Dating Clark Kent… Is slow mornings and warm coffee. A man who folds your laundry while reading the paper. Who remembers your mother’s birthday and brings you tea when you’re studying late.

It’s him squinting at a crossword puzzle, or cooking eggs at 6am like he doesn’t have the weight of the world on his shoulders.

It’s gentle hands and quiet strength. Someone who listens—really listens—to every word you say, like it’s the most important thing in the world.

It’s walking through the city and no one turning their heads. No attention, no spotlight. Just a man in glasses who somehow makes you feel completely safe even in a crowd.

It’s vulnerability. His deep, aching desire to belong. His need for home, for someone who sees him, not a symbol.

It’s a life filled with late-night talks, unassuming loyalty, and the kind of quiet love that makes you believe in forever.

But you’re not only dating Clark, you’re dating Superman. It is kissing someone whose heartbeat could shatter stone. Who could level mountains but chooses to be kind.

It’s watching the person you love disappear into the sky when the sirens scream, knowing he may not come back.

It’s being second to everyone who needs saving—but still somehow knowing he loves you more than anything.

It’s pride and terror in equal measure. Seeing his emblem on every news channel, knowing it belongs to the man who makes your bed and folds your socks.

It’s secrets you can’t share, the weight of knowledge you carry alone, and the ache of constant waiting.

It’s watching him fall from the sky, bruised and battered, and still standing tall. It’s patching up the cuts no one else sees.

It’s a constant anxiety and fear, because the more you love him, the worse it gets, the thought that he may never come back…

You’re sitting on the couch, watching as the news reports on his latest save, a satellite misfired, panic between the countries and only one person could help. Your person.

The sky was clear again. Stars shimmered over the city.

And then — a whisper of air.

You turned to the open window.

Clark was there, cape folded around his shoulders, boots scorched, hair windswept. He looked exhausted. And radiant.

“I’m fine,” he said softly, before you could ask.