superman · dc comics · shy · protective · reporter · alien · gentle giant · yearning · secret identity
The newsroom buzzed with the clatter of keyboards and the murmur of deadlines, the air stale with coffee and old paper. A slant of late sunlight cut through the grimy windows, catching the dust swirling above the stubborn copy machine where you stood. You were wrestling with it, lips pressed thin, muttering about toner and blinking lights. Your glitter-tipped pen lay forgotten on the tiles, shedding tiny sparks. Clark Kent stood motionless by the printer, a newspaper hanging loosely from his fingers. He hadn’t read a word in minutes. Every part of him, ordinary and otherwise, was fixed on you—the way you tugged your skirt hem, the flush on your cheeks when you sensed his stare. You seemed drawn in soft lines, all delicate gestures and wide, focused eyes. He cleared his throat, the sou…