’m serious. I really don’t want you to get hurt because of this-“

“I won’t.” You smile at him. “I promise.”

Someone says your name, and you blink to see Lois waving a hand in front of your face.

“Um, yeah?”

“Are you okay?” She frowns at you, scanning over your face. “You’ve been staring at the same spot for like, ten minutes. If you need, I can bring you to the hospital-“

“I don’t need a hospital.” You say quickly, looking back to your computer. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

And when you say it that time, it sounds even more like a lie than before. Lois isn’t convinced, even when you manage to talk her into just getting you some ice. You’re not convinced, because you can feel it. Even your computer doesn’t seem to be convinced, the screen so bright it feels judgmental. 

But most of all, Clark isn’t convinced. 

He’s not looking, when you do your routine scan to make sure nobody is watching. He’s just sitting at his desk, leg bouncing. 

Which is something he does, when he’s listening.  

You don’t know how you know that. Why you know that. When you learned that. 

But you know it’s Clark. 

That in your head, it’s Clark. It’s always been Clark. 

Or it’s never been Clark, and you’ve just lost your fucking mind. 

You don’t know anymore. What’s real. Why your brain has decided Clark is Superman, and why he’d ever say he loves you, or why this is happening to you. 

Something is more than wrong. Something is broken. It’s that massive fucking hollow in your chest, and it’s making your heart skip in all the wrong ways. Like you lost your metronome. Lost the beat. Can’t find it again, and now you’re falling and drowning on steady ground. 

Everything is so, so wrong. 

And when you don’t know what’s broken, you don’t know how to put it back together. 

You’re not even sure it can be put back at all. 

You have to ask him. 

It’s eating you alive. 

Clark sits across the office, and you squint at him until his face is a little more blurred, trying to blend it into the man of the echoes. You spend hours staring at your computer screen—decidedly not doing work—listening to his voice imagining him saying things to see if they match. 

Every night you watch shadows move over your ceiling at night, trying to organize every single strange moment into its place. 

Every morning, you stare at the flannel and try to remember something more. 

It’s a puzzle you can’t stand to finish, but need to or everything feels like it’s going to crumble apart. It’s a game you don’t want to play, but can’t bear to lose. 

There’s no logical reason for it to be real. You’d remember if you’d been kissing and dating and in love with Clark. Someone else would have known, someone would have said something, Clark wouldn’t have just let you forget if you had the love that seems to run under your every memory of him. 

And you’d think about it all the time if you knew Clark was Superman. 

You know, because you do think about it all the time. You’ve crunched the numbers. Built Rome in a day then tore it down, outlined the case and solved it with a pipe—anxiously chewed-up pencil—in your mouth. 

Clark is Superman. 

He’s always vanishing randomly, in the middle of the day. He’s always oddly invested in conversations about Superman, for someone who claims not to care much for superheroes, only ever commenting that they do good work before going to back to scrolling on his computer. He’s never sick, but when he is, it’s right after Superman’s had a really bad fight. His leg bounces when he’s listening to conversations he shouldn’t be able to hear. 

He has the same fucking face.

When you look at Clark, then down to the photo of Superman you pulled up on your phone, it’s the same fucking face.

But in the echoes—you’re afraid to call them memories, because that makes all of this too real—you’d told him you figured it out. 

It seems like, when you lay it all out on cluttered paper, you’d been dating before you told him you knew. 

You don’t know how you started dating. 

You’ve stared at him, and every corner of the office, and every single item you own, trying to will the answer into your existence. 

Then the building shifts, something clatters in your kitchen, and you shriek. 

The paranoia hasn’t gone away. 

You still don’t know where it came from in the first place. 

And you have to. You have to know. This isn’t something that’s going to pass. It’s only going to build and build and get worse and worse until you’re drowning in the vacuum of it all.

One person has the answers to your questions. And he’s at his desk, tapping on his phone and glancing up at the TV every few minutes.

It shouldn’t be that hard to talk to Clark. He’s your friend, and all you have to do is ask a very carefully calculated question that doesn’t make you sound crazy, but does invite him to tell you what you need to know. 

You can’t figure out what that question should be. 

So you’ve resorted to eavesdropping. 

You shuffle over to the copier, paper crumpling slightly in your fingers, and act as if you’ve never seen a machine before in your life. You’re not sure what you’re hoping he’ll say—maybe, oh, my coworker fell and hit her head and we’re all very worried, but she seems to be alright—but it’s a better plan than just driving yourself insane. 

You’re probably still going to end up doing that. It’s the plan you committed to first. 

This is mostly so you can say you tried.

And maybe, just maybe, so you can be a little closer to him. Hear his voice. 

See if anything at all comes back. 

“Ma.” Clark mutters into his phone, and you press a random button. “I’m coming home soon, I promise.”

There’s a pause as another voice crackles through the speaker, and Clark sighs. 

“No, I’ve told you, we’re not- Uh, it’s- Ma, it’s complicated- Yes, I know love shouldn’t be, but it’s not the feeling, it’s- Um-“ His eyes flick you, and he clears your throat. “I know I love her, Ma. But- I don’t know. I don’t want to talk about it, please. Yes, I’ll wait for Pa.”

The line goes quiet, and he’s still looking at you. It’s like you’re being set on fire. 

You give him a weak smile. “I entered the wrong thing. To be copied.”

“Oh.” He returns the smile, and his looks so soft and real, it makes your throat ache. “They’re, uh- It’s still going?”

“Yeah, I, um- I figured other people might need some.” There’s an awkward moment of silence—he won’t stop looking at you—and you clear your throat. “Relationship problems?”

“No.” He says softy. “Nothing was ever a problem.”

You flush, looking back to the copier, and something really fucking stupid bubbles out of your throat. “Do you like cows, Clark?”

“Yeah. I love them.” He’s still fucking staring at you. “Do you?”

You shake your head. “I’ve always been more of a dog person.”

Ma Kent—with kind eyes and wrinkled hands that just finished touching pretty much everywhere on your face—laughs. “Oh, well, Clarkie was a dog boy, too, y’know. He liked to run around with the shepherds, and fly them up into the-“ Her eyes widen suddenly, and her eyes shoot to Clark. “Oh, I mean- He was just. flyin’ kites with Pa-“

“I would fly the herd dogs up into the sky.” He tells you, hand rubbing on the small of your back. “They liked being up there. Seeing all the birds. Made them happy, so I kept doing it. And it’s alright, Ma. She knows.”

“Oh. Wonderful. Did ya tell her, or did she figure it out.”

“I figured it out.” You beam, standing a little taller, and Clark sighs.

“That’s true. She did.”

“Oh, a smart girl.” Ma tilts her head at you, reaching up to cup your cheek once more. “Do you like pastries? Pa made too many, and I don’t got it in me to eat them all myself.”

You beam at her, leaning into Clark’s side. 

She likes you. 

The majority of the ride was spent with you working out every possible reason she might not like you, just to be ready. Clark had said you were just nervous, and she’d adore you. You’d told him that it wasn’t about you, it was about him.

You’d never think anyone was good enough for him either. 

He’d blushed, and muttered that you felt pretty good for him.

You’d made a sex joke. He’d blushed more. 

The goal had been to get them all out of your system before you arrived, because lewdness and vulgarity were on the list of reasons Clark’s parents might not like you. Even if Clark said they didn’t judge other people who swore, you hadn’t been about to take any chances. 

But it didn’t matter. 

She likes you. 

And when Ma Kent starts to lead you into the kitchen, you tug on Clark’s sleeve until he leans down, allowing you to whisper in his ear. 

“She likes me.”

“I know.” He chuckles, diving down to quickly plant a kiss on your lips. “Probably cause I love you.”

The paper you’d brought over is shredded on the floor, and Clark is saying your name. 

It’s with more and more worry every time, and he’s dropping the phone from his ear. Trying to reach for you. 

You can’t let him reach for you, because then he’ll touch you. Trigger another series of sparks in your chest. And it will keep slipping through your fingers too fast, when you still don’t know how to hold on.

But Clark’s a little faster than you think, for a guy his size. 

He moves forwards, and catches you by the wrist. “Sweetheart-“

“You’re pushing it.” He murmurs in your ear, and you lean your head back on his chest. “I thought you were tired?”

“I am.” You turn your face, pressing it into his shoulder as you sit in his lap. 

He holds you like he couldn’t bear to let go, even when you’re just in bed. Kisses your nose like you’re something sweet, when you’ve been all but grinding down onto his crotch for the last five minutes. But you can feel him, pressing through his sweats and rock hard. And if he just keeps dragging against your thighs and clothed core, you’re going to burst into tears. You need him inside of you.

Now. 

“If you’re tired, darling, we can go to bed-“

“Clark.” You whisper, turning your head to meet clear, slightly hooded eyes. “You could cut glass with this.”

You grind down onto him again, and he hisses softly.

“Don’t do that, it’s not fair-“

“Do you want me to stop?” You pout at him in a picture of innocence, and he groans.

“You know I don’t. But-“ He sighs, watching you carefully in the dark. “You’re tired. You sleeping is more important than me, you know-“ He thrusts up, and your lips fall over with a broken moan. 

Clark’s eyes widen at the reaction, and he’s quickly grabbing your face, angling it around to check for damage. 

“Shoot, baby, I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to-“

“Clark.” You whine, leaning into his touch. “Please.”

His throat bobs, and his thumb drops to slowly trace your lips. “You’re tired.”

“I’m always tired.” You mumble. “I want you.”

“Well, you kind of always want me- Christ.”

You take his thumb fully into your mouth, sucking on it with a lidded, sweet and drunken gaze, and you know you’ve won before you even let your tongue flick over the pad of the finger. 

He used a grown-up curse word. 

You’re getting what you want. 

“You want it?” He mutters your name, voice rough and low, and you hum around him. “Yeah? Can you please use your words, darling?”

You pop off of his thumb, and lean forward until your nose is bumping against his. “Can you please fuck me, Clark. Pretty please?”

He smiles, tangling his fingers in your hair. “That bad?”

You nod, and he raises his brows. 

“You going to let me take care of you?”

“Yeah- Oh-“

Your words die with a happy squeak as Clark drags you forward into a deep, long kiss. You’re too lost in the haze of it—of him, lips moving heavy and demanding over yours, teeth grazing your lips—to really notice how he’s moving you, until the angle is one you can’t hold the kiss in.

“Clark- Mmm-“ Your head falls against his shoulder, as he palms your breast with a large hand. “Don’t tease-“

“I’m not teasing.” He hums, slowly guiding your legs apart with his ankles over yours. “I’m taking care of you. And you like it, don’t you? This,” he rubs your nipple between his fingers. “It feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah.” You whisper, and he grins.

“I know. Just feel it, darling.” He kisses the soft skin of your neck, and his hand wanders down between your thighs. “Can you feel it?”

You nod, grabbing his forearm as his massive fingers start to play between the folds of your pussy. You’re not sure when he got your clothes off. You don’t really care. 

“Yeah, there you go.” He’s cooing in your ear, and your free arm tries to reach up and wrap around his neck. “That’s it, isn’t it? You’re so wet, sweetheart, you want a little more?”

“Yes.” Your back arches as Clark teases over your entrance. “More. I- I need it Clark, I-“

“Can you say please?” He flicks your nipple, and you nod.

“Please. Please, Clark, god-“ You let out a loud, sinful sound as his fingers find your clit, and start to rub. Harsh and fast, back and forth while he keeps playing with your breasts, and it’s already too much.

He’s worshipful, on your neck. Kissing and sucking on your skin, all while his fingers continue to drive you insane. You’re staring up at the ceiling with glassy eyes, just trying to keep up with what he’s doing to you, and Clark just keeps kissing you and touching your breasts like they’re something holy. 

You writhe in his arms, and he just keeps you steadily pinned. You drive to drive your hips up or grind down onto his cock, he slaps your pussy once—lightly, just a sting that makes you gasp—and keeps going. Your arousal is dripping down, wet on your ass and inner thighs, and you fly off the edge without a warning. 

Clark doesn’t stop. You can’t manage to close your legs, against his strength, and when you whine for him, you just get the same, low whisper in your ear. 

“Need you soaked, darling.” He whispers, just his voice making you moan. “Need you ready for me. You know that. Just one more.”

One more turns into two more, and by the time Clark’s hand finally slows, you’re a shaking, wired mess. He lands light hits on your cunt as you float down, and drags two fingers through the mess with a satisfied groan. 

“There she is.” He turns your head, offering you a gentle, loving kiss. “You ready, sweetheart?”

You nod, and Clark clears his throat.

“Can I please do the, uh-“

“Yeah.” You breathe out, trying to worm out of his arms to help. 

He doesn’t let you.

Clark grins like he just won the lottery, catches you by the waist, and pushes you slowly down into the mattress. Your face presses into the sheets, your ass up in the air, and Clark runs his fingers back through your pussy. Spreads your arousal around, groaning as his forefinger dips slightly into your cunt, and you flutter around him. 

“Yeah. That’s good” He crawls over you to kiss your neck. “You ready?”

You nod, trying to wiggle back into him, and he grunts.

“Yeah, alright, you’re ready. Fuck, darling, you’re so pretty.” He kisses down your spine, slowly massaging your hips and ass. “There you go. Just relax. Oh- Shit-“

Clark pushes into you, the stretch burning so fucking good, and your hands fist in the mattress. 

“So good.” He groans. “Always so good and tight for me, sweetheart, you’re-“ He grunts, bottoming out. “So fucking perfect, like an angel, so fucking good. Take me so well, this pussy was made for me-“

“Clark.” You whine, clenching around him, and he ruts into you.

“Oh, God-“ He draws fully out, then slams into you, knocking the air out of your lungs. “Yeah, fuck- Doing so good for me, baby, taking my cock like a- Shit-“

Clark cuts himself off with a groan, and pulls out for a split second, flipping you onto your back.

He slams back in, crashing his mouth down over yours, and starts to fuck you at an animalistic pace. Your nails scratch at his back, your body already so sensitive from before, but it’s pointless. Clark always fucks you like he’s never going to touch you again. His cock hits every spot inside of you that lights you up, his hands wander and touch you in every way you love, because he has them all memorized. 

When he hits a sensitive one, and gets a reaction, he fucks you a little harder. You moan his name, and his tongue shoves down your throat.

But Clark still drives his hips in a measured, careful way, keeping himself on a tight leash until you’re shaking and pleading around him. 

Then his kisses grow sloppy. 

His thrusts become uneven.

And he gives in fully when you cum with a cry of his name, your orgasm rushing through your whole body. 

Clark groans, slamming home with a grunt and messy, hungry kiss. 

You’re a little dazed, when you float down, but you still manage to reach up. Trace his slack, adoring features with light hands. 

“The point of the doggy is that you can dirty talk, baby.” You whisper, and he sighs, dropping his face into your neck. 

He still hasn’t pulled out. He hasn’t even fully softened inside of you. 

He’s probably not going to for a while. Clark likes to keep himself buried in you for as long as possible, until you need to pee and he’s carrying you to the bathroom.

He also has a dirty fucking mouth, that drives you out of your mind, and he refuses to use it. 

“You’re tired.” He mutters. “Felt mean when you’re tired.”

You laugh softly. “You know I like it, Clark-“

“Yeah, but I love you. And you should get the best.”

“I have the best.” You smile at him, and his lips twitch. 

“Yeah. I have the best too.” 

Clark says your name, voice almost as rough as it had been in your head. 

But without any lust or need. 

Just worry. 

And the same, tangible fucking affection, as his fingers squeeze your wrist.  

“I- I have to go.” You whisper, pulling your hand out of his grasp. 

He lets you. 

Clark could so easily hold on, but he lets you go.

But when you stumble away, and turn to run, you can feel it again. 

Someone watching. 

And when you glance over your shoulder, this time, Clark doesn’t look away. 

He just watches you with something so fucking heavy in his eyes, mouth hanging open as his hand still reaches out. 

Like he wants to catch you, but can’t. 

Like he knows you’re already gone. 

You can’t sleep. 

If you get into bed, you look to the side and see Clark there. Lying next to you and grinning. Holding your hand on his chest, then kissing your knuckles before rolling on top of you with a laugh. 

Something you’ve never had before. 

That it feels like you never really had at all. 

And you don’t understand. 

You crawl out onto the fire escape of your apartment—curling into a little ball on the stairs and just trying to breathe in the fresh air—and you can’t fit all of it in your head. Where this all came from, why it feels so right, and why you would have ever forgotten it. 

If this is something that was real, and you’re not just going insane, then you would never have let it go. You would have climbed mountains and screamed at the clouds, if it got taken away from you. If Clark got taken away from you. 

But he was, and you’re just sitting on cold metal stairs.

At least, it feels like he was taken away from you. Something was taken away from you. Something that you needed and wanted has been turned into his gaping hole, and the only thing that seems to fit is Clark. 

He hasn’t said anything. Hasn’t treated you any different than you can remember—although you don’t really trust your own mind anymore—and just stares at you with that worry. 

As if he knows something’s wrong, but can’t fix it. 

Won’t fix it. 

If Clark knows it’s broken, he won’t fix it for you. And if it’s not just all in your head, you’re not sure he loved you at all. 

Then, you feel it. 

Something watching you. 

Your head shoots up, and the streets are dark. Quiet, for the city. Not too quiet that it’s heralding certain death, but quiet. 

There’s a shadow, in the alley across the street. Oddly shaped, and sort of suspended in the air. 

You swallow—if you’re wrong, nobody ever has to know—and whisper, “Clark?”

Superman darts out of the alley, landing across from you on the fire escape, and smiles. Soft. Confident and nervous all at once, with his shoulders relaxed but words gentle and gaze filled with that worry. 

And it’s Clark. You can look at him and know that better than anything else. You know his face, because it’s imprinted like a burn on your brain. It’s not strange to see him in the suit, because you’ve seen it a million times before. 

You think you’ve seen it a million times before. 

But you know you’ve seen the worry. The furrow of his brow and pressing of his lips that’s all Clark, and all for you. 

Like he cares. 

“I’ve told you not to call me that when I’m in the suit, sweetheart.” 

You pull your knees into your chest, blinking up at him. “I- I’m-“

He mutters your name, taking a step forward, and you curl into a smaller ball. 

“Why are you here?”

Clark sighs, throat bobbing. “I shouldn’t be.“

“Cl- Superman.” You correct yourself quickly, and it feels strange on your tongue. “That’s not an answer-“

“I was supposed to keep away.” He says suddenly, wincing slightly. “I really shouldn’t be here, I should’ve been avoiding you all together, but-“ He mutters your name, looking up with clear, sad eyes. “I have to know you’re okay, sweetheart. I need you to tell me you’re okay.”

You swallow, forcing your gaze to hold on his. “Why?”

“Why?”

“Why do you need to know?” You whisper. “Why does it matter to you?”

His jaw presses together, and his attention darts out to the street. Mostly empty.

Something tugs on your head, and you can hear him muttering in your ears. Nothing’s ever empty enough. Safer than safe. Don’t want a mostly safe fence post, whole thing will go kaboom down.

Your lips twitch, because you remember laughing at kaboom. 

Everything hurts, because you don’t really remember it at all. 

“Can we go inside, please?” He points to your window, and you nod weakly. 

He reaches out to help you to your feet, but pulls away at the last second, and it makes your heart burn. He opens the window, and holds it up for you to go first. 

You want to reach for him, when he clambers in behind you. You can’t get yourself to move. 

The moment he’s inside, it hits you like a wave. 

Clark’s sitting with you at the table and holding your hand, because he refuses to let go. He’s spinning you around in the kitchen, and carrying a million plates while you giggle, worried he’s going to drop them. He’s hanging that painting on your wall and making your bed while you hug him from behind and kissing you on the couch because you couldn’t wait for the bedroom, but he won’t just take you on the floor. He’s painting your nails, because he spent hours practicing just for you. Kissing your cheek before he leaves in the morning, and looking back with a sweet, secret grin before he leaves out the window.

And it all feels so fucking real. It all fits so neatly into that space in your chest. It makes your heart beat the way it should, and the world seems to stop spinning at an off-kilter angle. 

You never would have forgotten that. 

But you did. 

And you don’t understand. 

Clark looks like he’s going to reach for you, clenching and unclenching his fists at his side. He should be out of place, in the bright, costumey superman outfit. 

But he doesn’t. 

This seems like somewhere he’s supposed to be. The walls feel closer, and it could be the shallowness of your breath, but it also might just be how they’re trying to reach for Clark. As if even they feel emptier without him. 

They shouldn’t know him at all. But they do. 

You do. 

And it makes the emptiness hurt even more. 

Clark says your name, watching you like you’re going to turn to dust before his eyes. “Please, tell me you’re okay.”

“I’m not.” You say it before you can think. 

You can tell him. 

You tell Clark everything.

He mutters your name, and you shake your head.

“I- I’m not okay, Clark, I don’t know what’s happening to me. I don’t know what’s real, I don’t trust myself, I don’t trust anything, and I- I scared, Clark, please, I’m so, so scared-“

A sob chokes in your throat, and he moves in a flash. Pulls you into his chest, holding you tight and wrapping over you. Like he’s trying to shield you from every bit of harm. 

You hug him back. Your arms fly up because it feels like the only thing to do, and your face presses into his chest because there’s no other place for you to be. You fit so well there. 

You never would have let go. 

“I don’t know what’s real.” You whisper into his body, and he stiffens slightly. “Clark, I can’t tell anymore, please, I- I don’t know what happened, I don’t know,” you shake your head, words weak and broken through the tears. “Please.”

You’re not sure what you’re begging for. All you know is that Clark is running his fingers through your hair, and holding you the same way he looked at you. 

As if he’s afraid you’re going to vanish from his hands. 

“I’m so sorry,” he mutters your name, heavy strain in his voice. “I can’t tell you. It’s not safe.”

You sniff, clinging to him a little tighter. “But I- I think I loved you.”

There’s a long silence, and Clark’s voice is hoarse when he breaks it.

“You did.” He murmurs, and when you lean back, his eyes are shining with tears. “You really did, darling, but- You said it wouldn’t get you hurt.”

Something haunted flashes over his face, and in the very back of your head—pushed under something deeper than the emptiness, under something iron you don’t want to open and set free—you can hear it. 

Your own screams. 

“It got me hurt?” You blink up at him, and he gives a small, tight nod. “How-“

“Luther.” He mutters, and your blood goes cold. “He worked out I might not just be up in the arctic, all the time. He thought you knew my identity, about my family, my parents. He took you, and-“ Clark’s hands tense on your body, and a tear slides down his cheek. 

“Clark-“

“You never broke.” He whispers. “You were so, so strong, but- I can’t let you get hurt again. I- I’m not worth that. Ma and Pa, they wouldn’t want it, nobody should have to go through that just because of me, and I- I found you.” He shakes his head. “I’m never living in a world where I don’t find you.”

“You’d rather not have me at all?”

Clark sighs your name, and you shake your head.

“No, I- I don’t want to forget, you can’t just-“

“It wasn’t me.” He says glumly, reaching up to trace a hand over your face. “You were so worried about me. You said you’d already talked to Terrific about it, and he knew a guy who could wipe it. Everything about us. Everything about me being Superman. Oh, geez.” He laughs weakly. “He’s not going to be happy it didn’t work.”

You drop your chin on his chest, keeping your words soft. “It didn’t. At all.”

“When-“

“The first day I got back from vacation. I remember us talking about redwood trees. You’ve always wanted to go.”

He looks like you’re shooting him. “Yeah. I have.”

“That wasn’t a vacation, was it.”

“No.” Clark bows his head, brow pressing to yours. “It wasn’t.”

There’s a moment of silence as you just breathe each other in, then Clark’s fingers curl on your hips. 

“Do you want me to fix it?” He mutters. “Wipe you again?”

Your heart moves into your throat. “No. No. Clark, I- I just want you.”

He frowns, and takes a sudden, large step away. “But what if you get hurt again? It’s not- It won’t be safe-“

“I feel safe now.” 

You do. 

For the first time since the vacation, you feel safe. 

And you’re not going to let go.

“What about when you aren’t safe?” Clark shakes his head, still backing away. “What about when I can’t find you?”

“You will, I trust you-“

“I almost didn’t-“

“But you did-“

“What if I don’t?” His voice is rising, and he’s taking another step away. “Broken hearts heal, I- I’m not God, darling, I can’t put you back together-“

“I already feel broken.” You whisper, and he freezes. “Please, Clark. Please. I- I can feel it here.” You point to the center of your chest. “So much of my life is you, you’re everywhere, I- I’m never going to be able to forget, please don’t make me-“

“I- I’d never make you-“

“So let me stay.” You plead, taking a small step forward. “I still love you, I- I’ll wait forever for you to love me again-“

“I never stopped.” He whispers. “I still love you, of course I still love you, I’ll never stop, you’re- You’re everything to me, but- If you get hurt-“

“I’ll be okay.”

“But-“

“I’m okay now.” You give him a sad smile. “With you. I- I need to remember, Clark. Please.” You take a ragged breath. “Tell me it’s real.”

Clark’s eyes flash, and he shifts on his feet for a second. 

Then he’s moving. 

Lunging forward, and pulling you into his arms.

Kissing you. Long and deep, like he’s never needed to breathe, and you’ve never needed to breathe either because this is better. This is warm and safe and cared for, and it’s all around you in a way you know so well. Your arm slots around his neck and you trace his face as you get lightheaded, because you could draw him in your sleep. 

And the kiss sends so much of it flooding back. Clark’s warm, and he smells like amber and wood. Tastes like sweet pastries and coffee. 

Feels like yours. 

“It’s real.” He mutters against your lips, and his voice in your head is as clear as the rest of him. 

“Clark…” You mumble, and he nods, smiling against your lips.

“You and me.” Clark whispers. 

He’s not letting go either. 

“It’s always been real.”

You must have something. Everyone has something. But it is impossible to find that something, when you’re always launching LuthorCorp missiles at him and threatening him with lab grown kryptonite. Clark didn’t even know that stuff could be grown in a lab, until he landed down in your labs for some run-of-the-mill standoff, and found himself face to face with your pretty eyes, and a gun, loaded with kryptonite bullets.

Not that you’re pretty. You’ve got objectively nice features, and Clark is far from blind, but beauty does not speak to character.

Not that you’re beautiful, either. And even if you are, it’s rotted away by whatever is on the inside. Whatever runs so deep, he can’t find that tiny blossom of good, no matter how hard he tries.

“You don’t want to do this.” He’d told you, that day in the lab.

When you’d smiled, it had reminded Clark of the wolves that used to hunt Ma and Pa’s sheep. The ones that hadn’t been afraid of him, and had gnashed and snarled until he dropped them miles away from the farm.

“You don’t know anything,” you’d drawled. “About what I want to do.”

That had seemed fair. He really didn’t. “There would be a death on your conscious-“

“This wouldn’t kill you, you fucking pussy.” You’d rolled your eyes, and Clark had blinked.

“That language doesn’t seem necessary-“

“Oh, I’m sorry, boy scout.” You’d smirked. “It wouldn’t kill you, you flying, caped, monkey-squirrel, sweet baby of justice.”

“I-“ That had been strangely hurtful. “I’m just here to turn off Luthor’s reactor, okay-“

“It’s not Luthor’s reactor.” You’d snapped. “It’s mine.”

“I hate to break it to you, but it kind of says Luthor on the side-“

“I’m well aware of what it says.” Your lip had curled, and Clark had tilted his head.

“You know, this thing is probably going to blow and take out the whole city.”

You’d scoffed. “No, it won’t.”

“I have friends who are professionals in this kind of thing, they say it will.”

“Your friends are wrong.”

Clark had shrugged. “Maybe you’re wrong.”

“I’m never wrong.” You’d raised your chin, and his lips had twitched slightly. He towered over you—he towered over everyone—but watching you trying to be taller was like some puffed up, feral cat. He’d pick you up with one hand and not even blink.

Not that he’d try to pick you up. You were a lady, and a human.

Although lady was by the loosest definition.

“Everyone is wrong sometimes,” he’d said gently, and you shrugged.

“I’m not everyone.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being like other people-“

“I know.” You’d smirked. “But I’m not.”

This had been deeply frustrating. “Okay, just- Look, I really need to turn off your reactor-“

“And I’m really going to shoot you if you do that.”

Clark had rubbed a hand over his face. “I mean- I’m really asking you not to-“

“That’s not how shooting someone works. This,” you’d waved your gun. “Isn’t a mutually consenting act.”

“It’s- You’re going to kill thousands of people! Let me-“

“No.” You’d hissed when he took a step forward. “It’s perfectly safe, and you’re not touching it.”

“If it was perfectly safe, would Lex Luthor have funded it?” Clark had challenged, hoping he didn’t sound as desperate as he felt. “Would he have really taken a chance on something that’s actually going to help people besides himself?”

Your eyes had narrowed, and for a brief second, Clark had thought he’d gotten through to you. It had been a glorious second. He’d decided that you really were pretty, and beautiful, and all the other adjectives to describe someone who had a face like the moon.

Then you’d shot him. Point blank in the chest.

Clark had been shot a lot before. He’d been exposed to kryptonite a lot before, as well.

That had maybe been the first time he’d thought he was dying. When he’d woken up, Gary told him he’d been groaning a woman’s name in his sleep.

Your name.

Clark had decided he didn’t like you. Maybe you weren’t a bad person—he was clinging to the idea that deep, deep, deep down you’d shot him because you were being blackmailed, or were deep undercover, or Lex had you under some kind of mind control—but Clark didn’t like you. It wasn’t even the shooting thing. It was something deeply you, that wiggled into him like a worm in an apple, and made his blood pressure rise at the sound of your name.

And you’d been right. The reactor hadn’t blown up. But that was luck from a very thin draw.

Next time, Clark would stop you. Then he’d tie you to a chair and have a very long, in-depth conversation where he figured out something to like about you, then everyone could move on.

Lois has a new informant. She won’t say who it is, no matter how much Clark causally pokes.

“Confidentiality, Kent, you know I can’t tell you.”

“Yeah, but- It’s me. You know me, Lois, I’m not going to tell anyone-“

“It doesn’t matter that it’s you.” Lois sighes, giving him a pointed look. “I promised her I’d keep it between us, and that doesn’t mean turning right around and telling anyone. I worked really hard to get her to trust me. I’m not blowing that for anyone.”

Clark raises his brows. “So it’s a woman?”

“I- Yes. But that,” she points a finger sternly, giving Clark a firm glare. “Is all you get.”

“Well, do you at least really trust her?” He braces his hands on his hips. “If she’s informing you on Lex Luthor, that means she’s close, and- You know I think anyone can change, but you should always be careful with Luthor’s people.”

You.

Clark is thinking, very specifically, of you.

Because nobody moved on, and Clark has not stopped you.

If anything, he’s found more and more reasons to dislike you. And Lois insists her new informant is reliable, but now Clark is also worried that you’re going to find this mystery woman, and do something to her. You’re everywhere like that. He thinks you might be more dangerous than Luthor.

And you were always hovering somewhere behind Lex now, pretty and sharp-tongued and annoying. Clark couldn’t fight Lex when you were always just there watching. It felt like you were judging him, which he didn’t care about, but he still didn’t like.

Every time he slipped up in a fight, he could see you in the corner of his eyes, tilting your head like you were about to dissect him. If he was trading remarks during a fight and you were there, it was always impossible to find something smoother and more confident than whatever slipped like music from your lips. When it was your invention he was on, he’d started bringing back up in case you tried to shoot him again, but instead—in a much more inconvenient fashion—you’d decided to find a new way to evade him, every single time.

“You’re five minutes late.” You’d drawled a few months ago, not looking up from your desk as Clark and Guy landed in your lab.

Usually, by now, Clark had put a villain through at least three lab rebuilds. He liked seeing what they did with the new place, how they’d improved on it from the old one that he’d either wrecked in a fight, or gotten them kicked out of for committing a multitude of crimes.

You’ve had the same lab, the whole time. He was getting sick of its soft colored walls and clean floors, of all the strange clutter you kept between parts on the desk. It was mocking him.

“I didn’t know we were on a timer,” he said your name, and you hummed.

“You don’t know a lot of things, Superman. And I doubt Guy Gardener is going to help you fill in the gaps.”

Next to him, Guy had scowled. “How the hell did you know-“

“I have security, you know.” You’d spun in your chair, giving them a flat look. “And you’re the only one he hasn’t tried to use yet.”

You’d smiled, and it had been all full-lipped and sweet. Your hair had fallen a little over your face. You never smiled at Clark like that.

He’d felt kind of sick. You smiling just seemed to have that effect on him.

“I think you know why I’m here-“

“Of course I know why you’re here.” You’d cut Clark off with an insulted glare. “And you know what I’m going to say, and we both know how this is going to end. We can catch up first, if you want. I’ve been getting really into baking, since we last caught up.” You’d spun in your chair, and now you were smiling at Clark, but it was colder. Mocking. “My friend is having a baby, so I’m making cookies.”

Guy had frowned. “For… A newborn baby?”

“For her, dumbass.”

He’d blinked. “Wow, you’re- Mean.” Guy had grinned, and Clark remembered why he’d decided to bring him last. “I like it. Question, what are your superpowers again, and do they come out in any weird sex ways.”

You’d snorted. “No.”

“No, no superpowers, or no sex stuff-“

“Yes.”

Guy had frowned, looking down at his outfit like that was why he might be getting rejected. Clark had cleared his throat, saying your name in the way he always forced himself to. Gentle. Like he was talking to a rabid animal.

“We’re going to take the code to the beacon, now-“

“Supes.” You’d sighed, kicking your feet lazily. “You don’t need to do the whole thing anymore. It’s just me.” You’d smiled. “Come fight, and lose.”

Clark’s jaw had ticked. You said it so goddamn confidently, and once again, you were right.

He and Guy had given it their all, but you’d been ready. You were always ready, and always smiling, and always right, and it made Clark want to beat his own head against a wall.

“Bye!” You’d waved cheerfully when he’d retreated, beaming all bright and pretty. “You’ll get me next time, big guy!”

There had been a fever like feeling in his body, when he’d flown away. You hadn’t even shot him this time.

“What’s that girl’s deal.” Guy had grumbled while they patched up, scowling at the air. He’d gotten the worst of it.

“I don’t know. She just… Showed up one day.”

And like a weed, he hasn’t been able to get rid of you since.

It was driving him out of his mind.

Clark was running out of people to back him up. He was getting more and more distracted by your presence, and he was starting to recognize your smell. There was this cinnamon-apple candle you lit to stem off the chemical lab smell, and you used a similar kind of perfume, and every time he smelled it that fever returned. It got to the point that he’d smell the air for you like a dog, the second he touched down in a fight.

He’s worried it’s turning into an obsession. He even asked Luthor about you. About where you came from, why he hired you, anything to help him understand exactly what made you so… you.

“Why, Superman?” Luthor had smirked. “You like something you’re seeing? Because let me tell you, she’s more than worth the purchase, if you’ve got the money. Or you could just pick her up and carry her off, like the ogre brute that you are-“

Clark had knocked him out. He wasn’t going to entertain that.

But he still started watching closer, the way you and Luthor interacted. It was more than boss and employee. You smiled at him. He’d defend you in a fight, which was never a good sign.

Clark didn’t think he’d ever felt sicker, than when he pictured you and Luthor.

Together.

You smiling at him. Quipping at him without any venom or mockery in your voice. Tossing your air and batting your eyelashes, and-

He actually had no idea how you’d flirt. Clark pictured it something similar to a predator corning prey, but there was no bigger apex in this ecosystem than Luthor himself.

That was what Jimmy called a power couple.

Clark didn’t like it.

He didn’t like that, like that weed, no matter how he tried to pick away his thoughts of you they always grew back. You were stuck to him like a plaque, like a moss, like a parasite. You took his attention, his energy, a lot of his pride, every time you knocked him down without lifting one finger, your hair never even getting messed up in the fight.

Clark doesn’t like you.

He thinks he might hate you. He’s never really hated someone before, and he doesn’t like that either.

But he’s trying, so hard, to find something for you. And there’s nothing.

And he hates you even more, for that. For shaking him, and everything he knows. For getting such an iron hold on him without trying, digging your fingers in and leaving marks so deep, they don’t even fade when he doesn’t see you for months.

He hates that he still looks for you in those months. That it’s not relief when you’re gone, but something cool and light in his chest when you’re back. He tries to ignore it, just like he tries to ignore the fever. They’re not useful feelings, in dealing with the everything about you. He thinks they’re just byproducts of the hate, because he never feels them with anyone else.

Clark’s a grown man. He thought he’d felt most things.

And now you’re here.

And he’s really never hated anyone more.

“Kent.” Lois taps his desk, her voice a hushed whisper. “I need a favor.”

Clark looks up from his desk with a frown. Lois doesn’t ask for favors a lot. Lois doesn’t ask for anything a lot. ”What’s wrong?”

“Remember that informant I’ve been working with? The one who helped me break the piece about LuthorCorp and the animal experimentation?”

Clark nods. He remembers that clearly. Just as clearly as he remembers your lab, and all the super-powered bears that attacked him in your defense.

“Well, she told me she thinks Luthor is onto her. And I know he’s onto me.” Lois sighs, glancing over her shoulder. “I’ve had someone following me all week. My phone isn’t bugged, but I never let it leave my pocket, and- I checked my laptop. Someone installed a malware, it’s been downloading my emails to an off-bank server.”

Clark’s hands curl on his keyboard. “You think they’ve gotten to your woman-“

“No. She’s smart.” Lois frowns. “She’s been using some kind of extra-burner email? I don’t know. She explained it, I didn’t really follow. You’ll see.”

“Okay, that’s good.” Clark pauses. “I’ll see?”

“Yeah. That’s the favor.” Lois pats his shoulder. “You’re taking over for me.”

“Lois, I-“

“Look, she’s got a lot of information. I can’t tell you anything specific, but this is the best source I’ve gotten, maybe ever. I’m not losing her.”

“Well, you and I- We’re different.” Clark leans back in his chair with a pleading expression. It’s not that he doesn’t want to help. He’s just worked with Lois’ informants before, and they’re all very disappointed he’s not Lois. “Did you ask her, if she’d be fine with me taking over-“

“Oh, I told her everything. And don’t worry.” Lois smiles. “She’ll go easy on you.”

“Easy?” Clark laughs nervously, adjusting his glasses. “I mean, It’s just a meeting, right?”

“Sure, buddy. Just a meeting.”

Lois is good at a lot of things. She isn’t good at being reassuring. 

But Clark can’t say no. Not to her. Not when it’s something that’s going to help people.

He’ll meet the informant. Maybe she’ll be able to help him take down Luthor for good.

And, a tiny, bitter little voice crows from the back of his head, maybe she’ll be able to help him take you down.

Clark needs to stop predicting things. He’s bad at it.

He walks into the library at noon on a Wednesday, just like Lois told him to. He sits in the romance section, his posture straight, his expression perfectly approachable as he scans politely over the titles on the shelf. His One Desire. Her Sin. The Roses In Lace. Lost at Sea. Found at Sea. Lost in Him. Found in Him. There seems to be a pattern, and he wonders about the overlap between stories. The informant is running late. Maybe she decided she didn’t want to work with him. Clark’s never loved these romances, but there must be some appeal to them if they’re so popular. Reading is always good for you, and—as he takes one of the books off the shelf—he decides there isn’t really a better way to kill the time.

It’s a bit of a drudge. The prose is lacking, and the two characters seem to have less chemistry than the cows back home. Clark re-reads a few sentences over and over—the word cock is used quite a lot, and it’s starting to sound fake in his head—and the positions they’re getting into can’t be physically sound. Maybe he’s imagining them wrong.

“You’re amazing.” She whispers, her lips tinkering over the soft, meaty flesh of his ear.

This man must have big ears. And Clark pauses, because there’s a faint smell of vanilla and apple, and it makes him look up with a frown.

He must be imagining things. Or maybe his brain just associates you with meaty ears. Brains are strange like that. And you are haunting every facet of his life.

“I want you.” He growled. “You are the sexiest thing I’ve ever fucking seen. My whore.”

Clark’s frown deepens. He doesn’t think this book is for him.

“That one is bad.”

Clark looks up from the book, and his jaw drops.

You’re standing across the table from him, your head tilted slightly, eyes locked onto his.

“The sequel is better.” You hum, pulling out a chair. Sitting down. “I think the author really took the criticism of this one into consideration. She stopped using the word meaty so much.”

Clark blinks like an idiot. He doesn’t think he’s ever actually been this close to you before. You’re wearing normal-people clothing, instead of a lab coat with the LuthorCorp brand logo. You’ve got sunglasses on the top of your head, and your face is open and relaxed, but that might just be your inherent smugness.

Whatever perfume you use is suffocating him. Clogging his thoughts, smoking out everything but the ringing song of your name.

“Are you the bird?” You ask him, still tilting your head, and it’s kind of like how you look at him during fights.

You know. A loud alarm blares in his head. You know he’s Superman.

Clark laughs weakly, adjusting his glass. “I- Uh- I’m a human man.”

Why the fuck would he say it like that. He never says it like that. He’s been lying about his identity his whole life, and he’s never been such a fool to call himself a ‘human man’-

“Congratulations?” You look like you’re trying not to laugh, and Clark feels his face heat.

There’s the fever again. Your attention is searing, and it’s winding his muscles so tight his hand has to curl into a fist on his knee. Maybe it’s your perfume. Maybe it’s some kind of secret pheromone.

“Are you, um-“ He looks around the empty shelves. “Are you looking for something?”

You tilt your head again. Clark swallows.

“I, uh- I can help you find it.”

“No.” You lean forward, and Clark is frozen in his seat. “I think I found it myself.”

Oh.

No.

The bird. Lois told him her informant would ask for the bird, and he’d have to say he was still growing wings. He remembers the conversation clearly. He even told Lois he thought that was a little convoluted, and she’d laughed.

But now you’re in front of him. And you always make his—incredibly controlled—thoughts all scrambled and messy.

He adjusts his glasses again, clearing his throat. “I’m not a bird.” He says slowly. “I’m still growing wings?”

You smile.

And that’s not the smile he’s seen on you in the lab, or the saccharine, almost siren-like one you gave Guy.

It’s real. It’s a real smile, that makes your eyes shine like stars. The light pours out over you, and you look even more beautiful than before, and Clark didn’t think that was possible.

He didn’t think he’d find himself leaning forward, instead of away. His body drawing itself forward like a boulder being dragged out to sea. He’s not a movable man. He’s trained himself to think and restrain his every movement, every craven or hungry desire, for the safety of everyone around him.

But you smile.

And he can’t do anything but move.

“I’m Clark Kent.” He sticks out a hand, and you glance down with an unreadable glint in your eyes.

“Clark Kent.” You echo, and he nods.

“Sorry I’m not Lois.”

You smile again, at that. It sends a rush through Clark like a drug.

“I’m not.”

You take Clark’s hand. He’d always thought your skin would be cold and scaly, like a crocodile.

It’s warm. Soft and warm, your fingers brushing over his wrist. His head spins, and he swallows on his own, bubbling, confusing thoughts. They’re more bursts of emotion. Sparks you’re making fly through his body, and a sticky feeling over his heart that oozes like honey.

You say your name, and Clark bites down an I know.

I know you. You’re the bane of my existence, and I think you might’ve put Lois under a spell. You’re putting me under one now. Let me go, because I know what you are.

He’s so sure, that he knows what you are.

But you settle into the seat, and smile again, and Clark doesn’t think he knows anything at all.

The first interview goes well, if not a little awkward. Clark stumbles over his words, and finds himself staring at you a little longer than normal. Worse, you don’t seem fazed by it, just smiling right back and batting your eyelashes like some kind of doe he knows is made of teeth.

That’s the truly confusing part. Clark knows you. He thinks he knows you. He was pretty sure, that he knew you.

And the woman sitting across from him at the table is not you.  

“How’d you meet Lois?” He asks casually, as you’re wrapping up. It’s a reasonable question. Naturally curious for anyone, not just Clark, who might have a pit growing in his stomach, that can only be fed by knowing more about you. “I mean- I’ve seen you on the news. You’re close with Luthor. She said she had an informant-“

“Didn’t think it would be me?” You smile again, and he coughs.

“Didn’t think it would be anyone close to him.”

“Well.” You shrug, sliding your sunglass back over your brow. “Close is a very strong word.”

You don’t offer him more than that. He doesn’t get a chance to ask.

When you leave, he stands in the romance section for about three minutes, trying to figure out what just happened. Trying to make sense of a world that’s flipped, and constant in his life being changed.

He hates you. It’s been about a year and a half since you showed up, and Clark has become very certain in the fact that he doesn’t hate anyone, expect for you. Lois would call that an exception that proves the rule.

And suddenly, you’re splitting the rule clean down the middle, with a single smile.

When he gets back to the Daily Planet, he relays almost everything that happened to Lois. He leaves out how he’d stared, and how pretty your eyelashes were, and how when you laugh for real it’s a musical sound. Like a bird, ringing through the air and calling everything else in response. Clark swore he felt a dizzying cloud form in his chest, when he heard your real laugh.

But that’s not something Lois needs to know, so he doesn’t tell her. He doesn’t tell anyone.

He just thinks about it. Over, and over, and over again. He put your next meeting on the calendar. He stares at the date, and finds that pit in his stomach trying to gnaw at time. To get you closer again.

When the day comes, he goes early with an extra coffee in hand. He decides he’s trying to test how much you really trust him. Most villains never accept food or drink from anyone. They’re too paranoid.

The first part of his plan goes wrong when you’re there first. Waiting at the same table as before, reading one of the romance books off the shelf. You don’t look up, when Clark sits across from you.

His foot bumps yours, under the table. He forces himself to ignore how the small touch shakes him like lightning.

“You’re early.” You say, and he smiles.

“We’re here at the same time.”

“I know.” You glare at him over your book. “And I’m early. But I’m always early.”

“You were late last time.”

“I was testing you last time.” You shrug. “I wanted to see if you’d give up, and leave.”

Clark blinks. He’d suspected that. It had been another part of his plan, to try and make you admit that everything you do is calculated and crude in some way.

He really hadn’t expected you to just… admit it.

“Did I pass the test?” He asks, a little stupidly. You finally set the book down, and smile.

 “I don’t know yet.”

“Oh.” He swallows. “Can I ask what my grade is right now? If I’m still being tested?”

Your smile widens. It’s an enchanting sigh. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”

“Yeah. You are.”

Clark wishes he knew what that meant.

He wishes his own plan was better, too. He offers you the coffee, and you take it, but maybe you just like free coffee. He did get it from the fairly expensive place down the street.

Your fingers brush, when you take the cup from his hands. It’s worse than the foot. He’s almost stunned for a second, his eyes locked onto you like you’re a magnet.

He learns nothing. You’re just as restrained and open as the first time, when he finally remembers he’s supposed to be interviewing you. He asks about Luthor’s plans down at the harbor, and you tell him about the deep-sea mining and threat to the environment. He asks if Luthor knows about the risks. You laugh, and it’s a little dry, but still one of the most beautiful sounds he’s ever heard.

“You think he cares?”

Clark knows he doesn’t. He’s just surprised you know, too.

“Well,” he clicks the recorder off, and you raise your brows. “You do work for him. You know him better than I do.”

“Hm.” You take a long sip of your coffee. “I don’t think that’s true.”

“It has to be, doesn’t it?”

“Maybe. But I don’t think it is.”

It’s good to know that, even when you’re being nice, you’re still infuriating. “You’re the closest member of his inner circle.” Clark argues. “You have to at least know a little about him. I only interview him.”

“You interview me. And Superman. Do you not know us?”

Clark swallows. “I know Superman. But- We work closer on things.”

“Things?”

“Yeah. I can’t say anything else.” He sits up a little. “Superhero business.”

You just give him another strange look. “Does he ever talk about me?”

Clark blinks. He thought you just forgot he existed, every time he flew away. “Uh- No?” He’s worried if he talks about you once, he’s never going to shut up. “Why? Do you- What do you think of him?”

“Of Superman?”

Clark nods, and he has to drag himself back from leaning over the table. He doesn’t know why he’d let himself ask that. But it’s too late to take it back.

“I work for Lex Luthor.” You shrug, turning your coffee in your hands. “Opinion is a luxury I’m not afforded.”

He frowns. “Everyone gets an opinion. You can have it privately, but you still must have one.” You must think of me too.

“Maybe I do.”

“So you do.”

“Maybe.”

“You can tell me, if you agree with Luthor that he’s a- a plague sent to destroy humanity-“

“I don’t think that.” Your voice is suddenly harsh, and Clark blinks.

“Then what do you think?”

You tilt your head at him, pulling your lower lip between your teeth. Clark snaps a pencil between his fingers.

Your gaze drops down to the fractured pieces, and you smile again. Clark realizes his breathing is shallow, because—for reasons he’d rather not thing about—this matters. You matter.

“I think he’s good man.” You say slowly. “And I think he’s a hopeful fool, and- Dangerous. To me.”

Clark swallows. He can’t think of anything to say, so he just nods, and goes back to his pre-planned questions.

He thinks about your answer, for the rest of the week. It plays over and over in his mind, and he writes it on scraps of paper at his desk. It should make more sense. He should be able to let it go.

But it’s a part of you. And Clark’s never been good at letting you go at all.

Clark’s dependent on the pheromone theory now. Because if you’re just like this—if you just consume his thoughts and follow him into his dreams, all on your own—he thinks he might be screwed.

He’s screwed.

Clark counts down the days until you meet, and tries to talk to you as much as he possibly can when you’re there. He wants to understand, how you can be the impossibly enchanting woman across from him at the table, and the crude shell of a person who hovers behind Luthor at every press event and meeting.

The woman you are here is good. Amazing. Still made of some barbed wire, but Clark’s getting better at weaving through it. And it’s not even that he’s uncovering that rot he’d always thought you to be made of. You’re just… Not made of it. Not here.

Here, you’re made of flowers and honey and soft, summer fire. Here, Clark can picture you laughing with wind in your hair, teasing him without any venom all the time. He likes everything he learns about you here.

He doesn’t understand how you’re the same person.

“Do you like these books?” He asks, nodding to the shelves of romance, and you shrug.

“So what if I do?”

“Nothing. Everyone- They can like whatever they want. I just… Didn’t peg you to enjoy The Summer of Sin.”

Your face relaxes slightly. “Why not? Do I not look like a romantic?”

Clark swallows. He thinks you look like everything. He barely knows better than to say it. “I’ve imagined you’re more of a nonfiction enjoyer.” He settles on smoothly.

There’s a glint in your eyes. He knows immediately he’s made a mistake.

“You’ve imagined me?”

All the time. Most of his thoughts circle around you, and it’s even worse than before. Clark’s found himself memorizing every detail about you he can scrape, weaving them together like a gorgeous, puzzled tapestry of a woman he knows he’s obsessed with. There’s no use fighting it anymore, when he wakes up and wonders what you’re doing. When he wanders through the day seeing you in every ray of sunlight through the windows and longer shadow on the floor.

He’s hoped, at some point, that he’d find the string of you that unravels the whole thing. That tells him he was right the first time, and you’re no work of art. Just so shiny he’d been blinded, and everything he’d thought the first time had been right.

But that string isn’t coming. And the more Clark learns about you, the more every color he’d painted you with become inverted.

You’re not shiny up close. You’re just… Glorious. Like water catching on the ocean, exposing the glittering rocks and life below.

“I- I don’t- Not in- I think about you, yes, but-“

“What do you think about me?”

Clark’s face must be burning red. He really wishes you’d stop looking at him. “A lot of things.”

That unreadable look flashes over your features. “Are they good?”

There’s something oddly heavy, in your voice. Clark can almost feel it in his hands, fluttering and delicate.

“Mostly. Yes.” He tries to offer you a smile. “But you are strange.”

You scowl. “I am not strange-“

“You like romance books-“

“Which is very normal.” You raise your chin, and Clark grins. It gets cuter every time. “They’re fun, Clark. Sometimes, you just need fun.”

“What’s fun about them?” He really wants to know. He wants to understand you.

“I- I don’t know.” You glare down at your hands. “It’s escapism. You get to imagine that you’re a princess or something, instead of- Just another fucking person.”

Clark frowns. “I don’t think you’re just another person.”

You snort. “Yeah. I know.”

“I’m serious, you- You’re a genius-“

“I’m tired.” You say firmly, and Clark realizes that you are.

There are bags under your eyes, almost perfectly covered by concealer. Your lips aren’t chapped, but there’s a little puff on the lower one from chewing, and your shoulders slumps. He doesn’t know how he never noticed before.

Maybe you just never showed him. Never let him see.

“I know,” you speak slowly, not looking him fully in the eyes. “That these books are stupid. But I like them. They- They help.”

“Help? With-“

“Everything.”

“Oh.” He swallows. “I could help. If you ever- Needed it. With anything.”

And he means it. He really would.

You smile at him, and he wants to ask if you think about him too. Not Superman—a hopeful fool, dangerous to me—but just Clark.

Instead, he just smiles back, and reveals in the way he sees your gaze relax.  

He likes you like this. You’re really not that different, when he thinks about it, and he doesn’t understand how he was ever so wrong.

Clark is beginning to give up on understanding.

He just wants to know you.

He’s back in your lab, for the first time since he took over for Lois. It’s about the docks, and the deep-sea mining, and the pump that you told him—told Clark, at least—was going to be put in the water. Jimmy found out that the pump was going to be filling the bay with a toxic chemical that’s been compared to a truth serum.

Clark can’t understand why you’d tell him, if it was your design.

And he doesn’t understand why you’re just lying on the floor of your lab, scrolling on your phone when he arrives.

He clears his throat, and you sigh, craning your neck to frown at him.

“You’re here.”

“You and Luthor are going to pump the water with chemicals that will alter the free will of the people in Metropolis.” He’d been rehearsing, on the flight over. He’s trying to sound more heroic, and not dwelling on why. “Hand over the pump, and we can do this the easy way.”

Your lips twitch. “You mean the way where I kick your ass, and then walk away untouched.”

“I don’t know if you kick my-“

“Yes, I would.”

Yes, you would. “Just- Tell me where the pump is, please.”

“Oh, there’s no pump.”

Clark blinks. “What.”

“I don’t have a pump. I made that up.”

“Wha- Why would you do that-“

“I was testing something.” You shrug, patting the floor next to you. “Sit down.”

Clark squints at the floor next to you. There’s nothing under it. When he looks at the ceiling, there’s nothing there either. You’re just… Asking him to sit down.

He pulls his cape behind him, and sits with his legs crossed at your side. You flop back down, your knees pulling up and your arms around your stomach. Clark doesn’t expect the silence to last so long. He’s not sure what to do with his hands, especially as they start to itch. Something about you is magnetic. There’s a wrinkle in your brow he wants to soothe with his thumb, but that might end with him getting shot again-

Your eyes suddenly lock onto his, and Clark swallows. In the low light, they glow like gemstones. He thinks he could get lost in them, if he was allowed to. Even if he wasn’t really sure what he’d been diving into, he’s come to find that you don’t exactly fall into predictably.

He likes trying.

Clark thinks he might want to learn everything about you, until he’s the only person in the world who understands.

“Hi.” You whisper, your eyes still locked onto his.

Your voice is softer than he’s ever heard it before. It’s unsettling, like silence before a storm.

“Are you alright?” He asks kindly, and your eyes narrow.

“Should I not be?”

“I don’t know. That’s kind of why I’m asking.”

He tries to smile at you, welcoming and warm. Your lips twitch. That’s better than nothing.

Even if you sigh, and look back up to the ceiling. Leaving Clark leaning a little forward, wondering if it’s wrong to lean closer, and try to drag your attention back.

“Is there something you need help with?” He offers, and you let out a soft, huffing laugh.

“No. Not that you can help with.”

He frowns. “I don’t know. I- I’m actually pretty good.” He clears his throat. “At helping with things. It’s my job, in case you didn’t know.”

You laugh, and this time it’s a little louder. “You know what, I think I’ve heard.”

“You think?”

“I watch the news.”

“Ah.” Clark tries to read further into your expression. He doesn’t think he’s very good at it. “And what do you think, when you’re watching the news?”

“Of you?” You’re looking at him again. He sits up. He doesn’t want you to look away.

Clark nods. “I, um- I know they do a lot of pieces on me.” He clears his throat. “I read the Daily Planet.”

“Oh, you read it?”

“I’m not a big TV person.” He shrugs lamely, and you laugh again.

“Sure.”

The silence lingers, but it’s not uncomfortable. Just… Odd. Clark doesn’t think he’d ever been in your lab this long without suffering an injury. It’s kind of nice. When he looks up at the ceiling, he realizes there are stars painted all over the tiles. That must be new. He would’ve seen it before, if it wasn’t-

“I had a bit of an… episode.” You murmur, and he thinks you might be reading his mind. “Last night. I started doing that, and couldn’t stop, and now…”

You trail off, and Clark takes a deep breath through his nose. He can only smell you, and that intoxicating perfume. “You air out the paint already?”

“I used a spray.”

“That you… invented?”

You smile. “That I bought from Costco.”

“Oh.” He’s making himself an idiot again. “I didn’t know you could paint.”

“I don’t anymore.” You’re silent for another moment, and Clark tracks your every breath. “You know, you’re from there.”

You point at the ceiling, and Clark cranes his neck to see the sky. You’re pointing to a cluster of stars a few tiles over, and it takes him a second to understand what you mean. You didn’t just paint the sky.

You mapped it. The constellations, accurate to the clear nights in Kansas he remembers so well.

And it feels like you mapped a part of him.

Clark looks down at you, and finds you watching him silently. He lays down slowly, just so your shoulders are brushing. When he offers you another smile, you return it.

He looks back to the sky, and lets himself exhale.

You’re not going to attack him, and he’s not going to ask why.

He’s just going to lie here, and watch the unmoving stars.

“I wanted to be an alien when I was a kid.”

Your words are sudden. As far as Clark had known, you’d been talking about LuthorCorp coverups. “Huh?”

“When I was like, five.” You cross your arms, leaning back in your chair. “I wanted to be an alien.”

“Oh.” Clark blinks. “Why?”

“Because I wanted to be something.”

“You are something.”

“Well, I wanted to be more.”

“What, an evil scientist?”

You go silent, and Clark wants to kick himself. That was rude, he’s never rude like that, you just- You do something to him. You make his brain fuzzy and his manners fade, clinging with sunken claws for control of his tongue and hands. He’s been thinking about touching you a lot. About grazing his hand over the small of your back when you walked by, or hugging you before you leave, to see how you’d fit in his arms.

He thinks you’d fit well. That whatever is making you tired and sad, he’d be able to wrap over you and fend it away. He’d keep you afloat like a lifejacket.

If you dragged him down with you, he might let you do that too.

He doesn’t think you would. Right now, you’re staring at your hand, lips pressed in a tight line, and Clark feels like a jerk.

“I- I didn’t mean-“

“It’s okay.”

“No, I’m sorry-“

“It’s fine.” You snap, and Clark swallows. “I’m fine.”

“You, um- You kind of don’t sound fine.”

“Well, I am.”

Clark doesn’t know how to push against you. He has all the strength in the world, but you’re the most immovable things he’s ever seen. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

You’re silent again, and Clark adjusts his glasses. Lois is going to kill him, if he just ruined this. And he won’t even fight back. He’d deserve it, for making you look so sad.

“I’m not evil.” You mutter, and Clark sits up.

“I know-“

“But I’m not-“ You shake your head, still looking at your hands. “I’m not you.”

Clark frowns. He doesn’t understand what that means. “I mean… Yeah. You’re not Lois either. Or Luthor.”

You laugh, but it’s not full. It’s that hollow laugh you use, when Clark doesn’t understand something. “No. I mean- Yes, but that’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean?” He asks quickly.

You stare at him. For a long, long moment, you’re looking right at Clark, and he’d swear the world stopped spinning if he didn’t feel the ground slipping from under his feet as his body tries to crash, face-first, into yours.

“I don’t know.” You say softly. “But- I wanted to be an alien.”

The words are supposed to mean something to him. He can hear it, ringing in your tone.

But either he’s not smart enough to understand, or you’re too smart, and you’ve dumbed it down for him so much it means nothing anymore.

“I didn’t want to be an alien.” He says carefully, trying to test the waters. “But- I wanted to be a farmer. Like my parents.”

You tilt your head at him, and Clark clears his throat.

“I think you’d be a good farmer. You’d like the sky. The quiet. You- You’d like it.”

He doesn’t think you’d like the bugs or the mud, but he doesn’t say that. That’s not important.

All that matters is your small smile, and the way you relax again.

And Clark thinks this really might be something big. Bigger than just an obsession.

He feels his whole world ease, when you smile. And he thinks it might be love.

He goes to your lab, for no good reason. There’s nothing for him to fight you about, no false plans to investigate. He just wants to see you, and he thinks he might be welcome.

He still hovers outside the window for five minutes, just to talk himself into it. Last time might have been a fluke, and he’s about to get shot again.

Clark decides that it’s worth the risk.

“Why were you outside for so long?” You’re lying on the floor again, and Clark sighs.

“Cameras?”

“Mhm.”

He smiles to himself, sitting at your side. “I was trying to figure out if you’d try to kill me again, if I came inside.”

You scoff. “I have never tried to kill you.”

“I have injuries that say different-“

“If I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead.” You look right at Clark as you say it, and he balls his hand into a fist.

He wants to trace the line of your teasing smile. He wants to memorize it.

It’s one of the last things he has to memorize about you. The most forbidden thing.

And he wants it more than anything.

“I believe that.” He says, and your smile widens.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Clark lies down, and you turn your head to hold his gaze.

Your breath is warm, fanning over his face. Your hands are crossed over your stomach, and there are tiny little divets in your face that Clark is only able to really notice this close. Your eyes are a little uneven, and your teeth a little crooked, and it’s all perfect.

“Can I ask you something?” You breathe, and he nods without thinking.

“Anything.”

You hum, fidgeting with your fingers as you look back up to the ceiling. “What do you think of me?”

It’s not what Clark expects, but you have such a habit of stunning him, he’s learned to recover fast. Clark clears his throat, watching your profile like if he stares enough, he’ll close his eyes and see you clearer than he does in his dreams.

“You don’t have to answer-“

“I think you’re a good person.” Clark murmurs, and you look back to him with wide eyes. “And I think you’re angry, and you should be, but- I think you’re a threat.”

“A threat?” Your brow furrows, and Clark shakes his head.

“To you.”

“You think I’m a threat to myself-“

“And to me.”

“I- But not anyone else?”

Clark shakes his head. “No. Not to anyone else.”

You laugh that hollow sound, and look back to the ceiling. “Someone once told me I was evil.”

Clark cringes. “He was an idiot-“

“He was right.”

You look to him, and there’s something so sad and heavy in your eyes, Clark is sure the only way to get rid of it is to burn it away. 

But all he can do is shake his head. “No. He wasn’t.”

“I’m a threat to you.”

“I know.”

“You’re Superman.”

“I’m aware.”

That gets a tiny smile. “Historically, threats to Superman are evil.”

Clark pretends to consider your words for a second, even though he already knows his answer.

“There are different ways to be a threat. There’s offensive, and defensive, and- Distractions.”

“Is that what I am? A distraction?”

Clark lets himself smile at that. You have no idea.

“I’m here, aren’t I.”

You laugh softly, your eyes still not leaving his.

“I read a romance book last week,” he adds, trying to get you to understand without spooking you away.

“Did you like it.”

“It was enlightening.”

“What,” you snort. “About sex?”

“No.” He snorts. “I’m- I know about that.”

“You’re a boy scout, Supes, it’s not insane-“

“I have everything humans do.” He gives you an amused look, and suddenly, you’re silent, your eyes shining in the dark.

“Yeah?” Your voice is barely a breath, and Clark shrugs.

“Yep. There were just some things in that book I don’t think anyone can do. Or- I guess, but it would take a lot of work. And most human men don’t have that stamina.”

He’s expecting a little, smart remark of and what, you do? But you’re just silent. Gaping at him, your face softly flushed. Clark isn’t sure what he did.

But he likes how relaxed you look. If it’s because of his conversation, he’s more than happy to offer more.

“I might read another, if you have any recommendations.”

“Really?”

He nods. “I didn’t like it a whole lot, it was very… explicit. But I’d read another.”

He doesn’t say for you.

But with the way your eyes widen slightly, he thinks you understand just fine.

“I’ll bring you some on Wednesday.” You whisper, and Clark grins. Gifts. That’s progress.

It’s only hours later, when he’s alone in his apartment, that he realizes what he said.

How, just like always, you scrambled him. You blurred lines.

Superman doesn’t know about the romance books. Clark does. But he just slipped into you like always.

Clark doesn’t swear, expect under two circumstances.

Sex, and when he’s really fucked up.

And when he realizes he’s all but told you he’s superman, there’s only one thing he can think.

Shit.

You’re not there, the next day.

Clark goes to the usual section, and you’re not there waiting for him. He waits until the librarians start to look at him weird, then he sends you a short, worried email, and leaves.

You don’t respond. He’s checking every five minutes, and the hours creep slowly as he refreshes, over and over and over, hoping this time he’ll just get a sign that you’re alive.

He doesn’t think you’d turn him over to Luthor. You’ve been working against Luthor for a while, with Lois, and even if you wanted to—which you wouldn’t—you’d have to admit that you’d been meeting him as Clark, and letting him into your lab.

Or you could just lie. You’re quite a good liar.

No.

You wouldn’t tell Luthor.

Clark still feels like his skin his trying to crawl off his body, the longer he waits. He considers asking Lois if you ever stood her up, but he already knows the answer.

You know. You know.

And now, you’re gone.

Clark drags his feet home. He’d flown to your lab after leaving the Daily Planet, and you weren’t in your lab, or any of the LuthorCorp building. Some part of him should be glad, if you just picked up and ran. Maybe you can find a farm, far away from Luthor, and live a nice, quiet life.

But most of him just misses you. And is worried, and wants you to come back. It would be creepy, to scour the whole planet to try and find you. And it would probably take a few days, if he’s really looking. But he could do it.

He’s trying to remember how much PTO he has banked, when he climbs the stairs to his apartment. You can’t have gone that far, unless you used a portal. Then you could be anywhere. If you’re on another planet, that’s going to take weeks, and if you’re in another galaxy that might be months-

You’re on the couch.

Clark opens his door, and finds you on his couch.

You smile at him, like you didn’t just break into his apartment. “Hi.”

“I- What are you-“

“I didn’t want to show up at the Daily Planet. Would have been asking for open fire.”

“Asking for- What the heck are you talking about-“

You pull up your oddly dirty shirt, and Clark feels his bones get heavy and cold. There’s a pattern of deep, purpling bruises all over your stomach.

You’re hurt. He’d been so stupefied by your presence, he somehow hadn’t noticed you were hurt.

His bag slips from his hand, as he rushes to your side. You wince, hissing through your teeth when his fingers graze one of the marks, and Clark swallows down his blurred anger and panic.

“You- Who-“

“Luthor.” You mutter. “Turns out he also has cameras.”

Clark’s gaze shoots up, and he finds you already watching him. “And he did this.”

“He got angry I wouldn’t tell him who Superman is.” You say flatly. “When we were clearly so cozy.”

His hands fist. If he went now, he’d be back within ten minutes, and Luthor would be chained to the top of the Eiffel tower, his bald head freezing off.

But you’re in front of him now. And that’s what needs to matter.

“Okay. We- We need to get you in a bath. I have a bath.”

“Wow, aren’t we fancy.”

He gives you a flat look. “Don’t sass me. I can leave you on the couch, you know.”

You tilt your head at him, and smile. “No, you won’t.”

Clark stands up, braces his hands on his hips, and glares at you. You glare right back, and he doesn’t know why he thought he’d ever possibly win this.

He groans, ducks down, and picks you up. You smile at him, and he sighs.

“I know. Don’t- You don’t have to say it.”

Your smile just widens, and Clark thinks he can lose a lot of fights, if they make you smile.

While you take the bath, he waits in his kitchen. You’re going to need to ice that, but he doesn’t actually have ice packs. He’s never needed them.

He flies up a little north to get them. You’ll be fine on your own for five minutes, and he doesn’t want to accidentally get you ice that melts too fast, or isn’t cold enough, or anything less acceptable than you deserve.

It’s a welcome distraction, too. From thoughts of you, in his bathtub. Naked and breathing slowly, your thighs pressed together underwater, or spread wide, baring you up to be seen-

Clark sticks his face in the snow. This is the last bit of control he’s managed to keep, the last leash he’s still on. He won’t let it slip now.

You’re wrapped in a towel on the couch, when he gets back. Clark frowns, and opens his mouth.

“I’m not made of glass.” You snap before he can speak, and he sighs.

“I know, but you are injured. It’s not good to put extra strain, when your body is already trying to recover-“

“Are you a doctor now, too?”

Clark stares at your scowl, and it slides off in a second. You look back to your hands, your voice turning into that smaller one he doesn’t think you use with anyone else.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay, you’ve had a long day-“

“No. I- I was- I’m sorry.” You glare at him again, like you’re challenging him to try and refuse the apology again.

He wouldn’t dare.

“Okay.” He approaches you slowly, holding up his makeshift ice. “I- I got this for you.”

You frown at him. “A wet hand?”

Clark follows your gaze, and groans. He’d spent too long staring at you, and forgotten to wrap it in cloth. The ice melted.

“Alright, I’ll just go get more-“

“Don’t you have frost breath.”

Oh. He does.

But he wishes he protested more about that being a bad idea. It means he has to kneel down in front of you, very carefully open up your towel, and pretend he can’t see the underside of your breast as he blows on your stomach. Your whole body twitches under his hands, pinning you gently to the couch.

He’s still in control.

“How’d you know where I live?” He asks between breaths, and you grunt.

“I looked it up the day after we met.”

Clark looks up at you in surprise. “What? Did you do that with Lois-“

“No. Lois isn’t Superman.”

His fingers curl on your sides, and you blink at him with an oddly soft shine in your eyes.

The day you met. The day.

“You’ve-“

“Yeah.”

“But- I was wearing the glasses-“

“I know.” You smirk. “How ever did I figure it out.”

Clark rubs a hand over his face. “No, you don’t understand, they have this- It’s like a magic trick, that’s literally supposed to be impossible.”

“Shit.” You laugh weakly, your body curving from the pain. “I think you should ask for a refund.”

Clark chuckles, pinning you a little tight to the couch. He doesn’t want you to be able to move too much. You might get more hurt.

“Was it something I said?” He asks, and you shake your head.

“I- I just knew, okay? That’s it. It doesn’t have to be a big thing.”

Clark thinks it does have to be a big thing. It should be a huge thing, that you’ve known the whole time, and just… said nothing.

But you’re still injured. And Luthor might be looking for you.

So he just sighs again and blows on your stomach. Your back arches into him, this time. If he couldn’t see the flutter of your eyes and ripple of your body under his hands—clearly trying to react as little as possible—he’d think you were torturing him on purpose.

“You should stay here.” He mutters. “Until it’s safe.”

You scoff. “No. I’m not doing that.”

Clark frowns. “Luthor isn’t going to let up until he finds you-“

“I can disappear-“

“Not right now. Not like this.” He grazes his thumb over your bare skin, and a noise awfully close to a moan escapes your lips.

“Clark, fuck-“ Your head tips back, your hand shooting into his hair, and that was a really bad idea.

Your moan might be the most addictive sound he’s ever heard. That’s a selfish thing for his focus to be, right now.

“You’re staying here.” He says firmly, then pauses. “Or- Lois can take you. If that would be more comfortable.”

He doesn’t want it to be. He wants you here, where he can keep you safe himself, and talk to you all the time. But it’s not about him. 

“No.” You snap. “I’ll go in the morning-“

“I’m not letting you do that.”

“Oh, you’re not letting me-“

“I’m not just- Just going to sit here and let you walk out, only to find out that Luthor grabbed you and now I have to go save you!” Clark’s voice is rising, but you don’t balk. You just roll your eyes, and lean your head back on the sofa.

“Please. You- You don’t have to do that.”

“Do what? Stop you from getting yourself hurt?! You work with Luthor, you know what he’s capable of-“

“You know what I’m capable of.” You hiss, and Clark shakes his head.

“And I know you’re a better person than he is, you won’t go to the same- The same insane extremes-“

“Won’t I? You said it, you said I’m an evil scientist-“

“You know I didn’t mean that-“

“Don’t I?”

“Yes, you do-“

“Do I-“

“Stop doing that!” Clark shouts, and your mouth snaps shut.

He doesn’t know when, but he’d risen up on his knees. Your faces are only inches apart, your eyes wide and lips parted, and for once Clark’s got you completely quiet. He grabs your knee lightly. He doesn’t want you to go away. 

“You are infuriating.” He mutters, holding your gaze. “And confusing, and I- I don’t understand howsomeone so… So-“ He shakes his head. “So you ended up with someone like Luthor. But I know that you’re not evil. And I know that Lex- He doesn’t forgive grievances. He won’t just let you go, and I’m not letting you get hurt.”

You stare at him for another handful of minutes. When you speak again, your voice is small. “Why?”

“Why?”

“Why would you care.” You whisper. “I- I know what I’ve done-“

“It was never really you-“

“Then what I helped do, and I- I was just young, and stupid, and I didn’t have a lot of choices and he listened but- I still-“ You reach up, grabbing the collar of his shirt. Like he’s the last thing you have to hold onto in the world. “You stopped. You stopped asking me to stop, and you- I thought you gave up.”

Clark’s lips twitch despite himself. In way, he had given up.

He’d stop trying to convince himself there was anything about you that needed to be fixed.

“You’re not exactly a moveable person,” he mutters your name, leaning a little closer. “And I- I guess I just decided I didn’t care.”

“You didn’t care-“

“What you were doing. Or- Why. I trusted you.” Clark swallows. Your noses are bumping, and your skin is warm under his hands. “And I want to help. Let me help.”

You stare at him, and for a second, he thinks you’re going to try and pull away. So he says the only thing he’s been able to think of you, letting it fall from his lips with ease.

“I love you.” Clark strokes his thumb over that furrow in your brow, and your breath hitches. “Please. Let me help.”

Silence lingers again. It’s the loudest he’s ever heard.

And this time, you don’t break it.

You just nod.

Your eyes fall to Clark’s lips, then dart back up. Your breathing is coming shallow, and your skin is getting warmer. Clark’s drowning in you, in being this close, and then he smells it.

Need.

You need him, and he wants to give. To show you that something can be soft, that you’re worthy of every bit of care he has to offer. He leans in, just enough to brush his lips over yours.

You open for him in a second, a moan falling from your lips.

And Clark lets everything in him snap.

He surges up. Grabs your jaw to keep you steady, and kisses you with everything he’s let wind up inside him for months. His lips move against yours in a smooth rhythm, his tongue tracing over the line of your teeth before pressing down your throat. He can’t find himself to have enough of you, doesn’t think there can be enough. You taste a little salty, and your moans are soft and loud, and it’s just as addictive as the rest of you.

Clark presses over you, careful that his weight doesn’t crush you. You tip your head even further back, until your eyes are fluttering whenever he pulls away to catch the shortest breath. The kisses are sloppy, like neither of you can bear to pull apart for a second. His hand on your thigh wanders up, tracing over soft, hidden skin under your towel, and you shiver. For a second he’s ready to pull back, check that he’s not hurting you more, but you’re kissing him with the same desperate fervor as before. You let out a sweet little gasp when Clark squeezes your thigh, and his lips twitch.

You like.

You like this plenty.

Clark tips your head a little to the side, dragging his lips down your throat, letting his hand knead against your skin. You’re reactive, every light touch making your whole body shake. Clark has to bite down a groan, as the smell of your arousal starts to flood his senses. He nips under your neck, and a breathy whine leaves your lips, one hand shooting into his hair.

“Clark- Oh- Oh my god-“

“I know.” He mutters, sucking on the small hurt. “You got no idea, how long I wanted this. Thought I was going crazy, sweetheart, you have no idea-“

You make a mumbled sound, pulling on his hair, and Clark glances up to find you staring at him with shining, doe-like eyes. It knocks the air out of him, and that’s not supposed to be possible.

But you defy a lot of things, for him. What’s just one more?

“You,” he drops his brow against yours, and your hands press flat on his chest. “You are beautiful.”

Your lower lip wobbles, and Clark kisses you slowly. Lazily. He’s got you, pliable and wanting below him. If he’s taking anything he’s offered, he’s doing it for you, not to you.

And it pays off immediately, when you start to work yourself up. Your kisses turn frenzied, your hips rolling up into his hand, and Clark’s fingers brush against wetness, dribbling down your thighs. He groans against your lips, and is rewarded with another high, breathless plea.

“Want you.” He mutters, keeping his hand firmly planted down, closer to your knee. “I’ll be gentle, swear it, just- Want you-“

You nod, your mouth slack, and Clark pulls up with a small frown.

His hand on your head drags down to cup your jaw, his thumb tracing over your swollen lips. They hang open, and he has a feeling if he pressed his thumb forwards, you’d take it with shiny eyes and a moan.

But you’re just staring at him. All your bravado is gone, and you’re just blinking at Clark with a glazed, lustful expression.

“Can you say you want this?” He rasps, pressing his brow lightly over yours. “Tell me, baby. I can give you anything, but- You gotta tell me.”

You nod again, and Clark gently taps your lips.

“Words.”

“Yes.” You whisper, your fingers digging against his skin. “Clark, please, yes. I- I want you, want you so bad, please-“

Clark kisses you again, a little worried if he lets you keep going, you’re not going to be able to stop. You moan happily against his lips, and whine when he pulls away again.

He presses his brow back against yours, and lets his gaze drag slowly down your body. The towel has fully fallen away, exposing you to the room, and he thinks he’d be drooling, if he had a little less self-control.

“Holy…” He drags one hand slowly down your bare side, feeling the blood rush into his cock. “Fuck, baby, you’re- You’re amazing.”

Clark expects a teasing response, about the swearing. Instead he only gets silence, and when he glances back up, you’re staring at him with the widest, most flustered expression he’s ever seen. He squeezes your waist, and your hand flies up to cup his cheek. Clark smiles, and kisses the inside of your wrist, watching your breath catch from such a small touch.

Just to test, he moves his hand from your thigh to just under your breast, cupping your ribs and letting his thumb graze over your nipple. The reaction is immediate. You shudder, eyes batting and a long, musical whine filling the room.

Clark raises his brows, and your flush deepens, your eyes darting away. He can’t have that.

He mutters your name gently, and you shake your head, still avoiding his gaze.

“I- I’m fine-“

“You don’t look it.” He says, rising fully up so no matter where you try to look, you’re going to see him. “Sweetheart, I need you all into this-“

“I am all- You know-“

“I don’t. And you’re not looking at me.”

You sigh, dragging your face back, but keeping your eyes squeezed shut. Clark frowns, worried that your injuries are worse than he thought, and you’re trying to push through it for his sake when he should be taking care of you and letting you rest-

“I’m not…” You take a heavy breath, your nose scrunched in the most adorable way he’s ever seen.

Clark says your name, and you shake your head, your arms wrapping around your stomach.

“I don’t do this.” You blurt, body curling into the cushion. “I don’t- I- Sex isn’t- I have a job.”

He blinks at you. “I… Also have a job-“

“You have a life.” You cut him off with a mumble. “I- I work. And I go home. And I look at the internet, then I work again, and I- I don’t- This.” You gesture between your bodies. “I don’t do this.”

Clark stares at you for a second. Your flustered, embarrassed expression, your heartbeat pounding in his ears. “Do you… Want to-“

“Yes.” Your eyes shoot open, pleading on his. “But- I just-“

You shake your head, looking back to some random spot on his shoulder.

“I’m not- I’m not good at it.” Your voice is small. “And you’re- You’re-“

Just to test something, Clark squeezes under your ribs again. A loud moan falls from your lips, your eyes wide on his as your whole body grinds up in response to the touch.

“Clark…” You whine, and he grins, ducking down to kiss you, slow and soft.

You melt right into him, another pretty sound escaping when he moves his full hand to palm at your breast.

“Oh- Oh my-“

“I’ve got you.” He kisses away your flustered pleas. “I can take care of it, baby, you don’t need to do anything.”

Your nose scrunches again, and Clark thinks you’d protest if you weren’t already so dazed from light touches.

He needs to work you up as much as he’s allowed. Needs to see what you’re like when you’re nothing but putty in his hands, because he loves your smart mouth, but he also loves the softness that only he gets to see.

This part of you, molten and writhing as the kisses grow more intense, is all Clark’s.

He drops one hand, keeping the other firmly planted on your breast, and starts to tease over your soaked folds. You arch into him, and he presses back down gently, giving you a stern look.

“I’ve got it.”

“Clark-“

He kisses your neck and you moan, your fingers tangling in his hair.

“Let me, baby.” He mutters against your skin, his thumb dragging over your clit. “Please.”

You nod, your body already going limp under his hands, and he grins.

Clark starts to kiss down your body, letting his hand against your core slowly work you up.

“You’re soaked.” He open-mouth kisses your neglected breast, petting your pussy with two fingers, letting them dip into your fluttering entrance with every touch. “You like me this much, sweetheart. ‘Cause I know how much I like you.”

He slaps your cunt lightly, and grins at the loud whine of delight that tears from your lips.

“There you go.” He slides two fingers slowly inside you, biting back a groan at how easy they go in, your walls fluttering around him. “That’s it.” He licks your nipple, scissoring his fingers slowly, stretching you open. “That’s a good girl, takin’ it so good for me.”

Oh, you like that. Your clench tight around him, dripping down his fingers, and Clark groans against your skin. Just the smell of your need is intoxicating, he needs to taste you or he thinks he might go mad.

“Lookin’ so pretty for me, sweet girl.” He kisses down your stomach, careful of your injuries. “Shit, your pussy is tight, bet it’s gonna feel so good ‘round my cock-“

You moan loudly, and Clark grins, tongue tracing over your hip bone as his fingers drag over your walls, looking for that gummy spot that’s going to give him what he wants. He finds it fast, and marvels in the way your whole body trembles, your fingers pulling weakly at his hair like you’re not sure what to do with the pleasure he’s giving you.

He watching your mouth hang open, as he crooks his fingers and starts to rub inside of you. Another lewd sound falls from your lips, and it’s the best thing Clark’s ever heard. He kisses the inside of your thigh, then the opposite thigh, then right over your clit. He keeps himself feather light and teasing, watching your body quiver with anticipation. He presses hard inside you, hovering his lips right over the little button, and grins.

“Relax for me, baby.” He orders, and you whine, but try. Clark can see how much you’re trying, but he’s already wound you up too much.

“I need- Clark-“

“I know. I’ve got you.” He uses his free hand to pull your pussy lips over from your clit, exposing the swollen nerves fully.

He blows on it once, starting to rub his fingers furiously inside you, and that’s all it takes.

The sight of you coming might be the best thing he’s ever seen. You’re gorgeous, shaking and writhing above him, the sound leaving you sounding like a siren call, his name the only word possible to make out between your moans. He needs more. He needs all of it.

Clark starts to lick your clit, light and fast, and your orgasm drags on. You won’t stop spasming around his fingers, still working you open, and your eyes get impossibly wide as you realize what he’s doing.

“Clark- Fuck- Oh-“ Your head throws back, your thighs wrapping tight around his head. “Oh- Oh- Oh my god-“

He doesn’t need to come up for air. He doesn’t need air anymore, not when he has this. He shoves his face fully into your pussy, starting to pump his fingers in time with the work of his tongue, and in no time your thighs are trembling, your body limp from the second orgasm he drags out. You’re gushing all over his face, your pussy so oversensitive that when he pulls out and just traces his fingers over your hole, your body arches like he’s fucking you into the couch.

You’re more than ready for him, but he still takes his time. He was right. You taste better than you smell, and he thinks he could get drunk on it. Clark drags his tongue down to your entrance, letting himself lap up your release with a loud moan. He’s so hard it hurts, and you’re so perfect, he might be about to blow it in his pants.

It’s an effort, but he pushes himself back up over you. You’re blinking at him all doe-eyed again, and he smiles. When he leans down to kiss you, you’re somehow more desperate than before.

“That good?” He asks softly, and you nod.

“So good.” You moan. “So- Oh my god-“

Clark’s fumbling with his belt buckle as you scratch at his chest, and you whimper against his lips as he drags the head of his cock against your puffy pussy. He marvels at the way you’re already trying to relax, your hips angling up to invite him in.

“You that desperate for some cock, baby?” He teases gently, and you nod like a bobblehead. “You want me to fill this pussy up, fuck you ‘till you can’t walk?”

“Fuck,” you breathe out, your head tipping back like you don’t even have the strength to keep it up. “Clark- I- I-“

He kisses you deeply, muttering against your lips. “Say it. Say you want me, sweetheart, beg for me-“

“Clark-“

“You can do it,” he taps the head of him against your clit, and you squeak. “You’re so smart, you know how to say please-“

“Please.” You breathe, your eyes glossy, voice barely a breath.. “Please, please, fuck- please, I love you, I need you so bad-“

Clark slams over you, his head getting clouded as it absorbs your words. You love him. You love him.

He’d give you the world.

“Good girl.” He grunts, just to see you get all pretty and flustered about it, even as his dick grinds against your drenched cunt. “That’s my good girl, love you so much- You- Fuck- You have no idea-“

And he feels a swell of pride, at how well you’re reacting just to his words. You’re restless below him, not taking anything but just silently begging, and he’s going to give you it all.

“Lie down,” he kisses you lightly, guiding you onto your back in the cushions, hiking one leg up over his shoulder and pressing the other back into your chest. You pussy is on full display, letting his rub it gently as you settle into the folded position. He looks up to find you gaping at his cock, and he grins.

“You- You’re-“

“I know.” He clears his throat. He tries not to think about it. It’s far from the most important thing about him. “I’m gonna be gentle-“

“I- I don’t know- I don’t think I can take it-“

“Yeah, you can.” He leans down, kissing you sweetly. “You will.”

You whine doubtfully, but Clark knows what he’s doing. He keeps his lips working against yours, his thumb rubbing your clit slowly as he starts to slowly push himself inside. Your mouth falls into a pretty little O, and he chuckles, kissing the corner of your mouth.

“I know.” He coos, rubbing a little firmer. “You’re doin’ so good for me, sweet girl, taking me-“ He bites back a groan as you wrap around him, warm and gummy and perfect. “You’re takin’ me so well, you’ve got it, almost there.”

You moan beneath him, and the sound vibrates around Clark’s dick. He has to bite his tongue, to stop himself from coming right there. He’s really not sure how long he’s going to last, but nobody can blame him.

Not with you, cockdrunk and gaping under him. He lets you adjust, when he bottoms out, and your breathing is shallow and breathy in his ear. He coos the best praise he can, while also trying to drag himself back under control.

When he rises up, dragging his hips slowly back, your arms wrap around his neck, and he groans.

“You feel so good.” He groans. “So fuckin’ good, I- Jesus.”

He pushes forward again, and you look up at him like he’s more than a god. More than the hero.

You look at him like he’s the sun itself, and he’s shining just for you.

He thinks he is.

So again, he lets himself snap.

Clark starts his pace slow and lazy, making sure he’s angled to drag over your g-spot with every thrust. He keeps his voice low, kissing all over your face, helping you through it.

“That’s it.” He mutters. “That’s a good girl, all pretty and dumb for me, you’re letting it feel good, aren’t you sweetheart?” He taps your cheek, pressing forward a little harder, and grins at your whimper. “Come on, you’re so good at telling me what you’re thinking-“

“More.” You breathe out, and Clark swallows. “More, Clark, more-“

“Yes, ma’am.” He grunts, slamming his lips over yours, and maybe another time he’ll be able to find it in him to tease you.

Today, he just needs to give.

He picks up pace without any further warning, and finds his own words slipping away fast. You squeeze around him, every time he bullies that soft spot inside of you, and the sound of your breathless gasps mixed with his cock slamming in and out of your cunt is almost too much for him to bear. He busies himself with kissing you everywhere he can reach, letting his hands wander to memorize every spot that makes you arch further into him, making the angle deeper, until he’s pressing against your cervix.

“Shit,” he groans, pressing his face deep into your neck. “Gonna cum, baby, need- Where do you-“

You don’t answer with words. You lock your arms around him tighter, rolling your hips up and keeping him thrusting, shallow and rough, against you. He’d laugh if his head wasn’t fogged with your touch, your body moving so well against his.

Clark pushes his hand between your bodies, rubbing your clit back and forth as fast as he can. You shriek, overwhelmed by the sensation, and try to crawl away, but Clark pulls you tight into his chest.

“Can’t- Can’t take another-“

“Yes, you can.” He grunts, kissing your open mouth. “You can do it, baby, do it for me, come on-“

You cum with a scream of his name, and Clark feels something hot and wet flooding over his dick, as you contract tight around him. You’re squirting, gushing over his cock, and it drives him right over the edge. He feels himself snap, his balls slapping against your ass as he fucks into your through his release, your name falling from his lips like a prayer.

When he’s done, you’re trembling beneath him, your lips brushing over his jaw like you’re trying to kiss him, but don’t have enough strength. Clark takes over for you, turning his lips to capture yours in a lazy, loving kiss.

He grabs his shirt off the floor, along with a blanket tossed onto the coffee table, and uses them to cover you while he gets a cloth to clean you up with. You’re limp on the couch, staring at the ceiling with a dazed smile, and Clark feels that pride blooming back in his chest, knowing he made you feel so good. You don’t fight it, when he dabs away your mixed releases, then pulls you into his arms. Brings you to the bathroom, waiting patiently while you pee before carrying you to bed.

If you need, he’ll sleep on the couch. But you’re getting the bed.

You sit in his lap, face pressed into his neck, and he drags his hand up and down your spine. You’re so soft, and his.

Like this, you get to just be his.

“You really love me?” You breathe against his ear, and he nods.

“Yeah. A whole lot, actually.” He pauses, then mutters, “And you-“

“Really.” You tilt your head, giving him a tiny smile. “So much.”

He chuckles, kissing you gently again. He’s never going to get tired of it. Never going to get tired of you.

“Stay here.” He mutters against your lips. “With me. If- If you want to, of course-“

“I do.” You breathe. “I want to.”

Clark leans back, cradling your face in his hand. “Really.”

You nod nervously, and he grins.

You smile back, tentative but real, and Clark presses back down into a kiss.

He doesn’t think there’s anything that’s quite as good as this.

As good as you, content and happy in his arms.

(in no particular order)

When One Door Closes by LaLainaJ / @lalainajanes

Caroline's looking forward to a little time alone to decompress after leaving the Salvatore house (post 5x11). Problem is, she has a visitor, and he's come a long way.

Time travel fics my beloved!!! This one is short but so adorable and I love that we get glimpses of what Klaroline would be like in the future but also how Caroline never changes her stubbornness or her ability to tell Klaus off. Loved this X 100000.

Dream of Bloodwine On Your Tongue by @cupcakemolotov

Caroline has some sex dreams about Klaus...and maybe he knows something about them. HOT AS FUCK. LIKE DAMN!!! highly recommend

Fallen by @cupcakemolotov

For one hundred years, Klaus hunted for the angel who tumbled into his territory. Then she found him. I adore an angel AU and was craving one when I stumbled on this one. It's short but oh so beautiful. Klaus yearns to be claimed by Caroline so bad-my heart!!!

All Broken Roads by @cupcakemolotov

Enzo showing up on her doorstep with his dying, mystery boyfriend thrown over his shoulder (Kol) was not on Caroline’s to-do list. Unfortunately, they’ve got history, and saving him means dealing with all the shit she’s spent twenty years avoiding.

The world building in this with a sentient city is SO GOOD!! Feels almost post apocalyptic in a lot of ways too. Caroline knows all too well how Mikealson's can get under your skin and heart and she takes pity on Enzo and Kol but knows she'll run back into Klaus because of it. Their reunion is everything! “I’m her heart. You're ours”. Tender, intimate, and of course some hot smut. It was a super interesting idea and it was executed perfectly.

villain by coveredinthecolors / @definedareasofuncertainty

This fic was SOOO fun. Caroline is a famous singer with a new album coming out post a break-up with famous actor Klaus (that she plans to drop on his birthday). The story is mainly told through Caroline's/Klaroline's fandom via twitter theorizing, interviews, reactions to the songs etc. Vanity fair lie detector included!! It made me feel like I too was on twitter talking about klaroline and dissecting everything and anything to make it about them (as people should). Also the lyrics Luiza comes up with are beautiful!!! If you want something really fun and relatively quick please read this one!!!

Pendulum by Yokan / @galvanizedfriend

This is what Klaus Mikaelson knows: death isn't the end for him. From the moment he is brought into the world to his final shuddering breath, Klaus' life is pretty much the same as everyone else's. The difference lies in what happens after he dies: he goes right back to the beginning, a child in London with the memory of dozens of lives lived before. Nothing ever really changes, including the fact that no matter how hard he tries, he can never save Caroline Forbes' life for too long. [AH/soulmates!AU with a slight magical twist].

If you've been avoiding this fic for years for fear of emotional damage (like I was) here is your sign to finally read this MASTERPIECE because I promise it's worth it . I can't properly express in words all that this made me feel and everything I loved in it (if you really want to know scroll down in the comments on this fic to find my novel about it). My soulmate/full circle moments and angst loving self adored this and my heart left so fulfilled. Both endings are perfect in their own ways and while I think I have a slight preference for the first one the second one is also hauntingly beautiful and perfect in its own way. Wish I read this one sooner, but glad my 2025 self finally decided it was time.

Could I Choose You? by emeraldvixen / @vix-x-x (A sequel to Worst Things Have Happened by Yokan / @galvanizedfriend)

Pressure is mounting for Prince Niklaus to choose a bride. Caroline has kept his secret hidden for three long years, but can she keep her own?

I think this whole trilogy was my most read fic of the year?? I can't remember how many times I read it but it was a lot. The chemistry is AHHH but it's also so sweet and tender and it made my heart swell up with happiness. The way she gets jealous too, my favs!!! Anyway, please read this absolute delight!!!

“i've connected the two dots." "you didn't connect shit," by theroadbetwixt / @the-road-betwixt

Elijah Mikaelson has not survived centuries without learning how to understand his brother's moods, and lately he's been acting strange.(in other words Elijah tries to figure out klaroline with zero context and comes to all the wrong conclusions).

The summary of this fic made me laugh so I automatically knew I had to read it-and my intuition was correct because this was truly delightful! You get to see Klaus just being his whipped in love with Caroline self. He's so smiley and smitten in this. Elijah's confusion (and his conclusion) is so funny, I truly had so much fun with this one!!!

The Big Bad Wolf by @morningstargirl666 (WIP)

I'm so happy the rewrite dropped this year because I've been wanting to read it for a while!!! I love a good canon divergent fic that has its own lore and own backstory (this one in particular is soooo special) and I DEVOURED. Truly I could not put it down. I made the mistake of starting it during an exam week and wanted to focus on it instead of studying lol whoops. But god this fic is amazing!! Klaus's relationship with his bio dad and Sam is so special to me!!! (and so is Caroline's relationship with Sam) The slow burn is slowly killing me but I'm having so much fun with their tension and the little moments. Klaus's wolf too ugh I can't wait for him to connect the dots. I scream every time I get an email saying a new chapter dropped. Absolutely love this one and can't wait to keep reading as it continues to update-highly recommend picking it up if you haven't already!!!

All This Time (I Thought) by klarolineagainnaturally / @notalittlebutalottie

They always say "don’t fuck your best friend’s brother" and, well, she doesn’t have to worry about that because he obviously can’t stand her.

As a self proclaimed best friend's brother trope lover I eat up every single fic where Caroline and Bekah are besties but Caroline has a helpless crush on Klaus and they decide to have some fun without her knowing. Consider it a guilty pleasure. This one did not disappoint!!! Her confusion about why he doesn't like her, him trying to keep a distance, the way he tries to talk so gently to her, and of course the tension finally breaking!!!

the birth and death of the day by sunnydaisy/ @little-miss-sunny-daisy (currently reading)

The Forbes-Winchester family takes on the Apocalypse. After seeing this fic for years/being a self proclaimed huge sunnydaisy fan (see my love for call it dreaming especially in past years recs), I finally decided to read this!!! It kept me company during my last exams of the year and WOW IT'S SO GOOD!!! I was eating it up. Caroline with siblings and protective brothers ugh my heart melted. Klaus is sooo down bad but it's just so perfect and it really keeps both of them so in character which I love. I'm almost done but I can't wait to see what all ends up going down!!!

Rereads:

Speed Dating by Yokan / @galvanizedfriend

My love for this fic is endless!!!! The last chapter to it was posted this year and it's perfection I couldn't have asked for a better way for it to finish. I think I still read it religiously like once a month. Thank you for this fluffy but extremely tension filled/mutual pining clueless idiots fic Yokan bestie.

Tangled Up in Blue by idiot-wind87 / @idiot--wind

This cult classic had an update in 2025 therefore I HAD to reread the masterpiece!!! If you haven't read this already what are you doing?? It was so nostalgic to go back to this world and all the scenes that I've had in my heart for YEARS. And of course to be back with the author's writing, they were one of the first ever klaroline writers I read form and I think I've read all their fics multiple times. Anyway, obviously read if you haven't. It's angsty, adorable, tension filled, HOT, and just perfection.

Queen of Hearts by @cupcakemolotov

One of my forever favorite mafia one shots-it's so hot and he's so possessive and protective and ugh I love it so much. Her lipstick marks on the cigarette !(!!) and "our bed" make me insane

Colored You in by LaLainaJ / @lalainajanes

This fic is so wholesome and the pining is incredible. I woke up one day NEEDING to do a reread so I did.

Purgatory by ScarletBorn