#perry white

“C’mon, I just got in hardass,” you groaned.

“You know the rules.” He chimed, voice light and airy and mocking.

You scowled and trudged past him toward your desk.

 Shit, all of your files were soaked. Perry was going to be so pissed when you handed in your first drafts later.

“You're so mean Clark.” You huffed.

“Hey,” he said with a shrug, rolling back to his desk while spinning his stupid pen around, “you’re the one that said you wanted a challenge.”

Even when annoyed, you couldn’t help staring at him.

His curls were soft, framing his face in a way that kind of remind you of a cherub. The rest of him not so much. Despite the oversized blue suit he wore every day to work, you’d been lucky enough to catch a peek at his absolutely ridiculously large biceps a few months ago when the office got too hot.

Still somehow not as hot as him.

Even his dimples were perfect, both of them placed perfectly at each side of his face, coming out to say “Hi” every two seconds because of how often the large man smiled at you.

Anyway back to the ridiculous swear jar.

For some reason someone had suggested that the office should take part in a no-swearing competition. The incentive? Whoever swore the most would have to hand over the contents of the swear jar to the person that swore the least.

Full ceremony, full knighting.

Everyone knew Cat or Perry would be knighting; that part was obvious.

But guess who was in the lead to win?

Well ok it wasn’t just Clark, Ron was giving him a run for his money. The man barely had a crease of his suit most the time, let alone breaking his composure enough to swear. So there were fair odds going.

Sitting at the edge of your desk, you played with the pens that had definitely already dried out while looking up at Clark and asked “You suggested this competition knowing you’d win right.”

“Mmmmmmaybe,” he cheekily glanced up at you through his glasses, “Not my fault I have morals.”

“Not even going to get into this debate with you again.”

You always ended up in that same argument: the correlation between swearing and intelligence.

Across the room, a collective groan broke out.

A tally under Ron’s name on the scoreboard appeared, the man in question let out a pained sigh, pulling a book over his face in shame.

The only person who hadn’t groaned was sitting pretty, chewing on a piece of gum. You could imagine his smug face as he knelt down to receive his crown, the prince of virtue himself.

You could not let that happen.

“Guys, surely this is unfair.” Flapping your hands around, “When have any of us actually heard Clark swear?”

Jimmy muttered out in deep thought “I heard him say the s-word once.”

“Shut the f- front door!” Cat said, her eyes wide, well-manicured fingers slapping Jimmy’s shoulder. “Where and when, we need all the deets.”

Jimmy blinked, booting the memory up. “We were at a conference for LexCorps new clean energy plant, total bull obviously. HIs leather journal caught on fire somehow, something to do with the electronics next to his bag. But it was weird I don’t remember anything flamable-“

Lois clicked her fingers in his face “Focus. Are you sure?”

He shook himself awake “Anyway, look the point is the guys human, he can slip up.”

Time to ragebait Clark Kent.

5 days till crowning

Your first idea was simple.

Stan Lex Luthor.

Out of all the men on Earth, only two could reliably work Clark Kent into a frenzy: Bruce Wayne and Lex Luthor. Talk about either and he’d transform into Mr Hyde, frothing and pounding on his desk like a man possessed.

Sure, you’d have to deal with a sermon about truth and justice for at least an hour after the mention of Lex, but you’d live.

So of course, that morning you waltzed into the office fully committed to the bit. Thick black shades covered your eyes, and a long black trench hugged your frame. A few LutherCorp-branded pens peeked out of your pocket and you held a mug you’d “borrowed” on your last visit to LuthorCorp.

Also to be extra subtle, you hung framed keychain of the bald deviant on the side of your bag.

The change wasn’t lost on Clark.

“What on earth is that?” he asked, pointing with genuine horror to the keychain.

“You like it?” you grinned. “I decorated it myself!”

Clark turned to Steve at the next desk. “Get your phone out. She’s lost it. Call 911.”

His hand reached out and pressed against your forehead, checking for a fever or maybe checking that you weren't being mind-controlled somehow.

You batted his hand away, heart hammering traitorously from just a light touch.

“What?” you said, trying to sound genuine. “Is it so wrong to admire a man as great as Lex Luthor?”

Clark gaped at you. “Are you being serious?”

“Oh, I loooove the guy,” you said, dragging the word. “He’s so hot—”

“Perfect,” came a voice from behind. “Since you like him so much kid, you can take over Cat’s article on the LuthorCorp building redesign. You’re on interview duty for the rest of the week.”

You jumped. “What?!”

Where the hell had Perry come from? He loomed over you, staring hard enough that, if it were a sport, he’d be rivalling Serena Williams in her prime.

“What I meant was wow! I’m so excited,” you said, voice sliding into a what you hope sounds like an enthusiastic tone.

You exhaled in relief as he seemed satisfied with your answer and walked away.

Clark was already halfway down the hall when you heard him laugh and nod to himself.

“What the hay.”

4 days till crowning

Your second idea was better.

A lot better.

Clark’s glasses are practically superglued to his face. Like, not even metaphorically.

You once saw Jimmy barely reach for them, as a joke, and Clark had reacted like he was about to be unmasked in front of a firing squad. He’d turned pale and physically backed away from Jimmy.

So yeah.

Losing or breaking them would definitely make him hulk out.

But getting them off his face wasn’t going to be the easiest task.

He was clumsy, sure- he was constantly tripping on wires and bumping into chairs. When it came to those glasses? He was precise. Always adjusting, always repositioning.

You’d wanted to try them on once but like smeagol with the ring he just, wouldn’t give them up.

So you brought in Jimmy.

Jimmy would “accidentally” spill something on Clark’s face.

Jimmy hesitated before speaking. “You want me to- just, what, throw a drink in his face?”

“Not throw. Spill very carefully. You’re perfect for this kind of thing.”

Jimmy scowled. “Rude.”

If only a certain superhero wasn’t listening in on your plan.

Ten minutes later, there you both were- you perched at your desk, watching like a hawk as Jimmy approached Clark with a smoothie in one hand and a tremor in the other.

“Hey, Clark! Try this- banana, kale-

Clark turned to greet him with his signature corn-fed, wonder-boy smile, and then-

Splash.

Jimmy gasped like he’d just committed murder.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!”

You had to give the kid credit he could put on a good performance.

Smoothie bits splattered across every inch of Clark’s face and glasses. Perfect time for you to swoop in and steal them.

And then Clark… chuckled?

“No worries,” he said, already pulling off his glasses with two fingers and reaching for a napkin, not even giving you time to snatch them away. “Happens all the time.”

You stared.

Jimmy stared.

Everyone stared.

Clark just wiped his face, a small knowing smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

What?

“Thanks for the drink,” he added lightly, patting Jimmy’s shoulder as he stood up. “You saved me from falling asleep at my desk.”

Then he walked away.

You slowly turned to Jimmy. “F-fudge nuggets”

“Did you.. just say fudge nuggets?”

Clark, in the bathroom, quietly tapped away at his phone. The faint shimmer of Mr. Terrific’s hypno-contacts glinted for just a second before he put his glasses back on.

3 days till crowning

“I give up,” you muttered, slumping forward onto your desk with a dramatic sigh. “The guy’s a no-swearing patience machine.”

Lois patted your shoulder with a sympathetic smile. “Don’t worry. You’ll get him next time, tiger.”

But deep down, you both knew the truth.

Clark was going to win.

So when everyone was packing up for the day and slowly shuffling their way out of the office, you turned to him and said it out loud- because what’s there to lose by being humble?

“You win, Kent.”

He glanced over, eyebrows raised. A small smile pulled at his lips like he knew your admittance was coming. “Took you long enough to come around.”

You walked side by side with Clark, the summer air finally bearable enough to not sweat while on a stroll. The sounds of cars and people hummed around you both.

But halfway to the train station, you paused. “Hang on,” you say, eyes locking on Mo’s bakery. “We’re stopping.”

Clark followed your gaze and gave an approving nod. “For Mo’s cupcakes?”

“Mo’s cupcakes.”

Inside, the store was cool and delicious, smelling of cinnamon and blueberry. But your eyes weren’t focused on the rows of decadent desserts in front of you.

No.

They were somewhere else entirely. The cashier working the espresso machine- tall, blonde, and enough forearm on display that you felt like a Victorian man seeing an ankle for the first time.

He glanced up and smiled when he saw you. You smiled back, just a little too long.

Clark noticed.

As you joined the short queue, you whispered to him, “The cashier’s so cute, right?”

Clark blinked. “What?”

“You don’t think he’s cute?”

He glanced toward the counter, narrowing his eyes like he was x-raying every inch of him. “I mean… yeah, he’s a good-looking guy, I guess.”

He looked deeply confused and unsettled, like he couldn’t figure out what was going on.

“Wait,” he said slowly, “did you come here just for him?”

You scoffed while looking flushed, nudging him with your elbow. “No! Don’t make me sound like some kind of fanatic. It’s like Great Earl Grey cupcakes and a hot guy that occasionally brushes hands with me? That’s a nice end to my day.” You sighed dramatically, hand over your heart, and Clark let out a noise somewhere between a huff and a groan.

“Find us a table, please?” you said sweetly, waving him off like a well-trained puppy.

Clark obeys as always.

At the counter, the cashier gave you his full attention, smiling with that well-practised corporate charm. He leant in just slightly, and you tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear without even thinking.

You ordered two cupcakes and a couple of drinks, and before Clark could even get up to help or offer to pay, you'd already swiped your card. Then, just as the cashier handed you your change, he slid you a small folded slip of paper.

You didn’t open it until you were halfway back to Clark.

“Oh my god. He gave me his number!”

Clark looked up, startled. His jaw tightened. He took a slow sip of his coffee and said deadpan, “That’s great. Fantastic. Really, happy for you.”

2 days till crowning

Clark walked in like a cat who didn’t get the cream and wanted the world to stop turning because of it.

You, on the other hand, were in a good mood, a very good mood. Texting under your desk with a giddy little half-smile you didn’t bother hiding.

The guy from the bakery- Dan, had messaged you back almost instantly after you texted last night. He was smooth, charming, and just the right amount of funny. You had a dinner date with him tomorrow night.

Maybe you’d finally found the Jeremiah to your Isabela.

Clark’s chair creaked with every look he gave you throughout the day. His typing was uncharacteristically aggressive, and he glared at his screen like it owed him money.

“What do you think I should wear?” you whispered, leaning over to Cat

She raised her perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “For who?”

You tilted your phone towards her. She let out a quiet noise of appreciation.

“What about the black dress you wore last month?” Grabbing at your phone.

“Heels too” she said with a slow nod “Definitely heels.”

You were so caught up in it all- scheduling a nail appointment in your head, planning the jokes- that you almost forgot about your dinner plans tonight with Lois, Jimmy, and Clark.

By the time the three of you were halfway done with dinner, you were still rambling about tomorrow’s date.

“—he said he knows this place that has a set menu that just does french fries and ribeye steaks. You can get the fries and sauce on tap, isn't that great?” You laughed lightly, not noticing the look Jimmy gave Lois.

She looked at him, gesturing towards you silently.

Clearing her throat, she drew your attention to the man sitting next to you. “Why are you so grumpy, mister?” She asked Clark.

“I’m not,” he said flatly, adjusting his glasses awkwardly.

“You didn’t even look happy when Steve lost out on the Centennial Park story this morning. That man fell into a pond chasing a source, Clark. You always laugh at that kind of thing.”

“I’m just… feeling tired,” he said, not even bothering to look at any of you. “I think I’m gonna head out.”

You blinked. “Oh. Okay.”

He left without letting any of you speak.

You watched him go, tall frame disappearing onto the street, his shoulders sloping down, strangely defeated. The other two continue on, rambling about the Justice Gang's latest blunder.

You felt the smile fade from your face, just a little.

1 day till crowning

Your date day extravaganza was finally here.

Not that Clark was keeping track.

At all.

The cup in his hand was from a place downstairs that definitely was a rip-off. $10 for an oat milk hojicha latte? But what could he do?

He’d decided to non-officially boycott Mo’s until barista Dan was fired. He hadn’t come up with the exact crime he’d commited but Clark's a journalist, so he'd find some dirt he was sure.

Not only was his coffee overpriced, but the rest of the office wasnt making his life any easier.

Every time you so much as mention your dinner plans, they'd all look over at Clark with the saddest, most sympathetic glances humanly possible.

Whatever. He doesn’t care…

Actually he really does, time for a plan.

Clark caught you on your way back from the printer, hovering near your desk like he was waiting for something, but pretending to not be.

He cleared his throat as you passed, then gestured vaguely toward the store closet.

“Hey, uh- can I grab you for a sec? I need help finding some A3 paper.”

 You stared at him, one brow raised. “You need my help… to find paper.”

“Yeah,” he said quickly, his voice sky high.

You followed him despite his strange behaviour. “Okayyyy, weirdo.”

 He stopped in front of the supply closet door and glanced over his shoulder before opening it and letting you in.

“Is there a reason you’ve cornered me into the supply room or am I great at sniffing out non-traditional paper sizes?” Your comment drew no reaction from him, and you stared at him inquisitively.

He isn’t really sure what to do now.

He took a step towards you and reached out to grip the top of your shoulders. His arms were big and warm, and you felt the urge to go limp and have him pull you flush against him.

Snap out of it.

“Don’t go out with him,” he said quietly, his voice hoarse like the words had been sitting in his throat all day.

You blinked. “Clark, what are you—”

“Just…” His grip tightened slightly, not painful, just desperate. “Please promise you won’t.”

You stepped back a little, frowning. “And why would I not?”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Stammered.

He was still holding your arms, still looking at you like you’re slipping out of his grasp and he didn’t know how to stop it.

And you? You were frustrated.

Heat was rising in your chest at the ridiculous request and Clark's inability to give you an answer.

“When you figure out why I shouldn’t go out with a hot guy that asked me out and actually likes me, let me know. Until then? Mind your damn business.”

You moved out of his grasp and turned to leave and as soon as your hand touched the handle, his voice called out.

“it is my business.”

You expected him to add on a joke, because there was no way in hell he just said that to you.

You turned, “What did you just say to me?”

Clark stood tall now, brows drawn tight, chest heaving slightly. You made your way towards him, eyes narrowing, chest puffed out.

“And why the hell would it be your business?”

Clark’s eyes were closed, his shoulders up to his ears, his hands balled into fists. It almost looked like Wile. E. Cyote, the way he was stood so taut.

“BECAUSE I FUCKING LIKE YOU!”

He continued on, eyes still closed, pushing the words out like they were painful “I like you more than I’ve ever liked anyone and Idon’twantanyonetohaveyoubutme?”

You moved forward again, voice softer. “Clark… hey. Look at me.”

His left eye cracked open.

“I like you too, idiot.”

And just like that, all the tension bled out of him. Shoulders dropping, fists unclenching.

He looked stunned, hopeful, and little dumbfounded.

“Shit,” he breathed. “You do?”

You smiled softly. “You think I go out of my way to hand-bound leather journals for just anyone? Please.”

He laughed- a breathless laugh- and then your lips met his.

His lips were soft, his top lip smaller than the bottom, meaning he had to press deeper into you. Not that you were complaining. Clark's hands began to fumble about, but finally found their place, one on your waist, the other twisting its way to the back of your head. Yours were roaming his chest, shaky while you pressed against his firm pecks.

You decided that you’d really like to breathe, and even after you pulled away, Clark's lips attempted to chase you back to his. His eyes were desperate and glazed over. God, he looked wrecked.

Then you left your starry-eyed lover in the dust and ran up to the office scoreboard to draw a crisp two tallies under Clark’s name.

Clark smiled as he watched Ron kneel in front of Perry, the office cheering for the new “Prince of Prig”.

Totally worth it.

I'm so obsessed with Superman. 😜😜😜 I had this cheeky fic locked and loaded last week but thought I'd post rn!!