#superman comics

Your heels clicked down the sidewalk, and the only light was projected onto the sidewalk by the streetlight. Guiding you to the glowing entrance of your work, you stepped down the hidden steps and were greeted by a dingy door that led to an old bar. When the door swung open, the familiar aroma of smoke had sunk into the carpets, cash, and expensive perfume that mingled with old whiskey. It always smelled the same, and almost felt like home. Tonight it was busy, the bars packed with men of all ages. Around the mainstage was even more, and you pushed through to get to the backrooms. Your trenchcoat hid your dress underneath, the one you reserved for Wednesday and Friday nights. It was black tie night, where all the ladies wore cocktail dresses and fancier hair, more tame make-up. Where the lacy garment underneath was only revealed during private sessions.

On stage was a co-worker, Jenna, who was working to feed her kids. On stage, she wore that pretty cocktail dress, which was a dark green that brought out the blonde in her hair and went to her mid-thigh. She strummed a guitar, the sound filling the bar as the audience hungrily waited for more. You caught her eye and smiled at her. Every dancer was here for a reason; it was something not everyone was bold enough to do, but it made lots of money. It wasn’t corrupt like some said; many women were just trying to make it without a second income to support themselves. Nothing wrong with that in an expensive city like this. Some were looking to pursue their careers in writing or dancing, so they did this on the side to fund their everyday lives. You knew sooner or later she’d be brought to a backroom, the ones with dim lights and velvet curtains that reeked of spilled bourbon and secrets. 

Backstage was filled with clutter, feather boas, hair clips, wigs, all of them piled up on surfaces and hangers. You sat at your vanity, your name written on the top of the mirror, along with decorations that you had collected over time to make it your own. A friend, Maisy, came up behind you, setting her hands on your shoulders. She pressed a kiss to your cheek, friendly and bubbly per usual. Her hair was done up with shining diamond hair clips. She wore a black dress that hugged her tight. Her Friday night specials were dancing like the girls in movies; it was impressive and always riled guys up, especially when she slowly let her dress slip and revealed the lace underneath by the end. “Hi, Maisy…” you said, quiet and reserved. Your eyes went to hers in the mirror, and she grinned at you. “Hi, honey. I heard we have a big night, Caldwell said that black tie night is gaining popularity.” Her voice was chirpy; it was fake to get her into character. 

No girl went out there as herself. The stage changed you, made you glow. When you were up there, you were the star, and you were no longer yourself. You were confident and self-assured, and despite any doubt, you were the prettiest girl in the room. 

“Really? That’ll be good… Wanted to go shopping soon anyway,” you said, smiling at her back. Caldwell was your boss, the guy who owned the bar. He was nice, always made sure the ladies felt protected. He was large and intimidating, and beat off any guy who tried to take more than what they paid for. You guys were lucky to have him; not many gentlemen’s clubs had a manager who cared. “I need to pay for my eye doctor appointment. Stupid that my insurance won’t cover it. Whatever. How’s your hunt for reporting jobs?” she asked, taking your blush off your vanity, applying it to her own carmelly skin. You give an exasperated sigh and shrug, “Just so hard to find something that pays like this. I can start as an intern and get half of what I’m getting now. I’m still waiting for something from Daily Planet.” Maisy shrugs, setting the compact down and starting to stride onto the stage. “Work half-time here while you wait for your big article to strike.” She dips onto the stage, the speakers overhead announcing her while people cheered and whistled just outside the curtain. “Welcome out Maisy Moon onto the stage! Her mysterious moves will bring you out of this world…” and music began to play. Her passion was dance, and she spent her days in the ballet studios teaching kids how to feel the music.

You applied your makeup, always saving that for when you got to work, always in a rush. You wore a cocktail dress, a dark blue one. It shimmered under the light and had a cute little bow on the back. You paired it with dark tights that matched your skin, heels that were bordering on too tall, and elegant white gloves. A small vibration from your phone pulled you away from your makeup. You scrounged through your purse, heavy with resumes that each displayed your credentials, what made you worthy. They floated around with your pencils and planners, journals, and stray cash. It was a nice bag, one that this job had paid for. Your phone lit up with an email, a useless one about your schedule for next week. You gave a grumble of irritation, your eyes going to Caldwell as he steps into the room, clad in his usual jeans and t-shirt, his biceps bulging out. It’s how he ran the bar so effectively that most guys were scared of him. “Hey, almost ready? Maisy is finishing up her act,” he said, voice gruff as he ran his fingers over the thick mustache on his lip. You looked up at him with a nod, standing up slowly. You heard the song lull to an end on stage, and Maisy yelled, “Cheers!” before running back stage. You heard the clinking of all the men's glasses hitting each other in celebration. 

“Yeah, yeah. How do I look?” you ask, giving him a small smile—one that wasn’t quite bright enough for the stage. “Fine, smile big,” Caldwell reminded. He gave Maisy a nod of encouragement and appreciation before walking back out on stage. Carefully, you slipped your earpiece on, colored black to hide it best you could, a final spray of perfume and body glitter, and you were walking over to stage right. He announced your name in a booming voice as you lined up on the side, keeping yourself hidden. “Ladies and gentlemen... you've seen dancers. You've seen singers. But now, we have our very own fortune teller. Except she doesn't use cards... she uses you. Give a round of applause for the lovely lady!” You ran out quickly. Soon, you were transformed. A smile brightening your face, your hands going up to encourage the applause. You looked out into the crowd. It was silent aside from the crack of pool balls colliding against each other by the bar. The applause came to a silence, and you wore your brightest smile, your posture straightened—you were the star. All the attention of every man in there was pinned on you. “Hello, hello!” Your voice was cheery, like all applications, dreams, and desires had been tucked away into the deepest parts of you.

Men cheered as you spoke, you settled them with a hand, lips pursed as you carefully walked up and down the stage. When you looked out into the crowd, you saw many things—you saw the bartender throwing out drinks, servers setting beers down that dripped with condensation, but most of all, you saw different men. Some were husbands or single, others were nervous or confident, some had been here for the first time, and others had been here hundreds of times. You could tell just by the way you interacted with them, the way they kept their cool, how they treated you. You knew who paid well, including tips, and you could tell who wouldn’t pay as well. It was a part of the business, reading all of their intentions. It made your act easier, surprising. 

 Slowly, you walked down the creaky wooden steps into the audience, walking down the rows before stopping in front of a good-looking guy. He had been to events like this before; you could tell by how he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, and a smug smirk that could make you believe he owned the world. “Well, well. Looks like you just came here from construction, correct?” He was cleaned up, but only an observant reporter could see his cracked palms, the paint under his nails, and the light specks of paint that dusted his shoes. He laughed, a deep, rich chuckle. “Lucky guess,” and you grin. Moving to the next person, searching the crowd for someone unsuspecting. Your hands grazed your shoulders as you walked by to get attention. You stopped in front of a younger boy, nervous, and clearly it had been his first time. “First time?” you ask, grinning at him, focusing your gaze on him. You watched his straightened, his skin was dark, and his eyes snapped up to your face. A small nod makes you hum as you thought. “Figured, let me guess. You just turned 18, you're with your dad and…” You looked at the boys around his table. Looked older than him. “Your older brothers.” The boy nods, and you hold a hand out to him, and he takes it.

Carefully, you pull your lips to the back of his hand; your confidence puts him at ease. “Happy 18, and good luck,” you nodded. After a few more predictions, nailing each one, you stepped back up the wooden stairs. Doing a bow and earning claps before you ran off stage, Caldwell came out to take your place. Your act wasn’t as wowing as other girls, but it got more private sessions, the people that came through liked to be heard—respected. It got you plenty of tips; vulnerability was the key to these men’s hearts. Most of them came here when they were lonely. You had a client who came every week; he paid to bring you into the back room just to talk. His hands never went on you. He just wanted to spill his feelings. He paid you a lot of money, so you let him do it, watching him talk and pretending to take it all to heart.

The gentleman’s club was like Fight Club. You don’t talk about it. You can acknowledge a client outside of it, because you wouldn’t be talking to the same man. Everything about it stayed quiet, and that’s what you liked about this job. It didn’t bleed into the rest of your life.

You stepped behind the stage, unzipping the cocktail dress as you went. You felt your shoulders sag as you let out a sigh of relief. Tonight would drag on, having to wait for all your co-workers’ performances, which could sometimes take longer. You sat at your vanity, listening to the laughter bounce off the walls. A headache was coming on from the loud boom of music and just… noise. You loved this job, you really did. It was just tiring, putting on a show every night, turning something into nothing. Being on that stage meant analyzing every part of yourself, amplifying it to be appealing. 

You really needed the Daily Planet to call you back. It was your foot in the door, and it would make your life. Since you were young, you aspired to be a reporter. You always asked questions, looking for answers. At family gatherings, you’d get a notebook and scribble down what people said or the answers to your question. Your dad would always come over and mess up your hair before looking over your notes. You would watch him read it with a proud grin, excited to have reported on Grandma’s heart issues or the dog’s Thanksgiving diet. 

The night went long, per usual. The dancing and music didn’t stop until well after midnight. You made a lot of money from private dances. Maybe you would get a shopping trip after all. 

The next few days were a repeat: go put in some applications, do an interview, and then head to the bar. Until one night, backstage was rambling about their days, your phone rang. “Hello?” you asked, stating your name after. “Hello, this is Perry White at Daily Planet. We saw your interview and are calling about the Junior reporter position. It’s yours. Can you be on on Monday?” the guy on the other side sounded big, scary. Your jaw was on the floor—you had made it! This was it, you nodded before realizing he couldn’t see you. “Yes, of course. I really appreciate this, sir!” you said quickly. “Nine o’clock. Our reporter, Clark Kent, will be showing you around. Look for him, he’s big with curly hair. Have a good night.” He hung up the phone before you could say anything more. Was he your new boss? You had so many questions. You’d seen Clark Kent’s name a million times before, all over the paper. What an honor. 

You looked over at Maisy who was just slipping her outfit on, ready to walk on stage. “Mais! I got the job!” you said excitedly, relief flooding you now. “Honey, that’s great!” Maisy replied, coming over to hug you. “That mean your leavin’ us soon?” she asked, pulling away from the hug to look you in the eyes, her hands secure on your shoulders. Slowly, you nod. “Yeah, could be my last few nights. Feels crazy…” You mumble, more to yourself as the realization washes over you. You’d spent the past four years of your life here, under the spotlight, and now you were changing to a new spotlight. One that didn’t happen when the sun went down, because when the sun went down, it was all secrets, subtle propositions, and dealing with Mr. Inconspicuous all the time. Maisy grins, patting your arm before gliding out on stage, the crowd roaring with applause and cheering. A sound you had heard millions of times now. 

The other girls around you giggled as they tried on outfits, and you focused on the strokes of your makeup brush on your skin. Making yourself sparkle for your next act. Tonight’s act was different, not in black tie attire. Something less modest. The lace clings to your skin, tight and sensual. To you, it was art; to others, it was pleasure. Maisy came off stage, and you stood up. The dark shimmery body suit, tights that added to the appeal, a boa on your shoulders, twining up your arms, and a top hat on your head for fun. Tonight, the other girls lined up on stage left with you, multiple acts at once to increase attention, so no one felt left out. “Now introducing our triple act. Remember to keep your hands to yourself. A round of applause for our fortune teller, our Hollywood star, and our best dancer.” Applause erupted from the crowd, and you all sauntered out. Ruby always dressed like a 1950’s pinup doll; she was drop-dead gorgeous. She stumbled here when in desperate need to pay the bills while her husband was off in the war. Her act was to flirt with the audience, give them teasing smiles, and torture them with her sweet red lips. Sabrina was on the other side. She was a dancer for Broadway, or at least she tried. She was really good and went here to provide for the lavish lifestyle she needed. Each of you wore smiles that were so convincing you wouldn’t believe they were fake, and your cheeks were warm under the lights of the stage. 

With bows upon your appearance, you each started to spread into the audience. You scanned carefully, and everyone sat waiting eagerly for attention, their glasses full of varying alcohol that lingered on their breath when you got too close. Some smelled strongly of cologne, and others had no smell. Your heels sank into the thick carpet as you walked with poise, your hands gentle as they brushed shoulders, and your eyes lightened with curiosity as you searched the eyes, looking, hunting, for a story. You stopped in front of a man, hunched in on himself. Curly hair and eyes a blue you’d never heard before, he hid behind the thick glasses on his face. Next to him was a ginger with freckles, who was laughing at the man with glasses. The curly-haired man was huge, but folded in on himself. You seized the opportunity, smiling at him. “Hello, sir.” He freezes, eyes widening. 

Clark was here for a bachelor party—he didn’t go to gentlemen’s clubs in his free time just for fun, it wasn’t him. He hadn’t expected you to zero in on him from across the room; he thought he did a good job hiding himself. Your eyes flick up and down him, his suit attire, he hadn’t changed from the office. “Let’s see. You’re here because someone convinced you to come? To loosen up for once?” you asked, knowing you were right. Clark shot Jimmy a scowl as he started to laugh and speak for him. He looked up at you, nodding slowly. His eyes didn’t go to the usual places, not the lace that hugged your legs, or the tight fabric around your waist, but your face. How your smile made it glow, how mysterious you looked with the top hat on. You start to circle him, your hand brushing his shoulder, making him jerk in his seat. “You apologize too much,” you added, stopping in front of him again. You could tell by his size that he felt too big and just in the way. He blinks up at you, a little surprised; it was like you were seeing into the window of his soul. “You like to listen rather than talk, and disappointing people kills you.”

You watched him squirm in his seat; you could tell you were hitting the bullseye on each one, especially after each giggle from his friend next to him. You go silent, and you watch the subtle shift in his eyes, from nervous to desperate to know what a pretty woman like you thinks of a ‘loser’ like him. “But, I think you’re terrible at lying,” you announce, grinning. The rest of the people at the table laugh, you assume his co-workers, as they're clad in suits and office wear. He speaks finally, his voice quiet but firm. “I don’t think that’s…” Clark trailed off, and you shrugged. “I can see it in your eyes.” The way you whispered it, low and alluring, it made his heart jolt and his mind kick into overtime. He had never been seen like that before. Never been so closely analyzed unless it was on the terms of Superman. He watched you roam through the crowd, the haze of smoke covering you, making you look like more of an angel than anything else. He watched everyone go silent as you got closer, the confident sway of your hips. Even when his co-workers had the other girls come up to them, he couldn’t bring himself to care at all. When bows came through, Clark watched you smile, doing a small spin like the other girls. The way your elegant hair framed your face, and he wondered what had brought you here. What dream you were paying for. Nobody stayed somewhere like this without a reason. 

“Want me to pay for a private dance with her, Clark?” Jimmy asked, breaking his train of thought. His eyes strayed from you and looked at Jimmy. “Don’t be crazy… I don’t do that stuff,” Clark mumbled, the music as the main show ended started to bump through the palace, making it feel more alive. Now all the other dancers came out, hanging on guys' arms, persuading them into the private rooms. “You need to relax sometimes, man. It’s like you have the world on your shoulders sometimes, I’ll pay!” Jimmy protested, making Clark scoff. How ironic, he had Superman duties on his shoulders; he didn’t need a private dance to cure that stress. “No, Jim. Don’t… Get yourself something.” Clark shot down the idea immediately, his eyes softening at Jimmy’s kindness. He sat back and watched the other guys have the time of their lives. So much for a bachelor party, Clark hated the idea of ‘your last night of freedom’.

You wandered out, walking back over to Clark. You saw his watching eyes, how they weren’t hungry, but full of curiosity. You stopped to speak with another customer, laughing at silly jokes. He watched the way it made the apples of your cheek redden and your dimples come out. You had quite a crowd, some wandering up to you to talk. As they surrounded you, you told a story, their eyes drinking you in. You did this with no effort, pretending like they didn’t just want one thing from you. Clark watched as a man stood up, pressing cash into your hand before following you back into the private room. It had thick leather curtains and a neon glowing side outside that indicated its purpose. His ears picked up on the swift glide of the rings on the curtains sliding shut. Who knew what he had just paid for? Clark tried not to feel nauseous in his stomach, finding himself wondering again what the story might be. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked at Clark Kent instead of through him.

You wrapped that night up with extra tips; the curly-haired man didn’t pay for any services, but his friend did. Most men ordered the whole package, but not him. It made you smile to yourself at the thought as you cleaned up your vanity. On your way out, you spoke to Caldwell, putting in your notice. He gave you a small grin, “I knew you’d get it, kid. Your last day’s tomorrow, take care of yourself out there.” You gave him a nod before walking out of the stage room, walking the path through the bar, and up the stairs for the second-to-last time. The wall was covered in portraits and old posters, some from the 50’s or the 70’s, each one displayed a unique woman performing in this very space. You ran your hands over the splintered stair railing before stepping out into the fresh air. Upon stepping out into the dimly lit alley, you lit a cigarette, slowly puffing on it as you walked home. Sunday night was your last night, and then Monday was the first chapter of your new life. You’d turn in your feather boas and high heels for a notepad and pens, button-ups and slacks. Performing the haze of cigarette smoke and bad decisions had become your life. You looked back on it one last time. The glowing neon sign above the small staircase leading down sighed. 

The last day was the busiest you had ever seen it; apparently, you had a following you didn’t know about. Lots of familiar faces gathered up, paying you extra. You walked out with the most money you’d ever made. Your pockets were full, and your mind is busy with the ideas of how things would unfold after this.

The morning of your first day, you were stressed. The night before, you had thought it would all be easy. But you were wrong. The pounding in your chest hasn’t settled for a moment, not after deep breaths or a shower. It was like the walls were caving in—this was your first ‘normal’ job in ages. Before the club, it was serving tables, but it didn’t compare to this. You were about to be in The Daily Planet, Metropolis’s fastest traveling media center. A competitor to The New York Times. This thought didn’t help settle your rapidly beating heart; it felt like it was about to fall into the pit of your stomach and burrow there. 

You looked in the mirror, carefully rubbing lotion into your face. You did minimal make-up, your hair pulled back into a neat ponytail, stray hairs smoothed back behind your ears. You padded away from the bathroom, the tile on your bare feet echoing through your apartment. Each step rings through your head. It wasn’t long before you stepped into your slacks, black and ironed to perfection. Then a button-up, pulling a cream colored, knitted sweater over top. It was classy and snug. You stepped into black heels and held an earring in your mouth as you pushed the other one into your ear. If you didn’t hurry, you’d be late. You grabbed your tote bag off the back of your island chair and your coffee, tucking it under your armpit as you lock your front door.

Daily Planet was only two blocks from your apartment, you weasled between people, and dodged the bikers that sped by without a care if they hit someone or not. It wasn’t long before you turned the corner and sauntered up the street that you were looking up at the big building. The globe on top gives it away, making it seem important. You felt the lump in your throat get bigger. When someone bumped into you, grumbling about where you were standing, you quickly went inside, going to the front desk. “Hi… I’m a new Junior reporter. Where should I head to?” you asked, your voice calm and collected, despite your heart throwing itself into your ribs over and over again. The man at the desk looked up at you, cocking an eyebrow like you were crazy. You self-consciously ran a hand down your front to avoid anything sticking out. “Do you know who you're looking for?” he asked, his voice bland and uninterested. He wasn’t married, and deep into his 40’s, you could tell by the wrinkles around the corners of his eyes, and how his eyes held an exhaustion you could only earn after years in a city like this. “Clark Kent,” you said, voice unwavering as you looked at him hopefully, head tilted to the side.

“Right, go to the right of my desk, take the stairs or elevator up to the third floor. He should be in one of the cubicles there… I think.” You nodded suspiciously. Clark Kent was a huge reporter, but why wasn’t he being treated like one? A small ‘thank you’ left your lips before you headed for the elevator, ringing it down to the lobby. When it opened, it was empty, but other people followed in behind you, packing it to its near-max capacity. From now on, you’d be taking the stairs. The elevator creaked with the weight before dinging on the third floor, where you had to push through the people to get out, frazzling you beyond belief. You were spit out onto the busy floor, filled with cubicles, reporters who were talking passionately, hustling to print out an article or picture. Your head could nearly start spinning as a younger woman brushed by you as if you hadn’t been there. How did someone reserved survive a room like this?

You slowly started to walk, confused, before a woman scooped you up. “Hi, you look lost. Lois Lane,” she introduced herself, hooking her arm around yours as she started to take you deeper into the offices. From the main room, there were side rooms meant for big meetings and discussions, and others were private offices of the owners, you presumed. You told Lois your name, giving her a small smile. “What, kid? Turn the volume up,” she mumbles at your quiet tone, it made you want to crawl up and die suddenly. “Sorry, pleasure to meet you. I’m looking for a reporter, Perry White told me to find him to be my… guide,” you replied, your voice not much louder, but enough for Lois to nod along. “Who are you looking for?” she asked, guiding you to her desk. “Clark Kent,” you mumbled, making her laugh. “Wow, you know he’s shy like you, this’ll work great.” You couldn’t tell if she was teasing, and that made you feel a bit squirmy. Most of the cubicles were full of things, if not people. Papers were sprawled out, and coffee mugs were stacked in corners after being forgotten to be taken home. “Here, I’ll catch you later. I’m busy.” Then Lois was gone as soon as she got there. In front of you stood a tidy desk with little pictures of a man with his parents, his keys, and coffee were the only clutter on his table besides his notebook and pen, filled to the brim with writing. The stranger slowly wheeled around in his chair and looked up at you.

You were then met with a punch to the gut—blue eyes you’d seen before. Thick glasses, a pristine suit, and a mop of precious curls on top of his head. You had told his ‘fortune’ in lingerie, in front of a crowd. You felt a piece of yourself die as the heat rushed up your neck. It was pure embarrassment and pity. You saw him falter; he knew. He moved to open his mouth, and you feared what would come out. Would he tell you to go away? Call you names? Tell your boss? “Hello, Ms. It’s very nice to meet you, I’m Clark Kent,” he said, grinning ear to ear. He was polite, and the dimples in his cheeks enhanced it. You gave a grin of relief, your shoulders slowly rolling back to relaxation. “Hi, honor to meet you. I’ve read all your articles, you are admirable,” you compliment, grinning.

Clark felt his stomach twist at that smile, the same one he hadn’t stopped thinking about since he saw you that night. He stood up, quickly towering over you, more than you had expected. He tried not to stare, to make you feel small for what you did. He didn’t judge you; he knew there was some reason behind it. He knew a thing or two about secret identities. Clark was in a disguise now, just like you were. The sparkles and curls were gone, and all the fancy dresses had been replaced by office wear. And he still found you just as beautiful. Your smile had attracted him in the first place. “Thank you, I try my best,” he replies, with an awkward chuckle, leaving him. He walked to the empty cubicle opposite his that shared a wall with his own. “This is your desk, Perry said you should be near me for a while, just so I can help with any questions.” Clark hunched a little, hiding his mouth behind his hand to tell you a secret, “I’d never go to Perry; he can be very mean.” You nod. Right. Stay away from the boss as much as you can. 

Soon, Clark was bringing you around the whole office, your heels clicking behind him, when just the night before, your heels had been muffled by the carpet as you sauntered through the crowd mysteriously. Copy machines, beeping of printers, coffee makers for when the days got intense, and you had to work overtime to compensate. He cracked corny jokes as he did, ones that earned sweet giggles from you, making his ears warm up. You couldn’t help but grin every time he said, “Golly,” after doing something clumsy. You wondered now, how Clark Kent—who seemed nervous to talk to his own reflection—could write such bold articles. He was hunched in on himself and very clumsy, as he bumped into more people than you could count on your hand, and he apologized to each one profusely. 

“Okay… and here’s your work-issued computer,” he said, tugging it from a charging cart. Clark opened it, setting it on top of the cart, making sure it works. He gave a nod before shutting it and handing it to you. “Should work pretty well, you can always exchange it if you ask Perry. You looped back to your desk, and Clark plopped down in his chair, watching you carefully. Your mind was still racing about what he knew, how troubling this could be to your reporting job, and whether he would say anything. “Thank you,” you hesitated, looking down at him now. Across the way from your desk was another set of cubicles. The other boy from last night, Jimmy. With the orange hair and freckled face that was hard to forget. Gosh, what if he noticed too? Lois Lane and another woman, who you later found out was Cat, sat around him. Clark looked at them, then up at you before thinking better of it. No need to put you on the spot.

He drank you in one last time, how quiet and introverted you seemed. How your sweet outfit had once been just silk and ribbons, you were wrapped in what men could only claim as their dreams. But he could just remember how you saw through him, how you paid attention to him as he mattered. Clark was known to the world as Superman, where he was praised and well-loved. In the workplace, outside of the powerful meta-human he really was, he was some kind of office joke. Gullible, trusting, and easy to prank, despite being a good friend. He let Steve call him names and let others walk all over him when he knew he could write a better article than a lot of people in there, but he decided to be humble. Clark kept his head down and just worked. “Well, now you should go visit Perry. He will give you an assignment or four,” Clark said cheerily. Meanwhile, you felt your stomach drop. Or Four? That number sounded spirit-crushing, on top of this issue blossoming under your skin. You were going back and forth about what Clark Kent really thought about you.

You were whisked away into Perry’s office. He was an older man with white streaks through his hair, and his skin was dark. A cigar hung between his lips as he welcomed you in. You stood with your shoulders straight, a soft look on your face, as you had practiced at the club. “Hi, I’m the new junior reporter. Clark Kent told me I should come to you for my assignments?” You said it like a question, no confidence in your tone, and you watched him scowl. Your blood was running hot, and your eyes flicked to his eyes, then the floor, and repeated. “Alright. I assume you got your work computer? Anything that happens to it will end in a fine,” he reminded at the end, his voice booming and bone chilling. It wasn’t like Caldwell’s voice, tinged with kindness. His voice was tinged with a cold tone that made you nervous. Suddenly, you missed Clark Kent’s warm voice, how gentle he was with you, and how he really listened to you. “Yes, sir,” you replied, looking down at him on his desk. He handed you a piece of paper on which were your assignments. 

Lex Luthor’s attacks w/ Clark Kent - Due 7/21

Romance Column w/ Cat Grant - Due 7/15

Scientist’s findings about our pets - solo - Due 7/25

You nodded, looking up at him after reading the page. “Cat has a relatively easy section. I want to find where you write best, and remember, kid, no biases. People notice. It’s opinion-free on this paper, you hear?” He waits for your small nod before excusing you. You hustle out, going back to your desk and sitting down with a sigh. Your chair slowly sank under your weight as you carefully spun it back and forth while you thought. This was it, your time to prove you could make it in a place like this. The time flew by, and you got along well with Cat. She reminded you of Maisy, how cheery and easy to talk to she was. Then you got resources to write your solo article. You hadn’t had time to talk to Clark. 

It was six now, and the lights had dimmed; janitors walked up the halls and mopped. Earbuds crammed into their ears as they sloshed along, dragging your attention away. You were one of the few there, and Clark was there. On the other side of the cubicle, you could hear his pen scratching away, and your mind drifted with it. You had to talk to him. Slowly, you stood up, poking your head on the other side. “Can we… talk?” you asked, eyes on the floor in shame. You weren’t ashamed of what you’d done persay but it was hard to outwardly admit to it, when it was frowned upon in plenty of industries, despite their employees crawling into that place after work. He looked up at you, nodding for you to continue. Clark dropped his pen and looked up at you, his hands intertwining in his lap. You noticed how caring he was to everyone else, how he always made people feel valued in a way. 

“About the other night. We saw each other, and I want you to know I’ve quit that job. I’m moving on, and that isn’t me anymore, so please don’t report me! I finally got my foot in the d—” his brows creased, and you cut yourself off as he opened his mouth. No sound came out, and he shut his mouth. He took a deep breath, looking up into your eyes with wonderment. “No, of course not. I wouldn’t dream of it,” he paused, giving you a small smile as he searched your eyes. “I’m not here to judge how you got money, I figured you were doing it for a reason… to support something.” With that, he stood up, starting to pack his notepad into his briefcase. You faltered, ready to be defensive, but he had accepted you? “Really… Well, that was much easier than I thought,” you mumbled under your breath, and somehow he caught it. Surprise washed over you.

Somehow, he made everything feel lighter, freer. Like you could laugh and joke, and he wouldn’t judge you. Maybe because he was just a gentle giant. He laughed, a deep rumble in his chest at your half-joke. “I thought you were wonderful… You made everyone in there feel so,” Clark stuttered towards the end of his bold comment, stuffing things into his bag more quickly. He wasn’t one to flirt, and especially with the fresh meat in the office. You didn’t need a big oaf like him hanging off of you from day one. He panicked, watching your face change, “Seen,” he concluded. You felt your heart flutter. You knew it made them feel seen, but hearing it from someone like Clark? It hit a million times better. The warm little center in your chest is expanding. He was distinguished and well-manicured; he was polite, calling you wonderful. “

“It was my practice for journalism,” you said, packing your own bag on the other side. You needed to get home to your apartment, maintain the place, and your pets. “Observant, I admire it. Just hope you're safe,” Clark said, his voice trailing off. This seemed out of his range; you could tell by how he squirmed, his hands fidgeting in the confines of his pocket. You didn’t make him suffer anymore. “No need to worry about it anymore, Clark. See you tomorrow so we can work on this article,” you say, slinging your packed bag over your shoulder. It had gained what felt like 15 pounds with this new computer; it weighed down on your shoulder, and Clark watched you walk out discreetly. Not to watch your hips sway, or see how that sweater clung to you, but to drink in your form, the femininity that radiated off you. It was a miracle how you went from a practical doll to someone so… normal. Hair tied back, showing your pretty face. He couldn’t stop thinking about you, not at all.

His superhearing couldn’t pick up on you in the city, nothing like the laughter that had bubbled out of your lips back in that dingy club, when Jimmy made a stupid joke. Clark wasn’t a stalker, but he hadn’t felt like this since he started working here. The first time, it was Lois Lane, but it fizzled out in under 6 months when she made it very clear her intentions towards him. It had been 3 long years now, nobody to confide in or look forward to seeing at work. Clark found you different; you had a secret identity, too. You knew what I felt like to lose yourself in between the cracks of what was supposed to be your normal and the secret you wanted to hide. He was never really Superman; it was an act. To him, he was Clark Kent in a costume. Sometimes, he didn’t quite feel like the Clark Kent the world knew, either. He wasn’t clumsy, didn’t try to make himself small. In the confines of his own apartment, could he really be himself, not clumsy or stuttering. Just Clark.

This office crush went on for months, and everyone but you seemed to notice. You grew close to him after his spiel about how he didn’t care what you did. You sat with him at lunch, he got you coffee, and you gave article advice. What Jimmy, Lois, and Cat saw that you didn’t was how he looked at you like you moved the stars when you talk. How his eyes wouldn’t leave you once, like a puppy. Whenever he cracked a joke, he looked at you, waiting for a laugh or anything. The printer wasn’t working the other day, and so you called him in. “Clark!” You hollered and watched him shoot up. He came shuffling over, bumping into the metal door frame on the way with a wince. The machine before you sputtered and faltered as its screen told you its list of issues. You gave him a guilty grin, stepping away. “I don’t know what I did, but this is going… crazy!” you complained, watching him get down on one knee to start tinkering. His brows were furrowed, and his glasses slid down his nose. You couldn’t help but think he looked cute.

After a few failed attempts, it started to print properly. “Oh gosh, thank you! Saving my life, should call you Superman,” you teased, collecting your papers and stapling them together for editing. Clark chokes a little. If only you knew. Your hand landed on his arm as you moved for the door, making him tense. “Oh, no biggie, I’ve done this plenty…” You gave him a nod and walked out, going away from the desks and to the editing room. Clark walked back to his desk, slumping into his chair with a sigh that could be considered dreamy. Jimmy’s voice made him jump. “You could just ask her out, you freak.” A small laugh followed it and a hum of approval from Lois, who was poised on Jimmy’s desk. She had photographs in her hand and was looking over them carefully, Jimmy looking up at her hopefully. “What? I don’t know what you’re—” Clark was cut off by Cat. “Bullshit, Clark! Just try and ask her out, she was totally checking you out while you were fixing the printer!” she said, using Lois as a reenactment. “Oh, Clark, I just need you to save me!” Cat said dramatically, Lois half-heartedly catching her, and Cat grabbed onto her bicep as a joke. This earned a snicker from Jimmy, too. Clark just nervously played with his tie, avoiding eye contact as his ears reddened. “No, it’s a silly idea!” he grumbles, and you came strolling back.

“What’s a silly idea?” you asked, sitting down in your swivel chair. Everyone watched Clark squeak into silence before straightening up and looking at you like a puppy. “Oh, nothing, just Cat on her column,” he said before giving you a grin that made his dimples come out and his eyes crinkle in the corners. You gave him a small smile, one that was much sappier. Lois and Cat started to laugh as they walked away. Jimmy just cocked an eyebrow at Clark. He pulled up his phone and discreetly texted Clark. “If you don’t ask her out today, I’ll do it for you. Tick Tock.” When his phone screen lit up, he swallowed hard. He knew Jimmy would do it too. 

When 5 PM rolled around, everyone was clearing out, and Jimmy had left the area momentarily. Clark stood up, his hands nervously at his sides, occasionally wiping the sweat off them. He cleared his throat, and you looked up at him, giving a small smile. One he had seen plenty of times now that you worked here. It wasn’t forced like the one at the club had been; nothing was hiding beneath it. “Are you busy? After work or tomorrow night?” he asked, playing with a seam inside his pocket, trying not to freak out. He was never bold, not like this. Not when he was wearing big glasses and an oversized work suit to hide all the muscle beneath. You considered before giving him a small nod, your heartbeat was starting to race. Clark heard it, the anticipation, and soon his heart was at the same spot. “Will you go out to dinner… on a date with me?” Clark asked, swallowing hard. You watched his Adam’s apple bob; he was calm despite how much he was squirming now. 

You nod, your cheeks flushing a light pink that reassures him. “Yeah, I would love to! Are you all finished? We could head out now?” You suggest standing up to start packing up your stuff. You slipped your computer into your bag and tried to ignore the sweat building up on your neck. To be honest, you hadn’t been all too good at this stuff either. All your flirting devices seemed to have been left behind on that stage. “Yeah, yeah! Sure,” he said, starting to pack up his stuff. He had 3 articles due within the week, but they could wait for you, even if he was already on a time crunch. 

He took you to a nice Italian restaurant up the street. At first, he was awkward, but slowly, he came out of his shell as you talked about music and movies, talking about home, and he was inspired. It was a night of storytelling back and forth, each of you laughing, and he admired the war your eyes crinkled in the corner, and how genuine it sounded. Like you were light and full of purity. He made sure to open doors, pay (despite your insisting you split the check), and walk you home. Clark walked you down the side streets he knew were safe. The ones that were illuminated by the street lights and only had the building towering over them around you. Only a few people passed with their dogs. Soon, you were standing face to face with your apartment lobby. “This is it?” he asked, turning to face you. Clark didn’t want to impose and invite himself in. So he let you go here. “Yeah, thank you for dinner… it was great, really,” you said, voice soft. You looked up at him, and he stepped closer. “My pleasure, maybe we can do this again sometime?” You heard his hopeful voice and grinned, nodding. He had been such a gentleman; you hadn’t met many guys like him. 

Slowly, you leaned into a kiss, leading it with your lips. You moved your mouth against his in a soothing rhythm that he opened up to, going from stiff to loose. His hands went to your hips, your arms around his neck, and it felt like a fairytale. The birds sang quietly, and the warm lights coming from the lobby cast a glow that was hard to compete with. When you pulled your lips away, he moved a hand to rub the back of his neck. “Well, golly… I think I have my answer.” You laughed, your forehead resting on his chest. “You know, you’re the first guy I’ve ever met that says ‘golly’ on the regular,” you shook your head, unwrapping your arms and stepping away. You didn’t hate it all; it was endearing. “Just my southern charm! Goodnight!” Clark said, watching you walk inside, waiting until he heard the elevator ding and your heels click out of the elevator and down the hallway. Then he went home, no patrol tonight, as he had done it early that morning. 

Once inside, you pressed your back to the door, smiling like an idiot. That was the most romantic night to ever happen to you. He opened doors, made you laugh, teased you the right amount, and at the end, he wasn’t expecting you to give out. He would’ve happily left with no kiss. You found yourself spinning around your house, your cat rubbing at your feet for dinner. 

Coffee breaks turned into dinners. Dinners became walks through Centennial Park after work. On weekends, he’d invite you to museums or bookstores, and you’d drag him to little cafes squished between apartment buildings. Somewhere between sharing fries and arguin over the best reporting leads, you stopped thinking of him as the man from the gentleman’s club and started thinking of him simply as Clark Kent. Your co-worker with a dorky sense of humor, and the sweetest man you had ever met.

Lois came over, your article in hand, “Kid, are you afraid of periods? One more comma in this, and the whole thing might as well be one big run-on sentence!” The article landed with a plop on your desk, and you looked down at it with a scowl. Clark stood up, “No need to get hasty, Lois. You can’t spell very well. We all have our strong suits.” She quickly shot Clark a glare and crossed her arms. He swallows hard, coming behind you to look over your work. Looking over the sentences he helped edit that were critiqued. “Clark, go back to your desk. She is very capable of doing it on her own.” A small giggle left you, and he sighed, going back to his seat. “Just trying to help,” Clark grumbles, like a puppy that had been rejected by its owner. “We know, puppy.” Jimmy started to laugh, and he shot a look at him, making him shake his head. Clark wasn’t intimidating to Jimmy, even if he tried. 

Then it was dating. Clark asked you after a long walk through the park, and after ice cream, he walked you to your door, asking you with a necklace that he had in his pocket all day. He made sure it matched your other jewelry, which wasn’t hard considering his photographic memory. “Will you… Be my girlfriend? I’ve always been enamoured by you since I saw your smile, the big ones and the small ones. You’re everything I could ever want in a person,” he looked at the ground as he said it. You grabbed his chin with your hand and nodded before pulling him in with a kiss. It started gently before he picked you, spinning you around as he pressed quick kisses all over your jaw and cheeks. “I thought you’d never ask, Clark,” you gush, stroking a wild curl back before it fell into his face again. 

Now that you were dating, it was like he was the new accessory to your apartment. Clark’s clothes had a small spot in your dresser, spare glasses on his side of the bed, and flowers he left behind for you. When he wasn’t doing articles or out doing Superman work, then he was cuddled up with you. His arms wrapped around your waist, and his face buried into the plush of your stomach. You were telling him some stories about work, your walk home, and your trip to the pet store. He had been out on patrol for most of this. As rain tapped on your apartment window, a quiet settled over the room as you stopped talking. “Why’d you stop, honey?” he asked, looking up at you. You were propped up against your pillows, and a too-big sweater was drowning you as you played with his hair. In here, Clark wasn’t clumsy, and he let his shoulders be taller. “Feels weird…” You murmured, under your breath, but Clark could still hear. “What does?” You pause before answering, moving to take off his glasses as the frames dug into your skin. He quickly stops you, sitting up instead, crawling next to you, and tugging you into his side. “Not hiding. I don’t feel like I have to hide anything from you, not even my time at the club,” you mumble, brushing off his fit about never taking off his glasses. His fingers threaded through yours; you didn’t know how much he understood his feelings. You could tell there was something he wasn’t telling you, a secret, but it didn’t bother you much. You trusted Clark to tell you when the time was right.

Clark breaks the silence, his big hand massaging one of your shoulders as he holds you close. “Can I ask you something?” You looked up at him, making a small noise as he dug into a tender spot. “Sure,” you reply, your eyes going to the big window. The rain pattering on the surface of the gray clouds brooded over the sky. You had candles flickering in the room, setting the mood. “The first night we met… what did you see when you looked at me?” He asked, a twinge of insecurity in his tone. You smile, thinking before mumbling. “A man pretending to be someone smaller than he really was.” Clark freezes. She understands him without knowing he was Superman, understood all of his layers without explanation. 

How you and Clark Kent came to be was a total mystery. The city knew Superman as your greatest obstacle. You knew him as the man who woke up early to make you pancakes every Sunday.

He was inherently good, his eyes sparkled with magic, and his mission on Earth was to save the world. Or at least, a warped version of his message from his parents. When he wasn’t working at Daily Planet, he found himself flying through Metropolis, saving it from its biggest threats. Lex Luthor, damage, fires, and keeping the streets safe. He also kept criminals, like you, at bay.

You were a classic crook, not much fancy equipment, but you could do anything with a will and a computer. Disarming alarm systems was your strength. No one could trace it back to you with your efficiency. Lex Luthor admired it, and you jumped at the chance for him to intern with you. You committed crimes while also being his shiny toy; you got all the plans, and he gave you the materials to do so. You wanted more for the world, not to be ruled, getting inside like this was your biggest accomplishment yet. 

Was Clark disappointed? Absolutely. Every time his super hearing picked up the familiar chime of an alarm tied to your jobs, he’d quickly pull his cape on with a sigh. He hoped—just hoped—that tonight would be the last scandal, the last lie, and you’d listen when he asked you to stop. He was always the one first on scene to stop you. He’d caught you plenty of times but never tossed you in jail. Instead, he’d fly you home, sit you on the couch with some team, and spend an hour trying to convince you that you didn’t have to keep doing this. He had a soft spot for you, considering you were his girlfriend.

You were high up in the Daily Planet, on level with Perry. You decided what got posted, what got fixed, and edited. It was a big job. It also allowed you to mediate where the public eye’s attention went, keeping it away from Luthor’s scandals. 

Clark hated what you were doing. He hated every break-in, every stolen file, every lie you told that put you on the brink of getting caught. But he never hated you. He saw the ambition and kindness tucked underneath it all, and no matter how many heists or plans you made, he believed you could choose differently—not for him, but for yourself. Your help could make Luthor rise and spread evil. But he knew your intentions weren’t evil, not even a little. Lex pointed you toward his competitors and happily tore through their firewalls. Breaking them down and destroying their covers inch by inch by stealing their data and getting mass amounts of money to keep it under wraps. And on the side, you were able to bring home evidence and proof for Superman and the Justice League that justified them. Painted them as good guys. 

Though on the side, you had a terrible habit of helping yourself to expensive souvenirs along the way.

You were only human.

Clark came home from work in his suit, which meant he had finished Daily Planet work. He had been so busy lately, not coming home until late at night from the chaos of Metropolis. You missed him a lot—especially his dick. He hadn’t fucked you right in two weeks now, just some touching that was cut off by your desperate need for sleep. You didn’t have super stamina and needed sleep, unlike him.

Tonight, you sprawled out on the couch in a pretty set you bought for him. Dark green lace that accentuated the curves of your body, made your breasts look more desirable, if at all possible. On your neck sat a pretty necklace from a museum. You planned to return it, but why not have a little fun with it while it was in your possession? His breath caught at the sight in front of him. You looked good enough to eat.

“Hello to you too,” Clark said, wiggling his eyebrows playfully, setting his briefcase down. His curls were a little messed up; he must’ve just finished some Superman duties. His hair always got like that after flying, the wind molding it against his wishes. “Hi, baby…” You drawled out, the lust in your tone hard to ignore. It sounded like you were going to eat him instead. “Where’d you get that necklace?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow, getting his shoes off, and taking off his suit jacket. That left his muscles to be observed and gazed at. “Just borrowing it from down the road,” you said, sitting up. Your hair cascaded down your back, and your eyes were pinned on him. 

Clark swallowed hard, slowly stepping into the living room. “Down the road? You stole it?” It was a rhetorical question; he knew the answer already. He shook his head, his hand moving out to touch the material of your lingerie. “I’m gonna give it back, promise. I just wanted to look good for you tonight, it’s been two weeks, you know,” You said, eating up how he looked down at you. He made anyone look small next to him, his towering frame was charming, and you were oh-so happy to have it all to yourself. 

You batted your eyes at him, watching him shrug. “Maybe you don’t deserve it, you haven’t been a very good girl. And this necklace is very expensive to just be ‘borrowing’,” he taunted, his fingers traced it curiously,y and you giggled a little. “You need it too, I saw you trying to hide your morning wood today,” you said, your hands casually travelling down to his hands, loosening his belt. He pushed your hands off, making you pout. “Oh, no, you don’t. Not until you decide you’ll be good. You’ll give up all the scandals,” Clark said, kneeling and grabbing your hips. 

You gave him a suspicious look, cocking an eyebrow. “I don’t think so, Superman. That won’t work on me.” Before you knew it, he was dragging you by the hips, bringing your hips to the edge of the couch. “Really? Do you need some more convincing?” he asked, his voice deep, condescending. You rarely saw him like this, he was needy and on the bottom seventy percent of the time. Of course, you liked it that way. “Yes, Clark. I do.” Your whiny tone made him smirk. This was going to be fun. He had no plans on being nice tonight. Clark hadn’t used sex before to sway you, but he was trying it now.

He was tugging your laced panties down as he kissed down your legs, the soft skin of your calves, your thighs, then right in the stretch marks between your legs. You were soaked, and he had smelt it when he walked in and tried to ignore it as best he could. Your aroused scent was so prominent compared to your other pheromones, making it hard to focus sometimes, especially when you got like that in the office. Clark was presented with your puffy pussy, like it had been played with already. He looked up at you, suspicious, before looking back down. “I couldn’t wait…” You admitted quietly. He scowled, shaking his head.

“Terrible,” he grumbled, diving in. He was making out with your clit by now, the wet noises of him sucking and squeezing sensations out of you. He watched your hole squeeze around nothing, and he laughed. “You need me there, too?” Clark asked, and watched you nod desperately. “I do… Please!” you begged, his touch so nice. His fingers dug deeper into the fat of your hips, sucking harder on your bundle of nerves instead of your needy hole. Your legs started to tremble, and your whines were near pornographic as you pleaded for him to do more. He dipped 2 fingers in, the slick collecting on his fingers. 

He felt the gummy walls, absorbing his fingers greedily like a lifeline. He made a small groan, the smell making his head cloudy. Clark felt you clench and heard the moans increase in need, he knew this meant you were close. He pulled his fingers and tongue away, you whined at the loss of contact. “Oh, Clark. I was so close,” you whispered, your eyes hazy and distant. “Mm, too bad. You shouldn’t have played with yourself, or taken this necklace, or worked for Lexcorp…” he mumbled, unbuttoning his shirt. You looked up at him, eyes sad and sweet. “That’s not gonna work on my honey, you’re okay,” he cooed, tossing his shirt, revealing his hard, muscled stomach and his big biceps. A small whine at how pretty he was escaped your mouth. 

Even in the moment of raw need, you couldn’t help but admire him. Your boyfriend, who saved the world, was everyone’s mad at tomorrow, but he was all yours otherwise. You got his muscles all to yourself, his sweet talking, his affection, and all of his inches to yourself. “So handsome…” You said, your hands going out to touch. He gave a small smile, looking down, and his shoulders rolling as a low chuckle left his lips. Suddenly, Superman didn’t seem so sweet and innocent. “We’re only getting started, and you’re drooling,” he mumbles, wiping the corner of your mouth, ridding it of the spit that had bubbled up there. “I need you, that’s why.” That plea didn’t work, Clark just shook his head. Using his strength to lay you back down. 

The unzipping of his zipper fills the room. In one quick tug, he had both his pants and boxers down. Your breath hitches at the sight in front of you. It was still a shock every time to see his pretty cock spring out, hanging in front of you. He was the most alien in his length, you hadn’t seen anything like it—thick and longer than imaginable, it hit every spot at once and stretched you no matter how many times you took it. He was hard now, his tip starting to leak, and you could tell he was struggling to hold back. “Yeah? You can’t even stand looking at it?” he asked, teasing, climbing over you. 

You gasped when he leaned forward, grabbing your hands and using one hand to hold them together, keeping them pinned above your head. He looked at the lacy bra still covering you, his hands went to the middle, and he tugged. The fabric ripped in half, allowing your breasts to spill out. “Clark!” you yelled, squirming under him. “Maybe I’ll buy you a new one,” he said, ripping the straps with no effort and throwing it somewhere into the apartment, completely shredded into ribbons. Without warning, he used his free hand to guide his cock into your pussy, slowly pushing in, making your back arch. “Oh, baby… quit squeezing me, 's so tight,” his farm boy drawl spilling out as sweat gathers on his brow and his breath grows heavy and desperate. You wiggle your hips, hoping to get him deeper inside you. This earned a smack on the hip, nothing too harsh, but attention-grabbing. “Be good,” he scolded, pushing in to the hilt in one thrust. 

Clark let out a groan that made your skin ignite. It was so animalistic and unlike him, and you had never been more turned on. “Clark, please, I’ll be good! I promise! Don’t stop moving,” you begged, gasps leaving your lips as he pumped his hips. Just as you reach your climax he stops moving, dipping down to press kisses between the valley of your breast. “Tell me that you’re gonna quit working with Lex, come work with the Justice League instead.” his voice was raspy and desperate. You shook your head, “No… I like what I do, you know that.” 

He pulled out, leaving you clenching around nothing, and a whine of disappointment slipped from your lips. “I’m sorry!” you yell. Clark doesn’t let up, he starts to kiss each tit, taking one nipple into his mouth and the other into his large hand, grabbing and kneading harshly. You can feel him leaking against your leg. Only then does he push back inside you again. Pounding in, pushing down on your stomach to see the bulge of his massive bulge in your stomach. Now that he had let go of your hands, they dug into the skin of his back, scratching down his tough Kryptonian skin and not even leaving a mark. 

Clark brought you to your climax 3 more times, pulling out each time, sucking on your pussy or your breasts in between, before going back, hoping you’ll listen. He was punishing you at excruciating rates that you didn’t know he had in him. You had marks on your hips from his strong hold, and your body was sore from the pressure of him, but the deep hole in your gut with the need to come overpowered all those feelings. Your eyes were half-lidded, and tears ran down your cheeks, half-coherent words spilled from your mouth, and his favorite—your puffy pussy was dripping and clenching around nothing, begging for attention, to release. 

“I’m going to ask you one more time, baby. Quit all the scandals and work with me, and you can come all over my dick just like you’ve been waiting for. If not, you won’t get to for two more weeks. So what is it?” Clark asked, his length resting in your belly; you could see it pulsing. You knew if you said no, he’d bully into your tight warmth and pull out to come on your stomach before you get a chance to. You couldn’t go two more weeks without an orgasm from him. You sobbed now, needing this more than you’ve ever needed anything. “I promise! Kal-El, please!” you whimpered. He looked at you, surprised, never having heard something that desperate and pathetic in his life. He twitched more on your stomach at how needy it was. 

Shortly, he grabbed you by the hips, flipping you onto your knees. “Okay, sweetheart, it’s okay. I’m gonna take care of it,” he reassured, pushing into you slowly. Clark heard your breath sputtering from your crying and need. The stretch felt so good, and he needed it. Soon, the only sound in the room was the sound of your skin slapping against each other. The loud squelching of your tight pussy was driving him crazy. Now that he had bullied you into submission, he was all sweet-talking. “You’re taking me so good, baby. I‘m sorry I was so mean to you… You like me taking you from behind like this?” You only gave incoherent responses and squeaks of pleasure. 

His grinding was relentless, his hand snaking under your stomach and down between your legs. Your release came crashing over you with no control. “I’m com—“ your eyes rolled back, and he pumped in and out, rubbing your clit and fucking you through your orgasm. “Such a good girl, yeah, you took it so good.” You whined and collapsed, your face landing into the cushions. Clark was close to. “Where do you want it?” he asked, lifting you, so you weren't muffled. “My stomach…” You croaked out weakly.

When he pulled out, you rolled over, your bare body on display for him. You watched him jerk himself off until eventually spilling his load all over your stomach, some even reaching your breasts. He always made sure you came first, even if you’ve been bad. “Thank you… Oh, thank you so much,” he rasped out, collapsing on top of you after all the denials and holding himself back. 

“Was I too rough?” he asked, and you shook your head no, though his denying around five orgasms had been pretty fucked up. And he got his way in the end. Clark traced the necklace on your neck, slowly unclipping it and setting it on the coffee table. He scooped you up, your legs too shaky to do anything. He set you on the bathroom counter, where you slumped back against the wall, watching him start the bath, making it perfect for you. Then grab a rag and wipe down your stomach from his leftover release. “You’re never this quiet. Maybe I should edge you more often,” he said, grinning ear to ear, before scooping you up and setting you in the bath, where he climbed in behind you.

You scowled at him, leaning back into his chest. “Rude, Kal-El. Very rude.” He laughed, rubbing your hair with his hands. “Sorry, sorry…”

The rest of the night was spent on you; he pampered you and then cuddled you, massaging your aching legs that he had caused you. It didn’t take long to fall asleep, that had been the most intense moment of your life. 

You did give up Lexcorp, helping the Justice League from the side, now that you knew Lex’s technology better than anyone. Green Lantern and Mr. Terrific were arguing over a good name for you, and still hadn’t found one that stuck yet.

Clark Kent had lived his whole life being brushed under the rug. He was too smart or too quiet, too kind or too overbearing. In reality, he just wanted to help people. It didn’t help that he could shoot lasers from his eyes or lift a building if he felt inspired to. His Earth parents didn’t know where he came from; they just called him their miracle. At least he was accepted by somebody.

Everyone seemed to have soulmates. Humans found their way to someone special, the person who’d make them laugh, keep each other the perfect temperature when they cuddled—like an invisible string pulled them together and helped them operate together. Everyone believed someone was out there waiting for them. Clark felt hopeless; he believed no one ever wanted him, that someone was waiting for an alien. If soulmates were such a human belief, why would there be one out there for him?

Living with this secret embedded under his skin, it itched to break out in his most vulnerable moments. When a kid grabbed his book and lifted it out of his reach, Clark felt the familiar burn of the lasers behind his eyes. He held great power, but at what cost? He was just an alien trying to be a man. An alien that had no idea how it’d landed here on Earth. What did this mean for him?

As high school came and went, he watched couples to get together. He watched romance between his peers; he watched real emotional things happen. Clark assumed he couldn’t do that. Love wasn’t for him because then he would have to reveal the most vulnerable parts of himself, which he couldn't do. How could you explain to the girl you like, “Oh yeah, I’m an alien that could crush you with my fingers with no effort.” That was a turn-off. So he admired girls from afar. Lana Lang was the only girl he had gotten close to, who eventually pushed him away for his secrecy behind his identity and his body (not that he told her about the flight and super strength stuff).

Afterwards, he stayed far away from girls, at least romantically. He wanted to be a friend, save lives. If that’s what it took, then he would do it. Clark wanted nothing more than to help people prosper, to make them feel safe.

It wasn’t until Metropolis that he picked up on love when he saw Lois Lane in the bullpen of the Daily Planet. After getting the job by pure luck, his new, shy appearance serving as a shield to his identity made it hard to get big reporting jobs.

Lois Lane was incredible. She had a fire in her eyes that not even the evilest of forces could beat out of her. She was the most well-known reporter in Metropolis. And Clark was in love with her. Ironic. He was gentle, and she wasn’t. Lois was chasing the idea of the invincible man, Superman.

Superman caught the attention that Clark could never. His shoulders were hunched, and Perry referred to him as a mouse in the office. Everyone pitied him, left him out of stuff. His thick frames solidified his identity as the office nerd who people looked over without a second thought. It was perfect for concealing Superman, letting him live a mellow life on the down low. But sometimes it made him feel more alienated than anything else.

No one saw him unless he was soaring through the sky. No one but Lois Lane, to his surprise. She noticed him. Sometimes. Only at night, when he could bring her pleasure for hours at a time before she went home to her own apartment. Where she would then treat him as nothing more than a co-worker or a friend at most. Like the night before hadn’t happened. But Clark’s lack of female attention growing up made him fall for the same traps repeatedly, no matter how many nights he lay awake staring at his ceiling, wondering how he had gotten here.

At work,k he’d write articles that scored the front page, Lois would give him a nod of approval, and he would soak it in, like it was his greatest accomplishment. “Nice going, Clark. Those interviews with Superman are a hit, ever heard of an adverb?” she’d say, running a friendly hand over his shoulder as she passes. He would just grin at her, shaking his head as he passed.

It was steady, something he could handle. Their relationship constantly teetered on more and more. Sometimes the kisses lasted too long, and he found himself making dinner for her in her apartment. He listened to her talk. Maybe it was perfect.

On his usual route to work, he went to the coffee stop. He got two. One for him and one for Lois. The line was long, and in line stood you. You clumsily dropped your purse when searching for your card. Your notebooks and pens, little things that swam at the bottom. Your ears flushed red as you handed over your card and quickly squatted down to pick up the contents of your bag on the floor. Clark, being the gentleman he is, rushed down and helped you collect everything. On your notebook was a Smallville sticker; his eyes lit up. “Smallville?” he asked. Clark cocked an eyebrow and gave a grin. Your eyes met his, your hands busy stuffing your purse back together.

“Oh, yeah… I spent the summers there growing up,” you said, standing up and taking the stuff from Clark. The worker impatiently handed your card back before Clark ordered. You waited nearby, your coffee backed up from the city chaos that whisked in every morning. Clark stood by you, waiting just like you. “I grew up there, never saw anyone from there that I don’t know,” he started again. You took in his appearance now—he was tall, with shoulders that rolled in on themselves, and he wore a suit jacket. You could’ve sworn you’d seen him before. The blue of his eyes was unlike anything you’d ever seen. “Yeah, small place. My grandparents neighbored the Luthor mansion. At least a 3-mile neighbor, but still. Can you believe he’s here trying to rule Metropolis?” you asked, still absentmindedly messing with the contents of your purse. He shrugs, “I went to school with him; he was kind of a bad egg. I just wanted someone to talk to, I think.” You give a nod, watching Clark fidget with the handle of his briefcase. He thought you were pretty, really pretty. They called your name, harshly sliding your coffee onto the counter to be picked up by you.

“Pretty name,” Clark complimented as you moved to grab the coffee. You felt your cheeks warm as he said it, and the steaming cup in your hand burned your skin. “Thank you… It’s my grandma’s,” you gushed a little. He was a handsome nerd, who could ignore that? “And well, since you saved my purse’s… stuff being kicked around the whole cafe, can I buy you some dinner sometime?” you asked smoothly, your eyes sweet and convincing. He wanted to get to know you, the wonder in your eyes. He couldn’t explain why he wanted to keep the conversation going. “Yeah, yeah, sure! Clark Kent…” he scrambled, holding his hand out to shake awkwardly.

Clark had nodded before he could think better of it. Saying no had never even crossed his mind. There was just something about you that seemed to settle the noise in his head for just a second. Like everything had dulled to make you shine. You told him your name, giggling a little as you shook his hand back. “Like the reporter!” you replied quickly. His head swiveled as you let go, grabbing a pen and a small piece of paper. His heart beat sped up, the pounding in his ears. You knew his work? “Yeah… Didn’t know people remembered the authors of articles,” Clark replied, writing his phone number on the small piece of paper. Using his big hand as a hard surface, he scribbled it down neatly and handed it to you with a grin. “Well, of course. I mean, your writing is impressive. I thought you’d be… older.” To that,t he felt his ears heat up. You grinned, giving a soft wave before leaving. His super hearing was narrowed in on your shoes clicking down the sidewalk to work, he’d been mesmerized.

For the first time in months, Lois Lane wasn’t the first thing on his mind.

He was late to work now, per usual. But today he was rushing in with more purpose. Clark felt a bit ashamed; he was loyal, and he had Lois. Kind of.

He walked in, a newspaper in hand that he had grabbed on his way in. The two coffee cups were hot and steaming his hands, not that he had really noticed anyway. He nodded his head to Steve and Jimmy, then gave a formal hello to Perry. Clark stopped at Lois’s desk, his heart speeding up. She didn’t spare a glance. She loved Clark, but she was blinded by her desire to find Superman, to know this mysterious man who was strong and indestructible. “Hi, Clark. You’re later than normal. What happened?” she asked, her eyes casting up to you and then down to her work. A heavily edited Superman article sat in front of her, things scribbled out and highlighted. It was impressive, really. “I was helping someone pick up their purse, and it was busy, you know, the usual,” he said, his hands hovered above her shoulders before he thought differently. It drove a wedge through his heart to feel such a distance between someone with whom he was most vulnerable.

She gives a hum to show she heard it. “I’m very busy today, but maybe I can come over tonight? We can have dinner and…” she hesitates, waiting for Clark to fill in the gaps. He gives a small no, Lois wanted this, and he could provide it easily. “For sure,” he said, walking away with a small smile that made Lois’s heart beat a little quicker. Those dimples left a mark if you took time to pay attention to Clark.

After lots of arguments over articles, and employees pulling their hair to get every word perfect, to snatch attention, it was time to go home. Clark started dinner before Lois got there; he had a bit of a head start. He made something simple, chicken and rice. It was hard to mess that up. He heard the door quietly twist open, and he pretended like he couldn’t and waited for her to sneak up on him. Her hands are tracing his back. His work coat had been ditched and hung up neatly by the door. “Oh, hi…” Clark said, quickly turning around and grinning at Lois. She smiles, kissing him, her mouth does all the guiding, navigating Clark like she owns his mouth. “Hi…” Lois said, pulling away with a sigh. She surveyed his pan, raising an eyebrow. “Chicken’s burning.” Clark quickly turned around, panicking as he tugged it off the hot stove top. “Gosh!” he exclaimed with some frustration.

When he got the chaotic dinner wrangled in, putting it on the table to eat, the silence between them wasn’t unusual by any means. But Clark had you on his mind. Your kind smile and how you seemed to really pay attention to what he had to say. Not that Lois didn’t or anything. It was just different. He couldn’t stop his train of thought, and he felt guilty about it. Clark has Lois right in front of him for heaven's sake! “What’s going on up there, Clark?” Lois asks, her eyes flicking to him as she swallows a piece of rather dry chicken. Not even ketchup could solve it. Oops. “Oh, nothing. Just tired,” Clark replied quickly, dousing his chicken in condiments. Lois nods. “It’s crazy, today at work, some guy asked me out after yelling at him. He must be crazy,” she mumbles, trying to make conversation. “Yeah? Why were you yelling at him?” he prompts, allowing Lois to shine. To talk. He watched her use her hands to speak, a small smile on his face. Clark had his dream right in front of him,m and he was going to give it up for a ‘weird’ feeling with a stranger?

You texted his number. He had been clearing the table, fixing his couch cushions after a few hours of letting Lois have her way with him. He didn’t mind, except when the words “I love you, please keep going” left his lips, she stopped. The love aspect was complicated, to never be said out loud. “Clark…” she mumbled, before getting off. Lois ranted at him about what it meant, it’s too much, and how he shouldn’t wear his heart on his sleeve. Then she left while mumbling, “I told you I wasn’t good at relationships.” Clark was hurt to say the least. He had so much love and thanks to give.

“Hi, we bumped into each other at the coffee shop. Dinner on me tomorrow? 7 work?” The message lit up his screen,n and he perked up. At least he had one good side of the night. He nervously typed out a message, deleted and retyped, and again. Clark didn’t want to seem like a loser right off the bat. “Hello! Works for me, send me your address and I’ll pick you up :)”. After that, he turned his phone off. The anxiety of waiting around for an anticipated text was enough to kill even him, who was indestructible.

So dinner it was, another day of chaos, and he found himself knocking on your door, hesitating at first before letting his knuckles rap at the wood. Your apartment number stared back at him, and the cramped hallway made him feel too big. At first,t the dinner was unsteady, his palms were sweaty, and he couldn’t stop bouncing his leg. He hadn’t really been on a date with Lois, they kinda just… happened. This was his first real date as an adult.

You made a joke that broke the air between you, and soon it was story upon story. The connection you two had was amazing… like no other girl he had ever connected with. “When I was young, I thought I was so cool and punk rock listening to the Mighty Crabjoys, now they're such a guilty pleasure…”You admit, and Clark straightened up quickly. “Me too! I have a poster of them in my childhood room, I mean, I was obsessed, and I still listen sometimes,” he scrambled quickly, his blue eyes lighting up behind those thick glasses. You dreaded the date ending when you had to stop talking. He was so funny without meaning to be, Clark had an awkward charm you couldn’t help but love. He felt it too. He liked your confidence, your sparkling eyes, and the way you smiled when you thought something was interesting.

When walking you to your door, he shyly waited for an indicator that it was okay to kiss you. Your hand went to his, he dipped his head, and kissed you. It wasn’t demanding or hungry, it was sweet and pure. Guys were rarely like this, especially for a date like this. When you pulled away, his eyes quickly opened and went to your eyes, and the depth there was unlike anything else. “You’ll call me for another date soon?” you asked, your hand reluctantly pulling away from his strong bicep, the ones he kept hidden under all his work clothes. He nods, his hands leaving your hips, waiting until the door clicks shut on the other side before he leaves. Clark heard the sweet exhale you made from the other side, a dreamy one.

So he kept going on dates with you, and sometimes he saw Lois. He liked the way you remembered stuff about him, how you laughed at his jokes, and he felt a real connection. That you really liked him. Of course, he felt guilty and told Lois. “I’ve been going on dates with another girl… the one I helped at the coffee shop. She’s really nice! And I really like him, but I’m just conflicted, Lois. You know, I care about you a lot,” he rambled, pacing the room as Lois sat on the couch. Her blue eyes watched him carefully, following him closely like a cat. “Clark, we said it’s an open thing. It's fine! Just don’t break her heart. Girls like to know about the guys they're sleeping around with,” she said, casually. Her face is blank, but he knew it hurt a little; he knew Lois well enough by now. “I’m not sleeping with her, Lois. It’s different,” Clark claimed, and he watched her expression shift. He panicked, “No, that’s not what I meant. I think of you equally, even if we are casual.” Lois shrugged, the offense rolling off her shoulders. He knew he needed to admit it to you. Soon.

Lois had said it before, and he knew it. He was terrible with confrontation, and he ran from it without a second thought, taking the easy way out.

It was getting serious, but he loved Lois too. After too many dates of not knowing, he finally admitted it. He knocked on your apartment door, hearing the scuffle of your pets inside. Then he heard your footsteps pad up and the door twist open. “Clark! Hi!” you said, quickly, your face lighting up upon seeing him. The guilt on his face made you falter. You wrapped your arms around him, giving a friendly hug. You were both huggers, so this wasn’t unusual. “Hi, sorry there’s no notice. I really needed to talk to you,” he said quietly. You nodded, stepping aside to let him in, the door thudding shut behind him. He surveyed your pajamas—little cotton shorts and an oversized shirt with the collar cut off. “No, it’s okay, it seems urgent,” you said quickly, turning on the coffee pot and getting mugs ready. Clark sat at the island, his feet touching the floor even when sitting on the stools.

“I just need to be honest, okay? When I bumped into you at that coffee shop, I was in a relationship, kind of. Friends with benefits!” he started, his leg bouncing. You nodded along as he rambled. You were patient, always ready to listen to something thoroughly before jumping at his throat. “Situationship,” you corrected, eyes watching him closely. “Yeah, that. I just… Her name is Lois. I’ve been doing this with her for a while. She was the first real thing I had. If that makes sense. I know I’ve been going on dates with you, but I’ve still been seeing her, and I feel terrible for putting off telling you this, but you deserve to know.”

You stared at him calmly, while inside your insides were freaking out. Your heart was beating in your ears, your pulse was running a million miles a minute, te and everything felt wrong. You knew Clark had been too good to be true. Of course, you knew about Lois; he talked about her frequently. As co-workers. He never mentioned their romance, and that was going to eat at you now. Your eyes flicked to the ground as you moved to pour coffee. You could almost feel his eyes burning into the back of your head, waiting for a response eagerly, even a reaction would help. “Are you going to stop sleeping with her soon..? I mean were getting a little serious, don’t you think?” you asked, your voice soft. You set the coffee in front of him, watching him falter. This made your heart sink more—somehow. “I don’t know. I really don’t, sweetheart. Lois is like my best friend in some aspects. I just have to think, but I do really like you,” he reassured, standing up and walking around the island, his hands going to your hips. You hesitated before leaning into it. “Okay, just decide soon. I would prefer not to share you with another woman.” You thought this was reasonable, he was really vulnerable with you, and the steamy make-outs hadn’t been reducing attraction by any means. What would we pick?

The dates started to dwindle as you pulled away to save your poor heart. Clark was the nicest guy you knew, but he was still going to end up hurting you, you could feel it. Every time you heard Lois in his stories now, they had new meanings. It was the girl you were competing against. Lois Lane—a fierce voice, amazing articles, and she was strikingly beautiful. “Lois and I worked on this article today!” He’d say, giving a little gushy smile. Clark would go into detail about this story and how well Lois did. How good a team they were. You noticed now more than ever, and it was eating you up. You and Clark were compatible in many, many ways. It seemed that Lois didn’t care much about dating Clark. So why couldn’t he give her up?

The jealousy deep-rooted in you now was something you wished you could will away, but it wasn’t now. It felt like you were competing for first place in a one-man race. You could just imagine him leaning over her shoulder to help edit something—his hand brushing hers, or they look at each other in victory, their lips almost accidentally colliding. It made you something close to ill.

Clark was at your apartment, and you both relaxed on the balcony, sharing a bench. You leaned into his side, his arm around your waist, stroking your hip as you watched the city bustle and scramble. You could see the bags under his eyes; he hadn’t gotten much sunlight recently, and it hadn’t been replenishing him as it should. Only you had noticed, of course, Lois was too busy to even talk to him for a week now. He had mentioned it. “Clark… I know that you like Lois a lot. But we are evolving. You’re at my apartment a lot, and you take care of me when I’m sad and vulnerable. You are with me, but your minds are also with Lois, and I need to be sure. I really like you. You’re like my missing piece,e but I—” you cut yourself off as your voice shook. It was an emotional topic for you. You had been searching your whole life for your other half. A guy who would understand you, treat you right.

When you were younger, your parents always talked of soulmates. They believed that it was out there, that one day you’d find the person for you, no matter the situation, you’d know they were the one. Whatever that meant. You tucked it into the back of your mind, and it came out every time you saw Clark’s dimples or watched him pull out a chair or open a door for you. He looked at you like you were something worth paying attention to. It was unlike any guy you’d been with before, and you weren’t even with him. He was too tied between you and Lois. She won Pulitzer Prizes. You didn’t have one.

Clark looked down at you, his hand dropping from your side to push your hair behind your ears. “You mean pick?” he asked, his eyes searching yours like you had all the answers. Clark knew this was coming, that eventually he would have had to make a choice. Who was he to pick? He was involved with Lois long before you, and chasing the ones who don’t want you was a trend in everybody, nobody could deny that. But you were perfect for him; you understood the deeper parts of him. Mostly. He hadn’t even mentioned his secret-ish alter ego that he lived in half the time. Superman! This wasn’t going to end well for anyone, he knew.

You nodded, your eyes flicking over his face, searching for answers behind his blank expression. “I don’t know, I can’t just pick like that. I need time,” he said, getting up, the balcony chair rocking as it bumped the back of his legs. You quickly followed him, leaving the balcony door ajar. “I understand, but don’t you feel this click? Because you feel even half of what I do to you, then you would feel it…” You followed him, watching him run a hand through his curls, they flopped back into place on his forehead. You hated how desperate your voice sounded. This had been going so well, right? “I do! I do feel lots of stuff for you. I’ve never felt like this for a woman before. You are so… attractive! But I was with Lois first, and I owe her a fair chance, don’t I?” Clark blurted, moving his hands up and then back to his side. He grabbed his coat, throwing it over his shoulder, then bent to pick up his briefcase. You grabbed his arm. “Don’t go, Clark! Okay? We can talk…” You pleaded, and your heart sank as he shook his head no.

“I need to think about this on my own. I’ll think hard.” Clark was gone after that. He tucked himself into an alley. Wondering how he got here. He took off, not bothering to change into his suit; no one would see him in the night if he went high enough. He could go to the fortress of solitude or his apartment, he could fly to the moon, and he still wouldn’t be able to get out of this decision.

You knew that tone of voice better than anyone. Rejection again. Tears refused to fall, and you would try not to let it affect you. You cleaned up your apartment. The second dinner plate, where you and Clark had happily eaten not even moments before. Fold the blanket you had just cuddled under. Shut the balcony door, and go sit in your bed. The empty bed that was far too big for just you, and Clark wouldn’t be accompanying you. Sometimes he’d lie with you for a while, fall asleep, and have to sneak out early in the morning to make it to work on time. His sweet kisses and apologies on the way out were devastating because of how perfect they were. You changed quickly, tearing the sweater off your head. You had worn it because he said it complemented your eyes. So much for that.

So he thought, and he thought. When the message lit up your phone, you cried. A lot. “I really thought. And I just couldn’t do that to Lois. I respect you, but you deserve someone who has their full attention on you. I don’t deserve you, not in a million years, for reasons I can’t explain.” Reasons he can’t explain? Was he Superman or something? So you sat and mourned. Mourned your soulmate, or what you thought was your soulmate. Do soulmates really reject each other?

Clark was with Lois. They made it official, “I love you”s and kissing in public. He couldn’t help how every kiss felt empty, like no care was attached behind it, no matter how hard he tried. But he loved it, Lois paying attention to him, taking him seriously. But sometimes he found himself feeling half complete. Like something needed to fill the void. His ears picked up on your laughter in the city sometimes—it nearly made his heart stop. It wasn’t fair to Lois for him to act this way, but his pull towards you was undeniable. He missed the way you noticed everything about him, and the way you laughed at his stupid jokes. How you appreciated his dorky smile and glasses before anyone else had, other than Lois.

“You are just somewhere else every time I talk to you, Clark!” He and Lois had been fighting a lot. They didn’t even live together or have bills to worry about; they just got on each other’s nerves. He looked up from where he sat on the neatly made bed. Lois was pacing and lecturing him, his tie undone and his shirt wrinkled. She had been all over him moments ago, kissing him. Then he said something stupid, or did something stupid, per usual. He loved Lois, but she made him feel so… small. You hadn’t done that. Lois saw Clark, and Lois especially saw Superman. But what would he be to her without Superman in the picture? Just a guy she pitied? Clark didn’t know, and he tried not to think about it too hard. You saw him, Kal-El. Under all of those layers, you saw him without even knowing about Superman or him being an alien. It didn’t take his muscles to wow you. That was the gap between you and Lois. He realized he had picked wrong, but would it be too late?

He looked up at a now angry Lois. “Lois…” he pauses, deciding if the truth was best now. “I am somewhere else. You are great! Brilliant, even. I don’t think we work. I mean, we argue all the time, and we don’t even have to pay for bills together. Just imagine that being added to the equation.” Lois paused her pacing, eyes going big. She had no idea he was feeling this way at all. “So? We deal, don’t we?” she asked. Lois stopped pacing and stood in front of him. He looked up at her with the familiar puppy eyes. “Yeah, I guess. But don’t you think it’d be better if we weren’t at each other’s throats?” he asked, his hand running down his face. Lois searched him for any joke in the wall he built. Was he serious or not? She couldn’t tell. Clark promised he would never leave. “Is it her? That girl?” Lois waited for him to react to give her some sort of sign that he was thinking about someone else. When he nodded, her heart sank. “Yes, it’s for her. We were so good together. She sees me as Clark Kent… not as Superman. I’ve never felt so Clark since moving to Metropolis than with her. And I can hear her laugh from cities away, and I listen to her heartbeat. I just can’t do this to you. I’m sorry, Lois.” He rambled, the whole romantic spiel making her want to be sick. She shook her head, “I told you I wasn’t good with relationships.” With that, Lois grabbed her coat and left. They were over.

How could he fix this with you?

“Hi. I know it’s been a couple of months. I chose wrong, I really did. I broke up with her.” The message made your phone ring, pulling your attention away from the TV. Your show blended into the background noise as you read it. Your heart rate sped up, and he heard it. From his apartment, he could hear your heart rate speed up to double its usual speed. You typed out a message before deleting it, and every click of the key was making him crazy.

“Want to come over now? To talk?” You replied, and he shot up quickly, rushing to your house. He should feel bad, give it time before moving on from Lois but he couldn’t bring himself to be apart from you for any longer, losing you had been hard. Every time something good happened, you were the first he wanted to tell. Not Lois.

The knock on your door ten minutes later made you jump. You had anxiously waited, unable to focus on your show. You’d quickly sprayed perfume, and looked a little presentable. It felt pathetic but you couldn’t help it. You opened the door and Clark stood there, his curls untamed and his glasses sliding down his nose. “Hi…” he said, his breath catching. He wasn’t out of breath until he saw your face, relief that he could see you again. “Jesus, Clark. Did you run here?” you asked, stepping aside to let him in. “I—Kind of,” he had run here, but much too fast for an average man. Nearly risking his identity for this. He steps in, slipping off his shoes. You got him a glass of water, watching him sip it. “You broke up with Lois?” you asked, breaking the silence between you both. He nods. “I don’t know how to explain it but I have this pull to you. I can’t explain it but I think about your laugh and your heartbeat! And it wasn’t for Lois, it was for you. Like we were meant to be,” he blurted out, the floodgate of his emotions starting to pour

You nodded, you had felt the same thing. You had felt it every time your hands touched his warm skin, a spark that only came from understanding. “I feel it too…” you whisper, reaching a hand out to him. When he opened his mouth to speak again, you interrupted, “How do I know that you won’t pick me second, or put me second like you did with Lois? How do I know that if I say how I really feel about you, right now, that you won’t leave me?” His heart sank, his eyes zeroing in on the dust on the floor. Clark wished he could reassure you, but nothing could ever seal that insecurity now that the wound had been opened. “I can promise you, and I’m sure that will never be enough but my life without you is bland and lacks the magical feeling you brought me. I kept trying to convince myself it was Lois because she’s been there first, but my heart had made its decision on you. You understand me better than anyone,” He got to his knees, his hands on your hips as he buried his face in your stomach. The sweet cotton of your pajamas makes him feel safe.

You ran your hands through his curls, looking down at him. A small laugh escaped you, and he looked up from your stomach. “What?” Clark asked, his voice cracking a little. “You are pathetic, I believe you…” you say, combing your hands through his curls, pushing them away from his face. He gave a relieved sigh, slowly rising up to his feet. Now he was looking down at you, his dimples working overtime. “I’m only pathetic when it comes to you,” he mumbles, dipping down to kiss you. The slope of his nose pressing to yours and his lips moving against yours in a familiar pattern. “Well, good,” you reply, pulling away from the kiss. The rest of the night was spent in your bed, cuddling up close. His fingers gently tracing patterns up and down your back, lulling you to sleep.

After months of dating, tension between him and Lois faded in the office. And for you and Clark? It was great. Friday was movie nights, Thursday’s were date nights, and a routine had settled over you both. The tranquility of having him at arms length all the time was all you needed.