The Smallville Daily Planet office buzzed with the relentless clatter of typewriters, the air thick with the sharp tang of ink and the bitter aroma of over-brewed coffee. Tina sat at her cluttered desk, her pen idly tracing loops and swirls in the margins of her notepad, spelling out "Clark Kent" in a dreamy cursive she’d never admit to. Her heart did a ridiculous little flip every time the man himself ambled by, all nerdy glasses and farm-boy charm, his broad shoulders barely contained by a slightly wrinkled button-down. God, he was a walking contradiction—awkward yet devastatingly handsome, like a Greek god who’d stumbled into a thrift store.
She sighed, propping her chin on her hand, her gaze trailing after him for the hundredth time that morning. That’s when Mara, her best friend and the newsroom’s resident sharp-tongued terror, swooped in like a hawk on a hapless mouse. Mara leaned over Tina’s desk, her crimson lipstick a stark contrast to her no-nonsense black blazer, and snatched the notepad right out from under her.
“Well, well, what do we have here?” Mara’s voice dripped with mock scandal as she held up the evidence, Clark’s name circled with a tiny, embarrassing heart. “Still pining over the walking flannel ad, are we? Tina, you’re hopeless.”
“Give that back!” Tina hissed, lunging for the pad, her cheeks flaming. “And keep your voice down, for God’s sake. What if he hears you?”
Mara dodged her easily, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Oh, please. That boy’s so oblivious, you could tattoo his name on your forehead, and he’d still think you were just being ‘friendly.’ Honestly, T, it’s pathetic. A super-crush on Superman’s less interesting cousin? Get a grip.”
Tina groaned, burying her face in her hands. “He’s not Superman’s cousin, Mara. And I can’t help it. Have you seen his smile? It’s like... sunshine and apple pie and... ugh, I don’t even know.”
“Spare me the poetry, sweetheart,” Mara shot back, tossing the notepad onto the desk with a dramatic flourish. “You’re a journalist, not a lovesick teenager. Though, looking at this doodle, I’m starting to question that.”
Across the room, Clark was deep in conversation with Lois Lane, the newsroom’s golden girl, all sharp wit and confident stilettos. Tina’s stomach twisted as she watched them, her mind traitorously slipping into a fantasy where she was the one tossing her hair back, laughing at his quiet jokes, her hand brushing his arm. Lois had that effortless swagger Tina could only dream of—hell, she probably woke up looking like a femme fatale. Tina, on the other hand, was pretty sure she’d spilled coffee on her blouse this morning.
“Come on, dreamer,” Mara said, snapping her fingers in front of Tina’s face. “Let’s get some caffeine before you start writing sonnets. I can’t handle another minute of this moping.”
Dragging Tina to the break room, Mara didn’t let up for a second. She poured two cups of the sludge passing for coffee and shoved one into Tina’s hands. “Alright, spill. Why the hell haven’t you made a move on Mr. Cornfield yet? You’ve been drooling over him for months. What’s the holdup, chicken-hearted scribe?”
Tina stared into the murky depths of her cup, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “I’m terrified, okay? What if he laughs? Or worse, what if he just... doesn’t care? Every time he smiles at me, my knees go weak, Mara. I can barely string a sentence together around him. I’m a mess.”
Mara rolled her eyes so hard Tina thought they might get stuck. “Oh, for the love of—grow a spine, woman! He’s not some untouchable deity; he’s just a guy. A guy with bad fashion sense and a weird knack for disappearing at the worst times, sure, but still a guy. Ask him out before someone else snatches up that corn-fed cutie. Lois is already circling like a damn vulture.”
Tina opened her mouth to protest, but the words died on her lips. Mara had a point—Lois did have that predatory gleam in her eye whenever Clark was around. Still, the thought of confessing to Clark made her stomach churn worse than the office coffee.
Back at her desk, Tina tried to focus on her latest story, but her attention kept drifting. She overheard Clark talking to a colleague about something odd—a strange red rock he’d found near his family’s farm. His voice carried that usual gentle curiosity, but there was something else there, a distraction she couldn’t quite place. Peeking over her monitor, she saw his jaw tighten, his hand slipping the stone into his pocket. For a fleeting moment, his eyes flickered with something darker, something... un-Clark-like. Tina blinked, shaking her head. Probably just her imagination running wild again, fueled by too many daydreams of him sweeping her off her feet in a field of wildflowers.
The day dragged on, and just as Tina was packing up, Clark approached her desk. Her heart stuttered as he leaned down, his voice lower than usual, almost a growl. “Hey, Tina, do you have the file on the Luthor Corp story? I can’t seem to find it.”
She froze, her brain short-circuiting as he loomed closer than necessary, his breath warm against her ear. “Uh, y-yeah, it’s... it’s right here,” she stammered, fumbling through the chaos on her desk. Her cheeks burned as she handed it over, their fingers brushing. His touch lingered just a second too long, electric and unnerving, sending a shiver racing down her spine.
Clark’s lips curled into a slow, uncharacteristic smirk—a look that was all heat and no trace of his usual shy sweetness. “Thanks, Tina,” he murmured, his gaze pinning her in place before he turned and walked away, leaving her a flustered, trembling mess.
From across the room, Mara caught the tail end of the exchange and smirked, muttering under her breath, “Well, damn, looks like little miss scribe might finally be getting some action.”
Tina barely registered Mara’s jab, her mind reeling. Alone at her desk, she wrestled with the storm of feelings crashing through her. The Clark she knew was all gentle smiles and quiet strength, the kind of man who’d blush if you complimented him. But that look, that touch—it was something else entirely, something intense and almost dangerous. Her pulse raced as she tried to reconcile the sweet farm boy with the strange, charged energy she’d just felt. Little did she know, the red kryptonite in Clark’s pocket was already beginning to weave its dark magic, stirring desires neither of them could yet comprehend.
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