The Metropolis skyline glittered like a sea of fallen stars, a breathtaking backdrop to the gritty reality of a dimly lit rooftop. The wind whipped through the night, carrying the distant hum of traffic and the occasional wail of a siren. T/I perched on the edge of a rusted vent, her notebook balanced on her knee, a thermos of coffee in hand. Her sharp eyes scanned the horizon, not for the city’s beauty, but for a certain caped crusader who’d been dodging her headlines for far too long.
“Another Friday night wasted on a muscle-bound farm boy,” she muttered under her breath, rolling her eyes as she swiped a strand of hair from her face. “I could be swiping right on some halfway decent disaster, but nooo, I’m up here playing Lois Lane for a man who probably irons his cape.”
She took a bitter sip of coffee, the warmth doing little to ease the chill of impatience creeping up her spine. That’s when the air shifted—a sudden, electric charge that made her skin prickle. Before she could react, a thunderous *thud* rocked the rooftop, nearly toppling her off her makeshift seat. Her coffee splashed across her jacket as a familiar red-and-blue figure landed with all the grace of a meteor strike, his cape billowing dramatically in the wind.
“Damn it!” T/I yelped, leaping to her feet and brushing at the stain with a scowl. “Ever heard of a soft landing, you clumsy oaf in tights?”
Clark Kent—aka Superman—straightened to his full, infuriatingly impressive height, a smirk playing on his lips as he crossed his arms. The moonlight caught the hard lines of his jaw, and for a moment, T/I hated how effortlessly perfect he looked, even after whatever heroic nonsense he’d just pulled off.
“Stalking me again, huh?” His voice dripped with mock arrogance, deep and smooth as he towered over her. “I thought journalists were supposed to be subtle.”
T/I snorted, planting a hand on her hip and glaring up at him. “Stalking? Please. I’m just doing my job, Kent. Someone’s gotta keep tabs on the boy scout who punches asteroids for fun. But if you’re gonna crash my stakeout, at least buy me a new coffee.” Her gaze flicked over his face, lingering a heartbeat too long on that stupidly chiseled jawline before she forced herself to look away.
Clark’s smirk widened, and he took a deliberate step closer, his presence overwhelming in a way that had nothing to do with his powers. “You know, most people would kill for a front-row seat to my heroics. But you? You’re up here whining about caffeine.” With a casual flex of his arm, he reached over to a nearby water tank—rusted and easily a few hundred pounds—and lifted it with one hand like it was a goddamn paperweight, pretending to inspect a dent. “Just thought I’d fix this while I’m here. Don’t mind me.”
T/I rolled her eyes so hard she nearly sprained something, but the heat creeping up her cheeks betrayed her. “Oh, please. Compensating for something with all that power, are we? Put the tank down, Super Show-Off, before you pull a muscle—or worse, your ego.”
He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent an unwanted shiver down her spine as he set the tank back with infuriating ease. “Careful, T/I. Keep talking like that, and I might think you’re here for more than just a story.” His tone shifted, darker now, laced with a challenge as his blue eyes locked onto hers.
She squared her shoulders, refusing to let him see how his words—and that damn gaze—unraveled her. “Don’t flatter yourself, Kent. I’m here for the scoop, not your small-town charm. But if you’ve got something to confess, I’m all ears.” Her voice was steady, sharp as a blade, but it wavered just enough when he took another step, closing the distance between them until the air crackled with tension.
In a blur of motion too fast to track, Clark moved. One second, she was standing her ground; the next, her back was pressed against the cold brick of the rooftop wall, his hands braced on either side of her, caging her in. He didn’t touch her—not yet—but the sheer force of his presence, the raw strength radiating from him, made escape impossible. Her heart thudded in her chest, a mix of fury and something dangerously close to thrill.
“What the hell, Kent?” she snapped, her voice dripping with venom even as her breath came quicker. “You’re a control freak with a god complex, you know that? Let me go before I write a headline about Superman’s boundary issues.”
His gaze hardened, piercing through her bravado, and a ghost of a smile tugged at his lips. He leaned in, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper that brushed against her ear. “You’ve been chasing me for months, T/I. Maybe it’s time you got what you wanted.”
Her breath hitched, caught between outrage and the heat pooling in her core. She shoved against his chest—pointless, of course, like pushing a mountain—but her defiance flared brighter. “Don’t think for a second you’ve got me figured out, flyboy. You’re not the only one with power here.” Her words were a challenge, a promise, her eyes blazing even as his grip on the situation tightened.
Clark’s hands shifted, just enough to hint at the raw, untamed strength he wielded, his fingers brushing the wall beside her with deliberate restraint. The tension hung heavy, a taut wire ready to snap, leaving her—and anyone watching—to wonder just how far this game of dominance would go.
And as the city hummed below, oblivious to the storm brewing on this rooftop, T/I felt the weight of his presence like gravity itself, pulling her into a dance she wasn’t sure she could win.
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